 Chapter 5 of Cedric the Forester by Bernard Gaye-Marshall. The Festival of the Archers Young Cedric the Forester, who was now my constant companion, was walking with me on the path that led by the millfield. There, since the raising of the siege of Castle Mountjoy, Old Marvin, the archer, and his gray-haired dame had had their cottage and half-dozen acres of mowing and tillage. It was on a fair December morning when yet no snow had come. The whorefrost still covered all the western slopes, and the wood-smoke that came down from a clearing in the forest above did sweeten the air more to my liking than all the scents and powders that the traders bring from Araby. We had had an hour at the foils, wherein I was master, and another with a crossbow, and at this good sport Cedric did show such skill that once more I spoke my wonder at the magic of it. He had no more than my own sixteen years, and when, amongst men and soldiers, he but seldom lifted his voice, but his handling of this weapon would honour any man of middle life who had spent more years with the bow in his hands than Cedric could count all told. Cedric I cried. Me thinks Old Marvin himself could not best thee, and for thirty years he of all the Mount Joy archers hath borne the palm. Cedric smiled but shook his head. May have Old Marvin knoweth of many things anent the placing of his bolt that have not yet come to me. My father, Albert of Pelham Wood, who taught me what I know, hath often told me that with the longbow one man and one only in all of England could best him, and that one no other than Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest, but with the crossbow Marvin of Mount Joy could ever lessen him, and did not thou tell me that twas Old Marvin who laid low the gray wolf of Carleton at the siege, to his one thing to strike a fair bull's eye on target in broad daylight and quiet air, and another far to strike the throat of one's enemy in battle and by torchlight. I and twas thou, Cedric, who struck down young Lionel of Carleton, and two of his robberhounds of men at arms, in our fray in the woods, but six weeks gone. Thy bolts did not then fly by guess or by luck I throw. Cedric smiled again, but had no words for this, and I went quickly on. I tell thee that when thou art my squire indeed, and I a knight in truth, and not by courtesy only, I'll have thee ever ride beside me with thy bow upon thy back, though thou shalt wear garments of velvet instead of Lincoln green, and a good broad sword shall swing by thy side. Then we can strike down any cative from afar, if need be, and many a night when we make bivouac in the forest or on the moorlands, we shall sup right royally on the hairs or morphal which thy skill will provide, and snap our fingers at the ins and all the houses of the towns. Tis a fair thought, sighed Cedric, and oak leaf bed in a glade by a goodly stream is ever more to my liking than any maid in a dwelling, save in the wet or bitter weather. But, for old Marvin now, me thinkst would please me well to shoot against him at archer match, where I bested by such as he to be no honour lost. By my faith, I shouted, such a match we will have, to be a fair sight indeed to see two archers such as thou and Marvin at the marks. We'll have a festival for all the friends of Mountjoy, noble and simple, and roast an ox for their regalment. Since the Shrewsbury court and the battle-trial that freed thee and me from all charges of foul play in the matter of Lionel of Carleton, and now that my father is nearly well of his wounds, the Mountjoys have reason enough to rejoice. We'll have a day to be remembered. Just then old Marvin, who did chop for firewood a fallen ewe in the field nearby, caught outside of us and dropping his axe came forward to greet us. A fine morning for the woods, Sir Dickon, he said, doffing his headgear to me and nodding to Cedric. Could not one get the leeward of a buck on such a day? Aye, I answered, full the while of my new thought, and if either thou or Cedric here did come within a hundred paces we should eat on the morrow of a fair pasty of venison. But what says thou, Marvin, to an archer match with Cedric? Thou knowest he is newly in our service, but that he hath an eye for the homing of his bolt. Of all the Mountjoy men he alone is worthy to shoot against thee. Aye, cried Marvin eagerly. I have heard much of his skill. To his said that for such a youth he shoots most wondrous well, for twenty years no Mountjoy has striven with me at turning, and a fair day at the marks would like me well. Will there be a prize, thinkest thou? Aye, there will be, I returned full gaily. For now me thought the day promised such sport as we had not had for years. And I was fair lifted up with the picture of it that filled my head. I'll make my father give to him who wins the day the best milch cow in all the Mountjoy barns. How likeest thou that, Marvin? Couldst thou use such a beast on thy little farm? Merry, well could I? answered Marvin, his eyes shining as brightly as a youth's. My dame did tell me yesterday, tis what we most do lack. And I, put in Cedric, should any wondrous luck or chance bring the prize to me, could give her to my father. He hath a little meadow by his cottage in Pelham Wood, where a cow would find sweet pasture, and in the cot three little ones who'd thrive on the milk. Marvin, be sure I'll take the prize from thee if ever I can. And thou winnest it, thou shoot well, Cedric lad, answered old Marvin with a grin, tis now full many years since I found any man to best me. But now I caught sight of my father, Lord Mountjoy, astride the palfry he rode in those days of recovering from the hurts he had at Shrewsbury, and riding toward the clearing on the hill where the woodmen piled the logs for our fireplace burning. I waved and beckoned to him till he paused, and turned his horse's head toward us. In a moment we three stood about him and told of our plans for the archery match. Most of the words were mine, but Cedric and old Marvin himself were not a witless eager. Soon I had drawn from Lord Mountjoy the promise that we should have our will, and that the archer festival should be held in the Mountjoy lands in three days' time. But, hot and eager as I was, I noted even then a backwardness in my father's answers that puzzled me. It was not like him to care for the gift of a cow or a colt to any of his faithful retainers, and I knew he loved a fair match at the targets as well as any. After we had said good day to Marvin, and as Cedric and I walked down the road toward the wood on either side of his horse, father gave utterance to his worrying thought. "'Dicken, tis but natural at thy years to be eager and headlong in thy thinking, but has the thought not come to thee at all that this match that thou dost plan so joyously may end in sorrow to thy old instructor in arms?' "'How so?' I questioned, but even in the saying I saw a glimmer of his meaning. For thirty years and more old Marvin hath been leading archer of Mountjoy. He nears three score and ten, and may the saints bespeak him many years of peace after all the toils and perils he hath undergone for our house. May hop his eyes as clear and his hand as true as ever. But I have seen somewhat of the shooting of Cedric here, and it may be that he'll best old Marvin at the thing which is his dearest pride. Should that happen, canst thou warrant, Marvin will not carry home a bitter heart from thy festival? "'Oh, father, surely thou dost jest. Marvin is no child to grieve at being beaten in fair play, should that chance befall him? A warrant will never see a sign of it.' "'Tis true enough,' said my father slowly. "'We'll never see a sign of it, but the bitterness may be there nevertheless. But I bethink me now. Get John of the Wallfield or some other Mountjoy archer to make a third. Then Marvin can be but second at worst, and will make a fairer show for all these friends we are to bid come to our fate. John is ever a hopeful youth, and will shoot as though his life depended on it. Saying thus he set spurs to his horse, and with a nod and smile at Cedric rode away up the forest path. That afternoon messengers went out from the castle to bid to the festival, the tenantry, and all the friends of Mountjoy for ten miles round, and an ox was slain for the roasting. Three days later, on another perfect mourn without cloud or breath of wind, there assembled in you hedge meadow a furlong from the Mountjoy gate, a concourse which might have graced a tournament. The Pelhems were there and the Lester's, and even a half-dozen of the Montmorences, my mother's kin from Coventry. The yeomanry of the Mountjoy lands had come, in to the last man and maid and child, and nigh two hundred of the neighbour folk from Pelham Manor, Lester, and Manorly. The gentry were gathered on some rows of benches, covered with gay-coloured robes, which had been placed on a little hillock at the left, and the commoners stood or walked about on the good brown sword, having many a gay crack ingest between them, and enjoying, me thought, a better view of the archery than their betters on the higher ground. Many of the Mountjoy men had brought their crossbows, and were now taking random shots at the white-centered target a hundred paces down the meadow. Others had longbows, and the cloth-yard shafts that the forester loves. When Cedric's father, Albert of Pelham Wood, came on the ground with his longbow in his hand, a cry went up for a match with that noble weapon to come before the prize shooting of the crossbowmen. My father came and full warmly greeted the Pelham Forester, and gave his word for the longbow trials. Two of our Mountboy lads shot each five shafts at the three-inch bullseye, and of these rob of the Rowan Grange was in high delight at thrice fairly striking it. Then Albert, with a merry grin that showed his toothless jaws, did come to the mark and sent five arrows toward the target, suffering none to touch them till the last was sped. When he had finished there was a shout from all the people, with the rob of the Rowan's voice among the loudest, for every arrow-point had pierced the white. Now came Marvin, bonnet in hand, before Lord Mountjoy, and began to speak with a quickness and a shortness of breath that I had there before noted. My Lord, me thinks twid better the match for those that come to see our archery if we had, besides yonder target, a moving mark. What thinkest thou of the rolling ball such as I used a score of years agon, and with which thyself did have much good sport? Mary, well be thought good Marvin, cried father, have the lads bring planks from the courtyard and set up the trough as thou bidst them. We have bowling-balls enough. Truly twid will make the match a gayer sight. There are many here that never have seen thy skill so displayed. Marvin turned away full eagerly to give orders for the making of the slanting trough of planks down which the bowling-ball should roll, and as I saw the light in his eyes my heart did warm toward our faithful and stout-hearted old follower that he should devise this play to save his archer fame. For plain it was to me that my father had been well pleased at this thought of Marvin's, believing that in this game which was his very own, and practised by none beyond the lands of Mountjoy, he would display such mastery as would far outweigh any vantage that young Cedric might gain at the bull's-eye shooting. Many hands made light work of the making ready. Soon a trough of planks went up to one side of the arrow-course and eighty yards from the mark at which the archers stood. One end was raised four yards from the earth on a scaffolding on which a lad might climb to place the bowling-balls in groove. When, at the word, he rolled one from him, it dashed down the slope and rolled and bounded or the sod for thirty paces, full like a hare started from his covert by the hunters. To strike this ball in full career with crossbow-bolt was no child's play. To this could I well swear, for never yet had I succeeded in doing so when, two years ago, old Marvin had sought to teach me. As I recalled my many bootless trials, I laughed to think of Cedric and the game old Marvin now had played on him. Now came the crossbow-men to the mark for the target shooting. Old Marvin began and in high confidence. But verily fortune frowned on him for the wind that had been but a breath before sprung up just as he laid finger to trigger, and his first two bolts missed the white by half an inch. Then came three well within the circle, but the old archer's face bore a piteous frown as he made way for Cedric, for he had thought to equal the longbow shooting of his old gossip of Pelham Wood. Cedric quickly sent three bolts to the bull's eye. Then his hand seemed to tremble, and me thought he suffered from the eyes of such a crowd of witnesses. His fourth bolt struck just outside the black, and the fifth went two inches wide. What ails thee, lad? questioned his father full sharply. Marvin had the wind to fight, but the air was quiet for thee. Me thinks the fair of Mount Joy Hall too rich for a plain forester. Thou handled thy weapon better on rye bread and pea's porridge. May have thou art right, father? returns Cedric with a laugh. Or may have I grow soft with sleeping on so fair a couch of wool? Today I cannot shoot, it seems. Another day it may be better. John of the Wallfield was now making careful sight at the bull's eye, and all the assembly watched him close, for it had been whispered that but the day before, he had made five bull's eye strokes with nare a break, and at the same distance as now. He had many friends among the younger men and maids, and these now called to him words of cheer and bade him show his metal. Thus besought, he showed a skill that surprised us all, and filled me with a worry I could scarce suppress. Four of his bolts landed fair within the white, and the fifth but barely missed it. At the target he was winner. And a few years back he had been the best of all the Mountjoy archers, save only Marvin himself, at striking the rolling ball. It began to seem that John of the Wallfield, who had been brought into the match to make a third in the scoring, might end by leading off the prize. Next Marvin came to the mark to shoot at the rolling ball. All the yeomanry crowded round for a nearer view, and the knights and ladies left their benches and came forward that they might miss nothing of this strange test of archery. Now indeed did Marvin display something of the craft that had made him for so many years the leading archer of Mountjoy. Four of his bolts struck the swiftly running mark full squarely, and the fifth was wondrous close. When he had finished, all the older yeoman and men at arms raised the shout of Marvin, Marvin, and some did already talk of bearing him aloft as winner of the day. For never in his life had the old marksman bettered at the record he had just made at the rolling ball, and it was not believed an archer lived who could equal it. To a Cedric's turn to shoot next at this strange target, as he came forward he seemed to be more wrought upon than ever, and I bethought me that he bore but ill the fortunes of the day. He drew his bowstring to charge his weapon with a most unseemly twitch, and then exclaimed in wrath at a broken cord. Ho! he called. I must lay me a new string it seems. This one was sadly frayed, and now is gone. But let me not delay the match. Let John go on in my turn while I not and stretch a stouter one. Nothing loath John stepped forward to the mark. My father gave the signal, and the ball rolled down the incline to the sword. Before it had bounded a half dozen paces it was pierced by John's bolt, and there rose a great cry from all the younger men. Next came a miss, then another stroke, and the hubbub rose again. For the fourth and fifth shots John aimed full carefully along the course the ball should go, and before the word was given, but all his care availed him not, for both the bolts missed clean. Now again the meadow echoed with the cries of, Marvin, Marvin! Some too did call out a cheer for Cedric as he came up with bolt in groove, for the young forester was well-bethought at Mountjoy, and to-day he had not shamed the old leader as some had thought he might. As soon as the first ball touched the sword he pressed trigger, and in a moment was seen that his bolt had nicked its edge. Then twice he missed it fairly, and twice more his bolt struck home. With but one more stroke he would have equaled Marvin's score. As it was his points were six, even as those of John of the Wallfield, while Marvin had thrice struck the bullseye, and four times the rolling ball. When Lord Mountjoy announced the prize was Marvin's, the elder Mountjoy men broke out afresh with cheers, and in these all the company, led by my father himself, speedily joined. Two of the stoutest yeoman hoisted Marvin to their shoulders, and with them in the lead we made a procession through the fields and toward the hall, all the men and maidens shouting and dancing and making a most merry and heartening din. The tables were spread in the courtyard, and already were laden with bounteous platters of the roasted beef with bread and cakes and ale and goodly Yorkshire pudding. The yeomanry here sat them down, while my father did lead his guests of gentle blood to the tables spread in the castle hall. For an hour we feasted sumptuously, and many a tale was told of archery and of the deer-hunting of olden days, when, as I learned from the talk of my elders, men were taller and stronger and of keener eye than now, and such craft of the bow as Albert and old Marvin had that day displayed was the boast of many archers in any goodly company. In all this talk Cedric the forester had no part, though he listened full courteously to any who would address him. I had been rejoiced at Marvin's victory, but now I be thought me that Cedric might be feeling bitterness at his own poor showing, that he should strike the rolling-ball but thrice in the first five trials seemed not strange, but he had then no better at the bullseye target, and his father's words might well have cut more deeply than he chose to show. I found a place beside him, and speaking softly so that no other might hear, did say, "'Twas not thy day to-day, Cedric, but mind thee not, there'll be many another match once thou'dt carry off the prize.' Cedric turned to me and smiled, me thought a bit grimly, and I went on. T'was hardly fair to thee to make thee shoot at the rolling-ball at a match and for the first time, to his Marvin's own game, and at it he hath always excelled all others. Sir Dickon, said Cedric, speaking as softly as I, canst thou keep a secret? Of a certainty, I answered, what now hast thou to reveal? I will show thee something which I would feign have thee know, if thou wilt promise me to tell no soul whatever, nor to give any hint of it. Tis well, I answered. I promise it. Listen, he whispered. I go now to the U-Hedge Meadow. After some minutes, do thou follow me, and speak not to any one. Speaking thus, he rose quickly and left the tables. I was full of a desire to learn his meaning, and did wait but the shortest space before following him. I found him with his crossbow ready drawn at the archer's mark in the Meadow. Do thou climb upon Yon Scaffolding, said Cedric, and roll me a ball that I may try my hand once more at this strange game of Marvin's. I did, as he did ask, and his bolt struck it fairly in mid-career. Well, shot, I cried. Thou yet be Marvin's match at this game, too. Prithee, another ball, called the forester. Again I rolled the ball, and again twas fairly struck. A third, and fourth, and fifth, and sixth went down the trough, and I grew fairly mazed, for Cedric met each with a bolt as surely and as easily as if they stood stock still. I leaped down from my perch on the Scaffolding and ran to him. Cedric! I cried. What means this? Thou passest Marvin's self. Did thy hand tremble to-day from the gaze of so many onlookers? Cedric laughed again, and now he wore such a gay, lighthearted look as I bethought me had not been on his face for three days past. Hush, he said. Tell it not so loud lest some may hear thee. But was it not the will of my Lord Mountjoy who risked his life for me at Shrewsbury, that old Marvin should win this one last archer-match? It cost me but a broken bow-string and some little work of the head when John of the Wallfield seemed like to win the day. He needs must shoot before me that I might know how to guide my bolts. Had he struck the rolling ball with but one more bolt he would have equaled Marvin's score, and I must have done likewise that we three might shoot again. If with two more he would have bested Marvin, and I must take the prize from him. But with only two strokes in the five, it was easy quite, and now Marvin hath the prize that it were shamed to keep from him. Then indeed I understood, and I rung Cedric's hand in gladness. My father shall know of this, I cried, and he'll give thee a prize also, another cow, second only to the one that Marvin chooses, shall go to thy father's cottage. But Cedric's face, which had been merry, now quickly altered, and he shook his head. Sir Dickon, he said steadily, dost thou not recall that thou didst promise not to reveal what I did show thee? Why, but of that word thou'dt release me, Cedric? T'was but a notion of thine, truly Lord Mountjoy should know of this. But Cedric still shook his head. I told thee not in order that I might gain a prize, and for my shooting this day no prize will I take. I somehow could not bear that thou shouldst think me so poor an archer as this day's work did show. But now I hold thee to thy nightly word well and freely given. I could think of no word more to say, nor any way of moving him from his resolve. So we walked slowly back to the hall and in silence, for Cedric was ever of few words, and I was thinking deeply on his obstinacy. In the courtyard and in the hall we found the feast was yet in progress. Truly, if our men of England do work and fight as valiantly as they eat and drink, tis no wonder that our land grows in power and holds up its head among nations. I left Cedric at his former seat, and walked straight across the hall to my father. Cedric's eyes followed me, for it was plain that he yet feared I might tell Lord Mountjoy how our archery meet had been guided, and I cast back at Cedric as I went, a sly and crafty look which did nothing to reassure him. Soon I gained the ear of my father, and for half a minute did speak to him full earnestly, to which he straightway made answer in his strong and goodly tones which Cedric and many others might well hear above the hum of voices and the clatter of the serving men. Mary, well be thought, Dickon. It were indeed a shame to let such archery at our festival go unrewarded, to will pleasure Cedric also, and truly he hath borne himself well this day. Rising he addressed the company. Oh, good friends all, fair ladies, and most worshipful knights and gentlemen, I go to the courtyard to say to our yeomanry assembled there some words that you may also wish to hear. Then he passed out of the hall, and all the lords and ladies rose to follow him. Cedric and I were last, as we waited for the crowd to pass through the doorway he whispered sharply. Has thou then told Lord Mountjoy after all? I smiled in answer. Contain thyself, good Cedric, and hear what thou shalt hear. He would have questioned further, but at that moment my father's voice was heard in the courtyard. Friends and dwellwishers of the house of Mountjoy, I know full well, to will pleasure you to hear that the prize that our good Marvin hath so truly won this day is not the sole prize of our festival. The crossbow is a noble weapon, but the longbow of Mary England is no less, and we have seen some archery today that must not go without a gerdyn. Therefore to Elbert, forester of Pelham, and father of Cedric, now of our house, I give his choice of any cow in the Mountjoy herds, saving only that which Marvin chooses. To John of the Wallfield also I make a gift of a good steel crossbow of the sort which Marvin tells me he much desires, and with which he may better even the archery he hath bravely shown today. Now here's a health to Mary England, and long life to her honest yeomanry, so long as they guide bolt and shaft as now, they'll confusion bring to all of England's enemies. So it befell that in the dusk of that fair day Elbert the forester did lead home to Pelham Wood a goodly milk-white heifer. A proud man was he of this prize of his archery, but had he known the full tale of the day's doings he might have been, without vainglory, prouder still. End of Chapter 5 Recording by Lynette Calkins Monument, Colorado Chapter 6 Of Cedric the Forester By Bernard Gaye Marshall This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Lynette Calkins Wolfshead Glenn I think that that spring morning where on Cedric and I set out on the forest road to Coventry was the fairest that I have ever seen. The sun shone gloriously in the open glades and on the moorlands, and white clouds sailed aloft like racing galleons. The bird chorus among the little new leaves overhead was as the mingled music of harps and lutes and voices in the choir at Shrewsbury, and flowerettes of blue and pink and gold full gallantly bedecked the pathside and the brown forest floor. Withalt was not a day for idleness and dreaming, for a chill air breathed in the darker veils, and here and there in the deep woodlands and on northern slopes a graying patch of snow yet lingered. Old William, a faithful archer of Mountjoy, rode with us as guide and counsellor. This by the insistence of my father, Lord Mountjoy, who had a sorry lack of faith in the judgment and discretion of what he called two half-broke colts like Cedric and me. I know full well, he had said, when I broached the plan of riding the ten leagues to Coventry to pay due respects to our kin's folk of Montmorency, that Cedric hath wondrous skill and quickness with his crossbow, and that thou dicken in thy sword play art not far behind many a man that calls himself knight and soldier. You will be mounted well, and may have, if danger be set, can fight or fly, saving whole skins as on that day the Carlton's hunted you in the woods of Terremor. But all is not done by eyes and limbs, be they never so keen and skilled. Your veteran of three score will step softly and dry-shot around the quagmire in which your hare-brained youth of sixteen plunges head and ears. Never fear, father, I cried. With William or without will keep whole skins. These are now full quiet days, and we ride for pleasure, not for brawling. Tis true, he answered slowly. With the hanging of Strongbow we now have the outlaw bands in wholesome fear, and the Carlton's have raised no battle cry since the fall. Tis like they have little will for it since they were so sorely smitten at the siege, and first the old wolf and later young Lionel received their just dues from us and ours. They have no leaders now save the widowed lady and a fifteen-years-old lad that bears his father's name of Jeffrey, and shall be Lord of Carlton. May have we have before us some few years to build the fortunes of our house without let or hindrance from any of that crew at Terremor. But William shall go with thee to Coventry, nevertheless, to see that thou misknot the road and seek no useless brawls. Listen well to what he tells thee, and thou make a safe return. Now all three of us had our crossbows slung upon our backs, and I wore at my side the good Damascus blade which was my dearest pride. We carried in leathern pouches a store of bread and meat for the midday meal, and William had made shift to shoot a morphel that he spied running midst the gorse by the wayside. So an hour past the noon day we made camp by a fair stream, set a fire alight to roast the bird, and feasted right merrily. As we sat about the embers, filled with the comfort of hunger well sated, I lifted up my voice in a ballad of which I had many times of late made secret practice. It went right merrily and clear, and when I had once sung it through Cedric and old William both urged me on to repeat it. When I sang again, Cedric surprised me much, seeing the untaught forester that he was, by joining me with a sweet, high, contra melody that wondrously enhanced the music, and old William too, after a few gruff trials, did bravely swell the chorus. Thus pleasantly occupied, and with our carol ringing through the veil, we heard no sound of hoofbeats, and I looked up with a start to see, passing along the path, fifty paces from our campfire, three armed and mounted travellers. There were two stout men at arms, wearing the braced and quilted jackets that, against arrows or javelins, so well replaced breastplates of steel, and armed with great two-handed broadswords and poniers. Between them, and a little to the fore, on a proudly stepping little gilding, rode a youth of somewhat less than our own years, wearing an embroidered tunic of white and rose, and a sword which hung in a scabbard rich with gold and gems. William snatched at the crossbow which lay on the grass beside him, but the strangers paid little heed to us, the men at arms but glancing surlyly in our direction. In a moment they had passed from sight, and the forest was quiet again. Before little we talked of who they might be, and what their errand was in these parts, but none of us could name any of their party. We were now some eight leagues from Castle Mountjoy, and may have three from Manorley Lodge. It seemed not unlikely that the stranger youth might be of some party that visited the good lady of Manorley, and that he was now riding abroad under the escort of two of her stout retainers. The passing of the strangers and the sour looks of the two men had driven the carol from our minds, and we loosed our horses from the saplings to which they had been tied, and soberly remounted to resume our journey. It had been ten of the morning ere we left Mountjoy, and we had come but slowly along the narrow forest paths. Now the sun was well down in the west, and clouds were gathering darkly overhead. William urged us to make haste lest we be caught in the cold rain that he prophesied would be falling ere night. So we took the road again, and, after all our good cheer and merry coursing, with our spirits strangely a droop. We rode but slowly, for we had no wish to overtake the travellers. On our woodland roads, tis well to beware of strangers, especially when night approaches, and one is not yet in sight of friendly castle walls. If they, too, made for coventry, twas well, and we might follow them into the town without exchanging words, and if their way lay elsewhere, we could willingly spare their company. A mile or so we rode in quietness. Then, coming to the top of a rise where the path emerged from the woods, and half a mile of open moor lay before us, we beheld a sight which caused us to draw rain full suddenly, and to gaze again, under sheltering hands, at the place where the road again made into the forest. There were our three strangers in desperate fight with half a dozen men. The outlaws, for such they seemed, were roughly clad in gray homespun and Lincoln Green, and armed with bows and quarter-staves. They did swiftly run and dodge from behind one tree-trunk to another, evading the sword-strokes of the horsemen, and sending shaft after shaft against them. Even as we gazed, an arrow pierced the quilted jacket of one of the men at arms, or found a spot uncovered at the throat, and brought him heavily to the ground. For one quick throbbing moment I looked at Cedric to spell, if I might, his thoughts at this juncture. Should we turn back, are the outlaws spied us, and make good our scape in the forest? The band might be far larger than it seemed, often a hundred or more of these robbers consorted under the banner of some famous outlaw chief. If we went forward we might but add to the number of their victims. Then came the voice of old William, cracked and broken with his fear for our safety, and striving hard to stay us from an empress which seemed certain death. Turn, masters, turn ere they side us. We are too few and too lightly armed to face such numbers. And we go forward they'll spit us with their shafts, like a roast at the fire. Come, Sir Dickon, I pray thee. My Lord Mountjoy leans upon me to bring thee safe through, back to the Greenwood, while yet there's time. I uttered it not a word, and firmly held my rest of steed. But I saw in Cedric's face no thought of flight, nor care for life or limb. Rather, the look of a noble hound that spies the frothing tusker bore at slaughter of his comrades, and beseeches but the word that loses him against the monster's flank. And now Cedric's horse and mine sprang forward together. To this day I know not of any subtle thought of riding to the attack. May hap the limbs that came to me as my heritage, from a line of fighting men that never endured to see foul ambush and treachery have their way, did move without any guidance, and set the spurs against my horse's sides. Cedric rode the great war-horse which he had won from the Carlton, and though my own mount was a fair tall stallion, half of Arab's strain, the forester drew ahead on the rough pathway, in while he drew his crossbow cord, and fitted bolt to groove. In a moment I had charged my weapon also, and then I found old William by my side, his crossbow in his hands, and all his protests forgotten. Now the hooves of our mounts thundered most sweetly on the sword, and for all the folly of our venture, I felt such uplifting of the heart as I had known but once or twice before in all my life. As we neared the fray at the wood's edge, I shouted the battle cry of mountjoy, and my two companions joining with a will, we came down upon the violets like a troop of armored horse. As we approached, it was clear that the outlaws had all the better of the fight. One of the men at arms lay dead on the ground, and the other, though still fighting blindly, had twice been pierced by arrows in neck and face. The robbers had a chieftain who carried no bow, but a sword only, and who had been ordering and cheering on his men while striking no blow himself. Now the youth in the white tunic, who had received no hurt as yet, dashed toward him and struck full bravely with his golden-hilted sword, but wildly and in a way unskilled. The robber met the blow with a twisting parry that struck the hilt from the boy's hand, and sent the blade whirling away into the underbrush. Then, leaping forward, he seized the youth's shoulder and pulled him from his horse. Drawing rain at fifty yards, we all three let fly our bolts, Cedric and old William, each bringing down his men. My own bolt flew wide of the robber captain because of my fear of striking the youth who was now his prisoner. Then, dropping the bow, I betook me to a weapon more natural to my temper, and, sword in hand, was instantly in combat with the chief. He pushed the boy behind him and gave me blow for blow, and truth to tell, he handled his blade, the weapon of a knight and gentleman, with a skill far beyond that of any yeoman I have known. Our blades flashed merrily in the sunlight that now streamed through a rent in the western clouds, and I lost all knowledge of the fray around us. I fought on horseback and he on foot, but he gave no inch of ground saved to leap from side to side in avoiding my downward strokes. All his thrusts I managed to parry, but, somewhat with swordsmanship and more with wondrous quickness of foot, he likewise foiled mine. Twice had I essayed the best of all my tricks of fence, only to fail in reaching my tall and nimble enemy. I was gathering my wits for another stratagem, the which might take him off his guard, when suddenly, and to my great amaze, he leaped aside from my attack and sprang behind a tree-trunk. From there he leaped to another, farther in the forest, and so, by running and hiding, quickly disappeared in the green wood. I looked about me, dizzyed with the quickness of that which had befallen, and beheld a sight for tears and groaning. Both the stranger men at arms lay dead on the oak leaves amidst the bodies of five of the outlaws who had been slain by their swords and our crossbow bolts, and lying with his shoulders half supported by Cedric's arms was our faithful old William, his breast pierced by a cloth yard shaft, and his eyes just closing in death. Cedric sadly laid down the body of our old retainer, and I thought it fitting to make a hasty prayer for his soul's peace. Then, as I rose, the stranger youth came forward haltingly. Me thought he had a most winsome face, with honest eyes of blue and with brown and curling hair. I was about to offer some friendly greeting, when our ears were afraid by a loud blast of a hunting-horn which came from a furlong's distance in the wood. Cedric's face changed instantly, and he grasped at my elbow. Quick, Sir Dickon, he cried. Let us mount in a way. Yon notes are the call of the robber chief to all his band. They'll be here anon and slay us every one if we make not haste. Come, then, I answered, and seizing the youth's hand in lieu of other greeting, I drew him swiftly toward his horse, and, mounting my own, wheeled back into the pathway. Cedric, with one bound, was on his horse's back, but the stranger was slower in his movements, seeming mazed and like one in a dream with the suddenness of these turns of fortune. I caught the bridal reign of his horse which had somewhat strayed, and then indeed he came quickly forward and climbed to the saddle. But a precious moment had been lost, and now, just as we emerged on the moor, there came a deadly flight of arrows from the wood. The archers were yet a hundred paces off, and low-hanging bows did much deflect their shafts. But my horse was sorely stricken and reared and flung me to the earth. Another arrow struck mortally the stranger boy's bay gilding, and a third pierced my doubly sleeve and drew a spurt of blood. Quick, shouted Cedric, mount with me both of ye, quick for your lives! Reaching down, he fairly lifted the stranger to a place in front of him, while I seized his belt and madly scrambled up behind. Then the forester set spurs to his horse's sides, and that splendid steed, despite his triple burden, was off with a bound. But now, alas, the outlaws were at the wood's edge. Another flight of arrows whistled about our ears, and the stranger, with a groan, clapped his right hand to his side and tried manfully to pluck away a shaft which was quivering there. His violent clutch served but to break the wood and left the barb embedded in the flesh. Cedric threw one arm about him lest he fall, and shouting to me to cling tightly to his waist, spurred madly on, blind to all but the path before him. The robbers came streaming from the wood, and seeing that our one remaining horse was now burdened with the weight of three riders, dashed after us on foot with the hope, not ill founded, of overtaking and slaying us. Some of these men of the green wood can leap and run very like the deer they chase, and, had not our horse been the best and strongest that ever I bestowed, they might have gained upon us on the open heath enough to have made sure work of their archery. But momently we drew away from them, and none of their whizzing shafts did further harm. Indeed, had not Cedric been feigned to check our speed lest our burdened mounts stumble in the rough and treacherous pathway, we might have shortly distanced them. As it was, we came again to the forest which we had left a quarter hour before, and the smoother road beneath the oak trees, with the shouting rubber band of furlong behind us. Then for the first time spake the youth that rode so unsteadily before us. Deathly pale he was, and his voice like that of one on a sick bed. Masters, he murmured, I fear my hurt is mortal, and you vainly risk your lives for mine. Put me down, I pray you, on the oak leaves, that I may die in peace, and you may escape with no more hurt. That we will not, I cried hotly. We'll bear thee away to safety, spite of all. Look what now we gain upon them, a quarter hour will see us well beyond their reach. I cannot bear it, he answered faintly. I bleed full sorely, and my needs must rest. With that his color left him utterly, his blue eyes twitched and closed. He fainted, and but for Cedric's arm must surely have fallen. Cedric turned to me and whispered, Save him we must, or we are no true men. Surely we must save him, I echoed, but how shall we compass it? If he have not full rest soon, and the dressing of his herk, he will surely die. One chance there still remains, he answered softly, though in the essay we give over our own near side of safety. What sayest thou, shall we attempt it? With all my heart, I cried, Shall we make stand in some rock cranny hereabouts? To this the forester made no reply. We were riding down a slope toward a wide but shallow stream, which we must ford. The outlaws were hid from view by the rise behind us, but we could still hear their shouts and knew that they had by no means given or the hope of reaching us. Midway in the current Cedric sharply pulled his horse's head to the right, and leaving the pathway utterly, spurred him at a trot of the sandy and pebbly bed of the stream. A turn soon hid the ford from view, and this not a moment too soon, for now again we heard the outlaws coming down the hill in hot pursuit. Cedric drew rain for an instant, and we heard them splashing through the shallows of the ford, and then their running feet on the path beyond. A bow shot farther on we drew out from the stream bed, and made better going in the open woods of a valley which led upwards toward the rocky hills to the northward. Dust know this place? I asked of Cedric. I, he answered shortly, to his known as Wolf's Head Glen. Then we came to a thicker wood growth, and he had much adieu to guide the war-horse safely in the tangle and to keep the bows from the face of the stricken youth before him. Once more we entered the stream bed, and again emerged where the forest was of older growth and had little underwood to check us. We had come a mile or more from the pathway, when of a sudden the forester drew rain and looked with care about him. Then he leaped down, leaving me to hold the wounded boy, and made his way up a rocky slope to a tangle of saplings and thorn bushes. These at one point he drew apart. Then he disappeared, crawling on hands and knees into the darkness beyond. Speedily he returned, and now a glad and hopeful look was on his face. "'Tis well,' he said. We yet will save him. Here is shelter and safe hiding if I mistake not." He lifted down the boy, and together we bore him up the slope and threw the narrow, thorny pathway. Beyond was a rocky cave with space enough for half a dozen men to lie on the beds of leaves the winds had drifted in, though nowhere high enough to let one stand erect. The mouth was safely covered by the growth of sapling trees and briars, and one might pass at twenty paces and ne'er suspect it. We laid down our burden on the leaves. The poor youth's face was so white and still, and his hands so cold that truly I thought we were too late, and that his spirit had fled. But Cedric stripped away the garments from the lads breast and laid his ear against it. Then he rose and nodded brightly. He lives. We yet will save him. First let us make ready a bandage, then pluck this shaft away and bind the wound. I quickly stripped me of a linen garment of which Cedric did make a soft dressing and shield for the hurt. Then I held the quivering side while Cedric firmly drew away the arrow. As it came forth the boy gave a piteous groan and his eyes flickered open, but quickly closed again. The bleeding started afresh, but the forester, with a wondrous deftness, applied the bandage and closely fastened it with strips that went about the body and over the shoulders of the lad. Then we brought water in an iron cup, which Cedric carried at his girdle, and bathed the boy's white face. Soon his eyes opened once more, and he asked for a drink. When the lad's thirst was sated and he knew us again, Cedric stole out with crossbow drawn to make his way a little down the glen and see if any of the robber band had trailed us. Seeing not of them, he quickly returned and took our good steed and, first giving him to drink at the stream, tethered him in a close thicket half a furlong off, where he might browse in quiet and may up escape the notice of our enemies. An hour later we redressed our companion's hurt, using a poultice of healing leaves which Cedric had found by the brookside and crushed between stones. Soon the lad fell asleep, and though sometimes beset with grievous pains and babbling dreams, did rest not ill for one who had been so near to death. Cedric and I watched the night out, sitting with drawn bows at the cave-mouth. The stars were bright but there was no moon and little wind, and our talk was low lest after all some of the outlaws might be near. Half in whispers he told me the story of the glen and its name. It seems that an honest yeoman, John of the Wendell, who had been his father's friend in his youth, had had the mischance to quarrel with a sheriff's man and, to save his own life, had pierced him with a cloth-yard shaft. Then John Wendell had fled to the forest and become a wolf's head, which is the name the commonelty have for outlaws, since the killing of either wolves or outlaws may bring a bounty from the crown. For years he had lived in this very glen, with his hiding-place in the cave known to but a few faithful friends. Often he was pursued to the little valley, but among its woods and streams always shook off the sheriff's trailers and made good his escape. Finally the legend grew that he was befriended by unseen powers and changed himself to a wolf whenever he crossed the little stream at the place where so many times his trail had been lost. Cedric's father, Albert of Pelhamwood, had once brought him to this spot to visit the outlaw after he had become old and was far gone in his last sickness, and a few days later the two foresters had buried the wolf's head near the cave where he had lived. Just after Don, Cedric, sitting at watch, pierced with a crossbow bolt a hair that was hopping through the underwood fifty paces off. Most cautiously we built a little fire within the cave and roasted the meat for our breakfast, we being of sharpest appetites through having eaten not since the middle of the day before. Some of the tenderest bits we offered to the stranger, and he did try to eat, but with no avail, for he grew dizzy when we raised him from his couch. Cedric's face grew grave at this, and soon he came and placed his hand upon the cheek and neck of the lad. What he found made him frown most anxiously at me. The face of the wounded youth had now lost all its paleness, twas flushed and something swollen into the touch near burning hot. Sir Dickon, called Cedric suddenly, we must move him, and quickly, to where a leech can tend him, he hath a fever, and with it his wound will not heal. Can we issue from this wood by any other road than that on which we left the robbers? I questioned. If so be, may have we can reach to Manorley Lodge. There is a steep pathway higher in the Glen that doth issue on Wilton Road. If we gain that, is not above two leagues to Manorley. Then let us go. I wager we meet not again with the outlaws. They ever scatter and hide themselves after a fray like that of yesterday. Our steed must carry three as before. It will be but an hour's ride. Soon, Cedric had returned from the thicket with the steed. We had lifted the stranger as gently as might be, and, mounting also, were on our way out of the forest. Now I rode in the saddle and held the boy in his place, and Cedric sat behind me, with drawn crossbow and bolt in groove. We met Nun to gaince us, and soon emerged from the wood. For a quarter hour we made such speed as we might along the road to Manorley. Then all at once the youth's body grew limp in my arms, and I saw that again his wound bled full sorely, and that once more he yielded to a deathlike fainting. I drew rain, and we dismounted, laying the boy on the leaves by the side of a little brook. For anxious moments we knelt beside him, bathing his forehead with the cold water, listening in vain for his heartbeats, and much in fear that his eyes would never reopen. Then, of a sudden, we heard iron-shot hoofs on the roadway, and a man's rough voice in surprise and angry threatening. Hold, what have we here? Fire-lady, tis the mount joist. In a twinkling armed and mounted men were all about us, and with a heart-like lead I recognized the Carleton livery. We could neither fight nor fly. Half a dozen stout-minute arms leaped from their horses and rushed upon us. We had not struck a blow ere they overthrew us and wrenched our weapons from our hands. In a moment more my hands and Cedric's were fast bound with halters like those of scurvy thieves that go to pay their penalty upon the gibbet. Ha! Look but here, cried the leader, who I now saw to be none other than the man who had so sworn against us at the trial of Shrewsbury. These are young Sir Richard and the Forrester that slew Sir Lionel, but six months gone. And now we come on them again red-handed. See this foul wickedness that they have done? What say you now? Shall we not rope them up to yonder limb and requittle? Aye! Aye! Let's hang them and quickly! cried another. Men of Carleton said aye from where I lay upon the ground. We are no murderers, but if slay us you must let us at least have the death of men and soldiers. I am the heir of a noble house that yields no jot to any Carleton, and my comrade here is a freeman of England with no smerch on his name, tis not fitting that ye visit on us the punishment of thieves. Ho! jeered the leader. Here the young hound of Mount Joy now caught in the sheepfold, tis like if we listen to him that he in his pell environment will yet concoct some plan to escape us. Quick men, the halters, for we have other and sadder work to do. Then for a moment all the forest and the blue sky seemed to turn to blackness around me. There was a roaring in my ears, like to that I heard when as a child I fell one day from the footboard over the waters of the mill-race, and came not up to breathe till I reached the other side of the whirlpool below. Then from the midst of this reeling nightmare I heard a voice saying faintly, Oh, Hubert, what dost thou hear? And what do ye to these friends of mine that they lie on the ground in bonds? The stranger youth was sitting up on his leafy couch. His face was still deadly pale, but his eyes gleamed brightly. Our lady be thanked. He lives, muttered the leader of the men at arms, to my utter amaze doffing his headpiece before the stricken youth. Then in answer, Master Godfrey, God be thanked. They have not murdered thee. But these are Sir Richard of Mount Joy and the forester, Cedric, the very same that did to death thy brother Lionel. Now we shall swing them from yonder oak-limb, till heal thee faster to see thy enemies thus justly served. Hubert, thou shalt not on thy life, cried Jeffrey. His weak voice shrill with passion. Be they Mount Joy's or be they sons of Beelzebub, they are good men and true, and have over and again risked their lives for mine, and I do verily believe that the tale they told at the Shrewsbury trial was the truth, and that my brother brought his death upon himself. Now cut those bonds, and quickly. The soldier yet hesitated, and muttered somewhat beneath his breath. I tell thee, Hubert, broke out Jeffrey afresh, thou shalt lose them, and give them horses that they may ride safely to Mount Joy. If thou disobey me, verily I'll have thee beaten with rods and cast in the lowest dungeon of Terremor. Another of the men at arms now spoke aside to Hubert. He is the Master Hubert, and we must even obey. Forget not that, since the death of Lionel, young Sir Jeffrey is himself the Carlton. Hubert drew his dagger and came toward me. From the look on his ugly face I much misdoubted whether he meant to carry out the commands of his young Master or to stab me to the heart. But he quickly cut the rope that bound my wrists, and then did a like service for Cedric. We stood erect and made our bows before the young Lord of Carlton. Sir Jeffrey, said I slowly, thy house and mine have been bitter enemies, but glad am I to call thee friend. Wilt thou clasp hands in token? For answer his face lighted up with his most winsome smile, and he extended toward me his right hand in fellowship. To Cedric also he gave a clasp of such hardiness as he could compass, calling him the while, brave, rescuer, and comrade. Then, turning again to me, he said. Sir Richard of Mount Joy, mount this horse of Hubert's here, which I freely give thee, while Cedric rides the good steed that bore us so bravely through the forest. My men shall make for me a litter of poles, with robes and garments slung between, and bear me to manorly. There will I bide till my wound is healed. Say to thy father, the Lord of Mount Joy, that I renounce all the vengeance that my father and my brother swore against him, and that I extend to him also the hand of friendship. It will please me well if, while I still lie at manorly, he and thou and Cedric come riding there and visit me. And so good-bye with all my heart. May thou win safely home, and heaven's blessing follow thee. Gladly we mounted and reigned our horse's heads toward home. As we left the little glade we turned for one more look at the pale youth, lying half prostrate on his couch of leaves, and our hearts did swell with gladness to know his life was safe, and that no longer was he a stranger or an enemy. And once more we caught his winsome smile and the wave of his hand that bet us Godspeed. CHAPTER VII. The Outlaws of Blackpool Twas a fortnight after the fray with the outlaws on the borders of Blackpool Forest, where, all unknowing, we had saved the life of young Sir Jeffrey of Carlton, heir of the house that for so long had been our bitterest enemy, that my father and I rode with Cedric, my comrade and squire, and six stout men at arms over the hill road to Manorly. There our new-made friend Sir Jeffrey lay recovering from his wound. Lord Mount Joy wore helmet and cuirass, and his good two-handed broadsword swung by his side, while both Cedric and I wore shirts of linked mail, and our followers each a quilted shaft-proof leather jacket. Cedric carried the crossbow, which he had often used to such good purpose, and I, the sword of Damascus steel which my father had riven from a Saracen noble in the Holy Land. With all we made a brave array on the woodland roads, and one of which the boldest band of outlaws, with their bows and bills and coats of Lincoln Green, might well beware. But no enemy gained Cedric on the road, and at two o'clock we rode across the drawbridge of our good friend and neighbor, the lady of Manorly. She paid us welcome in the courtly manner to which she was bred, and ushered us to the great hall. Jeffrey was reclining in a great chair before the fire, and rose to greet us with most joyous face. His wound was healing fast, as we had known from the messengers who had passed almost daily to and fro. But the young Lord of Carlton was still pale with the bloodletting, and could leave his chair no longer than the courtesy of a host demanded. As he shook hands with my father, the Lord of Mountjoy, his words of heartfelt welcome and the smile on his winsome face made amends for the weakness of his clasp, and I was filled with joy to see that my father warmed to him at once, and for his sake willingly forgot the deeds of the old gray wolf who had been Lord of Carlton. When Jeffrey was again seated, and we had found places on the benches around him, the lady of Manorly brought to us some most dainty cakes, and cups of hot, mulled wine, serving us with her own hands, as is the custom when guests of quality are welcomed. There ensued an hour of goodly talk, Jeffrey of Carlton, playing my father with questions of that which he loves best to speak, the wars for the Holy Sepulchre's recovery, and Cedric and I listening or putting in our words as occasion offered. Jeffrey heard from me the tale of our Archer festival, and of old Marvin's and Cedric's wondrous progress with the crossbow. Then by degrees we came to the story of the day whereon Cedric and I and poor old William came upon the outlaw band in Blackpool that sought to kill his two retainers and make him prisoner. And we lived over again and enjoyed the battle at the forest's edge and the bloody and desperate chase that followed. When that tale had been fully told by us three youths, speaking sometimes in turn and sometimes at the most perilous passages, crying out altogether what had chanced, Jeffrey turned to me to say, but Sir Richard, in the forest where I first sobbed the Cedric at the fire, that was a most sweet ballad you did sing, can you not raise it again? I have a great mind to hear it. At this, nothing loath, I turned my eyes to the rafter and began the lay. Cedric, joining in with his sweet harmonising, did give it a grace which else it had sadly lacked, and the Hall of Manorly rang with it even as had the little glade in the wood. Lady Manorly came again to the door of the hall and behind her a half-dozen of her maids and serving-men. Jeffrey and the others loudly cried, And the second time my father took up the lay with us, so it went rousingly into the delight of the whole company. When at last we seized, Jeffrey declared that the song and the gay and heartening talk with all had done for him more good than all the herbs and poultices of the leech, and that with one more day like to this he verily believed he could ride abroad whole and sound. Our audience departed with the end of the singing, and then Lord Mountjoy spoke most seriously. What thou sayest, Sir Jeffrey, puts me in mind that in these rough times there is other work for us who are verily whole and sound than this chaffering and singing at a bonny fireside, most pleasant though it be. I must besture myself to punish these greedy rascals of the greenwood that set upon to rob and murder all those that go the forest roads not armed to the teeth and in strong company. Tiz said that the unhung varlet that so sorely beset thee hath now no less than seven score bowmen at his back. Tomorrow I ride to enlist the aid of my Lord of Pelham with his twenty archers, and as soon thereafter as may be to Dunwoody of Grimsby, the good lady who is now our hostess will doubtless send some men at arms and foresters. We shall make up a company that can take blackpool wood from all its sides at once, and it shall go hard, but we send a half hundred of the rogues to their reckoning. During this speech the eyes of the young Lord of Carlton had grown bright as with a fever, and he could hardly wait for my father to come to an end before crying out, oh good Mountjoy, my friend, if thou art my friend indeed, stay this goodly enterprise but a few short months, or weeks may happen, and let me join with thee. This outlaw chief, whom now I learn is called the monk's lair from certain of his bloody deeds, hath offered both injury and insult to the house of Carlton. Two of my faithful men he slew, and me he took prisoner and would have held for high ransom if indeed he spared my life, had it not been for Sir Richard and Cedric here, and that were the old archer of Mountjoy who met his death fighting in my behalf. Give me but two short months I ask no more to heal me of my wound and make some practice of arms, and I will ride with thee to the hunting of this outlaw and his band with forty minute arms and eight score archers from Carlton and Terremor. So shall we make short and sure work of it. My father gazed at the glowing face of our new-made friend, and plain it was to me that the liking he had at first conceived for the lad suffered nothing from this headlong eagerness to be up and doing with arms in his hands. Turning to Cedric and me with a broad and happy smile, Lord Mountjoy said, Well lads, twas your quarrel and Sir Geoffrey's at the first. What say you? Shall we risk the scattering and scaping of these rogues by waiting till the fall for him? For I plainly see that, with all good will, he cannot rightly ride and fight before that time in such a rough campaign as this will be. Oh, let us wait, father! I cried. Sir Geoffrey hath the right in saying to especially the Carlton's quarrel, and will be a fine sight for all the countryside to see the banners of Mountjoy and of Carlton waving together in so good a cause after all these years of enmity. May hap Sir Geoffrey will return with usury the arrow-shot he had from those scurvy names, if so, it will not be an ill beginning for his career and arms. Cedric, who was ever a few words, nodded his head at this speech of mine, and so twas settled among us. Through the summer months we would strike no blow at the outlaws save in defense, but at the fall of the leaf when the woods made not so close a cover, we would fall upon them in their fastnesses with all our forces at once, and so destroy and scatter them that the woodland roads of the whole county would be free of their kind for years to come. A week later Sir Geoffrey took his way to his great castle at Terremor under a strong escort of Carlton men-arms. Ten days thereafter Cedric and I rode thither to pay a promised visit and to talk of the outlaw hunt and our great plans for the days to follow. Sir Geoffrey showed himself a most gracious host, and we passed some goodly hours in the Carlton Hall and in the courtyard where Cedric did try most manfully to impart to Geoffrey and me some measure of his crossbow skill. For my own handling of this weapon I fear that all Cedric's and Old Marvin's teachings are bootless, and that never shall I shoot with any certainty. But to Cedric's huge delight Sir Geoffrey took to the exercise like one born in a forester's cottage. In half an hour he was striking marks at fifty paces that were small enough for Cedric's own aim at twice that distance, and his instructor was prophesying he would be a bonny archer long before he could well handle a broadsword. This I thought likely enough, for Geoffrey though his age lacked but half a year of Cedric's in mind, was somewhat lightly built and had not yet the reach and the forearm muscles that make a swordsman. T'was plain that among us three I should long remain the master with this best of weapons, and with this thought to console me I took it not ill that I should prove such a poor third at the archery. That night as Cedric and I sat at board with my father and mother we were full of talk of the day's doings, and I was already planning festival days and nights when the Carlton's and the Mountjoy's and all our friends of Pelham and of Manorly should foregather at Mountjoy or at Teremor for feasts and dancing in such ways as had been in days of yore. Suddenly my mother interrupted all this talk and planning with a sober question. And the lady of Carlton, Geoffrey's mother, did she greet thee full courteously to-day, Dickon? At once I felt as one who treads in icy water where he had thought to meet firm ground. Nay, mother, we saw her not at all, save for a glimpse at chamber window as we rode toward the drawbridge. Ah, then she was not abroad, it seems. Nay, she kept her chamber. May hap she was not well. Did Sir Geoffrey make for her her excuse? My face as I could feel grew burning red as I made answer. Nay, he said no word of her. Then Lady Mountjoy turned to my father who had been closely listening. It seems, my lord, that we shall not soon ride toward Teremor. My father sadly shook his head and gazed at the board before him. He had been glad at heart at the thought of the healed breach between the two houses, and now it seemed that all such thoughts were vain. May hap Lady Carlton will ride over with Sir Geoffrey when next week he comes to Mountjoy as he promised, I offered. My father again shook his head. May hap she will, Dickon. If so be, she shall have the right hand of welcome. But much I missed out her coming to Mountjoy. When all is said, to his but natural, she cannot bring herself to call us friends. It was we of Mountjoy that did to death her husband and her eldest son. And though we know well, and have maintained it by oath and by arms, towards both in fair battle, on our part at least, and that they brought their deaths upon themselves, yet perhaps tis too much to expect her to credit our words and deeds that give the lie to those of her own house. Nay, I see it now. She will never be a friend of Mountjoy. He sighed deeply and turned again to his carving. None of us had more words, and it seemed that a cold fog, like those that come from the western sea and springtime, had settled on our spirits. Four days later Sir Geoffrey came to Mountjoy, attended by a well-armed retinue, but his Lady Mother was not with him, and again he said no word of her. We made the young heir of Carlton full welcome to Mountjoy, and spent the day with meat and drink and the practice of arms. With the crossbow he did even better than before, and showed himself not too dull a learner at the foils. But the gaiety we had had at Terremor was not with us at Mountjoy. T'was as if some shriveled witch had envied us our merriment, and put a spell upon us to destroy it. Something of this Sir Geoffrey seemed to feel at last, and the sun was yet three hours high when he took course for his return. So passed the summer. We did not ride again to Terremor, nor did Sir Geoffrey come to Mountjoy. Once I learned that he visited the Lady of Manorly, and Cedric and I took the same day to pay our own respects. We had much good talk of the outlaw band and of the great day that was now fast approaching, but of Lady Carlton and the new peace that reigned between Mountjoy and Carlton no word was spoken. Came a day in Fair October that minded me full sharply of that one a year ago, whereon I had met Lionel of Carlton in the woods of Terremor. The men of Mountjoy were easily astir, and forescore strong, counting the men at arms, the crossbowmen, and the foresters with their long bows and clotheard shafts. Were making toward their posts on the hither side of Blackpool Wood. On our left, two furlongs off, were Lord Pelham and his archers. To the right, the score or so of Manorly retainers, and Squire Dunwoody with half a hundred yeoman. On the far side of the forest, three leagues away, we knew that young Sir Jeffery with dower-faced old Hubert led nigh two hundred Carlton men at arms and bowmen, and Lionel of Montmorency a hundred more. We were to march in open line, converging toward the center of the wood at Grim Blackpool. Any of the robbers found in hiding were to be captured or slain, and whichever leader first encountered the outlaws in force was to give three long notes on his hunting-horn. Then half the forces of all the others were immediately to join him, leaving the remainder to guard all lines of possible escape. Our plans had been well kept secret amongst the leaders. Not one of our own men knew them until that very morning. With all it promised to be a most unlucky day for those cutthroat-naves who had so long cheated the gallows. Our march was slow as well might be in all those breaks and rocky glens. Now and again a lurking nave in Lincoln Green was found and quickly made prisoner, or if he made resistance even more quickly disposed of. Some, however, were too fleet of foot for capture by our more heavily burdened men, and after sending a shaft or two at the line of skirmishers made good their escape into the wood before us. It was ten by the sun when we heard from Dunwoody, far on our right, the three long blasts of the horn. Instantly my father and I took half our men, and leaving the rest under old Marvin the archer ran through the forest toward the fray. Afterward we learned to our cost that some of our leaders took not so careful thought of the places of their forces in the skirmish line, but rushed off at once to the alarm, followed by well-knigh their whole companies, leaving in places gaps of a mile or more in what should have been our close-drawn cordon. Be that as it might, ten minutes had not passed before Dunwoody with his half-hundred archers was reinforced by a gallant army of bowmen and men-at-arms. The outlaws, a hundred or more in number, and led by the monk slayer himself, had been pressing Dunwoody hard. The robber-chief, carrying a sword and wearing the steel cap and breast-plate of a knight, stood forth from all shelter, commanding and exhorting his followers apparently with no fear at all of flying shafts and quarrels. The men of Dunwoody manner fought from behind trees and rocks, and most of them had quilted leather jackets, but they were no match in archery, for the outlaws, many of whom, by virtue of their skill with the longbow, had lived for years in the forest and never lacked for venison or greatly feared the sheriff and his men. Half a dozen Dunwoody archers, already lay weltering on the leaves, struck through throat or face with clothyard shafts, and only one or two of the robber-naves had been likewise served. Our coming, however, changed all in a twinkling. Mountjoy struck the outlaws on one flank, just as Lionel of Montmorency came down upon the other. In the time a man would need to run a furlong's length, a score or more of the violets were slain by shafts and crossbow quarrels or by the swords of our men-at-arms. Fifty more had glapsed their hands above their heads in token of surrender, and the monk's lair and the remainder of his crew had taken flight toward the center of the forest. My father, who had been chosen leader by the other nobles, now called a halt and sent out a half dozen messengers to right and left to see and report to him the state of our cordon. Some of these returned in half an hour with their news, while others made the entire circuit of the forest, bearing Lord Mountjoy's commands for the reforming and tightening of the skirmish line, and for the delaying of further advance till he should give the word. Since the scattering of the main body of the robbers, a number of the fugitives had been creeping back with their hands tightly clasped over their heads and begging for quarter. It was my father's thought that, in a day's time, these desertions from the outlaw band would be so many that the task of surrounding and taking the remainder and the monk's lair himself would be a light one. At two o'clock Sir Jeffrey joined us with thirty of his men. The main body he had left under old Hubert on the other side of Blackpool. He was aching for a sight of the outlaws and deemed our chances of encountering them again better than those along the line he had been guarding. Sir Jeffrey had grown brown and sturdy in the summer just past, and had added near an inch to his stature. Now he handled his crossbow like a skilled archer, and was soon in eager talk with Cedric over the practice at moving marks. Our camp was made in a fair and pleasant glen, some two or three miles from Blackpool. We had eaten of the bread and meat in our pouches, and sat at ease about our campfires, my father having well seen to it that sentinels were posted against any sorty of the enemy. Suddenly one of these, half a furlong away in the wood, called out to us and pointed down a pathway to where it crossed a stream, a bow-shot below our camp. There were approaching two men in the Lincoln Green and bearing a cloth of white which had been tied to a rough pole standard. Ha! cried Squire Dunwoody. Here come two of the varlots with the message. We shall hear it, and if we like it not we'll hang them up to yonder limb. Nay! cried my father angrily. We shall do no violence to bearers of a flag of truce, be they honest men or thieves. Tis like the monkslayer begs for mercy, but what ere his message, the bearers of it, shall return to him unscathed. The envoys now approached, and bowing low before Lord Mountjoy, delivered to him a folded parchment. My father bent his brows upon this for a moment, then exclaiming in wrath, bade me read it to the assembled company. These were the words of the scroll. To Robert, Lord of Mountjoy, Jeffrey, heir of Carlton, and other worshipful lords and gentlemen. Know that my men have this day taken prisoner and now securely hold for ransom Elizabeth Lady of Carlton with two of her attendants. Some three score of my Greenwood Rangers are now held captive by you if indeed you have not already done violence upon them. These friends and followers of mine I now ask that you freely release without injury or mutilation, and that they go free before the sunrise of tomorrow. Also that you then withdraw all your armed forces from Blackpool Forest. Then shall the lady and her attendants likewise depart without harm from me or mine. If so be you refuse my terms, then when the sun is one hour high you shall receive a messenger from me who will bear with him the left hand of the aforesaid Lady of Carlton. If by sunset of tomorrow my men have not been suffered to freely return, another messenger shall bring you the lady's right hand. My fastness you shall never take. If you attempt it at the first alarm the prisoners shall die. Enough is said to make plain my will. Those who have had dealings with me will tell you that my word for good or for ill I always keep. William of Tyndale, called by some the monkslayer. Oh, the murderous varlots! cried Sir Jeffrey, and I thought it no shame to him that tears streamed down his face. They will cut off her hands to her better far that they slew her outright. Oh, to have that bloody villain for a moment within sure aim I would willingly die the instant after. How could she have been taken? asked Lord Mountjoy. I mined me now, replied Jeffrey, rigging his hands in misery. She ever went on Saturdays to tend my brother's grave at Lanton two miles from our gates and on the forest's edge. She was used to take an ample guard, but today I have taken nearly all our men at arms for this expedition. She liked it not that I should come, and now she has ventured forth without escort into my everlasting sorrow. Oh, that bloody villain! Hush, Sir Jeffrey! said my father quickly, his face working in sympathy with the lad's sore distress. They shall not harm thy lady mother. If need be and no other way will serve, we will even release our prisoners and thus pay her ransom. A mutter of discontent from some of the other leaders followed this, and done what he spoke full surly. Seven of my good yeomen have already been slain in this quarrel. Diverse of our friends have lost men also, and Lord Pelham hath been borne homewards with an arrow wound that came near to being mortal. Shall we have nothing for all this but the freeing of these farlets? What wouldst thou do then, Dunwoody? Leave the lady of Carlton in the hands of the outlaws? Dunwoody only growled in reply, and soon my father spoke again, this time to the outlaw messengers. Go to your chief, he said, and say that we consider his offer, but that if the lady of Carlton or her attendants be harmed one wit, we will hunt him and all his followers to the death, even if that hunting takes a thousand men and a years campaigning. Let him look to it. The messengers bowed again, and made their way into the deeps of the forest. My father and the nobles that were there gathered about the campfire in deep discussion of this sore dilemma. CHAPTER VIII. THE FORTRESS OF THE MONK'S LAIR. Cedric plucked at my sleeve and drew me aside. Thou and Sir Jeffery come with me a little, he whispered, I have somewhat to say on this. Quickly I sought out Jeffery and led him away into the bracken in which Cedric had already disappeared, a bow shot away from the camp we came up with him. Sir Richard, he said, speaking far more quickly than was his want, I have a thought of the whereabouts of this fastness that the robber speaks of in his letter. My heart leaped within me. If any one of all our company should know, it would be thou who art native to these woods and knowest them as the very deer that run them. I, he replied shortly, I believe, tis not two miles hence. What sayest thou? Shall we reconnoiter? With all my heart, I answered. Jeffery drew his crossbow cord and placed a bolt in groove. Lead on, Cedric, he said in a low voice. I will follow thee if tis to a lion's den. Come then, replied Cedric, and moved away through the underwood. He took a roundabout course to avoid our own sentries and their questions which might be hampering. In five minutes we had passed the line where a little ravine ran between the posts of two of the archers who stood on guard, and were hurrying through the wood, crouching for shelter behind trees and rocks and crossing the more open places in stooping runs lest we encounter the arrows of the outlaws. We saw none of our enemies, however, and in an hour were on a deeply wooded hillside amidst huge rocks and brawling streams, half a league and more from our camp fires. Now we knew from the added caution of our leader that we approached the spot he suspected as the fortress of the outlaws. He crouched and crawled like a serpent and fully as silently, turning to us from time to time to lay a finger on his lips. At last he paused at the foot of a huge old oak that yet bore most of its leaves, and motioning us not to follow, quickly drew himself up among the branches. For half a minute he lay on a great limb six yards above the ground and peered obliquely down the hillside at a point where we could see not but a little stream that issued between huge ledges. Then his face lighted up of a sudden, and he looked down to us and beckoned us to join him. This we managed with no more noise than might well be covered by the rustling of the oak leaves, and soon lay on the limb beside Cedric, and, peering out between the branches, beheld that to which his finger pointed. There was a narrow pathway which led up between the ledges, and, at a bend in this where they were concealed from any in the wood below, stood two tall archers in Lincoln Green, with axes in their belts, long bows in hand, and arrows ready notched. They neither saw nor heard ought of us, and we might have fired on them with goodly chance of slaying one or both, but Cedric now motioned us down to the ground again, and soon joined us beneath the tree. Without a word he retraced his steps through the forest, and by sundown we stood again amongst the ferns in the place where he had first revealed his thought. Then he spoke again. To his ear as I thought, the monk slayer hath his festness in a wide cavern at the head of yonder gully. There is no approach, save by that winding path you saw, where a half dozen men might well stop a thousand. He thinks to guard my Lady Carleton there until her ransom be paid, and whether even then he will let her go unharmed, we know not. Sir Jeffrey ground his teeth in rage. Has thou any plan? I asked of Cedric. I, he replied, though tis something ticklish, and if it fail to be an ill chance indeed. Say on Cedric, said Jeffrey eagerly. This is my thought, said Cedric. We have till tomorrow's sun rise before any harm shall befall thy Lady Mother. Now it would be disastrous to attack the fastness openly, but it may be that with two score of swordsmen creeping on them just before the dawn we can take them by surprise. Your archer is all at disadvantage in fighting at my arm's length, and if such a force can reach the cavern's mouth, I warrant we snatch away the prisoners almost before they are aware. The cave is broad, but not deep. I remember it full well. There is no room in it for hiding. But Cedric, I cried. How shall we reach the cave's mouth without alarm? Has thou forgotten the two sentries in the lower pathway? Cedric smiled broadly. And has thou forgotten, Sir Dickon, the oak tree from which we spied them but now? Old Marvin and I together shall care for the sentries. I drew a deep breath as I caught the full working of his plan. Cedric, I said. Thou wilt never remain a simple squire. Thou hast ahead as well as an arm. The king hath need for such in many places of trust. Let us first make this plan succeed, replied Cedric evenly, though I could see that my words had warmed him to the heart. Now shall we tell Lord Mountjoy? I, said I, let us have him from the camp at once. I warn't you he'll kindle at our news, and he knows which of our swordsmen will carry themselves best in such a venture. And I have twenty men of Carlton here that can be trusted put in Jeffrey. Right, said Cedric, will make us amply strong. We must have no blunderers, though, for, look you, some of these greenwood men have ears that can hear a twig break at two hundred paces. We must urge Lord Mountjoy to hold all at a safe distance till the signal. Two hours after the midnight we set out through the forest for the storming of the robber-fastness. Cedric, as pathfinder, was in the lead, followed close by Lord Mountjoy, Sir Jeffrey, and me. After us, and treading most cautiously amongst the leaves and brush, came old Marvin, the archer, and thirty chosen swordsmen of Mountjoy, with a score or more of Jeffrey's men. There was no moon, and the faint stars gave but little light in the forest deeps. Our way lay, as often as not, over steep and rocky slopes, where our faces were torn with thorns, and our legs bruised against the unseen rocks. We had made little more than half of our way to the outlaw stronghold when Lord Mountjoy, in coming down a streamlit bank on the darkness, stepped heavily on a stone that rolled beneath his weight, and went to the ground with his right foot twisted under him. He gave a groan of pain, yet in an instant was up again to resume his march. But then twas found this could not be. His ankle had been most sorely wrenched and would not at all endure his weight. He sank down again on a leafy bank, and called us to him. Amidst half-stifled groans and grumblings at his ill fortune, he declared he could not move from thence without assistance. There was no help for it. He must await our return. Therefore he gave over to me the leadership of the venture. We left with him two stout men-at-arms, and went quickly on, for now it seemed the sunrise could not be long in coming. At the fourth hour of the morning we lay by the streamlit bed two hundred paces from the robbers' sentry-posts in the rocky passage. Cedric and Old Marvin had left us to climb the hillside by another route and gain the branches of the great oak tree. Already there was a greyness in the dark that told of the coming dawn. Half an hour passed, and by little and little the trunks of the trees grew more clearly to be seen, and we could well make out each other's faces. Roosting wild fowl roused themselves and flew away with the clatter of wings. We knew that Cedric and Marvin awaited the daylight to make sure their aim. At last, on the top of a tall tree above me, I spied a beam of sunlight. Immediately, as it seemed, there came from the oak tree the call of an owl, twice repeated. This was the signal for which we waited, and we sprang up together and ran as silently as might be toward the pathway entrance. We gained it unmolested, and with Jeffrey and me in the lead quickly came upon the bodies of the sentries. Cedric and Marvin, from their post in the tree, had well done their work. The sentinels had perished silently, each with a bolt through his skull. We rushed forward, and now some of our arms rang against the stones, and there was a cry from above us. This was no time for stealth and creeping. On we went with a rush and with a clatter of heels on the rocks of the path, and of steel against steel as we jostled one another in the race. In a moment we were at the cavern's mouth, and found a score of the robbers on their feet to meet us. Arrows whizzed among us, and one or two men fell, mortally hurt. Jeffrey let fly his bolt at a tall villain that stood in his path and shot him fair between the eyes. Then I saw no more, for I was face to face with the outlaw chief, and our swords flashed fire. He still wore his steel breastplate, which I believe he had not laid aside that night, and this well matched the shirt of woven mail that had stayed two or three arrows which had otherwise laid me low. I felt taller and stronger at that moment than air before in my life, and my sword seemed a very plaything in my hands, like that of the Frenchman de Latille, who had so nearly done to death my father at the court at Shrewsbury. The outlaw was no novice with the sword, as I, who had once before crossed weapons with him, could well testify. But almost at the outset I brought to bear the play that, with my father's help, I had all that summer been perfecting. A swinging faint at the forearm turned itself in mid-air to a flashing thrust straight at his unguarded throat. I pierced him through and through, and he fell and died at my feet. Looking about me, I saw most of the outlaws dead or dying, and the remainder being fastbound as prisoners. Young Sir Jeffrey of Carleton had dropped his crossbow on the ground and stood with his mother's arms firmly clasped about his neck the while he whispered somewhat in her ear. At her side her two handmaids stood unharmed and loudly weeping for joy. As I stood looking, well content at this spectacle, the Lady of Carleton suddenly loosed her son and ran toward me. In an instant I, too, was clasped in a warm embrace. Richard of Mount Joy, she cried, Thou and Thine were my son's friends and rescuers, and now mine also, this day's deeds bespeak thee far better than any words. Heaven is my witness, I believe, thou art a true man, and hast spoken the truth as to thy dealings. All that we can do to serve thee shall be done. From this day forth and for ever, there shall be peace and love betwixt our house and Thine.