 CHAPTER XXI. There are now and then times in the life of everyone, when new and strange things occur, with such rapidity that one has hardly time to catch one's breath between the happenings, it is as though the old were crumbling away, breaking in pieces to give place to the new that is soon to take its place. So it was with Miles Foulworth about this time. The very next day after this interview in the bed-chamber, word came to him that Sir James Lee wished to speak with him in the office. He found the lean, grizzled old night alone, sitting at the heavy oaken table, with the tankard of spiced ale at his elbow, and a dish of wafers and some fragments of cheese on a pewter platter before him. He pointed to his clerk's seat, a joint stool somewhat like a camp-chair, but made of heavy oaken braces, and with a seat of hog-skin, and bade Miles be seated. It was the first time that Miles had ever heard of such courtesy being extended to one of the company of squires, and, much wondering, he obeyed the invitation, or rather command, and took the seat. The old night sat regarding him for a while in silence, his one eye as bright and as steady as that of a hawk, looking keenly from under the penthouse of its bushy brows, the while he slowly twirled and twisted his bristling, wiry mustaches, as was his want when in meditation. At last he broke the silence. How old art thou? said he abruptly. I be turned seventeen last April, Miles answered, as he had the evening before to Lord Mackworth. Huh! said Sir James, thou beest big of bone and frame for that age, I would that thy heart were more that of a man likewise, and less that of a giddy, hair-brained boy, thinking continually of not but mischief. Again he fell silent, and Miles sat quite still, wondering if it was on account of any special one of his latest escapades that he had been summoned to the office. The breaking of the window in the long hall by the stone he had flung at the rock, or the climbing of the south tower for the jack-daws' nest. Thou hast a friend, said Sir James, suddenly breaking into his speculations, of such a kind that few in this world possess. Almost ever since thou hast been here, he hath been watching over thee. Canst thou gas of whom I speak? Happily it is Lord George Beaumont, said Miles, he hath always been passing kind to me. Nay, said Sir James, it is not of him that I speak, though me thinks he likeeth well, you know. Hence thou keep a secret boy, he asked suddenly. Yea, answered Miles, and wilt thou do so in this case, if I tell thee who it is that is thy best friend here? Yea. Then it is my Lord who is that friend, the Earl himself, but see that thou breath not a word of it. Miles sat staring at the old night, in utter and profound amazement, and presently Sir James continued, Nay, almost ever since thou hast come here, my Lord hath kept oversight upon all thy doings, upon all thy mad pranks and thy quarrels and thy fights, thy goings out and coming in. What thinkest thou of that, Miles Fallworth? Again the old night stopped and regarded the lad, who sat silent, finding no words to answer. He seemed to find a grim pleasure in the youngster's bewilderment and wonder. Then a sudden thought came to Miles. Sir, said he, did my Lord know that I went to the privy garden, as I did? Nay, said Sir James, of that he knew not at first, until thy father bade thy mother write and tell him. My father ejaculated Miles. I, said Sir James, twisting his mustaches more vigorously than ever. So soon as thy father heard of that prank, he wrote straightway to my Lord that he should put a stop to what might in time have bred mischief. Sir, said Miles, in an almost breathless voice, I know not how to believe all these things, or whether I be awake or a dreaming. Thou beest surely enough awake, answered the old man, but there are other matters yet to be told. My Lord, thinketh, as others of us do, Lord George and myself, that it is now time for thee to put away thy boyish follies, and learn those things appertaining to manhood. Thou hast been here a year now, and hast had freedom to do as thou might list, but boy, and the old warrior spoke seriously, almost solemnly. Upon thee death rest matters of such great import, that did I tell them to thee thou couldst not grasp them. My Lord deems that thou hast may have promise beyond the common of men. Nevertheless it remaineth yet to be seen, and he be right. It is yet to test whether that promise may be fulfilled. Next Monday I and Sir Everard Willoughby take thee in hand to begin training thee in the knowledge and the use of the jousting lands of arms and of horsemanship. Thou art to go to Ralph Smith, and have him fit a suit of plain armour to thee which he hath been charged to make for thee against this time. So get thee gone! Think well over all these matters, and prepare thyself by next Monday. But stay, sirrah! he added, as Myles dazed and bewildered turned to obey. Breathe to no living soul what I had told thee, that my Lord is thy friend. Neither speak of anything concerning him, such is his own heavy command laid upon thee. Then Myles turned again without a word to leave the room. But as he reached the door, Sir James stopped him a second time. Stay, he called, I had nigh missed telling thee somewhat else. My Lord hath made thee a present this morning, that thou wouldst not of. It is, then he stopped for a few moments, perhaps to enjoy the full flavour of what he had to say. It is a great, Flemish horse, of true breed, and right, metal. A horse such as a knight of the noblest strain might be proud to call his own. Myles Falworth, thou art born upon a lucky day. Sir, cried Myles, and then stopped short. Then Sir, he cried again, didst thou say it? The horse was to be mine. I, it is to be thine. My very own? Thy very own. How Myles Falworth left that place he never knew. He was like one in some strange, some wonderful dream. He walked upon air, and his heart was so full of joy and wonder and amazement, that it thrilled almost to agony. Of course his first thought was of Gascoigne. How he ever found him he never could tell, but find him he did. Come, Francis, he cried, I have that to tell thee so marvellous, that had it come upon me from Paradise, it could not be more strange. Then he dragged him away to their airy. It had been many a long day since they had been there, and to all his friends' speeches, to all his wondering questions. He answered never a word until they had climbed the stairs, and so come to their old haunt. Then he spoke. Sit thee down, Francis, said he, till I tell thee that which passeth wonder. As Gascoigne obeyed, he himself stood looking about him. This is the last time I shall ever come hither, said he, and thereupon he poured out his heart to his listening friend in the murmuring solitude of the airy height. He did not speak of the earl, but of the wonderful new life that had thus suddenly opened before him, with its golden future of limitless hopes of dazzling possibilities of heroic ambitions. He told everything, walking up and down the while, for he could not remain quiet, his cheeks glowing, and his eyes sparkling. Gascoigne sat quite still, staring straight before him. He knew that his friend was ruffling eagle-pinions for a flight in which he could never hope to follow. And somehow his heart ached, for he knew that this must be the beginning of the end of the dear, delightful friendship of the year past. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Susan Umpleby. Men of Iron by Howard Pyle, Chapter 22 And so ended Miles Fowler's boyhood. Three years followed, during which he passed through that state which immediately follows boyhood in all men's lives. A time when they are neither lads nor grown men, but youths, passing from the one to the other period, through what is often an uncouth and uncomfortable age. He had fancied, when he talked with Gascoigne in the eerie that time, that he was to become a man all at once. He felt just then that he had for ever done with boyish things. But that is not the way it happens in men's lives. Changes do not come so suddenly and swiftly as that. But by little and little. For three or four days, maybe, he went his new way of life big with the great change that had come upon him. And then, now in this and now in that, he drifted back very much into his old ways of boyish doings. As was said, one's young days do not end all at once, even when they be so suddenly and sharply shaken, and Miles was not different from others. He had been stirred to the core by that first wonderful sight of the great and glorious life of manhood opening before him. But he had yet many a sport to enjoy, many a game to play, many a boisterous romp to riot in the dormitory, many an expedition to make to cops and spinny and river on days when he was off duty, and when permission had been granted. Nevertheless, there was a great and vital change in his life, a change which he hardly felt or realized. Even in resuming his old life, there was no longer the same vitality, the same zest, the same enjoyment in all these things. It seemed as though they were no longer a part of himself. The saver had gone from them, and by and by it was pleasanter to sit looking on at the sports and the games of the younger lads than to take active part in them. These three years of his life that had thus passed had been very full, full mostly of work, grinding and monotonous, of training dull, dry, laborious, for Sir James Lee was a taskmaster as hard as iron and seemingly as cold as a stone. For two, perhaps for three weeks, Miles entered into his new exercises with all the enthusiasm that novelty brings. But these exercises hardly varied a tiddle from day to day, and soon became a duty, and finally a hard and grinding task. He used in the earlier days of his castle life to hate the dull monotony of the tri-weekly hacking at the pills with a heavy broadsword, as he hated nothing else. But now, though he still had that exercise to perform, it was almost a relief from the heavy dullness of riding, riding, riding in the tilt yard, with shield and lance, couch, recover, en passant. But though he had nowadays but little time for boyish plays and escapades, his life was not altogether without relaxation. Now and then he was permitted to drive in mock battle with other of the younger knights and bachelors in the paddock near the outer walls. It was a still more welcome change in the routine of his life when, occasionally, he would break a light lance in the tilting court with Sir Everard Willoughby, Lord George, perhaps, and maybe one or two others of the hallfolk looking on. Then one gilded day, when Lord Dudley was visiting at Devlin, Miles ran a course with a heavier lance in the presence of the Earl, who came down to the tilt yard with his guest to see the young novitiate ride against Sir Everard. He did his best, and did it well. Lord Dudley praised his poison carriage, and Lord George, who was present, gave him an approving smile and nod. But the Earl of Mackworth only sat stroking his beard impassively, as was his custom. Miles would have given much to know his thoughts. In all these years Sir James Lee almost never gave any expression either of approbation or disapproval, accepting when Miles exhibited some carelessness or oversight. Then his words were sharp and harsh enough. More than once Miles's heart failed him and bitter discouragement took possession of him. Then nothing but his bulldog tenacity and stubbornness brought him out from the despondency of the dark hours. Sir! he burst out one day, when his heart was heavy with some failure. Tell me, I beseech thee, do I get me any skill at all? Is it in me ever to make a worthy knight fit to hold lance and sword with other men? Or am I only soothly a dull, heavy block worth not of any good? Thou art a fool, Sarah! answered Sir James in his grimest tones. Thinkest thou to learn all of nightly prowess in a year and a half? Wait until thou art ripe, and then I will tell thee if thou art fit to couch a lance or write a course with a right knight. Thou art an old bear, muttered Miles to himself, as the old one I'd knight turned on his heel and strode away. Be shrew me, and I show thee not that I am as worthy to couch a lance as thou, one of these fine days. However, during the last of the three years, the grinding routine of his training had not been quite so severe as at first. His exercise him took him more often out into the fields, and it was during this time of his nightly education that he sometimes rode against some of the castle knights in friendly battle with sword or lance or wooden mace. In these encounters he always held his own, and held it more than well, though in his boyish simplicity he was altogether unconscious of his own skill, address, and strength. Perhaps it was his very honest modesty that made him so popular and so heartily liked by all. He had by this time risen to the place of head squire or chief bachelor, holding the same position that Walter Blunt had occupied when he himself had first come, a raw country boy to Devlin. The lesser squires and pages fairly worshiped him as a hero, albeit imposing upon his good nature. All took a pride in his practice and nightly exercises, and fabulous tales were current among the young fry concerning his strength and skill. Yet although Miles was now at the head of his class, he did not, as other chief bachelors had done, take a leading position among the squires in the Earl's household service. Lord Mackworth, for his own good reasons, relegated him to the position of Lord George's, a special attendant. Nevertheless, the Earl always distinguished him from the other s-squires, giving him a cool nod whenever they met. And Miles upon his part, now that he had learned better to appreciate how much his Lord had done for him, would have shed the last drop of blood in his veins for the head of the house of Beaumont. As for the two young ladies, he often saw them, and sometimes, even in the presence of the Earl, exchanged a few words with them, and Lord Mackworth neither forbade it nor seemed to notice it. Towards the Lady Anne he felt the steady, friendly regard of a lad for a girl older than himself. Towards the Lady Alice, now budding into ripe young womanhood, there lay deep in his heart the resolve to be some day her true night in earnest, as he had been her night in pretense in that time of boyhood when he had so perilously climbed into the privy garden. In body and form he was now a man, and in thought and heart was quickly ripening to manhood, for, as was said before, men matured quickly in those days. He was a right comely youth, for the promise of his boyish body had been fulfilled in a tall, powerful, well-knit frame. His face was still round and boyish, but on cheek and chin and lip was the curl of adolescent beard, soft, yellow, and silky. His eyes were as blue as steel, and quick and sharp in glance as those of a hawk, and, as he walked, his arm swung from his broad square shoulders, and his body swayed with pent-up strength ready for action at any moment. If little Lady Alice, hearing much talk of his doings and of his promise in these latter times, thought of him now and then, it is a matter not altogether to be wondered at. Such were the changes that three years had wrought, and from now the story of his manhood really begins. Perhaps in all the history of Devlin Castle, even at this, the high tide of pride and greatness of the House of Beaumont, the most notable time was in the early autumn of the year 1411, when for five days King Henry IV was entertained by the Earl of Mackworth. The King was, at that time, making a progress through certain of the Midland Counties, and with him travelled the Comte-Vermois. The Count was the secret emissary of the Dauphins faction in France, at that time in the very bitterest intensity of the struggle with the Duke of Burgundy, and had come to England seeking aid for his master in his quarrel. It was not the first time that royalty had visited Devlin. Once in Earl Robert's day, King Edward II had spent a week at the castle during the period of the Scottish Wars, but at that time it was little else than a military post, and was used by the King as such. Now the Beaumonts were in the very flower of their prosperity, and preparations were made for the coming visit of royalty upon a scale of such magnificence and splendour as Earl Robert, or perhaps even King Edward himself, had never dreamed. For weeks the whole castle had been alive with folk hurrying hither and thither, and with the daily and almost hourly coming of pack horses, laden with bales and boxes from London. From morning to night one heard the ceaseless chipping of the mason's hammers, and saw carriers of stones and mortar ascending and descending the ladders of the scaffolding that covered the face of the Great North Hall. Within that part of the building was alive with the scraping of the carpenter's saws, the clattering of lumber, and the wrapping and banging of hammers. The North Hall had been assigned as the lodging place for the King and his court, and St. George's Hall, as the older building adjoining it was called, had been set apart as the lodging of the Comte d'Ivermois, and the knights and gentlemen attended upon him. The Great North Hall had been very much altered and changed for the accommodation of the King and his people. A beautiful gallery of carved woodwork had been built within and across the south end of the room, for the use of the ladies who were to look down upon the ceremonies below. Two additional windows had been cut through the wall and glazed, and passageways had been opened connecting with the royal apartments beyond. In the bed chamber a bed of carved wood and silver had been built into the wall, and had been draped with hangings of pale blue and silver, and a magnificent screen of wrought iron and carved wood had been erected around the couch. Rich and beautiful tapestries brought from Italy and Flanders were hung upon the walls. Cushions of velvets and silks stuffed with down covered benches and chairs. The floor of the hall was spread with mats of rushes stained in various colors, woven into curious patterns, and in the smaller rooms precious carpets of eras were laid on the cold stones. All of the cadets of the house had been assembled. All of the gentlemen in waiting, retainers and clients. The castle seemed full to overflowing. Even the dormitory of the squires was used as a lodging place for many of the lesser gentry. So at last, in the midst of all this bustle of preparation, came the day of days when the King was to arrive. The day before, a courier had come bringing the news that he was lodging at Donister Abbey overnight, and would make progress the next day to Devlin. That morning, as Miles was marshalling the pages and squires, and, with the list of names in his hand, was striving to evolve some order out of the confusion, assigning the various individuals their special duties, these to attend in the household, those to ride in the escort, one of the gentlemen of Lord George's household came with an order for him to come immediately to the young nobleman's apartments. Miles hastily turned over his duties to gas-going in Wilkes, and then hurried after the messenger. He found Lord George in the antechamber. Three gentlemen squires armied him in a magnificent suit of ribbed Milan. He greeted Miles with a nod and a smile as the lad entered. Sir Ah! said he. I have had a talk with Mackworth this morning concerning thee, and have a mind to do thee an honour in my poor way. How it's thou like to ride today as my special squire of escort? Miles flushed to the roots of his hair. Oh, sir! he cried eagerly. And I be not too ungainly for thy purpose. No honour in all the world could be such joy to me as that. Lord George laughed. Hey, little matter pleases thee hugely! said he. But as to being ungainly! Whoso saith that of thee be lyeth thee, Miles? Thou art not ungainly, sir ah! But that is not to the point. I have chosen thee for my equity today. So make thou haste and don thine armour, and then come hither again, and hauling wood will fit thee with a wreath bassinet I have within, and a jump on embroidered with my arms in colours. When Miles had made his bow and left his patron, he flew across the quadrangle and burst into the armory upon Gascoigne, whom he found still lingering there, chatting with one or two of the older bachelors. What thinkest thou, Francis? he cried, wild with excitement. An honour hath been done me this day I could never have hoped to enjoy. Out of all this household Lord George hath chose me his equity for the day to ride to meet the king. I am hasten to help me to arm. Art thou not glad of this thing for my sake, Francis? I glad am I indeed, cried Gascoigne, that generous friend. Rather almost would I have this befall thee than myself, and indeed he was hardly less jubilant than Miles over the honour. Five minutes later he was busy arming him in the little room at the end of the dormitory, which had been lately set apart for the use of the head bachelor. And to think, he said, looking up as he kneeled strapping the thigh-plates to his friend's legs, that he should have chosen thee before all others of the fine knights and lords and gentlemen of quality that are here. Yea, said Miles, it passeth wonder. I know not why he should so single me out for such an honour. It is strangely marvellous. Nay, said Gascoigne, there is no marvel in it, and I know right well why he choose a thee. It is because he sees, as we all see, that thou art the stoutest and the best skilled in arms, and most easy of carriage of any man in all this place. Miles laughed. And thou make sport of me, said he, I'll wrap thy head with this dagger-hilt. Thou art a silly fellow, Francis, to talk so. But tell me, hast thou heard who rides with my lord? Yea, I heard Wilkes say anon that it was Sir James Lee. I am right glad of that, said Miles, for then he will show me what to do and how to bear myself. It frights me to think what would happen should I make some mistake in my awkwardness. Me thinks Lord George would never have me with him more should I do amiss this day. Never fear, say Gascoigne, thou wilt not do amiss. And now at last the Earl, Lord George, and all their escort were ready. Then the orders were given to horse. The bugle sounded, and away they all rode, with clashing of iron hoofs and ringing and jingling of armor, out into the dewy freshness of the early morning, the slant yellow sun of autumn blazing and flaming upon polished helmets and shields, and twinkling light sparks of fire upon spear points. Miles' heart thrilled within him for pure joy, and he swelled out his sturdy young breast with great drafts of the sweet fresh air that came singing across the sunny hill-tops. Sir James Lee, who acted as the Earl's equity for the day, rode at a little distance, and there was an almost pathetic contrast between the grim, steadfast impassiveness of the tough old warrior and Miles' passionate exuberance of youth. At the head of the party rode the Earl and his brothers side by side. Each clad cappape in a suit of Milan armor. The curesse of each covered with a velvet japon embroidered in silver with the arms and quarterings of the Beaumonts. The Earl wore around his neck an S.S. collar with a jeweled St. George hanging from it, and upon his head a visored bassinet ornamented with a wreath covered with black and yellow velvet and glistening with jewels. Lord George, as was said before, his clad in a beautiful suit of ribbed Milan armor. It was rimmed with a thin thread of gold, and, like his brother, he wore a bassinet wreathed with black and yellow velvet. Behind the two brothers and their equaries rode the rest in their proper order. Knights, gentlemen, esquires, men at arms, to the number perhaps of two hundred and fifty. Spears and lances of slant, and banners, and sermons and pencils of black and yellow fluttering in the warm September air. From the castle to the town they rode, and then across the bridge, and thence clattering up through the stony streets where the folk looked down upon them from the windows above or crowded the fronts of the shops of the tradesmen. Lusty cheers were shouted for the Earl, but the great Lord rode staring ever straight before him as unmoved as a stone. Then, out of the town they clattered, and went away in a sweeping cloud of dust across the countryside. It was not until they had reached the windy top of Willoughby Croft ten miles away that they met the king and his company. As the two parties approached to within forty or fifty yards of one another, they stopped. As they came to a halt, Miles observed that a gentleman dressed in a plain blue-gray writing habit and sitting upon a beautiful white gilding stood a little in advance of the rest of the party, and he knew that that must be the king. Then Sir James nodded to Miles, and, leaping from his horse, flung the reins to one of the attendants. Miles did the like, and then, still following Sir James's lead as he served Lord Mackworth, went forward and held Lord George's stirrup while he dismounted. The two noblemen quickly removed each his bassinet, and Miles, holding the bridal reign of Lord George's horse with his left hand, took the helmet in his right, resting it upon his hip. Then the two brothers walked forward bare-headed, the earl a little in advance. Reaching the king, he stopped, and then bent his knee, stiffly in the armored plates, until it touched the ground. Thereupon the king reached him his hand, and he, rising again, took it and set it to his lips. Then Lord George, advancing, kneeled as his brother had kneeled, and to him also the king gave his hand. Miles could hear nothing, but he could see that a few words of greeting passed between the three, and then the king, turning, beckoned to a knight who stood just behind him, and a little in advance of the others of the troop. In answer the knight rode forward. The king spoke a few words of introduction, and the stranger, ceremoniously drawing off his right gauntlet, clasped the hand first of the earl and then of Lord George. Miles knew that he must be the great comp-de-vermois of whom he had heard so much of late. A few moments of conversation followed, and then the king bowed slightly. The French nobleman instantly reigned back his horse, an order was given, and then the whole company moved forward, the two brothers walking upon either side of the king, the earl lightly touching the bridal reign with his bare hand. Whilst all this was passing, the earl of Mackworth's company had been drawn up in a double line along the roadside, leaving the way open to the other party. As the king reached the head of the troop, another halt followed, while he spoke a few courteous words of greeting to some of the lesser nobles attendant upon the earl whom he knew. In that little time he was within a few paces of Miles, who stood motionless as a statue, holding the bassinet and the bridal reign of Lord George's horse. What Miles saw was a plain, rather stout man, with a face fat, smooth and waxy, with pale blue eyes and baggy in the lids, clean shaven except for a moustache and toughed-covery lips and chin. Somehow he felt a deep disappointment. He had expected to see something lion-like, something regal, and, after all, the great king Henry was commonplace, fat and wholesome-looking. It came to him with a sort of shock that, after all, a king is in no wise different from other men. Meanwhile, the earl and his brother replaced their bassinets and presently the whole party moved forward upon the way to Mackworth. End of CHAPTER XXII CHAPTER XXIII OF MEN OF IRON This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Susan Unpleby. MEN OF IRON by Howard Pyle CHAPTER XXIII That same afternoon the squire's quarters were thrown into such a ferment of excitement as had, perhaps, never before stirred them. About one o'clock in the afternoon the earl himself and Lord George came walking slowly across the Armory Court, wrapped in deep conversation, entering Sir James Lee's office. All the usual hubbub of noise that surrounded the neighborhood of the dormitory and the Armory was still that they're coming. And when the two noblemen had entered Sir James's office, the lads and young men gathered in knots, discussing with an almost awesome interest what that visit might pretend. After some time, Sir James Lee came to the door at the head of the long flight of stone steps and whistling beckoned one of the smaller pages to him. He gave a short order that sent the little fellow flying on some mission. In the course of a few minutes he returned, hurrying across the stony court with Miles Foworth, who presently entered Sir James's office. It was then and at this site that the intense, half-suppressed excitement reached its height of fever-heat. What did it all mean? The air was filled with a thousand vague, wild rumors, but the very wildest surmises fell short of the real truth. Perhaps Miles was somewhat pale when he entered the office. Certainly his nerves were in a trimmer, for his heart told him that something very pretentious was about to befall him. The earl sat at the table and in the seat that Sir James Lee usually occupied. Lord George half sat, half leaned in the window-place. Sir James stood with his back to the empty fireplace, and his hands clasped behind him. All three were very serious. Give thee good din, Miles Foworth, said the earl, as Miles bowed first to him and then to the others, and I would have thee prepare thyself for a great happening. Then, continuing directly to the point, thou knowest, Sura, why we have been training thee so closely, these three years gone. It is that thou shalt be able to hold thine own in the world. Nay, not only hold thine own, but to show thyself to be a knight of prowess shouldst it come to a battle between thee and thy father's enemy. For there lieeth no halfway place for thee, and thou must be either great or else nothing. Well, sir, the time hath now come for thee to show thy metal. I would rather have chosen that thou hadst labored a twelve month longer. But now, as I said, hath come a chance to prove thyself that may never come again. Sir James tells me that thou art passably ripe in skill. Thou must now show whether that be so or no. Hast thou ever heard of the Sur de la Montagna? Yea, my lord, I have heard of him often," answered Miles. It was he who won the prize at the great tourney at Rochelle last year. I see that thou hast his fame pat to thy tongue's end, said the earl. He is the Chevalier of whom I speak, and he is reckoned to be the best knight of Dauphiny. That one of which thou spokeest was the third great tourney in which he was a judge the victor. I am glad that thou holdest his prowess highly. Knowest thou that he is in the train of the Comte de Vermoise? Nay, said Miles, flushing. I did hear news he was in England, but knew not that he was in this place. Yea, said Lord Macworth, he is here. He paused for a moment, then said suddenly, Tell me, Miles Fowlworth, and thou were to knight in a rank fit to run a joust with the Sur de la Montagna, what's thou dare encounter him in the lists? The earl's question fell upon Miles so suddenly and unexpectedly that for a moment or so he stood staring at the speaker with mouth agape. Meanwhile the earl sat looking calmly back at him, slowly stroking his beard the while. It was Sir James Lee's voice that broke the silence. Thou hurts thy Lord speak, said he harshly, Hast thou no tongue to answer, sirrah? Be silently, said Lord Macworth quietly. Let the lad have time to think before he speaketh. The sound of the words aroused Miles. He advanced to the table and rested his hand upon it. My Lord, my Lord, said he, I know not what to say. I am amazed and afeard. How, how! cried Sir James Lee harshly. Afeard sayest thou, and thou art afeard, thou knave, Thou needest never look upon my face or speak to me more. I have done with thee for ever, and thou art afeard, even were the champion of Sir Alice Sander. Peace, peace, Lee, said the earl holding up his hand. Thou art too hasty. The lad shall have his will in this matter, and thou, and no one, shall constrain him. Me thinks also, thou dost not understand him. Speak from thy heart, Miles. Why art thou afraid? Because, said Miles, I am so young, sir. I am but a raw boy. How should I dare be so hardy as to venture to set lands against such a one as the Sur de la Montagne? What would I be but a laughing stock for all the world who would see me so foolish as to venture me against one of such prowess and skill? Nay, Miles, said Lord George. Thou thinkest not well enough of thine own skill and prowess. Thinkest thou we would undertake to set thee against him, and we did not think that thou couldst hold thine own fairly well? Hold mine own, cried Miles, turning to Lord George. Sir, thou dost not mean—thou canst not mean—that I may hope or dream to hold mine own against the Sur de la Montagne? I, said Lord George, that was what I did mean. Come, Miles, said the earl. Now tell me, wilt thou fight the Sur de la Montagne? Yea, said Miles, drawing himself to his full height and throwing at his chest. Yea, and his cheeks and floor-head flushed red. And thou bid me do so, I will fight him. There spake my brave lad, cried Lord George heartily. I give thee joy, Miles, said the earl, reaching him his hand, which Miles took and kissed. And I give thee double joy. I have talked with the king concerning thee this morning, and he hath consented to knight thee. Yea, to knight thee with all honors of the bath, provided thou wilt match thee against the Sur de la Montagne for the honour of England and Mackworth. Just now the king lieth to sleep for a little while after his dinner. Have thyself in readiness when he cometh forth. And I will have thee presented. Then the earl termed to Sir James Lee and questioned him as to how the bachelors were fitted with clothes. Miles listened, only half hearing the words through the tumbling of his thoughts. He had dreamed in his daydreams that some time he might be knighted, but that time always seemed very, very distant. To be knighted now in his boyhood by the king with the honors of the bath and under the patronage of the earl of Mackworth, to joust, to actually joust with the Sur de la Montagne, one of the most famous chevaliers of France. No wonder he only half heard the words, half heard the earl's questions concerning his clothes and the discussion which followed. Half heard Lord George volunteered to array him in fitting garments from his own wardrobe. Thou mayest go now, said the earl, at last turning to him. But be thou at George's apartments by two o' the clock to be dressed fittingly for the occasion. Then Miles went out, stupefied, dazed, bewildered. He looked around, but he did not see gas going. He said not a word to any of the others and answered to the eager questions poured upon him by his fellow squires, but walked straight away. He hardly knew where he went, but by and by he found himself in a grassy angle below the end of the south stable, a spot overlooking the outer wall and the river beyond. He looked around. No one was near, and he flung himself at length, buried his face and his arms. How long he lay there he did not know, but suddenly someone touched him upon the shoulder and he sprang up quickly. It was gas going. What is to do, Miles? said his friend anxiously. What is all this talk I hear concerning the up yonder at the armory? Oh, Francis! cried Miles with a husky choking voice. I am to be knighted by the king, by the king himself, and I am to fight the sur de la montaña. He reached out his hand and gas going took it. They stood for a while quite silent, and when at last the stillness was broken, it was gas going who spoke in a choking voice. Thou art going to be great, Miles, said he. I always knew that it must be so with thee, and now the time hath come. Yea, thou wilt be great, and live at court amongst noble folk and kings happily. Presently, thou wilt not be with me any more, and wilt forget me by and by. Nay, Francis, never will I forget thee, answered Miles, pressing his friend's hand. I will always love thee better than any one in the world, saving only my father and my mother. Gas going shook his head and looked away, swallowing at the dry lump in his throat. Suddenly he turned to Miles. Wilt thou grab me a boon? Yea, answered Miles, what is it? That thou wilt choose me for thy squire. Nay, said Miles, how can't thou think to serve me as squire? Thou wilt be a knight thyself some day, Francis, and why dost thou wish now to be my squire? Because, said Gas going, with a short laugh, I would rather be in thy company as a squire than in mine own as a knight, even if I might be banneret. Miles flung his arm around his friend's neck and kissed him upon the cheek. Thou shalt have thy will, said he, but whether knight or squire, thou art ever mine own true friend. Then they went slowly back together, hand in hand, to the castle world again. At two o'clock Miles went to Lord George's apartments, and there his friend and patron dressed him out in a costume better fitted for the ceremony of presentation, a fur-trim jacket of green brocaded velvet embroidered with golden thread, a black velvet hood cap rolled like a turban and with a jewel in the front, a pair of crimson hose, and a pair of black velvet shoes trimmed and stitched with gold thread. Miles had never worn such splendid clothes in his life before, and he could not but feel that they became him well. Sir, said he, as he looked down at himself, sure it is not lawful for me to wear such clothes as these. In those days there was a law, known as a sumptuary law, which regulated by statute the clothes that each class of people were privileged to wear. It was, as Miles said, against the law for him to wear such garments as those in which he was clad, either velvet, crimson stuff, fur, or silver, or gold embroidery. Nevertheless, such a solemn ceremony as presentation to the king excused the temporary overstepping of the law, and so Lord George told him. As he laid his hand upon the lad's shoulder and held him off at arm's length, he added, and I pledge thee my word, Miles, that thou art as lusty and handsome a lad as ever mine eyes beheld. Thou art very kind to me, sir, said Miles, in answer. Lord George laughed, and then, giving him a shake, let go his shoulder. It was about three o'clock when little Edmund de Montfort, Lord Mackworth's favorite page, came with word that the king was then walking in the Earl's pleasant. Come, Miles, said Lord George, and then Miles arose from the seat where he had been sitting, his heart palpitating and throbbing tumultously. At the wicket gate of the pleasant's two gentlemen at arm's stood guard and half-armour. They saluted Lord George and permitted him to pass with his protégé. As he laid his hand upon the latch of the wicket, he paused for a moment and turned. Miles, said he, in a low voice, thou art a thoughtful and cautious lad, for thy father's sake, be thoughtful and cautious now. Do not speak his name or betray that thou art his son. Then he opened the wicket gate and entered. Any lad of Miles's age, even one far more used to the world than he, would perhaps have felt all the oppression that he experienced under the weight of such a presentation. He hardly knew what he was doing, as Lord George led him to where the king stood, a little apart from the attendance, with the Earl and the Comte-Vermois. Even in his confusion he knew enough to kneel, and somehow his honest, modest diffidence became the young fellow very well. He was not awkward, for one so helpful in mind and body as he, could not bear himself very ill. And he felt the assurance that in Lord George he had a kind friend at his side, and one well used to court ceremonies to lend him countenance. Then there is something always pleasing and frank, modest manliness, such as was stamped on Miles' handsome, sturdy face. No doubt the king's heart warmed towards the fledgling warrior kneeling in the pathway before him. He smiled very kindly, as he gave the lad his hand to kiss. And that ceremony done held fast to the hard, brown, sinewy fist of the young man with his soft, white hand, and raised him to his feet. By the mass said he, looking miles over with smiling eyes, Thou art a right champion in good soothe, such as Thou art happily with Sir Galahad when he came to Arthur's court. And so they tell me, Thou hast stomach to brook the Ser de la Montagna, that tough old bore of Dauphiné. Hast Thou in good soothe the courage to face him? Noest Thou what a great thing it is that Thou hast set upon thyself to do battle even in sport with him? Yea, Your Majesty, answered Miles. Well, I what it is a task happily beyond me, but gladly would I take upon me even a greater venture and one more dangerous to do Your Majesty's pleasure. The king looked pleased. Now that was right well said, young man, said he, and I like it better that it came from such young and honest lips. Thou speak French? Yea, Your Majesty, answered Miles. In some small measure do I so? I am glad of that, said the king, for so I may make thee acquainted with Sir de la Montagna. He turned as he ended speaking, and beckoned to a heavy, thick set, black-browed chevalier who stood with the other gentlemen attendants at a little distance. He came instantly forward and answered to the summons, and the king introduced the two to one another. As each took the other formally by the hand, he measured his opponent hastily, body and limb, and perhaps each thought that he had never seen a stronger, stouter, better knit man than the one upon whom he looked. But nevertheless the contrast betwixt the two was very great. Miles, young, boyish, fresh-faced, the other, bronzed, weather-beaten, and seemed with a great white scar that ran across his forehead in chic, the one a novice, the other a warrior seasoned in two-score battles. A few polite phrases passed between the two. The king, listening, smiling, but with an absent and far away look, gradually stealing upon his face. As they ended speaking, a little pause of silence followed, and then the king suddenly aroused himself. So, said he, I am glad that ye two are acquainted, and now we will leave our youthful champion in thy charge Beaumont, and in thine Montseur as well. And so soon as the proper ceremonies are ended, we will dub him night with our own hands. And now, Macworth, and thou, my lord, count, let us walk a little. I have bethought me further concerning these three-score extra men for Dauphiny. Then Miles withdrew under the charge of Lord George in the Sur de la Montagne, and while the king and the two nobles walked slowly up and down the gravel path between the tall rose-bushes, Miles stood talking with the gentlemen attendants, finding himself with a certain triumphant exultation, the peer of any and the hero of the hour. That night was the last that Miles and Gascoigne spent lodging in the dormitory in their squirehood service. The next day they were assigned apartments in Lord George's part of the house, and thither they transported themselves and their belongings amid the awestruck wonder and admiration of their fellow squires. End of Chapter 23 Chapter 24 of Men of Iron This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Susan Umpleby Men of Iron by Howard Pyle In Miles Fowler's Day one of the greatest ceremonies of courtly life was that of the bestowal of knighthood by the king, with the honors of the bath. By far the greater number of knights were at that time created by other knights, or by nobles, or by officers of the crown. To be knighted by the king in person distinguished the recipient for life. It was this signal-honor that the earl for his own purposes wished Miles to enjoy, and for this end he had laid not a few plans. The accolade was the term used for the creation of a knight upon the field of battle. It was a reward of valor, or of meritorious service, and was generally bestowed in a more or less offhand way. But the ceremony of the bath was an occasion of the greatest courtly moment, and it was thus that Miles Fowlerth was to be knighted in addition to the honor of a royal belting. A quaint old book, treating of knighthood and chivalry, gives a full and detailed account of all the circumstances of the ceremony of a creation of a knight of the bath. It tells us that the candidate was first placed under the care of two squires of honor, grave and well seen in courtship and nurture, and also in feats of chivalry, which same were likewise to be governors in all things relating to the coming honors. First of all, the barber shaved him and cut his hair in a certain peculiar fashion ordained for the occasion, the squires of honor supervising the operation. This being concluded, the candidate was solemnly conducted to the chamber where the bath of tepid water was prepared, hung within and without with linen, and likewise covered with rich cloths and embroidered linen. While in the bath, two ancient grave and reverend knights attended the bachelor, giving him meat instructions in the order and feats of chivalry. The candidate was then examined as to his knowledge and requirements, and then, all questions being answered to the satisfaction of his examiners, the elder of the two dipped a handful of water out from the bath and poured it upon his head, at the same time signing his left shoulder with the sign of the cross. As soon as the ceremony was concluded, the two squires of honor helped their charge from the bath and conducted him to a plain bed without hangings where they let him rest until his body was warm and dry. Then they clad him in a white linen shirt and over it a plain robe of russet, girdled about the loins with a rope and having a hood like unto a hermit. As soon as the candidate had arisen, the two ancient knights returned, and all being in readiness, he was escorted to the chapel, the two walking, one upon either side of him, his squires of honor marching before, and the whole party preceded by sundry minstrels making a loud noise of music. When they came to the chapel, the two knights who escorted him took leave of the candidate, each saluting him with a kiss upon the cheek. No one remained with him but his squires of honor, the priest, and the chandler. In the meantime the novitiates' armor, sword, lance, and helmet had been laid in readiness before the altar. These he watched and guarded while the others slept, keeping vigil until sunrise, during which time he shall, says the ancient authority, pass the night in orissons, prayers, and meditation. At daylight he confessed to the priest, heard matins, and communicated in mass, and then presented a lighted candle at the altar, with a piece of money stuck in it as close to the flame as could be done, the candle being offered to the honor of God, and the money to the honor of that person who was to make him a knight. So concluded the sacred ceremony, which being ended his squires conducted the candidate to his chamber, and there made him comfortable, and left him to repose for a while before the second and final part of the ordinance. Such is a shortened account of the preparatory stages of the ceremonies through which Miles Falworth passed. Matters had come upon him so suddenly one after the other, and had come with such bewildering rapidity that that week was to him like some strange, wonderful, mysterious vision. He went through it all like one in a dream. Lord George Beaumont was one of his squires of honor. The other, by way of a fitting compliment to the courage of the chivalrous lad, was the Ser de la Montagna, his opponent soon to be. They were well versed in everything relating to nightcraft, and Miles followed all their directions with passive obedience. Then Sir James Lee and the comte de vermois administered the ceremony of the bath, the old knight examining him in the laws of chivalry. It occurs perhaps once or twice in one's lifetime that one passes through great happenings, sometimes of joy, sometimes of dreadful bitterness, in just such a day's state as Miles passed through this. It is only afterwards that all comes back to one so sharply and keenly that the heart thrills almost in agony in living it over again. But perhaps of all the memory of that time when it afterwards came back piece by piece, none was so clear to Miles' back-turned vision as the long night spent in the chapel, watching his armor, thinking such wonderful thoughts, and dreaming such wonderful wide-eyed dreams. At such times Miles saw again the dark mystery of the castle chapel. He saw again the half-moon gleaming white and silvery through the tall narrow window, and throwing a broad form of still whiteness across stone floor, empty seats, and still motionless figures of stone effigies. At such times he stood again in front of the twinkling tapers that lit the altar where his armor lay piled in a heap. Heard again the deep breathing of his companions of the watch, sleeping in some empty stall, wrapped each in his cloak, and saw the old chandler bestir himself, and rise and come forward to snuff the candles. At such times he saw again the day growing clearer and clearer through the tall glazed windows, saw it change to a rosy pink, and then to a broad, ruddy glow that threw a halo of light around Father Thomas' bald head, bowed in sleep, and lit up the banners and trophies hanging motionless against the stony face of the West Wall. Heard again the stirring of life without, and the sound of his companions arousing themselves. Saw them come forward, and heard them wish him joy that his long watch was ended. It was nearly noon when Miles was awakened from a fitful sleep by Gascoigne bringing in his dinner. But, as might be supposed, he had but little hunger and ate sparingly. He had hardly ended his frugal meal before his two squires of honour came in, followed by a servant carrying the garments for the coming ceremony. He saluted them gravely, and then arising washed his face in hands in a base in which Gascoigne held. Then kneeled in prayer, the others standing silent at a little distance. As he arose, Lord George came forward. The king and the company come presently to the Great Hall, Miles, said he. It is needful for thee to make all the haste that thou art able. Perhaps never had Devlin Castle seen a more brilliant and goodly company gathered in the Great Hall than that which came to witness King Henry create Miles Fowlerth a knight bachelor. At the upper end of the hall was a raised deus, upon which stood a throne covered with crimson satin and embroidered with lions and floral deuses. It was the king's seat. He and his personal attendants had not yet come, but the rest of the company were gathered. The day being warm and sultry, the balcony was all a flutter with the feather fans of the ladies of the family and their attendants, who from this high place looked down upon the hall below. Up the center of the hall was laid a carpet of heiress, and the passage was protected by wooden railings. Upon the one side were tiers of seats for the castle-gentle folks and the guests. Upon the other stood the burgers of the town, clad in sober dun and russet, and Yeomanry in green and brown. The whole of the great vaulted hall was full of the dull hum of many people waiting, and a ceaseless restlessness stirred the crowded throng. But at last a whisper went around that the king was coming. A momentary hush fell, and through it was heard the noisy clatter of horses' feet coming nearer and nearer, and then stopping before the door. The sudden blare of trumpets broke through the hush, another pause, and then in through the great doorway of the hall came the royal procession. First of all marched, in the order of their rank, and to the number of a scorer or more, certain gentlemen, esquires and knights, chosen mostly from the king's attendants. Behind these came two pursuance at arms, in tabards, and following them a party of a dozen more bannerettes and barons. Behind these again, a little space intervening, came two heralds, also in tabards, a group of the greater nobles attended upon the king following in the order of their rank. Next came the king at arms, and, at a little distance, and walking with sober slowness, the king himself, with the earl and the count directly attended upon him, the one marching upon the right hand, and the other upon the left. A breathless silence filled the whole space as the royal procession advanced slowly up the hall. Through the stillness could be heard the muffled sound of the footsteps on the carpet, the dry rustling of silk and satin garments, and the clear clink and jingle of chains and jeweled ornaments, but not the sound of a single voice. After the moment or two of bustle and confusion of the king taking his place had passed, another little space of expectant silence fell. At last there suddenly came the noise of acclamation of those who stood without the door, cheering in the clapping of hands, sounds heralding the immediate advent of Miles and his attendants. The next moment the little party entered the hall. First of all gascoined, bearing Miles' sword in both hands, the hilt resting against his breast, the point elevated at an angle of forty-five degrees. It was sheathed in a crimson scabbard, and the belt of Spanish leather studded with silver bosses was wound crosswise around it. From the hilt of the sword dangled the guilt spurs of his coming knighthood. At a little distance behind his squire followed Miles, the center of all observation. He was clad in a novitiate dress arranged under Lord George's personal supervision. It had been made somewhat differently from the fashion usual at such times, and was intended to indicate in a manner the candidate's extreme youthfulness and virginity in arms. The outer garment was a tabard robe of white wool, embroidered at the hem with fine lines of silver, and gathered loosely at the waist with a belt of lavender leather stitched with thread of silver. Beneath he was clad in armor, a present from the earl, new and polished till it shone with dazzling brightness, the breastplate covered with a jupon of white satin, embroidered with silver. Behind Miles, and upon either hand, came his squires of honor, sponsors, and friends, a little company of some half-dozen in all. As they advanced slowly up the great, dim, high-vaulted room, the whole multitude broke forth into a humming buzz of applause. Then a sudden clapping of hands began near the doorway, ran down the length of the room, and was taken up by all with noisy clatter. Saw I never youth so comely, whispered one of the Lady Ann's attendant gentlewoman. Sure he looketh as Sir Gala had looked when he first came to King Arthur's court. Miles knew that he was very pale. He felt rather than saw the restless crowd of faces upon either side. For his eyes were fixed directly before him, upon the dais whereon sat the King, with the Earl of Macworth standing at his right hand, le Comte d'Ivermoise upon the left, and the others ranged around and behind the throne. It was with the same tense feeling of dreamy unreality that Miles walked slowly up the length of the hall, measuring his steps by those of Gascoigne. Suddenly he felt Lord George Beaumont touch him lightly upon the arm, and almost instinctively he stopped short. He was standing just before the covered steps of the throne. He saw Gascoigne mount to the third step, stop short, kneel, and offer the sword and the spurs he carried to the King, who took the weapon and laid it across his knees. Then the squire bowed low and walking backward with drew to one side, leaving Miles standing alone facing the throne. The King unlocked the spur chains from the sword-hilt, and then, holding the gilt spurs in his hand for a moment, he looked Miles straight in the eyes and smiled. Then he turned and gave one of the spurs to the Earl of Macworth. The Earl took it with a low bow, turned, and came slowly down the steps to where Miles stood, kneeling upon one knee and placing Miles' foot upon the other. Lord Macworth set the spur in its place and latched the chain over the instep. He drew the sign of the cross upon Miles' bended knee, set the foot back upon the ground, rose with slow dignity, and bowing to the King drew a little to one side. As soon as the Earl had fulfilled his office, the King gave the second spur to the Comte-vermoise, who set it to Miles' other foot with the same ceremony that the Earl had observed, withdrawing as he had done to one side. An instant pause of motionless silence followed, and then the King slowly arose and began deliberately to unwind the belt from around the scabbard of the sword he held. As soon as he stood, the Earl and the Count advanced, and, taking Miles by either hand, led him forward and up the steps of the dais to the platform above. As they drew a little to one side, the King stooped and buckled the sword-belt around Miles' waist. Then, rising again, lifted his hand and struck him upon the shoulder, crying in a loud voice, Be thou a good night! Instantly a loud sound of applause and the clapping of hands filled the whole hall, in the midst of which the King laid both hands upon Miles' shoulders and kissed him upon the right cheek. So the ceremony ended. Miles was no longer Miles Fowlerth, but Sir Miles Fowlerth, night by order of the bath and by grace of the King. End of chapter 24 Chapter 25 Of Men of Iron This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Susan Unpleby. Men of Iron By Howard Pyle Chapter 25 It was the custom to conclude the ceremonies of the bestowal of knighthood by a grand feast given in honour of the newly created knight. But in Miles' instance the feast was dispensed with. The Earl of Macworth had planned that Miles might be created a knight of the bath with all possible pomp and ceremony. That his personality might be most favourably impressed upon the King. That he might be so honourably knighted as to make him the peer of any who wore spurs in all England. And finally that he might celebrate his new honours by jousting with some knight of high fame and approved valor. All these desiderata chants were fulfilled in the visit of the King to Devlin. As the Earl had said to Miles he would rather have waited a little while longer until the lad was riper in years and experience. But the opportunity was not to be lost. Young as he was Miles must take his chances against the years and grim experience of the Sur de la Montagna. But it was also a part of the Earl's purpose that the King and Miles should not be brought remotely together just at that time. Though every particular of circumstance should be fulfilled in the ceremony, it would have been ruination to the Earl's plans to have the knowledge come prematurely to the King that Miles was the son of the attainted Lord Fowlworth. The Earl knew that Miles was a shrewd, cool-headed lad. But the King had already hinted that the name was familiar to his ears. And a single hasty answer or unguarded speech upon the young knight's part might awaken him to a full knowledge. Such a mishap was of all things to be avoided just then. For thanks to the machinations of that enemy of his father of whom Miles had heard so much and was soon to hear more the King had always retained and still held a bitter and rankerous enmity against the unfortunate nobleman. It was no very difficult matter for the Earl to divert the King's attention from the matter of the feast. His Majesty was very intent just then upon supplying a quota of troops to the Dauphin. And the chief object of his visit to Devlin was to open negotiations with the Earl, looking to that end. He was interested, much interested in Miles and in the coming jousting in which the young warrior was to prove himself. But he was interested in it in conversation from the other and more engrossing matter. So, though he made some passing and half preoccupied inquiry about the feast, he was easily satisfied with the Earl's reasons for not holding it. Which were that he had arranged a consultation for that morning in regard to the troops for the Dauphin, to which meeting he had summoned a number of his own more important dependent nobles, that the King himself needed repose and the hour or so of rest the harbour surgeon had ordered him to take after his midday meal. That Father Thomas had laid upon Miles a petty penance, that for the first three days of his nighthood he should eat his meals without meat and in his own apartment, and various other reasons equally good and sufficient. So the King was satisfied and the feast was dispensed with. The next morning had been set for the jousting, and all that day the workmen were busy with the guests in the great quadrangle, upon which, as was said before, looked the main buildings of the castle. The windows of Miles's apartment opened directly upon the bustling scene, the carpenter's hammering and sawing, the upholsterer's snipping, cutting and tacking. Miles and Gascoigne stood gazing out from the open casement with their arms lying across one another's shoulders in the old boyhood fashion. And Miles felt his heart shrink with a sudden tight pang as the realization came sharply and vividly upon him that all these preparations were being made for him, and that the next day he should, with almost the certainty of death, meet either glory or failure under the eyes not only of all the greater and lesser castle folk, but of the King himself and noble strangers critically used to deeds of chivalry and prowess. Perhaps he had never fully realized the magnitude of the reality before. In that tight pang at his heart he drew a deep breath, almost a sigh. Gascoigne turned his head abruptly and looked at his friend, but he did not ask the cause of the sigh. No doubt the same thoughts that were in Miles's mind were in his also. It was towards the latter part of the afternoon that a message came from the earl, bidding Miles attend him in his private closet. After Miles had bowed and kissed his lordship's hand, the earl motioned him to take a seat, telling him that he had some final words to say that might occupy a considerable time. He talked to the young man for about half an hour in his quiet, measured voice, only now and then showing a little agitation by rising and walking up and down the room for a turn or two. Very many things were disclosed in that talk that had caused Miles long hours of brooding thought, for the earl spoke freely and without concealment to him concerning his father and the fortunes of the House of Fowlworth. Miles had surmised many things, but it was not until then that he knew for a certainty who was his father's malignant and powerful enemy, that it was the great earl of Alban, the rival and bitter enemy of the earl of Mackworth. It was not until then that he knew that the present earl of Alban was the Lord Brockhurst who had killed Sir John Dale in the anti-room at Fowlworth Castle that morning so long ago in his early childhood. It was not until then that he knew all the circumstances of his father's blindness, that he had been overthrown in the melee at the great tournament at York, and that that same Lord had risen his iron-shod war-horse twice over his enemy's prostrate body before his squire could draw him from the press and had then and there given him the wound from which he afterwards went blind. The earl swore to Miles that Lord Brockhurst had done what he did willfully and had afterwards boasted of it. Then, with some hesitation, he told Miles the reason of Lord Brockhurst's enmity and the reason on account of Lady Fowlworth, whom he had one time sought in marriage and that he had sworn vengeance against the man who had won her. Piece by piece the earl of Mackworth recounted every circumstance and detail of the revenge that the blind man's enemy had afterwards reeked upon him. He told Miles how when his father was attainted of high treason and his estates forfeited to the crown the king had granted the barony bridge to the then newly created earl of Albin in spite of all the efforts of Lord Fowlworth's friends to the contrary. That when he himself had come out from an audience with the king with others of his father's friends the earl of Albin had boasted in the anti-room in a loud voice evidently intended for them all to hear that now that he had Fowlworth's fat lands he would never rest till he had hunted the blind man out from his home and brought his head to the block. Ever since then said the earl of Mackworth he hath been striving by every means to discover thy father's place of concealment. Sometime happily he may find it and then. Miles had felt for a long time that he was being molded and shaped and that the earl of Mackworth's was the hand that was making him what he was growing to be. But he had never realized what things expected of him should he pass the first great test and show himself what his friends hoped to see him. Now he knew that all were looking upon him to act sometime as his father's champion and when that time should come to challenge the earl of Albin to the ordeal of single combat to purge his father's name of treason to restore him to his rank and to set the house of Fowlworth where it stood before misfortune fell upon it. But it was not alone concerning his and his father's affairs that the earl of Mackworth talked to Miles. He told him that the earl of Albin was the earl of Mackworth's enemy also. That in his younger days he had helped Lord Fowlworth who was his kinsman to win his wife and that then Lord Brookhurst had sworn to compass his ruin as he had sworn to compass the ruin of his friend. Now that Lord Brookhurst was grown to be earl of Albin and great and powerful he was forever plotting against him and showed Miles how if Lord Fowlworth were discovered and arrested for treason he also would be likely to suffer for aiding and abetting him. Then it dawned upon Miles that the earl looked to him to champion the house of Beaumont as well as that of Fowlworth. Mayhap said the earl that it was all for the pleasant sport of the matter that I have taken upon me this toil and endeavour to have thee knighted with honour that thou mightst fight the Delfany night. Nay, nay, Miles Fowlworth, I have not laboured so hard for such a small matter as that. I have had the king unknown to himself so knight thee that thou mayst be the pier of Albin himself and now I would have thee to hold thine own with the Sur de la Montagne to try whether thou beest Albin's match and to approve thyself worthy of the honour of thy knighthood. I am sorry, nevertheless he added after a moment's pause that this could not have been put off for a while longer for my plans for bringing thee to battle with that vile Albin are not yet ripe. But such a chance of the king coming hither often. And then I am glad of this match that a good occasion offers to get thee presently away from England. I would have thee out of the king's sight so soon as may be after this jousting. He taketh a liking to thee and I fear me that he should inquire more nearly concerning thee and so all be discovered and spoiled. My brother George goeth upon the first of next month to France to take service with the Dauphin having under his command a company of ten scorn men knights and archers. Thou shalt go with him and there stay till I sin for thee to return. With this the protracted interview concluded the Earl charging miles to say nothing further about the French expedition for the present even to his friend for it was as yet a matter of secrecy known only to the king and a few nobles closely concerned in the venture. Then miles arose to take his leave. He asked and obtained permission for Gascoigne to accompany him to France. Then he paused for a moment or two for it was strongly upon him to speak of a matter that had been lying in his mind all day a matter that he had dreamed of much with open eyes during the long vigil of the night before. The Earl looked up inquiringly, What is it thou wouldst ask? said he. Miles's heart was beating quickly within him at the thought of his own boldness and as he spoke his cheeks burned like fire. Sir! said he, mustered his courage at last. Happily thou hast forgot it, but I have not. Nevertheless, a long time since when I spoke of serving the Lady Alice as her true knight and its wisely laugh at my words and bade me wait first till I had earned my spurs. But now, sir, I have gotten my spurs and do now crave thy gracious leave that I may serve that Lady as her true knight. A space of dead silence fell in which Miles's heart beat tumultuously within him. I know not what thou meanest said the Earl at last in a somewhat constrained voice. How wouldst thou serve her? What wouldst thou have? I would have only a little matter just now, answered Miles. I would but crave of her a favour for to wear in the morrow's battle so that she may know that I hold her for my own true lady and that I may have the courage to fight more boldly having that favour to defend. The Earl sat looking at him for a while in brooding silence, stroking his beard the while. Suddenly his brow cleared. So be it, said he. I grant thee my leave to ask the Lady Alice for a favour, and if she is pleased to give it to thee, I shall not say thee nay. But I set this upon thee as a provision, that thou shalt not see her without the Lady Anne be present. Thus it was, as I remember, thou saw her first, and with it thou must now be satisfied. Go thou to the long gallery and thither they will come anon if not hinder them. Miles waited in the long gallery perhaps some fifteen or twenty minutes. No one was there but himself. It was a part of the castle connecting the Earls and the Countess's apartments, and was used but little. During that time he stood looking absently out of the open casement into the stony courtyard beyond, trying to put into words that which he had to say, wondering, with anxiety, how soon the young ladies would come, wondering whether they would come at all. At last the door at the farther end of the gallery opened, and turning sharply at the sound he saw the two young ladies enter, Lady Alice leaning upon Lady Anne's arm. It was the first time that he had seen them since the ceremony of the morning, and as he advanced to meet them the Lady Anne came frankly forward and gave him her hand, which Miles raised to his lips. I give thee joy of thy knighthood, Sir Miles, said she, and do believe in good soothe that if any one deserves such an honour, thou art he. At first little Lady Alice hung back behind her cousin, saying nothing until the Lady Anne, turning suddenly said, Come, cause, has thou not to say to our new-made knight? Canst thou not also wish him joy of his knighthood? Lady Alice hesitated a minute, then gave Miles a timid hand, which he, with a strange mixture of joy and confusion, took as timidly as it was offered. He raised the hand and said it lightly and for an instant to his lips, as he had done with the Lady Anne's hand, but with very different emotions. I give you joy of your knighthood, Sir, said Lady Alice in a voice so low that Miles could hardly hear it. Both flushed red and as he raised his head again, Miles saw that the Lady Anne had withdrawn to one side. Then he knew that it was to give him the opportunity to proffer his request. A little space of silence followed, the while he strove to key his courage to the sane of that which lay in his mind. Then he said at last, and then again, Lady, I have a favour to ask thee. What is it thou wouldst have, Sir Miles? She murmured in reply. Lady, said he, ever since I first saw thee, I have thought that if I might choose of all the world thou only wouldst I choose for my true Lady to serve as a right knight should. Here he stopped, frightened at his own boldness. Lady Alice stood quite still with her face turned away. Thou art not angered at what I say, he said. She shook her head. I have longed and longed for the time, said he, to ask a boon of thee, and now hath that time come. Lady, tomorrow I go to meet a right good night, in arms and in jousting, as thou dost know. Yea, he is famous in arms, and I be nobody. Nevertheless I fight for the honour of England, and Macworth, and, and for thy sake. I, thou art not angered at what I say. Again the Lady Alice shook her head. I would that thou I would that thou would give me some favour for to wear, or thy necklace. He waited anxiously for a little while, but Lady Alice did not answer immediately. I fear me, said Miles presently, that I have in soothe offended thee in asking this thing. I know that it is a parlous bold matter, for one so raw and chivalry and in courtliness as I am, and one so poor in rank to ask thee for thy favour. And I have offended, I privy let it be as though I had not asked it. Perhaps it was the young man's timidity that brought a sudden courage to Lady Alice. Perhaps it was the graciousness of her gentle breeding that urged her to relieve Miles's somewhat awkward humility. Perhaps it was something more than either that lent her bravery to speak, even knowing that the Lady Anne heard all. She turned quickly to him. Miles she said, I am foolish, and do wrong thee by my foolishness and silence, for truly I am proud to have thee where my favour. She unclasped as she spoke the thin gold chain from about her neck. I give thee this chain, said she, and it will bring me joy to have it honoured by thy true nightliness, and, giving it, I do wish thee all success. She said, and turning, left him holding the necklace in his hand. Her cousin left the window to meet her, bowing her head with a smile to Miles as she took her cousin's arm again and led her away. He stood looking after them as they left the room, and, when they were gone, he raised the necklace to his lips, with a heart beating tumultuously with a triumphant joy it had never felt before. End of Chapter 25 Chapter 26 of Men of Iron This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by John Leder Men of Iron by Howard Pyle Chapter 26 And now, at last, had come the day of days for Miles Faultworth. The day when he was to put to the test the sun was raining. The day that was to disclose what promise of future greatness there was in his strong young body. And it was a noble day. One of those of late September when the air seemed sweeter and fresher than at other times. The sun, bright and as yellow as gold, the wind, lusty and strong, before which the great wide clouds go sailing majestically across the bright blueness of the sky above, while their dusky shadows cover the face of the rusty earth beneath. As was said before, the lists had been set up in the great quadrangle of the castle, then which, level and smooth as a floor, no more fitting place could be chosen. The course was of the usual size, sixty paces long and separated along its whole length by a barrier of about five feet high. Upon the west side of the course and about twenty paces distant from it a scaffolding had been built facing towards the east so as to avoid the glare of the afternoon sun. In the center was a raised dais hung round with cloth of blue embroidered with lion's rampant. Upon the dais stood a cushioned throne for the king and upon the steps below ranged in the order of their dignity were seats for the Earl, his guests, the family, the ladies, knights and gentlemen of the castle. In front the scaffolding was covered with the gayest tapestries and brightest colored hangings that the castle could afford. And above, party-colored penance and streamers, surmounted by the royal ensign of England, waved and fluttered in the brisk wind. At either end of the lists stood the pavilions of the knights. That of miles was at the southern extremity and was hung by the Earl's desire with cloth of the Beaumont colors, black and yellow, while a wooden shield bearing three gossawks spread the crest of the house was nailed to the roof and a long streamer of black and yellow trailed out in the wind from the staff above. Miles, partly armed, stood at the doorway of the pavilion watching the folk gathering at the scaffolding. The ladies of the house were already seated and the ushers were bustling hither and thither assigning the others their places. A considerable crowd of common folk and burgers from the town had already gathered at the barrier's opposite. And as he looked at the restless and growing multitude he felt his heart beat quickly and his flesh grow cold with a nervous trepidation, just as the lad of to-day feels when he sees the auditorium filling with friends and strangers who are to listen by and by to the reading of his prize poem. Suddenly there came a loud blast of trumpets. A great gate at the farther extremity of the lists was thrown open and the king appeared, riding upon a white horse preceded by the king-at-arms and the heralds attended by the earl and the comte-vimoire and followed by a crowd of attendants. Just then Gascon, who, with Wilkes, was busy lacing some of the armor plates with new thongs called Miles and he turned and entered the pavilion. As the two squires were adjusting these last pieces strapping them in place and tying the thongs, Lord George and Sir James Lee entered the pavilion. Lord George took the young man by the hand and with a pleasant smile wished him success in the coming encounter. Sir James seemed anxious and disturbed. He said nothing and, after Gascon had placed the open bassinet that supports the tilting helm in its place, he came forward and examined the armor piece by piece carefully and critically testing the various straps and leather points and thongs to make sure of their length. Sir, said Gascon who stood by watching him anxiously, I do trust that I have done all neatly and well. I see nothing amiss, sir. Said the old knight half grudgingly and so far as I may know he is ready to mount. Just then a messenger entered thinking that the king was seated and Lord George Badmiles make haste to meet the challenger. Francis said Miles, the pretty, give me my pouch yonder. Gascon handed him the velvet bag and he opened it and took out the necklace that the Lady Alice had given him the day before. Tie me this around my arm, said he. He looked down and keeping his eyes studiously fixed on Gascon's fingers as they twined the thin golden chain around the iron plates of his right arm, knowing that Lord George's eyes were upon him and blushing fiery red at the knowledge. Sir James was at that moment examining the great tilting-helm and Lord George watched him, smiling amusedly. And hast thou then already chosen the Lady? He said presently, I, my lord, answered Miles simply. Mary, I trust we be so honored that she is one of our castle folk, said the Earl's brother. For a moment Miles did not reply, then he looked up. My lord, said he, the favor was given to me by the Lady Alice. Lord George looked gray for the moment, then he laughed. Mary, thou art a bold archer to shoot for such high game. Miles did not answer, and at that moment two grooms led his horse up to the door of the pavilion. Gascon and Wilkes helped him do a saddle, and then Gascon holding his horse by the bridal rain he rode slowly across the lists to the little open space in front of the scaffolding and the king's seat just as the Sur de la Montagne approached from the opposite direction. As soon as a two-night champion had reached each his appointed station in front of the scaffolding, the marshal later read the challenge, which, unrolling the parchment, he began to do an allowed clear voice so that all might hear. It was a quaint document wrapped up in the tangled heraldic verbiage of the time. The pith of the matter was that the Sir Brian Philippe Francis de la Montagne proclaimed before all men the greater chivalry and skillet arms of the knights of France and of Dauphiny, and likewise the greater fairness of the ladies of France and Dauphiny, and would there defend those sayings with his body without fear or a taint as to the truth of the saying. As soon as the speaker had ended the marshal let him call the defendant of the other side. Then Miles spoke his part with a voice trembling somewhat with the excitement of the moment, but loudly and clearly enough. I, Miles Edward Falworth, knight, so created by the hand and by the grace of his majesty, King Henry Fourth of England, do take upon me the gauge of this battle and would defend with my body the chivalry of the knights of England and the fairness of the ladies thereof. Then after the speaker ended his proclamation and had retired to his place the ceremony of claiming and redeeming the helmet to which all young knights were subjected upon first entering the lists was performed. Then Miles cried in a loud voice, I, Gillis Hamilton, hailed to the most noble Clarence Hall, King at Arms, do claim the helm of Sir Miles Edward Falworth by this reason that he hath never yet entered a joust or tourney. To which Miles answered, I do acknowledge the right of that claim and herewith proffer the in ransom for the same this purse of one hundred marks in gold. As he spoke Gascon stepped forward and delivered the purse with the money to the herald. It was a more than usually considerable ransom and had been made up by the Earl and Lord George that morning. Right nobly hast thou redeemed thy helm, said the herald, and hereafter be thou free to enter any jousting whatsoever and in whatever place. So, all being ended, both knights bowed to the king and then escorted each by his squire returned to his pavilion saluted by the spectators with a loud clapping of hands. Sir James Lee met Miles in front of his tent. Coming up to the side of the horse the old man laid his hand upon the saddle, looking up into the young man's face. Thou wilt not fail in this venture and bring shame upon me? Nay, my dear master, said Miles, I will do my best. I doubt it not, said the old man, and believe me, thou wilt come off right well. For what he did say this morning, me thinks the Sir de la Montagne, a meneth only to break three lances with thee and will content himself therewith without seeking to unhorse thee. Nay the less be thou bold and watchful, and if thou find that he endeavour to cast thee, do thy best to unhorse him. Remember also those things which I have told thee ten thousand times before. Hold thy toes well down and grip the stirrup hard, more especially at the moment of meeting. Bend thy body forward, and keep thy elbow close to thy side. Bear thy lance-point one foot above thy adversary's helm, until within two lengths of meeting, and strike where a middle of his shield. So, Miles, now may as hold thine own and come off with glory. As he ended speaking, he drew back, and the Gascon, mounting upon a stool, covered his friend's head and bassinet with the great jousting helm, making fast the leaven points that held it to the iron collar. As he was tying the last thong, a messenger came from the herald saying that the challenger was ready, and then Miles knew the time had come, and reaching down and giving Sir James a grip of the hand, he drew on his gauntlet, took the jousting lance that Wilkes handed him, and turned his horse's head towards the end of the lists. End of Chapter 26 Recording by John Leader Bloomington, Illinois Chapter 27 Of Men of Iron This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Lori Hemp Men of Iron by Howard Pyle Chapter 27 As Miles took his place at the south end of the lists, he found the Ciel de la Montagne already at his station. Through the peephole in the face of the huge helmet, a transverse slit known as Acularium, he could see, like a strange narrow picture, the farther end of the lists, the spectators upon either side moving and shifting with ceaseless restlessness, and in the center of all, his opponent, sitting with a spear point directed upward, erect, motionless as a statue of iron, the sunlight gleaming and flashing upon his polished plates of steel, and the trappings of his horse swaying and fluttering in the rushing of the fresh breeze. Upon that motionless figure, his sight gradually centered with every faculty of mine and soul. He knew the next moment the signal would be given that was to bring him either glory or shame from that iron statue. He ground his teeth together with stern resolve to do his best in the coming encounter, and murmured a brief prayer in the hollow darkness of his huge helmet. Then, with a shake, he settled himself more firmly in his saddle, slowly raised his spear point until the shaft reached the exact angle, and he was almost motionless. There was a moment of dead, tense, breathless pause. Then he rather felt than saw the marshal raise his baton. He gathered himself together, and the next moment a bugle sounded loud and clear. In one blinding rush he drove his spurs into the sides of his horse, and an instant answer felt the noble steed spring forward with a bound. Through all the clashing of his armor reverberating in the hollow depths of his helmet, he saw the male-clad figure on the lists, rushing towards him, looming larger and larger as they came together. He gripped his saddle with his knees, clutched the stirp of the soles of his feet, and bent his body still more forward. In the instant of meeting, with almost the blindness of instinct, he dropped the point of his spear against a single red flower deluce in the middle of the oncoming shield. There was a thunderous crash that seemed to rack every joint. He heard the crackle of splintered wood. He felt the momentary trembling beneath him, and in the next instant it passed by. As he checked the onward rush of his horse at the far end of the course, he heard faintly in the dim hollow recess of the helmet the loud shout and clapping of hands of those who looked on, and found himself gripping with nervous intensity the bottom of a broken spear. His mouth clammy with excitement, and his heart thumping in his throat. Then he realized that he had met his opponent and had borne the meeting well. As he turned his horse's head towards his station, he saw the other trotting slowly back towards his station, also holding a broken spear shaft in his hand. As he passed the iron figure, a voice issued from the helmet. Well done, Sir Miles, nobly done! And his heart bound in an answer to the words of praise. When he had reached his own end of the lists, he flung away his broken spear, and Gascoyne came forward with another. Oh, Miles! he said with Sabani's voice. It was nobly done. Never did I see a better ridden course in all my life. I did not believe that thou couldst do half so well. Oh, Miles! pretty knock him out of his saddle, and thou lovest me. Miles, in his high-keyed nervousness, could not forbear a short hysterical laugh at his friend's warmth of enthusiasm. He took the fresh lance in his hand, and then, seeing his opponent was walking his horse slowly up and down at his end of the lists, did the same during the little time of rest before the next encounter. When, in answer to the command of the Marshal, he took his place a second time, he found himself calmer and more collected than before. But every faculty no less intensely fixed than it had been at first. Once more the Marshal raised his baton. Once more the horn sounded, and once more the two rushed together with the same thunderous crash, the same splinter of broken spears, the same momentary trembling recoil of the horse, and the same onward rush past one another. Once more the spectators applauded as the two knights turned their horses and rode back towards their station. This time as they met midway the Sierra de la Montagne reigned in his horse. Sir Miles, said his muffled voice, I swear to thee by my faith I had not thought to meet in thee such an opponent as thou dost prove thyself to be. I had thought to find in thee a raw boy, but find instead a paladin. Hitherto I have given thee grace as I would give grace to any mere lad, and thought of nothing but to give the opportunity to break thy lance. Now I shall do my endeavour to unhorse thee as I wouldn't acknowledge peer in arms. Nevertheless, on account of thy youth I give thee this warning, so that thou mayst hold thyself in readiness. I give thee grammasy for thy courtesy, my lord, answered Miles, speaking in French, and I was strived to encounter thee as best I may, and pardon me if I seem forward in so saying, but why in thy place, my lord, I would change me on breast-piece and overgrowth of my saddle, they are sprung in the stitches. Said the seer de la montagne, laughing. Breast-piece and overgrowth have carried me through more tilts than one, and shall through this. And thou give me a blow so true as to breast-piece and overgrowth I will own myself fairly conquered by thee. So saying, he saluted Miles with the butt of the spear he still held, and passed by to his end of the lists. Miles, with Gascoyne running beside him, rode across to his pavilion, and called to Edmund Wilkes to bring him a cup of spiced wine. After Gascoyne had taken off his helmet, and as he sat wiping the perspiration from his face, Sir James came up and took him by the hand. My dear boy," said he, gripping the hand he held, never could I hope to be so overjoyed in my old age as I am this day. Thou dost bring honour to me, for I tell thee truly thou dost ride like a knight, seasoned in twenty tornies. It hath given me tenfold courage to hear thee say so, dear master," answered Miles, and truly, he added, I shall need all my courage this bout, for the Sierra de la Montagne telleth me that he will ride to unhorse me this time. Did he indeed so say, said Sir James, then be like he meaneth to strike at thy helm, thy best chances to strike also at his, doth thy hand tremble? Not now," answered Miles. Then keep thy head cool and thine eye true, set thy trust in God and happily, thou wilt come out of this bout honourably, in spite of the rawness of thy youth. Just then Edmund Wilkes presented the cup of wine to Miles, who drank it off at a draught, and thereupon Gascoigne replaced the helm and tied the thongs. The charge that Sir James Lee had given to Miles to strike at his adversary's helm was a piece of advice he probably would not have given to so young a knight, accepting as a last resort. A blow perfectly delivered upon the helm was of all others the most difficult for the recipient to recover from, but then a blow upon the helm and fifty perfectly given. The huge cylindrical tilting helm was so constructed in front as to slope at an angle in all directions to one point. That point was the centre of a cross, formed by two iron bands, welded to the steel face plates of the helm, where it was weakened by the opening slit of the ocularium, or peephole. In the very centre of this cross was a little flattened surface where the bands were riveted together, and it was upon that minute point the blow must be given to be perfect, to work Miles determined to attempt. As he took his station Edmund Wilkes came running across from the pavilion with a lance that Sir James had chosen, and Miles, returning the one that Cascoyne had just given him, took it in his hand. It was of seasoned oak, somewhat thicker than the other, a tough weapon, not easily to be broken even in such an encounter as he was like to have. He balanced the weapon and found that it fitted perfectly to his grasp. As he raised the point to rest his opponent took his station and set aside his identity of the lists, and again there was a little space of breathless pause. Miles was surprised at his own coolness. Every nervous tremor was gone. Before, he had been conscious of the critical multitude looking down upon him. Now it was a conflict of man to man, and such a conflict had no tears for his young heart of iron. The spectators had somehow come to the knowledge that this was to be a more serious encounter than the two which had preceded it, and a breathless silence fell the night stood in place. Once more he breathed the short prayer. Holy Mary God me! Then again for the third time the marshal raised his baton, and the horn sounded, and for the third time Miles drove his spurs into his horse's flanks. Again he saw the iron figure of his opponent rushing nearer, nearer, nearer. He centered with a straining intensity, every faculty of soul, mind, and body upon one point. The cross of the ocularium, the mark he was to strike. He braced himself for the tremendous shock which he knew must meet him, and then in a flash dropped his lance-point straight and true. The next instant there was a deafening, stunning crash, a crash like the stroke of a thunderbolt. There was a dazzling blaze of blinding light, and a myriad sparks dance and flicker and sparkle before his eyes. He felt his horse stagger under him, with a recoil, and hardly knowing what he did he drove his spurs deep into its sides with a shout. At the same moment there resounded in his ears a crashing rattle and clatter. He knew not of what, and then as his horse recovered and sprang forward, and as the stunning bewilderment passed he found that his helmet had been struck off. He heard a great shout rise from all, and thought with a sickening, bitter disappointment that it was because he had lost. At the far other end of the course he turned his horse, and then his heart gave a leap and a bound his outward burst. The blood leaped to his cheeks tingling, and his bosom thrilled with an almost agonizing pang of triumph, of wonder, of amazement. There, in a tangle of his horse's harness and of embroidered trappings, the siode le montagne lay stretched upon the ground, with his saddle nearby, and his ride of this horse was trotting aimlessly about at the far other end of the lists. Myle saw the two squires of the fallen knight run across to where their master lay. He saw the ladies waving their kerchiefs and veils, and the castle people swinging their hats and shouting in an ecstasy of delight. Many roads slowly back to where the squires were now aiding the fallen knight to rise. The senior squire drew his dagger, cut the leather points, and drew off the helm, disclosing the knight's face, a face white as death, and convulsed with rage, mortification, and bitter humiliation. I was not rightly unhorsed, he cried, hoarsely, and with livid lips. I unhelmed him fairly enough, but my overgirt and breaststrap burst, and my saddle slipped. I was not unhorsed, I say, and I lay claim that I unhelmed him. Sir, said the marshal calmly, and speaking in French, surely thou knowest that the loss of helmet does not decide an encounter. I need not remind thee, my lord, that it was so awarded by Jean of Gant, Duke of Lancaster, when in the jousting match between Renaud de Roy and John de Holland the seer in hand left every point of his helm loosened, so that the helm was beaten off at each stroke, and if he then was justified in doing so of his own choice, and willfully suffering to be unhelmed, how then can this night be accused of evil who suffered it by chance? Nevertheless, said the seer de la Montagne, in the same hoarse, breathless voice, I do affirm and will make my affirmation good with my body, that I fell only by the breaking of my girth, who says otherwise lies. It is the truth he speaketh, said Miles. I myself saw the stitches, or some little what burst, and warned him thereof before we ran this course. Sir! said the marshal to the seer de la Montagne. How can you now complain of that thing which your own enemy advised you of and warned you against? Was it not right nightly for him so to do? The seer de la Montagne stood quite still for a little while, leaning on the shoulder of his chief squire, looking moodily upon the ground. Then, without making answer, he turned and walked slowly away to his pavilion, still leaning on his squire's shoulder whilst the other attendant followed behind, bearing his shield and helmet. Gascoyne had picked up Miles' fallen helmet as the seer de la Montagne moved away, and Lord George and Sir James Lee came walking across the lists to where Miles still sat. Then, the one taking his horse by the bridal rain, and the other walking beside the saddle, they led him before the ray's dais where the king sat. Even the comte de la Mose, mortified and amazed as he must have been at the overthrow of his best knight, joined in the praise and congratulation that poured upon the unconqueror. Miles, his heart swelling with a passion of triumphant delight, looked up, and met the gaze of Lady Alice fixed intently upon him. A red spot of excitement still burned in either cheek, and it flamed to a rosier red as he bowed his head to her before turning away. Gascoyne had just removed Miles' breastplate and gorgeot, when Sir James Lee burst into the pavilion. While his grim coldness was gone, and he flung his arms around the young man's neck, hugging him heartily, and kissing him upon either cheek. Here he let him go, "'My own dear boy,' he said, holding him off at arm's length, and winking his one keen eye rapidly, as though to wink away a dampness of which he was ashamed. "'My own dear boy, I do tell thee truly, this is as sweet to me as though thou wert my own son. Sweeter to me, than when I first broke my own lance and triumph and felt myself to be a right knight.' "'Sir,' answered Miles, what thou sayeth, does rejoice my very heart. Nevertheless, it is but just to say that both his breast piece and overgrowth were burst in the stitches before he ran his course, for so I saw with mine own eyes. "'Burst in the stitches,' snorted Sir James, think as thou he did not know in what condition was his horse's gearing. I tell thee, he went down because thou did strike fear and true, and he did not so strike thee. Had he been guy of Warwick, he had gone down all the same under such a stroke, and in such case.'