 28 It was not until more than three weeks after the king had left Debel and Castle that Lord George and his company of knights and archers were ready for the expedition to France. Two weeks of that time, Miles spent at Crosby Dale, with his father and mother. It was the first time that he had seen them since, four years ago. He had quitted the low, narrow, white-walled farmhouse for the castle of the great Earl of Macroth. He had never appreciated before how low and narrow and poor the farmhouse was. Now, with his eyes trained at the bigness of Debel and Castle, he looked around him with wonder and pity at his father's humble surroundings. He realized, as he never else could have realized, how great was the fallen fortune that had cast the house of Falworth down from its rightful station to such a level as that upon which it now rested. And at the same time that he thus recognized how poor was their law, how dependent upon the charity of others, he also recognized how generous was the friendship of Pryor Edward, who paroled his own safety so greatly in affording the family of the attained lord in asylum in its bitter hour of need and peril. Miles paid many visits to the gentle old priest during those two weeks' visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One warm, bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in the Pryorie garden, after a game or two of drafts, the young knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes of his father's house, and of how all who knew those circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place once more. Pryor Edward added many things to those which Miles already knew, things of which the Earl either did not know or did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the king felt for the blind nobleman, that Lord Falworth had been one of King Richard's council in times past, that it was not a little owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby had been banished from England, and that though he was then living in the retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed King Richard's abdication. He told Miles that at the time when Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and then needed only such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent to conspirator as Sir John to complete his rune. Miles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own mind that the king had many rational, perhaps just grounds for grievance against such an ardent opponent as a blind Lord had shown himself to be. But, Sir, said he, after a little space of silence, when prior Edward had ended, told enmity and debris treason of very different matters. Happily, my father was Bollingbroke's enemy, but sure, thou dost not believe he is justly and rightfully tainted with treason? Nay, answered the priest. How can thou ask me such a thing? Dye believe thy father a traitor, thick as thou I would thus tell his son thereof. Nay, Miles, I do know thy father well, and have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are so honourable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all these things to show that the king is not without some reason to be thy father's unfriend. Neither, happily, is Earl of Albin without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part, shouldst not feel bitter rancour against the king for what had happened to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst. I mean the Earl of Albin. For, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to others. So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had right upon their side. But tell me this, said Miles presently, does thou then think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death with this wicked Earl of Albin, who hath so ruined my father and body and fortune? Nay, said Prior Edward thoughtfully, I say not that thou stuzz evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me, but God hath given that they be in the world, and may, he forbid, that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and evil. Me seems even evil thing is sometimes passing good when rightfully used. Miles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this much be gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of his fighting the Earl of Albin for his temporal father's sake. So Miles went to France and Lord George's company, a soldier of fortune, as his captain was. He was there for only six months, but those six months brought a great change in his life. In the fierce factional battles that raged round the walls of Paris, in the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris itself after the truce. A court brilliant and wicked, witty and cruel, the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had seen had been a fiery crucible test to his soul. And I love my hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no longer the innocent Sir Gala had who had walked in pure white up the long hall to be knighted by the king, but his soul was of that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his grey eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and loved it not. Then one day a courier came bringing a packet. It was a letter from the Earl bidding Miles return straight way to England and to Macworth House upon the strand, nigh to London without delay, and Miles knew that his time had come. It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them Quinto London town, its blank stone wall, its crooked dirty streets, its high gabled wooden houses over which rose a sharp spire of St. Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched the straight, broad highway of the strand, on one side the great houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles, on the other the Covent Garden, or the Convent Garden as it was then called, and the rolling country, where great stone windmills swung their slow moving arms in the damp, soft April breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White Hall, the Westminster. It was the first time that Miles had seen famous London town, in that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open shops and booths and tall, gabled houses, at the busy throng of merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another, at townsfolk, men and dames, picking their way along the muddy kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care to tarry, but rode with mind heavy with graver matters, through the streets and out through the temple bar, direct from Macworth House, near the Savoy Palace. It was with a great deal of interest that Miles and his patron regarded one another, when they met for the first time, after that half year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Miles it seemed somehow very strange that his lordship's familiar face and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Macworth, perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion, and bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer sun could have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, now heavier and more mannish from having been shaved, and the white seam of a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the two men stood for a while regarding one another. Miles was the first to break the silence. My lord, said he, thou didst send for me to come back to England, behold, here am I. When it didst thou land, sir Miles, said the Earl, I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last, answered the young man. The Earl of Macworth stroked his beard softly. Thou art marvellous changed, said he. I would not have thought it possible. Miles smiled, somewhat grimly. I have seen such things, my lord, in France and in Paris, said he quietly, as may make a lad man before his time. From which I gather, said the Earl, that many adventures have befallen thee, me thought thou wouldst find troublesome times in the Dover's camp. Elsa would not have sent thee to France. A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat musingly, half absently, regarding the tall or wrecked, powerful young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy hands were clasped and rested upon the long, heavy sword, around the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces, the bright sunlight from the window behind. Sir Miles, said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at last, dost thou know why I sent for thee hither? I, said Miles calmly, how can I else? Thou wouldst not have called me from Paris, but for one thing. Me thinks that was sent for me to fight the Earl of Albin, and lo, I am here. Thou speakest very boldly, said the Earl. I do hope that thy deeds be as bold as thy words. That, said Miles, thou must ask other men. Me thinks no one may justly call me coward. By my troth, said the Earl, smiling, looking upon thee, limbs and girth, bone and sinew. I would not like to be the he that would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy, sir Miles, I may tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the Earl of Albin I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the Prince of Wales, who, with other of the princes, is upon our side in the Coral. He hath promised to take thee into his service until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy together, and tomorrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where his Highness is now lodging. As the Earl ended his speech, Miles bowed, but did not speak. The Earl waited for a little while, and so to give him the opportunity to answer. Well, sir Al, said he had last with a shade of impatience, hast thou not to say, me seems thou tickest all this with marvellous coolness? Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind? I, said the Earl, said I say. Sir, said Miles, I have thought and pondered this matter much while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question and all honest, and I how thee leave? The Earl nodded his head. Sir, am I not right in believing that thou has certain weighty purposes and aims of thine own to gain, and I win this battle against the Earl of Albin? Has my brother George been telling thee off to such a purpose, said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence? Miles did not answer. No matter, added Lord Macworth, I will not ask thee who told thee such a thing. As for thy question, well, since thou ask it frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to gain in having the Earl of Albin overthrown. Miles bowed. Sir, said he, happily thine ends there is much beyond off that I can comprehend as though I were a little child. Only this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and for the honour of my house. Nevertheless, in return for all that it will so greatly advantage thee, will thou not grant me a boon in return should I overcome mine enemy? What is thy boon, sir, Miles? That thou wilt grant me thy favour to seek the lady Alice de Malbray for my wife. The Earl of Macworth started up from his seat. Sir Miles fall forth! He began violently, and then stopped short, drawing his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister. Miles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently the Earl turned on his heel and strode to the open window. A long time passed in silence, while he stood there, gazing out of the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man. Suddenly he swung around again. Sir Miles, said he, the family of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and honour, thou, who art the son of the house, shall tab the I-suit weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou wert my peer in all things. Such is my answer. Art thou satisfied? I could ask no more, answered Miles. End of Chapter XXVIII. This is a LibriVox recording. That night Miles lodged at Mackworth House the next morning, as soon as he had broken as fast, which he did in the privacy of his own apartment, the Earl bade him and Gascony to make ready for the barge, which was then waiting at the river's stairs to take them to Scotland Yard. The Earl himself accompanied them, and as the heavy, snub-nosed boat, rode by the six oarsmen in Mackworth livery, slid slowly and heavily up against the stream, the Earl, leaning back in his cushioned seat, pointed out the various ends of the great priest or nobles, palatial town, residences standing mostly a little distance back from the water behind terraced high-walled gardens and lawns. Yon was the Bishop of Exeter's clothes. Yon was the Bishop of Baths. That was York House, and that Chester Inn. So passing by gardens and lawns and palaces, they came at last to Scotland Yard's stairs, a broad flight of marble steps that led up or to a stone platform above, upon which opened the gateway of the garden beyond. The Scotland Yard of Miles Fallsworth Day was one of the more pretentious and commodious of the palaces of the Strand. It took its name from having been from ancient times the London Inn, which the tributary kings of Scotland occupied, went on their periodical visits of homage to England. Now, during this time of Scotland's independence, the Prince of Wales had taken up his lodgings in the old palace and made it noisy with the mad, boisterous mirth of his court. As the watermen drew the barge close to the landing place of the stairs, the Earl stepped ashore, and followed by Miles and Gascony ascended to the broad gateway of the river wall of the garden. Three-minute arms who lounged upon the bench under the shade of the little pent roof of a guardhouse beside the wall arose and sleutered as the well-known figure of the Earl mounted the steps. The Earl nodded a cool answer, and passing unchallenged the gate led the way up to a pleased walk, beyond which, as Miles could see, there stretched a little grassy lawn and stone-paved terrace. As the Earl and the two young men approached the end of the walk, they were met by the sound of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and the rattle of dishes. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a party of young gentlemen, who sat at a late breakfast under the shade of a wide-spreading lime tree. They had evidently just left the tilt yard for two of the guests, sturdy, thick-set young knights, yet wore a part of their tilting armor. Behind the merry scenes stood the gray, hoary old palace, a steep flight of stone steps and a long, open stone arts gallery, which evidently led to the kitchen beyond, for along it hurried serving men running up and down the tall flight of steps and bearing trays and dishes and cups and flagons. It was a merry sight and a pleasant one. The day was warm and balmy, and the yellow sunlight fell in waving on certain patches of light, dappling the tablecloth and twinkling and sparkling upon the dishes, cups, and flagons. At the head of the table sat a young man some three or four years older than Miles, dressed in a full suit of rich blue, brocaded velvet, embroidered with gold thread and trimmed with black fur. His face, which was turned towards them as they mounted from the lawn to the little stone-flagged terrace, was frank and open. The cheeks smooth and fair, the eyes dark and blue. He was tall and rather slight, and wore as thick yellow hair hanging to his shoulders where it was cut square across after the manner of the times. Miles did not need to be told that it was the Prince of Wales. Ho, gaffer Fox, he cried, as soon as he caught sight of the Earl of Macworth. What when blows the hither among us wild, malloured drakes? I warrant it is not for the love of us, but only to fill that own larder after the manner of Sir Fox among the drakes. Whom hast thou with thee? Some gostling thou art about to pluck? A sudden hush fell upon the company, and all faces were turned towards the visitors. The Earl bowed with a soft smile. Your highness, he said smoothly, is pleased to be pleasant. Sir, I bring you the young night of whom I spoke to you sometimes since. Sir Miles Fallworth, you may be pleased to bring to mind that you so condescended as to promise to take him into your train until the fitting time arrived for that certain matter of which we spoke. Sir Miles said the Prince of Wales with a frank, pleasant smile. I have heard great reports of thy skill and prowess in France, both from Macworth and from others. It will pleasure me greatly to have thee in my household, more especially, he added, as it will get thee, callow as thou art, out of my Lord Fox's clutches. Our faction cannot do without the Earl of Macworth's cunning wits, Sir Miles. Nevertheless, I would not like to put all my fate and fortune into his hands without bond. I hope that thou dost not rest thy fortunes entirely upon his aid and countenance. All who were present felt the discomfort of the Prince's speech. It was evident that one of his mad wild humours was upon him. In another case, the hare-brained young curdiers around might have taken their cue from him, but the Earl of Macworth was no subject for their jibes and witticisms. A constrained silence fell, in which the Earl alone maintained a perfect ease of manner. Miles bowed to hide his own embarrassment. Your Highness, he said evasively, I rest my fortune first of all upon God, his strength, and justice. Thou will find safer depends there than upon the Lord of Macworth, said the Prince dryly. But come, he added, with a sudden change of voice and manner, these be jests that border too closely upon bitter earnest for a merry breakfast. It is ill to idle with edge tools. Wilt thou not stay and break thy fast with us, my Lord? Pardon me, your Highness, said the Earl, bowing and smiling the same, smooth smile as lips had worn from the first. Such a smile as Miles had never thought to have seen upon his haughty face. I crave your good leave to decline. I must return home presently, for even now, happily, your uncle, his grace of Winchester, is awaiting my coming upon the business you want of. Happily, your Highness will find more joy as than a lusty young knight like Sir Miles and an old fox like myself, so I leave you with him in your good care. Such was Miles' introduction to the wild young mad cat Prince of Wales, afterwards the famous Henry V, the conqueror of France. For a month or more thereafter, he was a member of the Princely household, and, after a little while, a trusted and honored member. Perhaps it was the calm, sturdy strength, the courage of the young knight that first appealed to the Prince's royal heart. Perhaps afterwards it was the more sterling qualities that underlaid that courage that drew him to the young man. Certain it was that in two weeks, Miles was the acknowledged favorite. He made no protestation of virtue. He always accompanied the Prince in those mad cat ventures to London, where he beheld all manner of wild revelry. He never held himself aloof from his gay comrades, but he looked upon all their mad sports with the same calm gays that had carried him without taint, through the courts of Burgundy and the Dauphine. The gay, roistering young lords and gentlemen, dubbed him St. Miles, and gestured with him about haircloth shirts and flagellations, but witticisms and gest alike failed to move Miles' patient virtue. He went his own gait in the habits of his life, and in so going knew as little as the others of that mad court that the Prince's growing liking for him was, perhaps, more than all else on account of that very temperance. Then, by the by, the Prince began to confide in him as he did in none of the others. There was no great love betwixt the king and his son. It has happened very often that the kings of England have felt bitter jealousy toward their heirs apparent, as they have grown in power, and such was the case with the great King Henry IV. The Prince often spoke to Miles of the clashing and jarring between himself and his father, and the thought began to come to Miles' mind by degrees that maybe the King's jealousy accounted not a little for the Prince's reckless temperance. Once, for instance, as the Prince leaned upon, his shoulder waiting, whilst the attendants made ready the barge that was to carry them down the river to the city, he said abruptly, Miles, what thinkest thou of us all? Does not thy honestly hold us in contempt? Nay, Highness said, Miles, how could I hold contempt? Mary said to the Prince, I myself hold contempt and am not as honest a man as thou. But prithee, have patience with me, Miles. Some day perhaps I too will live a clean life. Now, and I live seriously, the King will be more jealous of me than ever, and that is not a little. Maybe I live thus so that he may not know what I really am and soothe the earnest. The Prince also often talked to Miles concerning his own affairs, of the battle he was to fight for his father's honor, of how the Earl of Macworth had plotted and planned to bring him face to face with the Earl of Albin. He spoke to Miles more than once of the many great changes of state and party that hung upon the downfall of the enemy of the House of Falworth, and showed him how no hand but his own could strike that enemy down. If he fell, it must be through the son of Falworth. Sometimes it seemed to Miles as though he and his blind father were the center of a great web of plot and intrigue, stretching far and wide that included not only the greatest houses of England, but royalty and the political balance of the country as well, and even before the greatness of it all he did not flinch. Then at last came the beginning of the time for action. It was in the early part of May and Miles had been a member of the Prince's household for a little over a month. One morning he was ordered to attend the Prince and his privy cabinet and, obeying the summons, he found the Prince, his younger brother, the Duke of Bedford, and his uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, seated at a table, where they had just been refreshing themselves with a flagon of wine and a plate of wafers. My poor Miles said the Prince smiling as the young knight bowed to the three and then stood erect as though on duty. It shames my heart, brother, and thou, uncle. It shames my heart to be the one privy to this thing which we are set upon to do. Here be we, the greatest lords of England, making a cat's pawl of this lad, for he is only yet a boy, and of his blind father, for to achieve our ends against Albin's faction, it seemeth not over-honorable to my mind. Pardon me, your Highness, said Miles, blushing to the roots of his hair. But, and I may be so bold as to speak, I wrecked nothing of what your aims may be. I only looked to restoring my father's honor and the honor of our house. Truly, said the Prince smiling, that is the only matter that maketh me willing to lay my hands to this business. Does thou know why I have sent for thee? It is because this day thou must challenge the Duke of Albin before the King. The Earl of Macworth has laid all his plans, and the time is now ripe. Knowest that thy father is at Macworth House? Nay, said Miles. I knew it not. He hath been there for nearly two days, said the Prince. Just now the Earl has sent for us to come first to Macworth House, then to go to the palace, for he hath gained audience with the King, and hath so arranged it that the Earl of Albin is to be there as well. We all go straight away. So get thyself ready as soon as may be. Perhaps Miles' heart began beating more quickly within him at the nearness of that great happening, which he had looked forward to for so long. If it did he made no sign of his emotions, but only asked, How must I clothe myself, your Highness? Wear thy light armor, said the Prince, but no helmet, a jump in bearing the arms and colors that the Earl gave thee when thou were't knighted, and carry thy right hand gauntlet under thy belt for thy challenge. Now make haste, for time passes. 30 Adjoining the ancient palace of Westminster, where King Henry IV was then holding his court, was a no less ancient stone building known as the Painted Room. Upon the walls were depicted a series of battle scenes and long bands reaching around this room, one above the other. Some of these pictures have been painted as far back as the days of Henry III, others have been added since his time. They chronicled the various wars of the King of England, and it was from them that the little hall took its name of the Painted Room. This ancient wing, or offshoot, of the main buildings, was more retired from the hurly-burly of outer life than other parts of the palace. And thither the sick king was very fond of retiring from the business of state, which ever rested more and more heavily upon his shoulders. Sometimes to squander in quietness a spare hour or two, sometimes to idle over a favorite book, sometimes to play a game of chess with a favorite courtier. The cold painted walls had been hung with tapestry, and its floor had been spread with heiress carpet. These, and the cushioned couches and chairs that stood around, gave its gloomy antiquity an air of comfort, an air even of luxury. It was to this favorite retreat of the kings that Miles was brought that morning with his father to face the great Earl of Alban. In the ante-room the little party of princes and nobles who escorted the father and son had held a brief consultation. Then the others had entered, leaving Miles and his blind father in charge of Lord Lumley, and two knights of the court. Sir Reginald Hollowell and Sir Pierce Avorell. Miles, as he stood patiently waiting with his father's arm resting in his, could hear the muffled sound of voices from beyond the heiress. Among the others he recognized the well-remembered tones of the king. He fancied that he heard his own name mentioned more than once, and then the sound of talking ceased. The next moment the heiress was drawn aside, and the Earl entered the ante-chamber again. All was ready, cousins, that heed to Lord Fallworth in a suppressed voice. Essex hath done as he promised, and Alban is within there now. Then, turning to Miles, speaking in the same low voice, and betraying more agitation than Miles had thought it possible for him to show, Sir Miles said he, Remember all that hath been told thee, Thou knowest what thou hast to say and do. Then, without further word, he took Lord Fallworth by the hand, and led the way into the room, Miles following close behind. The king hath set, half inclined upon a cushioned seat close to which stood the two princes. There were some other dozens present, mostly priests and noblemen of high quality, who clustered in a group at a little distance. Miles knew most of them at a glance, having seen them come and go at Scotland Yard, but among them all he singled out only one, the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little child eight years old, but now that he beheld it again, it fitted instantly and vividly into the remembrance of the time of that terrible scene at Fallworth Castle, when he had beheld the then Lord Brookhurst standing above the dead body of Sir John Dale, with the bloody mace clenched in his hand. There were the same heavy black brows, sinister and gloomy, the same hooked nose, the same swarthy cheeks. He even remembered the deep dent in the forehead, where the brows met in perpetual frown. So it was that upon that face his looks centered and rested. The Earl of Alban had just been speaking to some Lord who stood beside him, and a half-smile still hung about the corners of his lips. At first, as he looked up at the entrance of the newcomers, there was no other expression. Then suddenly came a flash of recognition, a look of wide-eyed amazement. Then the blood left the cheeks and the lips, and the face grew very pale. No doubt he saw at a flash that some great danger overhung him in this sudden coming of his old enemy, for he was as keen and astute a politician as he was a famous warrior. At least he knew that the eyes of most of those present were fixed keenly and searchingly upon him. After the first start of recognition, his left hand, hanging at his side, gradually closed around the scabbard of his sword, clutching it in a vice-like grip. Meantime, the Earl of Macworth had led the blind Lord to the King, where both kneeled. Why, how now, my Lord, said the King, we thought it was our young paladin whom we knighted at Devlin that was to be presented. And here thou bringest this old man, a blind man. Ha! What is the meaning of this? Majesty, said the Earl, I have taken this chance to bring to thy merciful consideration one who hath most woefully and unjustly suffered from thine anger. Yonder stands the young knight of whom we spake. This is his father, Gilbert Reginald, Willem Lord Falworth, who craves mercy and justice at thy hands. Falworth, said the King, placing his hand to his head. The name is not strange to my nears, but I cannot place it. My head hath troubled more sorely today, and I cannot remember. At this point the Earl of Alvin came quietly and deliberately forward. Sire, said he, pardon my boldness in so venturing to address you, but happily I may bring the name more clearly to your mind. He is, as my lord of Macworth said, the Willem Baron Falworth, the outlawed, attainted traitor, so declared for the harboring of Sir John Dale, who was one of those who sought your Majesty's life at Windsor eleven years ago. Sire, he is mine enemy as well, and is brought hither by my proclaimed enemies. Should ought occur to my harm, I rest my case in your gracious hands. The dusty red flamed into the King's pale, sickly face in answer, and he rose hastily from his seat. I, said he, I remember me now. I remember me the man and the name. Who hath dared bring him here before us? All the dull heaviness of sickness was gone for the moment, and King Henry was the King Henry of ten years ago as he rolled his eyes balefully from one to another of the courteous who stood silently around. The Earl of Macworth shot a covert glance at the Bishop of Winchester, who came forward in answer. Your Majesty, said he, here I am, your brother, who beseech you as your brother not to judge over hastily in this matter. It is true that this man has been a judge to traitor, but he has been so adjudged without a hearing. I beseech thee to listen patiently, to whatsoever he may have to say. The King fixed the Bishop with the look of the bitterest, deepest anger, holding his nether lip tightly under his teeth, a tricky head when strongly moved with anger, and the Bishop's eyes fell under the look. Meantime the Earl of Albans stood calm and silent. No doubt he saw that the King's anger was likely to befriend him more than any words that he himself could say, and he periled his case with no more speech, which could only prove superfluous. At last the King turned to face red and swollen with anger to the blind Lord, who still kneeled before him. What hast thou to say, he said, in a deep and sullen voice. Gracious and merciful Lord, said the blind nobleman, I come to thee, the fountainhead of justice, craving justice. Sire, I do now and here deny my treason, which denial I cannot before make, being blind and helpless, and my enemy strong and malignant. But now, Sire, heaven hath sent me help, and therefore I do acclaim before thee that my accuser, William Bushy Brookhurst, Earl of Albans, is a foul and an attainted liar, and all that he hath accused me of. To uphold which allegation, and to defend me, who am blinded by his unknightliness, I do offer a champion to prove all that I say with his body in combat. The Earl of Mackworth darted a quick look at Myles, who came forward the moment his father had ended, and kneeled beside him. The King offered no interruption to his speech, but he bent a look heavy with anger upon the young man. My gracious Lord and King, said Myles, I, the son of the accused, do offer myself as his champion in this cause, beseeching thee of thy grace leave to prove the truth of the same, being a belt and knight by thy grace and of thy creation, and the peer of any who wear of spurs. Thereupon rising, he drew his iron gauntlet from his girdle, and flung a clashing down upon the floor. And with his heart swelling within him with anger and indignation, and pity of his blind father, he cried in a loud voice, I do accuse thee, William of Albin, that thou lies vilely as a foresaid, and here cast down my gauge, daring thee to take it up. The Earl of Albin made as though he would accept the challenge, but the King stopped him hastily. Stop, he cried harshly, touch not the gauge, let it lie, let it lie, I tell thee, my Lord. Now then, said he, turning to the others, tell me what meaneth all this coil, who brought this man hither. He looked from one to another of those who stood silently around, but no one answered. I see, said he, ye all have had to do with it. It is as my Lord of Albin saith, ye are his enemies, and ye are my enemies as well. In this I do smell a vile plot. I cannot undo what I have done, and since I have made this young man a knight with my own hands, I cannot deny that he has fit to challenge my Lord of Albin. Nevertheless, the High Court of Chivalry shall judge this case. Meantime, said he, turning to the Earl Marshall who was present, I give thee this attainted Lord in charge. Convey him presently to the tower, and let him abide our pleasure there. Also, thou may take a step beyond gauge, and keep it till it is redeemed according to our pleasure. He stood thoughtfully for a moment, and then, raising his eyes, looked fixedly at the Earl of Macworth. I know, he said, that I be a right sick man, and there be some who are already plotting to overthrow those who have held up my hand with their own strength for all these years. Then speaking more directly, my Lord Earl of Macworth, I see your hand in this before all others. It was thou who so played upon me as to get me to knight this young man, and thus make him worthy to challenge my Lord of Albin. It was thy doings that brought him here today, backed by my own sons and my brother, and by these noblemen. Then turning suddenly to the Earl of Albin, come, my Lord, said he, I am a weary with all this coil. Let me thine arm to leave this place. So it was that he left the room, leaning upon the Earl of Albin's arm, and followed by the two or three of the Albin faction who were present. Your Royal Highness, said the Earl Marshal, I must even do the king's bidding, and take this gentleman into arrest. Do thy duty, said the Prince. We knew it must come to this. Meanwhile, he is to be a prisoner of honor, and see that he be well lodged and cared for. That will find my barge at the stairs to convey him down to the river, and I myself will come this afternoon to visit him. CHAPTER XXXI It was not until the end of July that the High Court of Chivalry rendered its judgment. There were many unusual points in the case, some of which bore heavily against Lord Falworth, some of which were in his favor. He was very ably defended by the lawyers whom the Earl of Macworth had engaged upon his side. Nevertheless, under ordinary circumstances, the judgment, no doubt, would have been quickly rendered against him. As it was, however, the circumstances were not ordinary, and it was rendered in his favor. The court besought the king to grant the ordeal by battle, to accept Lord Falworth's champion, and to appoint the time and place for the meeting. The decision must have been a most bitter galling one for the sick king. He was naturally of a generous, forgiving nature, but Lord Falworth, in his time of power, had been an unrelenting and fearless opponent, and his majesty who, like most generous men, could on occasions be very cruel and intolerant, had never forgiven him. He had steadily thrown the might of his influence with the court against the Falworth's case, but that influence was no longer all-powerful for good or ill. He was failing in health, and it could only be a matter of a few years, probably only of a few months, before his successor sat upon the throne. Upon the other hand, the Prince of Wales's faction had been steadily, and of late rapidly, increasing in power, and in the Earl of Macworth, its virtual head, it possessed one of the most capable politicians and astute intrigers in Europe. So, as the outcome of all the plotting and counter-plotting, scheming and counter-scheming, the case was decided in Lord Falworth's favor. The knowledge of the ultimate result was known to the Prince of Wales's circle almost a week before it was finally decided. Indeed, the Earl of Macworth had made pretty sure of that result before he had summoned Miles from France, but upon the King it felt like a shock of a sudden blow. All that day he kept himself in moody seclusion, nursing his silent, bitter anger, and making only one outbreak, in which he swore by the holy rude that should Miles be worsted in the encounter, he would not take the battle into his own hands, but would suffer him to be slain, and furthermore, that should the Earl show signs of failing at any time, he would do all in his power to save him. One of the courtiers who had been present, and who was secretly inclined to the Prince of Wales's faction, had repeated the speech at Scotland Yard, and the Prince had said, That meaneth, Miles, that thou must either win or die, and so I would have it to be, my Lord, Miles had answered. It was not until nearly a fortnight after the decision of the Court of Chivalry had been rendered that the King announced the time and place of battle, the time to be the third of September, the place to be Smithfield, a spot much used for such encounters. During the three weeks or so that intervened between this announcement and the time of combat, Miles went nearly every day to visit the list in course of erection. Often the Prince went with him. Always two or three of his friends of the Scotland Yard court accompanied him. The list were laid out in the usual form, the true or principal list in which the combatants were to engage was 60 yards long and 40 yards wide. This rectangular space being surrounded by a fence, about six feet high, painted vermillion, between the fence and the stand where the King and the spectator sat, and surrounding the central space was the outer or false list, also surrounded by a fence. In the false list the Constable and the Marshal and their followers in attendance were to be stationed at the time of battle to preserve the general peace during the contest between the principles. One day, as Miles, his princely patron, and his friends entered the barriers, leaving their horses at the outer gate, they met the Earl of Albin and his followers, who were just quitting the list, which they also were in the habit of visiting nearly every day. As the two parties passed one another, the Earl spoke to a gentleman walking beside him, and in a voice loud enough to be clearly overheard by the others. Yonder as the young sprig of Falworth said he, his father, my lords, is not content with forfeiting his own life for his treason, but must, forsooth, throw away his sons also. I have faced and overthrown many a better night than that boy. Miles heard the speech, and knew that it was intended for him to hear it, but he paid no attention to it, walking composedly at the Prince's side. The Prince had also overheard it, and after a little space of silence asked, does thou not feel anxiety for thy coming battle, Miles? Yea, my lord, said Miles. Sometimes I do feel anxiety, but not such as my lord of Albin would have me feel in uttering the speech that he spake a non. It is anxiety for my father's sake, and my mother's sake that I feel. For truly there are great matters for them pending upon this fight, nevertheless. I do know that God will not desert me and my cause, for verily my father is no traitor, but the Earl of Albin, said the Prince gravely, is reputed one of the best-skilled knights in all England. Moreover, he is merciless and without generosity, so that and he gain odd advantage over thee, he will surely slay thee. I am not afraid, my lord, said Miles, still calmly and composedly. Nor am I afraid for thee, Miles, said the Prince heartily, putting his arm as he spoke around the young man's shoulder. For truly, worth thou a night of forty years, instead of one of twenty, thou couldst not bear thyself with more courage. As the time for the duel approached, the days seemed to drag themselves along upon leaden feet. Nevertheless, the days came and went, as all days do, bringing with them at last the fateful third of September. Early in the morning, while the sun was still level and red, the Prince himself, unattended, came to Miles's apartment, in the outer room of which Gascony was bustling busily about, arranging the armor piece by piece, renewing straps and thongs, but not whistling over his work as he usually did. The Prince nodded to him, and then passed silently through to the inner chamber. Miles was upon his knees, and Father Ambrose, the Prince's chaplain, was beside him. The Prince stood silently at the door, until Miles, having told his last bead, rose and turned towards him. My dear Lord, said the young knight, I give you grammarcy for the great honor you do me in coming so early for to visit me. Nay, Miles, give me no thanks, said the Prince. Frankly reaching him his hand, which Miles took and set to his lips, I lay befinking me of thee this morning while yet in bed, and so, as I could not sleep any more, I was moved to come hither to see thee. Quite a number of the Prince's faction were at the breakfast at Scotland Yard that morning, among others the Earl of Macworth. All were more or less oppressed with anxiety, for nearly all of them had staked much upon the coming battle. If all then conquered, he would be more powerful to harm them and to revenge himself upon them than ever, and Miles was a very young champion upon whom to depend. Miles himself, perhaps, showed as little anxiety as any. He certainly ate more heartily of his breakfast that morning than many of the others. After the meal was ended, the Prince rose. The boat is ready at the stairs, said he. If thou wouldst go to the tower to visit thy father, Miles, before hearing mass, I, and Columnity, and Veer, and Points, will go with thee. If ye, lords and gentlemen, will grant me your pardon for leaving you. Are there any others that thou wouldst have accompany thee? I would have Sir James Lee and my squire, Master Gascony, if thou art so pleased to give them leave to go, answered Miles. So be it, said the Prince. We will stop at Macworth Stairs for the night. The Bards landed at the west stairs of the Tower Wharf, and the whole party were received with more than usual civilities by the Governor, who conducted them at once to the Tower where Lord Foulworth was lodged. Lady Foulworth met them at the head of the stairs. Her eyes were very red, and her face pale. And as Miles raised her hand and said a long kiss upon it, her lips trembled, and she turned her face quickly away, pressing her handkerchief for one moment to her eyes. Poor lady! What agony of anxiety and dread did she not suffer for her boys' sake that day? Miles had not hidden both from her and his father that he must either win or die. As Miles turned from his mother, prior Edward came out from the inner chamber, and was greeted warmly by him. The old priest had arrived in London only the day before, having come down from Crosby Priory to be with his friend's family during this their time of terrible anxiety. After a little while of general talk, the prince and his attendants retired, leaving the family together. Only Sir James Lee and Gascony remaining behind. Many matters that had been discussed before were now finally settled, the chief of which was the disposition of Lady Foulworth in case the battle should go against them. Then Miles took his leave, kissing his mother, who began crying, and comforting her with brave assurances. Prior Edward accompanied him as far as the head of the tower stairs, where Miles kneeled upon the stone steps, while the good priest blessed him, and signed the cross upon his forehead. The prince was waiting in the walled garden adjoining, and as they rode back again up the river to Scotland Yard, all were thoughtful and serious, even poins and veirs married tongues being stilled from their usual quips and jesting. It was about the quarter of the hour before eleven o'clock when Miles, with Gascony, set forth for the lists. The Prince of Wales, together with most of his court, had already gone on to Smithfield, leaving behind him six young knights of his household to act as escort to the young champion. Then at last the order to horse was given. The great gate swung open, and out they rode, clattering and jingling, the sunlight gleaming and flaming and flashing upon their polished armor. They drew rain to the right, and so rode in a little cloud of dust along the strand's street towards London Town, with the breeze blowing merrily, and the sunlight shining as sweetly and blysomely as though they were riding to a wedding, rather than to a grim and dreadful ordeal that meant either victory or death. In the days of King Edward III, a code of laws relating to trial by battle had been compiled for one of his sons, Thomas of Woodstock. In this work, each and every detail to the most minute had been arranged and fixed, and from that time judicial combats had been regulated in accordance with its mandates. It was in obedience to this code that Miles Fallworth appeared at the East Gate of the Lists, the East Gate being assigned by law to the Challenger, clad in full armor of proof, attended by Gascoigne, and accompanied by two of the young knights who had acted as his escort from Scotland Yard. At the barriers he was met by the attorney Willingwood, the chief lawyer who had conducted the Fallworth case before the High Court of Chivalry, and who was to attend him during the administration of the oaths before the King. As Miles presented himself at the gate, he was met by the Constable, the Marshal, and their immediate attendants. The Constable, laying his hand upon the bridal rain, said, in a loud voice, Stand, Sir Knight, and tell me why thou art come thus armed to the gates of the Lists. What is thy name? Wherefore art thou come? Miles answered, I am Miles Fallworth. A night of the bath by grace of his Majesty, King Henry IV, and by his creation. And do come hither to defend my challenge upon the body of William Bushy Brookhurst, Earl of Albin, proclaiming him an unnightly knight, and a false and perjured liar, and that he hath accused Gilbert Reginald, Lord Fallworth, of treason against our beloved Lord, his Majesty the King, and may God defend the right. As he ended speaking, the Constable advanced close to his side, and formally raising the umbral of his helmet, looked him in the face. Thereupon, having approved his identity, he ordered the gates to be opened, and Bade, Miles, enter the Lists with his squire and his friends. At the south side of the Lists, the raised scaffolding had been built for the King, and those who looked on. It was not unlike that which had been erected a Devlin Castle when Miles had first jousted as belted knight. Here were the same raised seats for the King, the tapestries, the hangings, the fluttering penins, and the royal standard floating above. Only here were no fair-faced ladies looking down upon him. But instead, stern-browed lords and knights and armor, and squires, and here were no merry laughing and buzz of talk and flutter of fans and kerchiefs. But all was very quiet and serious. Miles riding upon his horse, with gas coin holding the bridal reign and his attorney walking beside him with his hand upon the stirrups, followed the Constable across the Lists to an open space in front of the seat where the King sat. Then, having reached his appointed station, he stopped, and the Constable, advancing to the foot of the stairway that led to the dais above, announced in a loud voice that the challenger had entered the Lists. Then called the defendant straight away, said the King, for noon drawth nigh. The day was very warm, and the sun bright and unclouded, shown fiercely down upon the open Lists. Perhaps few men nowadays could bear the scorching heat of iron plates such as Miles wore, from which the body was only protected by a leather and jacket and hose. But men's bodies in those days were tougher and more seasoned to hardships of weather than they are in these hour times. Miles thought no more of the burning iron plates that encased him than a modern soldier thinks of his dress uniform and warm weather. Nevertheless, he raised the umbral of his helmet to cool his face as he waited the coming of his opponent. He turned his eyes upward to the row of seats on the scaffolding above, and even in the restless bewildering multitude of strange faces turned toward him, he recognized those he knew. The Prince of Wells, his companions of the Scotland Yard Household, the Duke of Clarence, the Bishop of Winchester, and some of the noblemen of the Earl of Macworth's Party, who had been buzzing about the Prince for the past month or so. But his glance swept over all these, rather perceiving than seeing them, and then rested upon a square, box-like compartment not unlike a prisoner's dock in the courtroom of our day. For in the box sat his father, with the Earl of Macworth upon one side, and Sir James Leigh upon the other. The blind man's face was very pale, but still wore its usual expression of calm serenity. The calm serenity of the Prince of Macworth was the calm serenity of a blind face. The Earl was also very pale, and he kept his eyes fixed steadfastly upon miles with a keen and searching look, as though to pierce the very bottom of the young man's heart, and discover if indeed not one little fragment of dry rot of fear or uncertainty tainted the solid courage of his knighthood. Then he heard the criers calling the defendant at the four corners of the lists, oh yeez, oh yeez, oh yeez, William Bushy Brookhurst, Earl of Albin, come to this combat in which you be enterprise this day to discharge your sureties before the King, the Constable, and the Marshal, and to encounter in your defense Miles Follworth, Knight, the accepted champion upon behalf of Gilbert Reginald Follworth, the challenger. Oh yeez, oh yeez, oh yeez, let the defendant come. So they continued calling, until, by the sudden turning of all faces, Miles knew that his enemy was at hand. Then presently he saw the Earl and his attendants enter the outer gate at the west end of the barrier. He saw the Constable and the Marshal meet him. He saw the formal words of greeting pass. He saw the Constable raise the umbral of his helmet. Then the gate opened, and the Earl of Albin entered, clad Capipai in a full suit of magnificent Milan armor, without jupan or adornment of any kind. As he approached across the lists, Miles closed the umbral of his helmet and then sat quite still and motionless. For the time was come. So he sat erect and motionless as a statue of iron, half hearing the reading of the long intricately worded bills, absorbed in many thoughts of past and present things. At last the reading ended, and then he calmly and composedly obeyed, under the direction of his attorney, the several forms and ceremonies that followed. Answered the various official questions took the various oaths. Then Gascoigne, leading the horse by the bridal rain, conducted him back to his station at the east end of the lists. As the faithful friend and squire made one last searching examination of arms and armor, the marshal and the clerk came to the young champion and administered the final oath, by which he swore that he carried no concealed weapons. The weapons allowed by the High Court were then measured and attested. They consisted of the long sword, the short sword, the dagger, the mace, and a weapon known as the hand-jazzarm, or glavelot, a heavy sword-like blade, eight palms long, a palm in breath, and riveted to a stout handle of wood, three feet long. The usual lance had not been included in the list of arms, the hand-jazzarm being substituted in its place. It was a fearful and murderous weapon, though cumbersome, unhandy and ill-adapted for quick or dexterous stroke. Nevertheless, the Earl of Albin had petitioned the king to have it included in the list. And in answer to the king's expressed desire, the court had adopted it in the stead of the lance, yielding thus much to the royal wishes. Nor was it a small concession. The hand-jazzarm had been a weapon very much in vogue in King Richard's day and was now nearly, if not entirely, out of fashion with the younger generation of warriors. The Earl of Albin was, of course, well used at the blade. With Miles it was strange and new, either for attack or in defense. With the administration of the final oath and the examination of the weapons, the preliminary ceremonies came to an end. And presently, Miles heard the criers calling to clear the lists. As those around him moved to withdraw, the young knight drew off his mailed gauntlet and gave Gascoigne's hand one last final clasp, strong, earnest, and intense, with the close friendship of young manhood. And poor Gascoigne looked up at him with a face ghastly white. Then all were gone. The gates of the principal list and that of the false list were closed clashing and Miles was alone, face to face, with his mortal enemy. End of chapter 32. RECORDING by RONDA FEDERMAN CHAPTER XXXIII. There was a little while of restless, rustling silence, during which the constable took his place and the seat appointed for him directly in front of and below the king's throne. A moment or two when even the restlessness and the rustling were quieted and then the king leaned forward and spoke to the constable who immediately called out in a loud, clear voice. Let them go! Then again. Let them go! Then for the third and last time. Let them go and do their endeavor in God's name. At this third command the combatants, each of whom had, till that moment, been sitting as motionless as a statue of iron, tightened rain and rode slowly and deliberately forward without haste, yet without hesitation, until they met in the very middle of the lists. In the battle which followed, Miles fought with the long sword, the earl with the hand's arm for which he had asked. The moment they met the combat was opened and for a time nothing was heard but the thunderous clashing and clamor of blows, now and then beating intermittently, now and then pausing. Occasionally as the combatants spurred together, checked, wheeled and recovered, they would be hidden for a moment in a misty veil of dust, which, again drifting down the wind, perhaps revealed them drawn a little apart, resting their panting horses. Then again they would spur together, striking as they passed, wheeling and striking again. Upon the scaffolding all was still, only now and then for the buzz of muffled exclamations or applause of those who looked on. Mostly the applause was from Miles's friends, for from the very first he showed and steadily maintained his advantage over the older man. Ha, well struck, well recovered! Look ye, the sword bit that time! Nay, look, saw ye pass him the point of the gizarm? Then fall worth, fall worth, as some more than unusually skillful stroke or parry occurred. Meantime Miles's father sat straining his sightless eyes as though to pierce his body's darkness with one ray of light that would show him how his boy held his own in the fight. And Lord Mackworth, leaning with his lips close to the blind man's ear, told him point by point how the battle stood. Fear not, Gilbert, he said, at each pause in the fight. He holdeth his own right well. Then after a while, God is with us, Gilbert, all been as twice wounded and his horse felleth. One little while longer and the victory is ours. A longer and more continuous interval of combat followed this last assurance, during which Miles drove the assault fiercely and unrelentingly as though to overbear his enemy by the very power and violence of the blows he delivered. The Earl defended himself desperately, but was born back, back, back farther and farther. Every nerve of those who looked on was stretched to breathless intensity, when almost as his enemy was against the barriers, Miles paused and rested. Out upon it, exclaimed the Earl of Mackworth, almost shrilly in his excitement as the sudden lull followed the crashing of blows. Why doth the boy spare him? That is thrice he hath given him grace to recover, as he had pushed the battle that time he had driven him back against the barriers. It was as the Earl had said, Miles had three times given his enemy grace when victory was almost in his very grasp. He had three times spared him in spite of all he and those dear to him must suffer, should his cruel and merciless enemy gain the victory. It was a false and foolish generosity, partly the fault of his impulsive youth, more largely of his romantic training in the artificial code of French chivalry. He felt that the battle was his, and so he gave his enemy these three chances to recover, as some chivalier or knight errant of romance might have done, instead of pushing the combat to a mercifully speedy end, and his foolish generosity cost him dear. In the momentary pause that had thus stirred the Earl of Mackworth to a sudden outbreak, the Earl of Albin sat upon his panting, sweating warhorse, facing his powerful young enemy at about 12 paces distant. He sat as still as a rock, holding his jazarm poised in front of him. He had, as the Earl of Mackworth had said, been wounded twice, and each time with the point of the sword, so much more dangerous than a direct cut with the weapon. One wound was beneath his armor, and no one but he knew how serious it might be. The other was under the overlapping of the poor, and from it a finger breath of blood ran straight down his side and over the housings of his horse. From without the still motionless iron figure appeared calm and expressionless. Within, who knows what consuming blasts of hate, rage, and despair swept his heart as with a fiery whirlwind. As Miles looked at the motionless bleeding figure, his breast swelled with pity. My lord, said he, thou art sore wounded, and the fight is against thee. Will thou not yield thee? No one but that other heard the speech, and no one but Miles heard the answer that came back. Hollow cavernous, never thou dog, never. Then in an instant, as quick as a flash, his enemy spurred straight upon Miles, and as he spurred, he struck a last desperate swinging blow in which he threw in one final effort all the strength of hate, of fury, and of despair. Miles whirled his horse backward, warding the blow with his shield as he did so. The blade glanced from the smooth face of the shield, and whether by mistake or not fell straight and true, and with almost undiminished force upon the neck of Miles' warhorse, and just behind the ears. The animal staggered forward, and then fell upon its knees, and at the same instant the other, as though by the impetus of the rush, dashed full upon it with all the momentum lent by the weight of iron it carried. The shock was irresistible, and the stunned and wounded horse was flung upon the ground, rolling over and over. As his horse fell, Miles wrenched one of his feet out of the stirrup. The other caught for an instant, and he was flung headlong with stunning violence, his armor crashing as he fell. In the cloud of dust that arose, no one could see just what happened. But that what was done was done deliberately, no one doubted. The Earl, at once checking and spurring his foaming charger, drove the iron shod warhorse directly over Miles' prostrate body. Then, checking him fiercely with the curb, rained him back, the hooves clashing and crashing over the figure beneath, so he had ridden over the father at York, and so he rode over the sun at Smithfield. Miles, as he lay prostrate and half stunned by his fall, had seen his enemy thus driving his rearing horse down upon him, but was not able to defend himself. A fallen knight in full armor was utterly powerless to rise without assistance. Miles lay helpless in the clutch of the very iron that was his defense. He closed his eyes involuntarily. And then, horse and rider were upon him. There was a deafening, sparkling crash, a glimmering faintness, and then another crash, as the horse was rained furiously back again. And then, a humming stillness. In a moment upon the scaffolding, all was a tumult of uproar and confusion, shouting and gesticulation. Only the king sat calm, sullen, impassive. The Earl wheeled his horse and sat for a moment or two, as though to make quite sure that he knew the king's mind. The blow that had been given was foul, unnightly, but the king gave no sign of either acquiescence or rebuke. He had willed that Miles was to die. Then the Earl turned again and rode deliberately up to his prostrate enemy. When Miles opened his eyes after that moment of stunning silence, it was to see the other looming above him on his warhorse, swinging his jazarm for the one last mortal blow, pitiless, merciless. The sight of that looming peril brought back Miles' wandering senses like a flash of lightning. He flung up his shield and met the blow even as it descended, turning it aside. It only protracted the end. Once more, the Earl of Albin raised the jazarm, swinging it twice around his head before he struck. This time, though the shield glanced it, the blow fell upon the shoulder piece, biting through the steel plate and leather and jack beneath even to the bone. Then Miles covered his head with his shield as a last protecting chance for life. For the third time, the Earl swung the blade flashing and then it fell straight and true upon the defenseless body, just below the left arm, biting deep through the armor plates. For an instant, the blades stuck fast and that instant was Miles' salvation. Under the agony of the blow, he gave a muffled cry and almost instinctively grasped the shaft of the weapon with both hands. Had the Earl let go, his end of the weapon, he would have won the battle at his leisure and most easily. As it was, he struggled violently to wrench the jazarm away from Miles. In that short fierce struggle, Miles was dragged to his knees and then still holding the weapon with one hand, he clutched the trappings of the Earl's horse with the other. The next moment, he was upon his feet. The other struggled to thrust him away but Miles, letting go the jazarm which he held with his left hand, clutched him tightly by the sword belt in the intense vice grip of despair. In vain, the Earl strove to beat him loose with the shaft of the jazarm. In vain, he spurred and reared his horse to shake him off. Miles held him tight in spite of all his struggles. He felt neither the streaming blood nor the throbbing agony of his wounds. Every faculty of soul, mind, body and every power of life was centered on one intense burning effort. He neither felt thought nor reasoned but clutching with the blindness of instinct the heavy spiked iron-headed mace that hung at the Earl's saddlebow. He gave it one tremendous wrench that snapped the plated leather and thongs that held it as though they were the skeins of thread. Then grinding his teeth as with a spasm, he struck as he had never struck before. Once, twice, thrice full upon the front of the helmet. Crash, crash, and then, even as the Earl toppled side long, crash. And the iron plates split and crackled under the third blow. Miles had one flashing glimpse of an awful face. And then the saddle was empty. Then, as he held tight to the horse, panting, dizzy, sick to death, he felt the hot blood gushing from his side, filling his body armor and staining the ground upon which he stood. Still, he held tightly to the saddlebow of the fallen man's horse until, through his glimmering sight, he saw the marshal, the lieutenant, and the attendants gather around him. He heard the marshal ask him in a voice that sounded faint and distant. If he were dangerously wounded, he did not answer. And one of the attendants, leaping from his horse, opened the umbrella of his helmet, disclosing the dull, hollow eyes, the ashy, colorless lips, and the waxy forehead upon which stood great beads of sweat. Water, water, he cried hoarsely, give me to drink. Then, quitting his hold upon the horse, he started blindly across the list toward the gate of the barrier. A shadow that chilled his heart seemed to fall upon him. It is death, he muttered. Then he stopped. Then swayed for an instant, and then toppled headlong, crashing, as he fell. End of Chapter 33 Recording by Rhonda Fetterman Conclusion 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 Rhonda Fetterman Men of Iron by Howard Pyle Conclusion But Miles was not dead. Those who had seen his face when the umbral of the helmet was raised and then saw him fall as he tottered across the lists had at first thought so. But his faintness was more from loss of blood, and the sudden unstringing of nerve and sense from the intense furious strain of the last few moments of the battle, then from the vital nature of the wound. Indeed, after Miles had been carried out on the lists and laid upon the ground in the shade between the barriers, Master Thomas, the Prince's barber surgeon, having examined the wounds, declared that he might even be carried on a covered litter to Scotland Yard without serious danger. The Prince was extremely desirous of having him under his care, and so the venture was tried. Miles was carried to Scotland Yard and perhaps was none the worse, therefore. The Prince and the Earl of Macworth and two or three others stood silently as the worthy shaver and leacher assisted by his apprentice and Gascoigne washed and bathed the great gaping wound in the side and bound it with linen bandages. Miles lay with his closed eyelids still, pallid, weak as a little child. Presently he opened his eyes and turned them dull and languid to the Prince. What hath hacked my father, my lord? He said in a faint whispering voice. Thou hath saved his life and honour, Miles, the Prince answered. He is here now and thy mother hath been sent for and cometh anon with the priest who was with them this morn. Miles dropped his eyelids again. His lips moved but he made no sound, and then two bright tears trickled across his white cheek. He maketh a woman of me, the Prince muttered through his teeth, and then swinging on his heel he stood for a long time, looking out the window into the garden beneath. May I see my father? said Miles presently, without opening his eyes. The Prince turned around and looked inquiringly at the surgeon. The good man shook his head. Not today, he said. Happily tomorrow he may see him and his mother. The bleeding is but new, stanched, and such matters of seeing his father and mother may make the heart to swell, and so may be the wound burst afresh and he die. And he would hope to live, he must rest quiet until tomorrow day. But though Miles' wound was not mortal, it was very serious. The fever which followed lingered longer than common, perhaps because of the hot weather. But the days stretched to weeks and the weeks to months, and still he lay there, nursed by his mother and Gascoigne and prior Edward, and now and again by Sir James Lee. One day, a little before the good priest returned to St. Mary's priory, he sat by Miles' bedside, his hands folded, and his sight turned inward. The young man suddenly said, Tell me, Holy Father, is it always wrong for man to slay man? The good priest sat for so long a time that Miles began to think he had not heard the question, but by and by he answered, almost with a sigh. It is a hard question, my son, but I must in truth say, me seems it is not always wrong. Sir, said Miles, I have been in battle when men were slain, but never did I think thereon as I have upon this matter. Did I sin in so slaying my father's enemy? Nay, said prior Edward quietly, Thou didst not sin, it was for others Thou didst fight my son, and for others it is pardonable to do battle. Had it been thine own quarrel, it might happily have been more hard to have answered thee. Who can gain say even in these days of light the truth of this that the good priest said to the sick lad, so far away in the past? One day the Earl of Mackworth came to visit Miles. At that time the young knight was mending and was sitting propped up with pillows and was wrapped in Sir James Lee's cloak, for the day was chilly. After a little time of talk, a pause of silence fell. My lord, said Miles suddenly, does Thou remember one part of the matter we spoke of when I first came from France? The Earl made no pretense of ignorance. I remember, he said quietly, looking straight into the young man's thin white face. And have I yet won the right to ask for the lady Alice de Möbre to wife? Said Miles, the red rising faintly to his cheeks. Thou hast won it, said the Earl with a smile. Miles eyes shone and his lips trembled with the pang of sudden joy and triumph, for he was still very weak. My lord, he said presently, be like Thou camest here to see me for this very matter? The Earl smiled again without answering, and Miles knew that he had guessed a right. He reached out one of his weak, pallid hands from beneath the cloak. The Earl of Mackworth took it with a firm pressure, then instantly quitting it again. Rose, as if ashamed of his emotion, stamped his feet as though in pretense of being chilled, and then crossed the room to where the fire crackled brightly in the great stone fire. Little else remains to be told, only a few loose strands to tie, and the story is complete. Though Lord Foulworth was saved from death at the block, though his honor was cleansed from stain, he was yet as poor and needy as ever. The king, in spite of all the pressure brought to bear upon him, refused to restore the estates of Foulworth and Easterbridge, the latter of which had again reverted to the land. Upon the grounds that they had been forfeited not because of the attain of treason, but because of Lord Foulworth having refused to respond to the citation of the courts. So the business dragged along for month after month, until in January the king died suddenly in the Jerusalem Chamber at Westminster. Then matters went smoothly enough, and the king was left to the court. Then matters went smoothly enough, and Foulworth and Mackworth swam upon the flood tide of fortune. So Miles was married, for how else should the story end? And one day he brought his beautiful young wife home to Foulworth Castle, which his father had given him for his own, and at the gateway of which he was met by Sir James Lee, and by the newly knighted Sir Francis Gascoigne. One day soon after this homecoming, as he stood with her at an open window into which came blowing the pleasant Maytime breeze, he suddenly said, What did thou think of me when I first fell almost into thy lap like an apple from heaven? I thought thou were a great, good-hearted boy, as I think thou art now, she said, twisting his strong, sinewy fingers in and out. If thou thoughtst me so then, what a very fool I must have looked to thee when I so clumsily besought thee, for thy favour for my jousting at Devlin. Did I not so? Thou didst look to me like the most noble, handsome young knight that did ever live. Thou didst look to me, Sir Galahad, as they did call thee, without taint or stain. Miles did not even smile in answer, but looked at his wife with such a look that she blushed a rosy red. Then, laughing, she slipped from his hold, and before he could catch her again, was gone. I am glad that he was to be rich and happy and honoured and beloved after all his hard and noble fighting. End of conclusion. End of Men of Iron by Howard Pyle. Recording by Rhonda Federman.