Now, I think we shall do, Roger
Now, I think we shall do, Roger
"Now I think that we shall do, Roger."
As soon as they were inside, Roger produced a large lump of dry fungus he had found, on the other side of the Severn; and, by the aid of his flint and steel, soon succeeded in striking sparks upon it. As soon as these began to spread, he put a little pile of fir needles on it; and, blowing gently, bright flames soon darted up. A few more handfuls of fuel were added, and fir cones placed at the top; and in a quarter of an hour, a clear, bright fire was burning.
The dripping cloaks were hung up to the fir poles, to dry; and the jerkins, which were also damp, although the water had not penetrated through them, were spread near the fire.
"It was well that I bought this little skin of wine, last night," Roger said. "You thought it was better to be without such a burden, but the weight of a gallon of wine doesn't count for much, and it makes all the difference in our comfort, here."
The rain had soaked through their provision bags, but the bread and meat in the centre were dry; and of these they made a hearty meal and, laying the wetted food round the fire to dry, they wound up the repast with a long draught of wine.
"Now, as soon as our breeches are dry, Master Oswald, we shall be thoroughly comfortable."
"Yes, one can wish for nothing better. But we must not forget that some Welshmen may come along, and if so, will be sure to want to know what is inside."
"Then, unless there happen to be more than a dozen of them, their curiosity may cost them dear," Roger said grimly. "I don't think there is much fear of it. We have neither seen nor heard of any, since we started; and it would be evil fortune, indeed, if a party happened to come along just at this spot."
"The fact that we have heard no one is a bad sign, Roger; for it would seem to show that we must have gone a long way out of our course."
The rain continued to fall heavily, all that afternoon and throughout the night, and no change of the weather was discernible the next morning.
"We had best stop here for another day, Roger, unless the sky clears; we are not likely to find so good a place for shelter, and it is of no use to wander about, when every step may be taking us farther away. However, we can climb up to the top of this hill, at whose foot we are, and endeavour to get a view over the country."
Roger shook his head.
"In this heavy mist we should not see a quarter of a mile away. We have got all our clothes dry, now, and it would be a pity to get them wet again, without need or profit. Anyhow, we will find some more of those fir cones. Our supply is nearly gone."
In half an hour they had got sufficient to last them all day. There was nothing for them then to do but sleep, one or other keeping watch, so as to prevent the chance of their being surprised.
Before lying down for the night, Roger looked out.
"Methinks that the rain has stopped, though it would be difficult to say, for the drops keep pattering down from the trees. Well, I mightily hope that it will be a fine morning."
Oswald was first upon his feet and, on going out, uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. The morning was breaking and, though light clouds were moving across the sky, glimpses of the blue were visible, here and there. Already the light showed where the sun would presently rise.
Food was hastily eaten, and they then started on their way again. There could be no mistake, now, as to the general direction; and, keeping the sun on their right hand, they made their way north. From the top of a hill, somewhat higher than the others, they caught a view of Plinlimmon.
"If we make straight for it," Oswald said, "we ought to come down on the road near the camp. We can go on fearlessly for some time, for the Welsh were hardly likely to be moving about, yesterday or the day before; and I have no doubt they sheltered themselves, as best they could, in arbours like ours."
After walking for another two hours, they heard the distant sound of a trumpet.
"That cannot be more than two or three miles away, Roger. Now, we shall have to be careful."
They had walked a mile when, as they descended into a glen, they came suddenly on a party of twenty Welshmen, sitting round a fire. These had been concealed from them by the thick undergrowth, and were not twenty yards away, when they first saw them. The Welsh had evidently heard them coming, by the rustle of leaves and the breaking of twigs; and two or three were standing up, looking in their direction, when they caught sight of them. These gave a loud yell, which brought the rest to their feet.
"Run, Roger, run. It is a question of legs, now;" and, turning, they darted up the hill they had just descended.
Looking back for a moment as, after running for about a mile, they reached the crest of a swell; Oswald saw that five of their pursuers had distanced their comrades, but were no nearer than when they started.
"I think we can hold them, Roger. Take it a little more easily now. We are all right as far as speed goes. It is simply a question of bottom."
Their pursuers, however, still stuck to them and, after running for another half-mile, the five men were still but some thirty yards behind; while their comrades' shouts could be heard through the forests and, from time to time, the men close behind them joined in a loud quavering cry.
"We must stand and rid ourselves of these fellows, Roger; or we shall have half the Welsh nation down on us."
"So I have been thinking, for some time."
"Don't stop suddenly. We will slacken our pace, and they will think that our strength is failing, and will redouble their efforts. Then, when they are close to us, we will turn suddenly."
They heard a yell of exultation, as their pursuers found that they were gaining upon them.
"Choose a clear space, Roger, with room to swing our weapons."
The Welsh were running in a close body, but ten yards behind them, when they arrived at a spot clear of trees.
"Now, Roger!"
As he spoke, Oswald drew his sword and swung round, facing his pursuers, while Roger did the same. The Welsh, taken by surprise, endeavoured to check themselves; but before they could do so, Roger's staff fell upon the head of one of them, while Oswald cleft another to the chin. With the quickness of an adroit player with the quarterstaff, Roger followed up his blow by almost instantaneously driving the other end of the staff, with all his force, against the chest of another, who was at the point of leaping upon him; and the man fell, as if struck with a thunderbolt. So swift had been the movements that the remaining two men were paralysed, by the sudden fall of their companions; but before they could turn to fly, the weapons descended again, with as fatal result as before.
"To the right!" Oswald exclaimed, and he dashed off into the forest again, at a right angle to the line that they had before taken. A minute later they heard an outburst of yells of fury, from the spot they had quitted.
"I don't think they will be quite so ready to follow, now," Roger said. "They are like to be some time, before they take up our track again."
"We will break into a walk, in a few minutes, Roger; and then go along quietly, and keep our ears open. Their yells will be bringing others down, from all directions, and we might run right into the middle of another party, if we kept on at this rate."
In another five minutes they dashed down a steep descent, at whose foot a streamlet, swelled now into a rushing stream, five or six feet wide, was running.
"We will follow this down," Oswald said, as he stepped into it.
It was a little over two feet deep, and they waded along it for a couple of hundred yards, and then stepped out, where some rock cropped out by the side of the stream. It had not yet dried after the rain, and their feet therefore left no marks on it.
"That was a sharp run, Roger," Oswald said as, with rapid but stealthy steps, they strode along.
"Ay, it was. My breath was coming short, when you gave the word to stop. Another half mile would have finished me. Those Welshmen run well."
"I have no doubt we should have beaten them, easily enough, on the open ground, Roger; but they are more accustomed to this forest work than we are.
"Mind where you tread, and don't put your foot on fallen sticks. There must be scores of them in the forest behind, yet, though I don't think that they have struck our track. The nearest must be a quarter of a mile away. I am not afraid of their overtaking us. It is the risk of falling in with other parties that I am afraid of."
They now bore away to the right again. More than once they heard parties moving near them, and stood quiet until their voices died away; which they quickly did, as all were hurrying towards the spot whence the shouting still continued.
For an hour they kept straight onward, and then the trees thinned; and as they stepped out from the edge of the forest they saw, to their delight, a few tents in front of them, and a large number of soldiers scattered about. As they were seen, some of the soldiers caught up their arms; but when they saw that but two men were approaching, they laid them down again, and proceeded with the work on which most of them were engaged; in polishing up their arms and armour, whose brightness had been grievously dimmed by the rain. A sub-officer with four men came up to them, as they reached the line.
"Who are you, sirs?" he asked.
"I am an esquire of Sir Henry Percy, and have brought hither a letter for the king."
The man looked doubtfully at him, and Oswald continued, "I know not whether the Earl of Talbot is in the camp, but if so he will, I think, recognize me."
"The earl arrived, with five hundred of his men, yesterday," the officer said, with a tone of more respect than he had before used. "I will take you to his tent;" and he led the way to a tent, pitched a short distance away from that before which the royal standard waved.
Oswald took off his cloak, which was rolled up over his shoulder, and handed it to Roger, and then opened his jerkin. As they came up to the tent the front opened, and the earl himself came out.
"Whom have we here?" he asked the officer.
"They have just come out of the forest, my lord, and this gentleman asked to be taken to you, saying that you would recognize him."
The earl looked scrutinizingly at Oswald.
"I seem to know your face, sir," he said, "but I cannot recall where I have seen it."
"My name is Oswald Forster, an esquire of Sir Henry Percy. I joined you at Chester, my Lord Talbot, with a band of his men; and some of Sir Edmund Mortimer's, led by one of his knights."
"I remember now," the earl said. "Yes, I see you wear the Percy badge; but how have you got here, and why have you come?"
"I come as a simple messenger, my lord. A royal courier arrived at Ludlow, with a letter from London for the king. His majesty had laid his commands on Sir Edmund Mortimer, that he was not to weaken his force by a single lance; and as, for aught Sir Edmund knew, the letter might be of great importance, I volunteered to endeavour to carry it through; taking with me only this man-at-arms, on whom I could wholly rely, whatever might happen, he having accompanied me on more than one dangerous expedition.
"Sir Edmund consented. We rode first to Shrewsbury, to obtain information as to the course the king had taken. At Welshpool we left our horses behind us, thinking it easier to make our way through the woods on foot, seeing that the roads were said to be beset by the Welsh. So we reached Llanidloes; and then, hearing where the king was then posted, from a convoy of wounded that had been brought in that day, and who had been attacked and very hardly treated as they came along, we thought to make a detour through the woods, so as to get behind any Welshmen who might be watching the road.
"Unfortunately, in the storm of rain, having no guide, we lost our way; and were so detained, near two days, in the forest. This morning, the weather having changed and the sun come out, we learned the direction that we must take. On the way we fell in with a party of some twenty Welshmen, who pursued us hotly. We outran all but five. As their shouts would have brought large numbers upon us, we stopped and slew them; and though search was hot for us, we succeeded in making our way through, without adventure, until we came out from the forest, close by."
"Truly it was an adventure of great peril," the earl said, "for the Welsh are swarming round us; though we see nought of them, when we are once in the saddle. Assuredly you would never have got through, even as far as Llanidloes, if you had followed the road on horseback; for the last party that came along brought word that the Welsh had felled trees across it, in many places, and had broken down the bridges.
"It was a gallant exploit, sir. I will, myself, take you in to the king."
Oswald took off his jerkin.
"I am but in poor plight to show myself before his majesty," he said, as he handed it to Roger.
"Ah! I remember this good fellow," the earl said. "He is not one easily forgotten, for 'tis seldom one sees so stout a man-at-arms.
"As to your dress, 'tis nought; and indeed, it is in better order than most in camp, for the soldiers have no tents, and have, for the last forty-eight hours, been over their ankles in mud and water.
"Have you been with Mortimer ever since we harried Glendower's valley?"
"No, my lord. I returned after that to the north, and was at Alnwick for nine months. Then Sir Henry sent me back again to Ludlow, in order that I might keep him well informed of the extent of this rebellion, concerning which but few tidings came to him."
They had, by this time, arrived at the entrance of the king's tent. The two sentries on duty there stood back and saluted, as the earl entered, followed by Oswald.
"This, sire, is a messenger, one Master Oswald Forster, an esquire of Sir Henry Percy's. He had been sent by his lord to Ludlow, to keep him acquainted with the extent of this rebellion. Some few days since, a royal messenger reached the town, with a letter for you; as doubtless, in London, they cannot have known which way you were marching, and directed it there, so that it might be forwarded to you thence. Sir Edmund, having your royal order not to send any force away, would have been at a loss how to forward it; deeming that it would need a strong body of men-at-arms to penetrate to you, as he knew, from what had happened on the two last expeditions, that the Welsh, being unable to oppose your advance, would swarm behind you, so as to prevent reinforcements or convoys of provisions from reaching you. He was, therefore, doubtful as to what course to adopt, when this gentleman volunteered to carry it to you; and this he has accomplished, attended by but a single follower. Knowing that he could only hope to reach you on foot, he and his man-at-arms left their horses at Welshpool; and have made their way through the woods on foot, not without adventure, having lost their way in the storm, and having slept in the wood for two days, and killed five Welshmen, scarcely escaping a crowd of others as they came in."
"A very gallant deed, sir," the king said to Oswald, as the latter bent upon one knee and handed the letter to him. "By Our Lady, it was no slight thing to venture through the woods, swarming with these wild Welshmen. How long have you been an esquire to Percy?"
"Over three years, sire."
"I met Master Forster at Chester," the earl said. "He commanded a score of Percy's men, and rode with us when we captured Glendower's house. The knights with him told me that he and his little band had done excellent service, in the fight when the Welsh made their first irruption; and that Sir Henry Percy had written in the warmest terms to Mortimer, saying that the gentleman stood high in his regard, and that he had the most perfect confidence in him, and had selected him for the service since he was able to write well, and could, therefore, communicate freely with him as to the troubles on the Welsh border."
"And have you been at Mortimer's ever since that time?" the king asked.
Oswald noticed that each time Mortimer's name was mentioned, the king's brow was somewhat clouded.
"Not so, your majesty. I returned to the north, with Percy's men, a few days after the capture of Glendower's house. I came back to Ludlow in the spring."
"Why did Sir Henry Percy despatch you there again?" the king asked, sharply.
"From what he said, sire, it was because he was anxious to know whether the rebellion was growing, fearing that there might be some correspondence between Glendower and the Scots; and that, if it should come to a point when you might have to lead the whole force of the south to put the Welsh down, the Scots might make a great irruption into the northern counties, and it would be needful for him to keep a larger body of men than usual under arms; as the earl, his father, and the Earl of Westmoreland, would have to stand the whole brunt of the matter, for a time, without aid from the south."
The king's brow cleared.
"It was a thoughtful act of Sir Henry," he said; "and 'tis like enough that the Scots will, as you say, take advantage of our troubles here; and it is well, therefore, that the Lords of the Northern Marches should hold themselves in readiness.
"What think you, Talbot? It seems to me that the bold service this esquire has performed merits reward."
"I think so, indeed," the earl said. "It was a singular act of courage."
The king drew his sword from his scabbard.
"Kneel, sir," he said.
And, as Oswald knelt, the king laid the sword across his shoulder, and said, "Rise, Sir Oswald Forster."
Oswald rose.
"I thank you, my Lord King," he said, "and trust that I may live for many years to do worthy knightly service to my liege, who has so highly honoured me."
"My lord," the king said to Talbot, "I leave it to you to see that this young knight is provided with horse and armour. Unfortunately there is more than one suit without an owner, at present. You will do well to wait with me while I open this letter; which, maybe, contains matter of moment."
Feeling that his audience was over, Oswald bowed deeply, and left the tent to rejoin Roger.
"What said the king, master?"
"He spoke much more highly of what we had done, Roger, than it deserved; and as a reward for the service, he has just knighted me."
"I think that he has done well, master!" Roger exclaimed, joyously. "I had hoped that Hotspur would have done it, after that adventure with the Bairds; of which, as Alwyn told me, he spoke to him in tones of wondrous praise."
"That was a private business, Roger, and he would know that I would much rather that, when knighthood came, I should receive it for service in the field. The king regards our coming here as a service to himself, and therefore rewarded me; but I would rather that it should have been for service in the field, against the enemy, than for tramping through the forest."
"Yes, but a forest full of Welshmen," Roger said, "who are more to be feared, in that way, than when met in open fight."
"Earl Talbot spoke very kindly of me, and said that he had heard that, with Percy's men, I had done good service in that fight with the Welsh, near Knighton."
"That was certainly pretty hot work, master--I shall get to say Sir Oswald, in time; but at present my tongue is not used to it. What are we to do now?"
"The king asked Lord Talbot to provide me with armour, and a horse; so we must wait until he comes this way."
It was half an hour before the earl came out.
"The letter was of importance," he said, "and it is well that it was brought on.
"Now, Sir Oswald, let us see to your matter. Two days ago Sir William Baxter was killed, by a sudden attack of the Welsh, while he was burning a village. His men rallied, beat off the Welsh, and brought his body in; and methinks his armour will fit you, though he was shorter, by two or three inches, than yourself."
He accompanied Oswald to one of a small group of tents, standing a quarter of a mile farther down the road.
"Is Sir William Baxter's squire here?"
A young man at once came up.
"I was his esquire, my lord."
"I have the king's orders," the earl said, "that his arms, armour, and horses are to be handed over, forthwith, to Sir Oswald Forster here, who will take command of his troop. He will take over all the other belongings of the knight."
The young squire bowed.
"I will hand them over to you, sir."
"You will, of course, take possession of the tent also, Sir Oswald. Sir William was one of my knights. He was unwedded, and has no male kin; therefore, you need have no hesitation in taking his belongings; which indeed we should, in any case, have little chance of taking back with us, for our waggons are but few, and will daily become fewer: for on such roads as these, both waggons and horses break down, and it will be as much as we can do to carry even necessities with us.
"Come to my tent at noon, it lacks but an hour of it, and I will present you at dinner to some of my knights; among whom, for the present, I shall rank you."
So saying, he turned away. The young squire held open the entrance of the tent, for Oswald to enter, and followed him in.
"It seems a strange thing to be thus possessed of another man's goods," he said.
"It is often so," the squire said, "and sometimes even his estates go with them, also. As the earl said, Sir William Baxter had none to whom these things could have been given; seeing that he had, so far as I know, only one sister, to whom armour and horses could be of no use. She is one of the Countess of Talbot's ladies."
"And what are you going to do, yourself?"
"For the present, I know not," the squire said. "I had been with Sir William Baxter but three years. The knight I served with, before, was thrown from his horse and killed; and Sir William, who had been just knighted, took me into his service."
"How long have you been a squire?"
"Six years, and I hoped that, in this campaign, I might have done something to win my spurs."
"I am but a poor knight, Master--" and he paused.
"Henry Pemberton," the squire said.
"And being but knighted today, and having no lands to keep up my knighthood, it may be that the earl will appoint you to another of his knights; but should he not do so, I shall be glad if, for the rest of this campaign, you will ride with me; and trust that you, too, may have an opportunity of gaining knighthood, before it is over. But whether or no, as soon as we cross the border again, I doubt not that you will be able to find some lord under whom you may gain advancement."
"I will gladly do so, Sir Oswald. 'Tis strange that I should not have seen your face before; for, since we left Worcester, I have come to know the greater part of the esquires here."
"I arrived but an hour ago," Oswald replied, "having made my way through the Welsh, on foot, with that tall fellow you saw without."
"That was a dangerous deed, truly," Pemberton said, in tones of surprise. "May I ask why you essayed so perilous a feat?"
"I was the bearer of a despatch for the king. I was an esquire to Sir Henry Percy, but have for some time been staying with his brother-in-law, Sir Edmund Mortimer.
"Had Sir William a man-at-arms, who served as his servant? For I shall make my man-at-arms, who has gone through many adventures with me, has fought by my side, and saved my life, my second squire."
"Yes, a very good and trusty fellow."
"Then of course I shall keep him on. Now, will you tell my man to come in?
"Roger," he said, "You doubtless heard the earl's words, and I am now master of this tent, together with the armour, horses, and clothes of Sir William Baxter. Master Henry Pemberton will act as my squire, during the campaign. You will be my second squire."
"Well, master, I never looked so high as to become an esquire; and would rather remain a simple man-at-arms, were it not that it will keep me near you."
"You will find Roger a good comrade, Master Pemberton. He has been a man-at-arms at his own choice; for, as he can read and write as well as any clerk, he might have done better for himself."
Pemberton looked, with some surprise, at Roger. He himself had not these accomplishments, and he was surprised at finding a man-at-arms so well endowed.
"As you may tell by his speech," Oswald went on, "he is, like myself, a Northumbrian; and has done good service in the wars with the Scots."
"That I can well imagine," the squire said, with a smile. "I would certainly wish for no stouter comrade."
"We must see about arms and armour for you, Roger," Oswald said.
"There will be no difficulty about that. None whatever, Sir Oswald. We have lost fully three hundred men, since we crossed the border, and a hundred and fifty since we came here, four days since. There is a pile of harness and arms, lying by the roadside; and there, methinks, it is likely it will lie. You have but to go with him, when you have attired yourself and buckled on spurs, and you can pick and choose among it. Assuredly, no one will gainsay you."
Oswald now changed his attire. The clothes were handsome, and fitted him well. Then he buckled on the golden spurs, put on the knightly armour--for he had observed that the earl, and the knights that he had seen in the camp, all kept on full armour, being ever in expectation of sudden attack.
"Truly you make a handsome figure, Sir Oswald," said Roger, who had been assisting him. "Little did I think, when I used to rail at you at your books, that you would grow into so stalwart a man; and that I should follow you in the field, as your squire. Your armour fits you as if made for you, save that these cuishes scarce meet your body armour. In truth, though bad for him, it was lucky for you that the master of this tent came to his death when he did."
"I like a steel cap better than this helmet, though I say not that it looks so well."
"Not by a long way," Roger said. "Nought could become you better. What cognizance do you mean to take?"
"I have not thought about it, yet. There will be time enough for that, after the war is over."
"Well, at any rate, master, I will today set about getting Sir William Baxter's off the shield. Methinks that, with some sand from the river bed, I shall be able to manage it with an hour's rubbing."
"Now, come along, Roger. There is no time to be lost, for I dine at midday with the Earl of Talbot. Master Pemberton will show us where the armour is lying."
There was, indeed, a large pile.
Oswald then said, "As you are known, Master Pemberton, you had better stop here; for it will take some picking before Roger is suited. As it is but two minutes to twelve, I must hurry back to Lord Talbot's tent."
Some seven or eight knights were already there. Lord Talbot introduced him to them and, as they dined, Oswald related, at their request, more particularly how he had got through the Welsh--a task that seemed to them well-nigh impossible, since the soldiers dared not venture even to the edge of the forest, so thickly were the Welsh posted there.
"That man-at-arms must be a stalwart fellow, indeed," said one, "to kill three Welshmen with nought but a quarterstaff."
"If you had seen the man, and the staff, Sir Victor, you would not be surprised," Lord Talbot said. "He stands some six feet four, and has shoulders that might rival Samson's. As to his quarterstaff, I marked it. It was of oak, and full two inches across; and a blow with it, from such arms, would crack an iron casque, to say nothing of a Welsh skull."
For the next ten days the weather was so bad that no operations could be carried on. Every little stream was swollen to a raging torrent. Horses, carrying men in full armour, could scarce keep their feet on the slippery moor; and even the footmen had the greatest difficulty in getting about; and all excursions were given up, for the Welsh, barefooted and unweighted with armour, would have been able to fall upon them to great advantage, and could then evade pursuit, with ease.
The number of sick increased rapidly, and it became necessary to send another convoy back to Llanidloes; where the guard were to join the force that had gone there, ten days before, and to escort some waggons of flour and a number of cattle, that had been brought there from Welshpool by a strong levy from Shropshire.
Ten knights, a hundred mounted men-at-arms, as many on foot, and fifty archers were considered sufficient to escort the sick; who, to the number of two hundred, were closely packed in the ten waggons that were to return with flour. Three of Lord Talbot's knights were to form part of the escort, and among these Oswald was chosen by the earl.
It was hoped that the convoy would reach the town without being attacked, for great pains had been taken to prevent the news of its approaching departure getting about; for there were many Welshmen in the camp, employed in looking after the baggage animals, and in other offices. They had all been hired for the service on the other side of the border; but it was believed that some of them, at least, must be in communication with the enemy; who were thereby enabled to gather in force, to oppose any parties who sallied out from the camp.
The consequence was that, until half an hour before it left, none save a few of the leaders were aware of the starting of the convoy. Then orders were rapidly issued. The knights and men-at-arms who had been selected for the service had but a few minutes to prepare themselves. The horses were harnessed to the waggons, and the sick and wounded carried out and placed in them, with the greatest expedition, and the party set out in less than half an hour after the first order had been given. It had gone but a quarter of a mile when the shouts among the woods, on either side, showed that the Welsh were vigilant. Horns were blown in all directions, the sound growing fainter and fainter, in the hills.
"We shall not get through undisturbed," one of the knights said to Oswald, who was riding next to him.
"No, I think we shall have fighting. It would have been better had we and the men-at-arms been told to leave our horses behind. In this deep soil they will be of little use in a fight, and we should do better on foot."
"It would be terrible, marching in our heavy armour."
"Doubtless it would have been so, but I should not have minded that. The distance is but six miles; and although, in this slippery plain, the toil would have been great, methinks that we could have made a better fight than on horseback; and as these waggons travel but slowly, we could have kept up with them."
"We can dismount, if necessary," the knight said; "but, for my part, I would rather ride than tramp through this deep mud."
Their progress was indeed slow, the waggons frequently sank almost up to their axles in the mud, and it needed all the efforts of the dismounted men to get them out. A deep silence had succeeded the outcry in the woods.
"I like not this silence, Sir Oswald," the knight said; when, after an hour's hard work, they were still but two miles from the camp.
"Nor do I," Oswald said. "It seems unnatural. Do you not think, Sir William, that it would be well if all were to take the picket ropes from their horses' necks, and knot them two and two, fastening one end to a waggon and the other to a horse's girth. In that way fifty men-at-arms might be roped on to the waggons, and would aid those drawing them, greatly."
"The idea is a very good one," the knight said.
He rode forward to Sir Eustace de Bohun, who was in command, and informed him of Oswald's suggestion, which was at once adopted. As soon as it was carried out, the dismounted men were ordered to push behind the waggons, which now proceeded at a much faster rate than before.
They were just half-way to the town, and beginning to entertain hopes that they should get through without being attacked, when a horn sounded; and from the forest on both sides, a crowd of men rushed out, and poured a volley of arrows into the convoy. Hasty orders were shouted by Sir Eustace, the ropes were thrown off, and the troops formed up in a double line on each side of the waggons.
The knights and mounted men formed the outside line, and the footmen stood a pace or two behind them; so as to cover them from attack, should the Welsh break through. Oswald's esquire was on one side of him, Roger on the other.
The waggons continued to move forward, for at this point the road was better, running across a bare rock, and the horses were therefore able to draw them along without any assistance. Sir Eustace therefore gave the order for the escort to continue their way, marching on each side of the train.
"We must fight our way through, men," he shouted; "every minute will doubtless add to their numbers."
For a short time the arrows flew fast. But the Welsh bows were not to be compared, in point of strength, with those used by the English archers; and the arrows fell harmlessly upon the armour of the men-at-arms, while on the other hand, the English archers shot so strongly and truly that, after a short time, the Welsh bowmen fell back. As they did so, however, a crowd of footmen poured out from the forest; and, with loud shouts and yells, rushed forward.
"Halt the waggons!" Sir Eustace cried. "Keep good order, men, and we shall soon drive this rabble off."
The archers had time but to send three flights of arrows among their assailants, when these threw themselves upon the line. They were armed with short axes, heavy clubs, and other rough weapons; and for a time, the horsemen kept their order and beat them back; but as the horns continued to sound, the Welsh swarmed down in such numbers that they broke in between their mounted foes; some trying to tear them from their saddles, while others crept beneath the horses and drove their long knives into their stomachs, or tried to hamstring them with their axes.
Then the dismounted men-at-arms joined in the fight, and drove the enemy back beyond the line. Many of the horsemen were, however, dismounted. These joined their mounted comrades when Sir Eustace gave the word to charge the multitude, before they could rally for a fresh attack.
The Welsh went down in numbers before their lances, but so close was the throng that the horsemen were brought to a stand and, slinging their spears behind them, betook themselves to sword and mace. Great was the slaughter of their opponents, but these pursued their former tactics. Horse after horse rolled over in mortal agony and, as they fell, the riders were stabbed before they could recover their feet. Soon they were broken up into knots; and their dismounted companions, with one accord, left the waggons and rushed into the fray, for a time beating back the Welsh.
"It were best to dismount," Oswald cried, and he swung himself from the saddle, just as one of the enemy hamstrung his horse. Roger and the squire did the same, and joined the ranks of the footmen.
"Keep together!" Oswald shouted, to those within hearing; "we can cut ourselves a passage through, in that way, while separately we shall perish."
Ten or twelve men followed his orders and, gathering in a ring, for a time beat off every attack. Looking round, Oswald saw that scarce a man remained mounted. The shouts of the English, and the wild war cries of the Welsh, rang through the air. In a dozen places fierce contests were raging--swords and axes rose and fell, on helmet and steel cap.
In obedience to the shouts of Sir Eustace, who, with three or four men-at-arms around him, was still mounted, the English bands tried to join each other, and in several cases succeeded. Oswald had been near the rear of the convoy when the fight began, and the party with whom he fought were separated by some distance from the others, and the prospect became more and more hopeless. His squire had fallen, and fully half the men who had joined him; and although the loss of the Welsh had been many times as great, the number of their assailants had in no way diminished.
He and Roger strove, in vain, to cut a way through; and their height and strength enabled them to maintain a forward movement, their opponents shrinking from the terrible blows of Roger's mace, and the no less destructive fall of Oswald's sword; but the men-at-arms behind them fared worse, having to retreat with their face to the foe; and more than one, falling over the bodies of those slain by their leaders, were stabbed before they could rise. Several times the two men turned and covered the rear, but at last they stood alone.
"Now, make one effort to break through, Roger;" and they flung themselves with such fury upon the Welsh that, for some twenty yards, they cut their way through them.
Then Roger exclaimed, "I am done for, master," and fell.
Oswald stood over him and, for a time, kept a clear circle; then he received a tremendous blow on the back of his helmet, with a heavy club, and fell prostrate over Roger.
When he recovered his senses, the din of battle had moved far away. The other groups had gathered together and, moving down, had joined those who still resisted on the other side of the road; and, keeping in a close body, were fighting their way steadily along.
A number of the Welsh were going over the battlefield, stabbing all whom they found to be still living. The sick men in the waggons had already been murdered.
A Welshman, whose appearance denoted a higher rank than the others, approached Oswald, as soon as he sat up, and called to four or five of his countrymen. Oswald, with difficulty, rose to his feet. He still wore, round his wrist, the chain that Glendower's daughter had given him; and he now pulled this off and held it up, loudly calling out the name of Glendower, several times. The Welsh leader waved his followers back.
Oswald was unarmed, and evidently incapable of defending himself. He came up to him. Oswald held out the chain:
"Glendower, Glendower," he repeated.
The man took the chain, and examined it carefully. Some Welsh words were engraved upon the clasp. Oswald was unaware what they were, but the words were, "Jane Glendower, from her father."
The Welshman looked much surprised, and presently called to another, some distance away. The man came up, and he spoke to him in Welsh.
"How did you obtain this?" the man asked Oswald, in English.
"It was given in token of service, rendered by me and my squire here, to Glendower's daughter. She told me that it would be of service if, at any time, I were taken prisoner by her father's followers."
This was translated to the Welshman, who said:
"These men must be taken to Glendower. The story may be true, or not. The chain may have been stolen. At any rate, the prince must decide as to their fate."
He now bade the men round him take off Oswald's armour. As soon as this was done, the latter knelt down by Roger's side, and removed his helmet.
An arrow, shot from behind, had struck Roger just above the back piece--which, being short for him, did not reach to his helmet--and had gone through the fleshy part of his neck; while, at the same moment, a blow with an axe had cleft the helmet in sunder, and inflicted a deep gash on the back of the head.
At a word from their leader, the men at once aided Oswald, who drew out the arrow. The wound bled but slightly, and one of the Welshmen, tearing off a portion of his garment, bandaged it up. Water was fetched from the stream below, and a pad of wet cloth laid on the wound at the back of the head, and kept in its place by bandages. As this was done Roger gave a faint groan and, a minute after, opened his eyes.
"Do not try to move, Roger," Oswald said. "You are wounded; but not, I trust, to death. We are prisoners in the hands of the Welsh, but that chain Glendower's daughter gave me has saved our lives."
A rough litter was constructed of boughs. On this Roger, after his armour had been taken off, was laid. At their leader's orders six Welshmen took it up, while two placed themselves, one on each side of Oswald. Then the leader took the head of the party, and moved away into the forest.
Oswald's head still swam from the effects of the blow, but as they went on the feeling gradually ceased, and he was able to keep up with his captors. Their course was ever uphill, and after an hour's walking they arrived at a farmhouse, situated just at the upper edge of the forest.
The litter was laid down outside the house. The Welshman went in, saying something to his men, who at once sat down on the ground; for the journey, with Roger's weight, had been a toilsome one. He made signs for Oswald to seat himself by the side of Roger. The latter was now perfectly sensible.
"What has happened, master?" he asked.
"We have been badly beaten, Roger; but when I last saw them our men had got together, and were fighting their way along the road. I fancy more than half have been killed; but, as far as I could see of the field, I should say that three or four times as many Welsh had fallen."
"That was a lucky thought of yours, Sir Oswald, about that chain."
"I had always an idea that it might be found useful; and it at once occurred to me, as soon as I recovered my senses."
"Are you wounded, too?" Roger asked anxiously.
"No. I was beaten down by a heavy club, and my head still rings from the blow. Otherwise, I am uninjured."
"What has happened to me, master?"
"You had an arrow through your neck, Roger; but fortunately it was on one side. An inch to the right, and it would have struck your spine, or perhaps gone through your windpipe. As it is, it does not seem to have done much harm. Very little blood flowed when I pulled the arrow out. You have got a bad gash on the back of the head, but your head piece broke the force of the blow. It has laid your skull bare, but has not, so far as I can see, penetrated it."
"Then we need think no more about it," Roger said.
"Well, that was a fight! The one we had at Knighton was as nothing to it."
"Yes, I think that even you could not want a harder one, Roger."
"No; this was quite enough for one day's work. I should like a drink of water, if I could get one."
Oswald made signs to one of the men, who went into the house and returned with a large jug of water, of which Roger took a deep draught; and Oswald then finished the contents, for he, too, was parched with thirst.
Half an hour later a tall man, in full armour, followed by a number of Welsh chiefs, issued from the forest. He was some five-and-forty years old, and of noble presence. The leader of the party who had brought Oswald up advanced to meet him; and, saluting him most respectfully, spoke to him for a moment, and then produced the chain. Glendower--for it was the prince--examined it, and then at once walked up to Oswald, who had risen to his feet.
"How became you possessed of this, Sir Knight?"
"It was given me by one of your daughters, sir. I and my squire, here, were on guard round your house, on the night after the Earl of Talbot took it. We were at some distance from the other guards, when two figures rose from the bushes near us. We pursued them and, coming up to them, found they were two ladies; and they at once avowed that they were your daughters. My instructions were to watch and see that no Welshmen approached the house; and nought had been said to me of arresting any leaving it, seeing that it was not supposed that any were there.
"I war not with women. Being myself from Northumbria, I have no enmity with your people. Therefore I let them proceed on their way--a breach of duty for which, doubtless, I should have suffered, had it been known. Happily, none but my follower here, who was then but a man-at-arms, and I a squire, knew of it; and to this moment I have spoken of it to no one. As they left us, one of the ladies gave me this chain, saying that some day it might be of use to me, should I ever fall into the hands of their people. I have carried it on my wrist, ever since; and when your follower came up, and I saw the necessity had arisen, I showed it to him."
"I have heard the story from my daughters," Glendower said warmly, holding out his hand. "They told me how courteously you had treated them, and that you had refused to accept the jewels they offered you. They said that you had also declined to tell them your name, as it might do you injury, should it become known; and I have often regretted that I did not know the name of the gentleman who had behaved so nobly to them, and had saved them from an English prison. Had they been captured, it would have been a sore blow to me, not only in my affections but to my cause; for, had he held them in his power, Henry could have put a heavy pressure upon me. May I ask, now, what is your name, Sir Knight?"
"Sir Oswald Forster. I was, at that time, a squire of Sir Henry Percy's."
"Of Hotspur!" Glendower said, in surprise. "I did not know that we had levies from the north fighting against us."
"You have not, sir. I had simply been sent, with twenty men-at-arms, by Sir Henry to Sir Edmund Mortimer--who is, as you are doubtless aware, of kin to Sir Henry, who had married his sister--and was sent by Sir Edmund to join the Earl of Talbot and Lord Grey, when they made that foray upon your house. After that I returned to the north; but was, some months since, again sent to Ludlow, to keep Sir Henry informed of the doings on this border."
"But I had heard that Mortimer had sent no troops to Henry's army."
"That is so, sir. I am here by an accident. A despatch came from London to Ludlow for the king, and as there was no other way of forwarding it, I volunteered to carry it here, and succeeded in doing so: for which service the king conferred knighthood upon me, upon my arrival, ten days since."
"Ah, then, it was you that I heard of! I was told that two great men had been seen in the woods, some distance south of the camp; and that they had succeeded in making their escape, after slaying five of my followers; and that, though none knew for certain, it was supposed they had reached Henry's camp."
"You are right, sir. The two men were my companion, here, and myself."
"It was a notable feat. I think not that any other messenger has got through my scouts, since the king left Welshpool. You must be swift of foot, as well as brave and courteous; for I heard that you had outrun the greatest part of those who followed you."
"We in the north have to be swift of foot," Oswald said, with a smile, "for the Scots keep us in practice; either in escaping them, when they come in too great a force to be resisted; or in following them, when it is our turn to pursue.
"I trust, sir, that you will put myself and my squire to ransom, and will take my word for the payment; for, until I go north, I have no means of satisfying it."
"That will I not," Glendower said. "Or rather, I will take a ransom; since, were I to release you without one, it might cause surprise and inquiry; and it were well that your noble conduct to my daughters should not be known, for Henry would not be likely to regard it favourably. Therefore we will put you to ransom at the sum of a crown for yourself, and a penny for your squire."
"I thank you, indeed, sir, and shall ever feel beholden to you; and I will, moreover, give you my knightly word that, whatever service I may have to perform, I will never again war with the Welsh.
"May I ask if any of our party succeeded in reaching Llanidloes?"
"Yes, some sixty or seventy of them got in. They fought very well; and indeed, in close combat my Welshmen cannot, at present, hold their own against your armour-clad men. Still, though it would have pleased me better had we annihilated the force, our success has been sufficient to give Henry another lesson that, though he may march through Wales, he holds only the ground on which he has encamped.
"Now, Sir Oswald, I pray you to enter my abode. 'Tis a poor place, indeed, after my house in the Vale of the Bards; but it suffices for my needs."
Before entering, he gave orders that Roger should be carried to an upper room, and despatched a messenger to order his own leech, as soon as he had done with the wounded, to come up and attend to him. Then he led the way into a room, where a meal was prepared. In a few words in Welsh he explained to his chiefs, who had been much surprised at the manner in which he had received Oswald, that the young knight had, at one time, rendered a great service to his daughters, Jane and Margaret; but without mentioning its precise nature. His experience had taught him that even those most attached to his cause might yet turn against him; and were they to relate the story, it might do serious injury to Oswald.
"You must, on your way back," he said presently to the young knight, "call and see my daughters; who are at present staying with their sister, who is married to Adda ap Iorwerth Ddu. They would be aggrieved, indeed, if they heard that you had been here, and that I had not given them the opportunity of thanking you, in person."
Oswald remained for a fortnight with Glendower, while Roger's wound was healing. At the end of that time he learned that Henry, having marched into Cardigan and ravaged the country there, was already retiring; his army having suffered terribly from the effects of the weather, the impossibility of obtaining supplies, and the constant and harassing attacks by the Welsh.
Glendower was often absent, but when at the house he conversed freely with Oswald, who was no longer surprised at the influence that he had obtained over his countrymen. His manners were courteous in the extreme, and his authority over his followers absolute. They not only reverenced him as their prince, the representative of their ancient kings, and their leader in war, but as one endowed with supernatural power.
The bards had fanned this feeling to the utmost, by their songs of marvels and portents at his birth, and by attributing to him a control even over the elements. This belief was not only of great importance to him, as binding his adherents closer to him; but it undoubtedly contributed to his success, from the fact of its being fully shared in by the English soldiery; who assigned it as the cause of the exceptionally bad weather that had been experienced, in each of the three expeditions into the country, and of the failure to accomplish anything of importance against him.
This side of the character of Glendower puzzled Oswald. Several times, when talking to him, he distinctly claimed supernatural powers; and from the tone in which he spoke, and the strange expression his face at this time assumed, Oswald was convinced that he sincerely believed that he did possess these powers. Whether he originally did so; or whether it had arisen from the adulation of the bards, the general belief in it, and the successes he had gained; Oswald could not determine. Later, when Glendower sullied his fair fame by the most atrocious massacres, similar to that which had already taken place at the storming of New Radnor--atrocities that seemed not only purposeless, but at utter variance with the courtesy and gentleness of his bearing--Oswald came to believe that his brain had, to some extent, become unhinged by excitement, flattery, and superstition.
At the end of the fortnight Roger's wound, although not completely healed, was in such a state that it permitted his sitting on horseback, and Oswald became anxious to be off. Glendower, who was about to set out to harass the rear of the army, as it retired from Cardiganshire, at once offered to send a strong escort with him; as it would have been dangerous, in the extreme, to have attempted to traverse the country without such a protection. Two excellent horses, that had been captured in the engagement with the English, were handed over to him, for his own use and that of Roger. Oswald's own armour was returned to him, and he was pleased to find that it had been carefully attended to, and was as brightly burnished as when it came into his possession.
When Glendower bid them adieu, he presented each of them with rings, similar to those he himself wore.
"You have promised that you will not fight against me again; but it may be that, on some errand or other, you may ride into Wales; or that you may be staying, as you did before, at some castle or town near the border, when we attack it. You have but to show these rings to any Welshman you may come across, and you may be sure of being well treated, as one of my friends.
"I trust that, when we meet again, the war will be over; and that my title to the kingdom of Wales may be recognized, by your king and people, as it is on this side of the border."
"Well, Sir Oswald," Roger said, as they rode away, accompanied by twenty of Glendower's followers, under the orders of an officer; "we have got out of that scrape better than could have been expected. When you and I were alone, in the midst of that crowd of Welshmen, I thought that it was all over with us."
"So did I, Roger. You see, that matter of our getting Glendower's daughters away, uninjured, has borne good fruit."
"It has indeed," Roger agreed. "I thought it much more likely, too, that it would have gone the other way."
"Be sure you keep a silent tongue as to that, Roger; and remember that our story is, that I have been put at knightly ransom, and on the condition that I will never serve in Wales again. When we once get across the border we will ride straight for Northumberland, without going near Ludlow. I observed that the king much doubted the Mortimers, and were we to return there, and the news came to his ears, he might take it as a proof that there was an understanding between Glendower and Mortimer; and that it was to this that leniency, such as had been shown to no other prisoners, was due; whereas, if we go straight to Percy, 'tis not likely that the matter will ever come to his hearing, and at any rate, if it did so, he would scarce connect Mortimer with our escape."
"I understand, Sir Oswald; and will, you may be sure, keep silent as to aught beyond what you have bade me say."
Two days' journey brought them to the house of Glendower's married daughter. On the officer stating that the knight with him had been sent, under his escort, by Glendower himself, she requested that he should be shown in. Her husband was away.
"What is the knight's name?" she asked.
"Sir Oswald Forster, Lady."
"I have never, so far as I know, heard it before. Methought that he might be one whom I may have met, in the houses of my two sisters married to Englishmen, in Hereford; but I have no memory of the name. Show him in, sir."
Roger had removed Oswald's helmet, while the officer was away.
"Come with me, Roger," he said, "since we were both concerned in this affair."
He bowed deeply to the Lady Isabel; who, as she returned his salute, saw with surprise that his face was quite strange to her.
"It seems, Sir Oswald," she said, "from the tenor of the message given me by the officer, that you have come to me as a visitor; and that 'tis as an escort, only, that he has been sent with you?"
"That is so, Lady; but 'tis as a visitor rather to your sisters, the Ladies Jane and Margaret, that I am here. I had, once, the pleasure of meeting them."
Glendower's daughter at once told a maid, who was working with her when the officer had entered, to request her sisters to come to her; and these entered the room a minute later.
Isabel, seeing that they did not appear to recognize the young knight, said:
"Our father has sent this gentleman, Sir Oswald Forster, whom you know, to visit you."
The two girls looked with surprise at Oswald.
"Do you not know this gentleman?" their sister asked, in equal surprise.
"He is not known to us," Jane replied. "I have never seen him before--at least, that I can remember."
"We have met before, nevertheless, Lady," Oswald said, with a smile; "though it may well be that you do not remember my face, or that of my squire there; seeing that we were together but a few minutes, and that in the moonlight."
The girls looked up at him puzzled, and then their eyes fell upon Roger.
"Now I know!" Margaret exclaimed. "Look at the squire's height. Surely, Jane, these are the two soldiers who allowed us to pass them, that night when we fled from Sycharth."
"That is so," Oswald said. "I thought that you were more likely to recognize my squire than myself, seeing that I have grown several inches since then, and have but lately assumed this knightly armour in which you see me."