CHAPTER XXIIThe Last of RuthènesThe shock and strain of their trying ordeal beneath the castle moat was so great that it was some days before the lady Beatrice and her maid were sufficiently recovered to leave the shelter of their quiet retreat on the slopes of the mountains. They were tended devotedly by the kindly women-folk of the peasantry, and regularly visited by Edgar and Peter; but even so, it was nearly a week before Beatrice, eager to be gone though she was, could pronounce herself fit to travel on horseback.When the news of their approaching departure was told to Father Armand he showed much concern."Deeply sorry shall I be to lose thee," he said to Edgar in a voice in which there was more than a trace of sadness. "I know that thy path and mine must diverge widely and that I shall never see thee more. We have been comrades, and stood shoulder to shoulder for a brief space, and it wrings my heart that it must be so no more. But come, 'tis useless to dwell upon our sorrows; the last act in the story of the freeing of Ruthènes is about to commence, and at least thou wilt stay to witness it?""What act is that, Father? The castle is now razed to the ground, and all seemeth already over.""Nay, there is still one thing more to be done. Ye men of war think that once the citadel is captured all is done that is worth doing. Stay with us for a few short hours and then all will be ready."Edgar assented gladly enough, for the thoughts of a final parting from the brave old priest were far from pleasing. The time was occupied in preparations for the departure, and when a summons came from Father Armand to meet him before the castle ruins all was in readiness for the journey.Leading their horses through the wood, the little party presently emerged on the strip of sward which once surrounded the castle, and found themselves in the presence of an assemblage of the whole of the peasantry of the neighbourhood, drawn up in orderly array as though summoned to a ceremony. In front stood the priest, and as the ladies, Edgar, and Peter came into sight he beckoned them to approach. The contrast was great. Father Armand was robed as for Mass, while Edgar and Peter had donned most of their armour, and looked as martial as could be."'Tis a simple act I have now to perform," the priest said with solemn dignity, in a voice which reached to the farthest point of the assembly. "The emblem of cruelty and oppression is gone, and in its place I purpose to plant emblems of new life, pure and undefiled, which shall be to my people a sign of new hopes, new progress, and new joys."Turning towards several young men and maidens clad in white near him, the priest spread his hands to heaven, and besought that a blessing might descend upon the act they were appointed to perform. Then he signed to the others to commence, and, with slow and subdued tread, the young men and maidens scattered over the ruins, bearing young shrubs, shoots, and climbing plants, and began to plant them everywhere."As these plants blot out the ugly blood-stained wreck of the stronghold of Eustace de Brin, so I trust will the memory and the injury of the wicked deeds this place has known grow dim and fade away. As the new shoots spring up to heaven so shall our faith in God and His goodness receive fresh life until we are a new people."Reverently the priest spoke, and reverently his people listened and watched until the simple task was ended. Still the priest spoke to them, warning them that they let not slip the chance of fuller life and growth. Gently, too, he chided them that naught would be gained were the yoke of their oppressors but exchanged for an inward yoke of unrestrained selfishness or indulgence.To Edgar the simple act, and the gentle, earnest words with which it was accompanied, seemed deeply impressive. The profession of arms, of which he had till then thought so highly, seemed to shrink and to become mean and transient when brought into contact with the healing powers of the good old priest. Almost he regretted that the future held out no hopes of his being able to relinquish the trade of arms, and to follow a profession more peaceful and more fraught with benefit to the world at large.Presently Father Armand began to refer to their visitors' approaching departure."In the sudden appearance of Sir Squire here at the moment when our need was greatest I see the finger of God, and to God our thanks are firstly due. But we must yet tell our friend how much we owe him and his comrade for the dauntless courage with which they led us peasants, ignorant of the art of war, to the assault of the mighty castle upon whose dust we stand. How wisely they counselled us and how gallantly they led us, ever taking the foremost and heaviest tasks upon their own shoulders! Upon these maidens, whose misfortunes were the cause of our doughty friends' appearance, we bestow our blessing, and we trust that the memory of their sufferings may soon be blotted out in happiness and joy."Sir Squire hath refused to accept any presents from the contents of the castle, save only two mounts for the ladies from the best steeds the stables could provide. With those chargers and our thanks we must bid Godspeed to them, hoping that such a dread experience as the siege beneath the castle moat may never again be thrust upon them. Farewell, true friends, farewell!"The priest advanced and embraced each of the party in turn, while the simple peasant folk crowded about, and, with many ejaculations of gratitude, signified in their own way their thanks for the strong and timely aid rendered them in their fight for freedom. As soon as he could, Edgar gave the signal for the party to mount, and with a last farewell they rode slowly and thoughtfully from the scene.* * * * *The shadow which lay over the Wolsingham ladies and their escort all the time they were in the neighbourhood of Ruthènes gradually lifted as they left the thick, dark woods and the slopes of the Pyrenees behind them. More and more freely they rode, until they were almost as gay as in their departure from Wolsingham but a month or two--though it seemed a lifetime--before.Edgar took the journey in easy stages. True, Sir John would be anxiously awaiting their return; but the ladies were still scarcely recovered from their ordeal, and he had no mind to make any calls upon their endurance. Besides, somehow he seemed to look forward to the time when he should hand his charges over to his master with strangely little eagerness. So they lingered somewhat, and enjoyed to the full their journey through the beautiful land which was so soon to be devastated by invasion and internal strife. Beatrice, too, seemed to be content, and made no complaint that the pace was slow. One day Edgar had been speaking of Sir John, and wondering whether he would now be recovered sufficiently to take his place with the earl's force, which had doubtless by this time moved forward."Wilt thou stay with Gertrude in Bordeaux or travel to Faucigny, Beatrice?" he asked."I know not, Edgar," she replied. "I wish with all my heart that we might take Sir John back to Wolsingham. I am sure he will not be really strong enough for more campaigning for months to come.""Ah--then I fear I shall have to bid you all a long adieu.""Why--what meanest thou? Thou must come, of course.""Nay, how can I? If Sir John cannot lead the Wolsingham men-at-arms against the foe, he will be certain to bid me take his place.""That must not be. I will myself speak to Sir John. Thou hast warred enough--let others do their share. Thou oughtest now to settle down in peace.""Ah--'tis the impossible of which thou speakest. Thou know'st, surely, that I have naught but my sword. 'Tis easy for those with broad acres to speak of peace, but for me, war and preparations for war are my sustenance.""Take, then, of my acres--my possessions in Guienne, take them in part payment of my debt to thee. With our country at war with the King of France, they will need a strong arm indeed to defend them if they are not to be lost for ever."Edgar's face flushed. "Nay----" he began, and then stopped suddenly. Absorbed in the conversation he had been caught napping. He and his companion had been riding some paces in advance of Peter and the maid, and had topped a rise without taking any precaution to see first what might be beyond it. Thus they found themselves in full view of what looked like an army on the march, with banners streaming and helmets and lance points gleaming in the sunshine.One glance, however, was sufficient to tell Edgar that the force was at any rate largely English, and the hand he had momentarily laid in alarm upon his companion's bridle dropped again by his side. "'Tis the earl," he said. "Let us ride straight forward."It was evident that they had been seen at least as quickly as they had seen, for half a dozen knights were already spurring rapidly towards them.As they drew near, the foremost slackened speed and, addressing Edgar, cried:"Who art thou and what is thine errand?""I am Edgar Wintour, esquire to Sir John Chartris. I and my party are riding into Bordeaux.""Ha! Methinks I remember seeing thee in the lists a while agone. But come, follow me to the earl, for he will be glad to question thee and find out what thou know'st of the movements of our enemy."Peter and Jeannette had by this time ridden up, and, preceded by the knights, the whole party moved forward to the head of the advancing army. As they drew close the column was halted, and in a moment Edgar found himself in the presence of the Earl of Derby and the other lords and nobles of the English and Gascon forces. All were mounted and clad in full mail in readiness for instant action."They tell me," said the earl, glancing keenly at the young man who had just ridden steadily up and saluted him, "they tell me thou art Edgar Wintour, the esquire of our good Sir John Chartris. If so, tell me what thou art doing here, in the enemy's country. I have heard somewhat from Sir John, but tell me all--and briefly, for our time is short."In a few quick sentences, Edgar told the earl the story of his quest, its strange vicissitudes, and its successful accomplishment. Though the story lost much by its baldness and absence of detail, he could see that it made no small impression upon his hearers. One or two exchanged glances, though what they meant he scarce knew what to think."Humph!" said the earl shortly, "so thou hast been in league with the subjects of the King of France, hast thou? That remindeth me: was it not thou who masqueraded as Sir John Chartris in his combat of honour with our worthy Sir Gervaise de Maupas? Dost remember that, Sir Walter?" he said, turning to Sir Walter Manny. "Thou wert one of the marshals that day. Nicely wert thou tricked by this fledgling here."Sir Walter frowned and growled an inarticulate reply.Edgar turned pale. Things seemed to be going awry. He glanced at Beatrice, but she seemed merely amused. Angered at her indifference, he turned resolutely to the earl:"I am not ashamed," he said, with a touch of haughtiness. "What I did seemed for the best, and who can do more?""We must see about that," responded the earl, quite unmoved. "Dismount, Sir Squire."Mechanically Edgar obeyed. Disgrace and humiliation were hard indeed to bear, but firmly he held up his head and faced the earl. He would not flinch, he vowed, before his countrymen any more than he had flinched before his enemies in the Castle of Ruthènes. The earl's face had flushed and his eyes sparkled."Bow thy head," he cried peremptorily, and his sword flashed from its sheath. Rapidly but gently it fell upon Edgar's shoulder."Sir Edgar Wintour, we are proud of thee. Knightly hast thou borne thyself in field and castle, and the knight's spurs are thine indeed." There was a loud murmur of assent from the knights and nobles crowding about, and as it ceased, the earl went on: "Mount now and come with us a furlong or two, for time presses and I would ask thee if thou hast seen aught of our enemies. Then thou canst resume thy journey. But when and wherever thou wilt, we shall welcome thee to our banners."Again there was a murmur of cordial agreement, and, with his head in a whirl, Edgar mounted and rode by the earl's side, answering his eager questions as best he could. Then he rejoined his companions, and, halting a few paces from the path of the army, watched them move forward upon their march of conquest. The sight was an inspiriting one, for the force seemed to strike the highest note of both hardihood and chivalry, and Edgar, as he watched, longed to take his place within its ranks.Presently the last files of the army had passed by, the waving banners had receded into the distance, and the Wolsingham party, feeling a sudden sense of loneliness, had nothing left them but to resume their march towards Bordeaux.For a long time the party was a silent one. Edgar was thinking over the changes which must ensue now that he was a gold-spurred knight. For one thing, he could no longer remain in Sir John's service. His late master could now scarce afford to support a knight, even if he desired to do so. Thus his connection with Wolsingham would seem to be at an end. The thought was hardly a pleasant one.Beatrice, too, rode as though lost in thoughts none too bright, though once or twice she stole a quick look at her silent companion. Presently she roused herself with an effort, and began to rally Edgar on his gloominess."Thou art glum, Sir Edgar," she cried gaily. "Surely thou hast all thou canst desire--knighthood and a goodly fame, the earl's approval: what more canst wish for?""Yes, yes, Beatrice," replied Edgar half absently, "'tis as thou sayest. I have much to be thankful for--and yet there are some things I regret, for I fear 'twill mean that I must leave Sir John's service.""Is that all?" asked Beatrice, raising her eyebrows in indifference.Edgar's absence of mind vanished, and he stared at his fair companion with a chagrin that his sudden astonishment did not give him time to conceal."Is it--is it nothing to thee, then?" he stammered, after an awkward pause."Why should it be, Sir Edgar?" asked Beatrice easily."I know not--but I thought that perhaps what hath passed----" Edgar stopped quickly, feeling that what he was about to say was far from generous."What thou hast done for me, thou meanest? Thou shalt be paid.""Paid!" almost shouted Edgar. "Not one groat will I accept. How can'st think of such a thing, Beatrice?""Dost scorn payment, Edgar? Mayhap thou wilt one day be glad to accept what ye now so scorn.""Never, Beatrice!" cried Edgar emphatically. "'Tis true I am landless, but at any rate I can always ride away and join the league of the 'knights of the sword', or one of the other bands of knights who spend their lives defending Christendom from the inroads of the Turks. Long have I thought that with no means but a ready sword such might be my fate.""Dost then look forward to warring all thy days?" asked Beatrice, a look of trouble coming into her face for the first time."Nay, how can I, with Father Armand's words still ringing in my ears? But----" and Edgar relapsed again into a silence which his companion for a long time did not care to disturb.The following day they arrived at Bordeaux.CHAPTER XXIIISir John's ChoiceOur story draws to a close, and we must pass over the eager welcome that awaited the travellers from Sir John and his daughter, who were still at the inn. Sir John, indeed, had not progressed so rapidly as had been expected. His fever and his wounds had left him very weak, and he had but the day before resolved to leave France and return to Wolsingham until such time as he might have completely recovered. Gertrude, of course, was to go with him, and now that Beatrice had returned she, too, must accompany her guardian, and the visit to Faucigny had perforce to be completely abandoned.With Edgar a knight, there was no question as to his movements. It was obvious that his duty was to join the earl's force without delay."Thou hast begun well, Edgar," remarked Sir John, when Edgar's final visit was drawing to a close. "Thou must go on and win fame, for I believe that this campaign will be filled with deeds which will add much to the honour and glory of England's name. I would that I might fling my sword into the conflict and strike a few more blows for my beloved country. But no--thou must represent me for the nonce."Edgar bowed slightly."As for Beatrice here," went on Sir John, turning suddenly towards his ward, "she must home with me. I fear she is getting wayward and headstrong, and if I am to keep close watch upon every gallant who dreams of the revenue of her lands, my task will be no light one. Fortunately for me, I have the bestowal of her hand in marriage, and, with no little relief, I have decided to find a suitable husband for her. 'Twill lighten my responsibilities, and her lands need a good sword to defend them in these troublous times. I have for some time had in mind a knight of good descent and of staid demeanour, and I shall now bring matters to a head.""But, Sir John----" stammered Beatrice in hot amaze."Be silent, maid!" cried Sir John angrily. "Wouldst dare to oppose thy wishes against the considered judgment of thy guardian?"But Beatrice stood her ground rebelliously, tossing her pretty head in unmistakable anger and defiance. Nevertheless, Sir John showed no sign of relenting, and, not daring to oppose him openly, at last she turned with a look of appeal to Edgar, who was staring at the floor with an air that betokened no little disturbance of mind. His glance met hers, and it was clear to her that he knew as little of Sir John's plans as she."Who is this knight, then?" she cried in a stifled voice, turning again towards Sir John."He is a knight of some fame. One, moreover, of sober and godly habits.""But who is he?""Think not that I will allow thee to question my----""Torture me not, Sir John!" cried Beatrice vehemently. "Who is he?""'Tis Sir Edgar Wintour, Beatrice.""Oh!""Darest thou oppose my will, Beatrice?"Beatrice was flushed, and looked as though she hardly knew which way to turn. Edgar was staring at Sir John as if he thought his ears had played him a trick.For some moments there was silence, and then Sir John repeated his question, for Beatrice had turned away and was toying with her brooch."Dost oppose my will, Beatrice?""It would grieve me to disobey thee, Sir John," she said at length, in a tone of dutiful submission."He will make thee a good husband," replied Sir John, smiling in a way that made Beatrice inwardly furious. "What dost think of my choice, girl?"Beatrice subdued her resentment as best she could, and replied demurely:"Mayhap he is better than De Maupas.""De Maupas! Canst say no more than that, Beatrice?" cried Edgar, breaking in impetuously."Not one word," replied the maid, with a haughty stamp of the foot as she turned the vials of her resentment upon the luckless Edgar. Sir John laughed outright, and with the best grace he could Edgar was, for the moment, forced to rest content. But a time would come, he vowed to himself, when a much more satisfactory reply should be forthcoming.The farewells were soon said, and in a few hours Edgar was on his way to join the earl, while Sir John and his daughter and ward were en route for England. Though scarce another word was exchanged, it was nevertheless well understood between Beatrice and our hero that, on his return from the wars, he would receive a warmer welcome and the full payment promised him so readily a day or two before.The campaign proved to be a brilliant one. It opened with a sudden and desperate onslaught upon Bergerac, where the French had strongly entrenched themselves. The town was stormed with a swing that so astounded the French that their forces dispersed before the earl, and allowed him to overrun Perigord and the Agenois with scarce an attempt at resistance.Presently, however, the French collected a new army, and, returning to the attack, laid siege to Auberoche with ten thousand men. The news of the attack reached the Earl of Derby too late to enable him to collect a proper force, but, with the true spirit of chivalry, he started away for the scene with but three hundred lances and six hundred archers.Arrived in the vicinity of the beleaguered town, the tiny English force stole upon the enemy under cover of a wood, and, regardless of their overwhelming strength, attacked them so furiously that the whole French army were glad to save themselves by flight. So great was the respect this feat brought to the English name that fortress after fortress fell into their hands with scarce a check, and it was not until France was completely aroused, and sent the Duke of Normandy with one hundred thousand men, that the small force of conquering Englishmen could be stayed.Aiguillon, held by Sir Walter Manny for England, was attacked by the whole of the huge French army. For five months assault after assault was made upon it. On one occasion, indeed, for five successive days the fight went on, each of the four divisions of the French army taking its turn for three hours at a time. All to no purpose. The brave garrison repulsed all assaults, and even then showed no sign of exhaustion. The siege was at length raised, and the earl was left for the time being the undisputed ruler of the south of France.In all these gallant doings Edgar, still attended by the faithful Peter, took part; and when, only two years after his departure from Wolsingham, he returned to England, he had seen as many stirring fights as most knights of twice his age. He never went to the wars again, for he soon became fast anchored to one whom he had learned to love in the stirring events that centred round the grim Castle of Ruthènes.PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAINAt the Villafield Press, Glasgow, Scotland*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKEDGAR THE READY***
CHAPTER XXII
The Last of Ruthènes
The shock and strain of their trying ordeal beneath the castle moat was so great that it was some days before the lady Beatrice and her maid were sufficiently recovered to leave the shelter of their quiet retreat on the slopes of the mountains. They were tended devotedly by the kindly women-folk of the peasantry, and regularly visited by Edgar and Peter; but even so, it was nearly a week before Beatrice, eager to be gone though she was, could pronounce herself fit to travel on horseback.
When the news of their approaching departure was told to Father Armand he showed much concern.
"Deeply sorry shall I be to lose thee," he said to Edgar in a voice in which there was more than a trace of sadness. "I know that thy path and mine must diverge widely and that I shall never see thee more. We have been comrades, and stood shoulder to shoulder for a brief space, and it wrings my heart that it must be so no more. But come, 'tis useless to dwell upon our sorrows; the last act in the story of the freeing of Ruthènes is about to commence, and at least thou wilt stay to witness it?"
"What act is that, Father? The castle is now razed to the ground, and all seemeth already over."
"Nay, there is still one thing more to be done. Ye men of war think that once the citadel is captured all is done that is worth doing. Stay with us for a few short hours and then all will be ready."
Edgar assented gladly enough, for the thoughts of a final parting from the brave old priest were far from pleasing. The time was occupied in preparations for the departure, and when a summons came from Father Armand to meet him before the castle ruins all was in readiness for the journey.
Leading their horses through the wood, the little party presently emerged on the strip of sward which once surrounded the castle, and found themselves in the presence of an assemblage of the whole of the peasantry of the neighbourhood, drawn up in orderly array as though summoned to a ceremony. In front stood the priest, and as the ladies, Edgar, and Peter came into sight he beckoned them to approach. The contrast was great. Father Armand was robed as for Mass, while Edgar and Peter had donned most of their armour, and looked as martial as could be.
"'Tis a simple act I have now to perform," the priest said with solemn dignity, in a voice which reached to the farthest point of the assembly. "The emblem of cruelty and oppression is gone, and in its place I purpose to plant emblems of new life, pure and undefiled, which shall be to my people a sign of new hopes, new progress, and new joys."
Turning towards several young men and maidens clad in white near him, the priest spread his hands to heaven, and besought that a blessing might descend upon the act they were appointed to perform. Then he signed to the others to commence, and, with slow and subdued tread, the young men and maidens scattered over the ruins, bearing young shrubs, shoots, and climbing plants, and began to plant them everywhere.
"As these plants blot out the ugly blood-stained wreck of the stronghold of Eustace de Brin, so I trust will the memory and the injury of the wicked deeds this place has known grow dim and fade away. As the new shoots spring up to heaven so shall our faith in God and His goodness receive fresh life until we are a new people."
Reverently the priest spoke, and reverently his people listened and watched until the simple task was ended. Still the priest spoke to them, warning them that they let not slip the chance of fuller life and growth. Gently, too, he chided them that naught would be gained were the yoke of their oppressors but exchanged for an inward yoke of unrestrained selfishness or indulgence.
To Edgar the simple act, and the gentle, earnest words with which it was accompanied, seemed deeply impressive. The profession of arms, of which he had till then thought so highly, seemed to shrink and to become mean and transient when brought into contact with the healing powers of the good old priest. Almost he regretted that the future held out no hopes of his being able to relinquish the trade of arms, and to follow a profession more peaceful and more fraught with benefit to the world at large.
Presently Father Armand began to refer to their visitors' approaching departure.
"In the sudden appearance of Sir Squire here at the moment when our need was greatest I see the finger of God, and to God our thanks are firstly due. But we must yet tell our friend how much we owe him and his comrade for the dauntless courage with which they led us peasants, ignorant of the art of war, to the assault of the mighty castle upon whose dust we stand. How wisely they counselled us and how gallantly they led us, ever taking the foremost and heaviest tasks upon their own shoulders! Upon these maidens, whose misfortunes were the cause of our doughty friends' appearance, we bestow our blessing, and we trust that the memory of their sufferings may soon be blotted out in happiness and joy.
"Sir Squire hath refused to accept any presents from the contents of the castle, save only two mounts for the ladies from the best steeds the stables could provide. With those chargers and our thanks we must bid Godspeed to them, hoping that such a dread experience as the siege beneath the castle moat may never again be thrust upon them. Farewell, true friends, farewell!"
The priest advanced and embraced each of the party in turn, while the simple peasant folk crowded about, and, with many ejaculations of gratitude, signified in their own way their thanks for the strong and timely aid rendered them in their fight for freedom. As soon as he could, Edgar gave the signal for the party to mount, and with a last farewell they rode slowly and thoughtfully from the scene.
* * * * *
The shadow which lay over the Wolsingham ladies and their escort all the time they were in the neighbourhood of Ruthènes gradually lifted as they left the thick, dark woods and the slopes of the Pyrenees behind them. More and more freely they rode, until they were almost as gay as in their departure from Wolsingham but a month or two--though it seemed a lifetime--before.
Edgar took the journey in easy stages. True, Sir John would be anxiously awaiting their return; but the ladies were still scarcely recovered from their ordeal, and he had no mind to make any calls upon their endurance. Besides, somehow he seemed to look forward to the time when he should hand his charges over to his master with strangely little eagerness. So they lingered somewhat, and enjoyed to the full their journey through the beautiful land which was so soon to be devastated by invasion and internal strife. Beatrice, too, seemed to be content, and made no complaint that the pace was slow. One day Edgar had been speaking of Sir John, and wondering whether he would now be recovered sufficiently to take his place with the earl's force, which had doubtless by this time moved forward.
"Wilt thou stay with Gertrude in Bordeaux or travel to Faucigny, Beatrice?" he asked.
"I know not, Edgar," she replied. "I wish with all my heart that we might take Sir John back to Wolsingham. I am sure he will not be really strong enough for more campaigning for months to come."
"Ah--then I fear I shall have to bid you all a long adieu."
"Why--what meanest thou? Thou must come, of course."
"Nay, how can I? If Sir John cannot lead the Wolsingham men-at-arms against the foe, he will be certain to bid me take his place."
"That must not be. I will myself speak to Sir John. Thou hast warred enough--let others do their share. Thou oughtest now to settle down in peace."
"Ah--'tis the impossible of which thou speakest. Thou know'st, surely, that I have naught but my sword. 'Tis easy for those with broad acres to speak of peace, but for me, war and preparations for war are my sustenance."
"Take, then, of my acres--my possessions in Guienne, take them in part payment of my debt to thee. With our country at war with the King of France, they will need a strong arm indeed to defend them if they are not to be lost for ever."
Edgar's face flushed. "Nay----" he began, and then stopped suddenly. Absorbed in the conversation he had been caught napping. He and his companion had been riding some paces in advance of Peter and the maid, and had topped a rise without taking any precaution to see first what might be beyond it. Thus they found themselves in full view of what looked like an army on the march, with banners streaming and helmets and lance points gleaming in the sunshine.
One glance, however, was sufficient to tell Edgar that the force was at any rate largely English, and the hand he had momentarily laid in alarm upon his companion's bridle dropped again by his side. "'Tis the earl," he said. "Let us ride straight forward."
It was evident that they had been seen at least as quickly as they had seen, for half a dozen knights were already spurring rapidly towards them.
As they drew near, the foremost slackened speed and, addressing Edgar, cried:
"Who art thou and what is thine errand?"
"I am Edgar Wintour, esquire to Sir John Chartris. I and my party are riding into Bordeaux."
"Ha! Methinks I remember seeing thee in the lists a while agone. But come, follow me to the earl, for he will be glad to question thee and find out what thou know'st of the movements of our enemy."
Peter and Jeannette had by this time ridden up, and, preceded by the knights, the whole party moved forward to the head of the advancing army. As they drew close the column was halted, and in a moment Edgar found himself in the presence of the Earl of Derby and the other lords and nobles of the English and Gascon forces. All were mounted and clad in full mail in readiness for instant action.
"They tell me," said the earl, glancing keenly at the young man who had just ridden steadily up and saluted him, "they tell me thou art Edgar Wintour, the esquire of our good Sir John Chartris. If so, tell me what thou art doing here, in the enemy's country. I have heard somewhat from Sir John, but tell me all--and briefly, for our time is short."
In a few quick sentences, Edgar told the earl the story of his quest, its strange vicissitudes, and its successful accomplishment. Though the story lost much by its baldness and absence of detail, he could see that it made no small impression upon his hearers. One or two exchanged glances, though what they meant he scarce knew what to think.
"Humph!" said the earl shortly, "so thou hast been in league with the subjects of the King of France, hast thou? That remindeth me: was it not thou who masqueraded as Sir John Chartris in his combat of honour with our worthy Sir Gervaise de Maupas? Dost remember that, Sir Walter?" he said, turning to Sir Walter Manny. "Thou wert one of the marshals that day. Nicely wert thou tricked by this fledgling here."
Sir Walter frowned and growled an inarticulate reply.
Edgar turned pale. Things seemed to be going awry. He glanced at Beatrice, but she seemed merely amused. Angered at her indifference, he turned resolutely to the earl:
"I am not ashamed," he said, with a touch of haughtiness. "What I did seemed for the best, and who can do more?"
"We must see about that," responded the earl, quite unmoved. "Dismount, Sir Squire."
Mechanically Edgar obeyed. Disgrace and humiliation were hard indeed to bear, but firmly he held up his head and faced the earl. He would not flinch, he vowed, before his countrymen any more than he had flinched before his enemies in the Castle of Ruthènes. The earl's face had flushed and his eyes sparkled.
"Bow thy head," he cried peremptorily, and his sword flashed from its sheath. Rapidly but gently it fell upon Edgar's shoulder.
"Sir Edgar Wintour, we are proud of thee. Knightly hast thou borne thyself in field and castle, and the knight's spurs are thine indeed." There was a loud murmur of assent from the knights and nobles crowding about, and as it ceased, the earl went on: "Mount now and come with us a furlong or two, for time presses and I would ask thee if thou hast seen aught of our enemies. Then thou canst resume thy journey. But when and wherever thou wilt, we shall welcome thee to our banners."
Again there was a murmur of cordial agreement, and, with his head in a whirl, Edgar mounted and rode by the earl's side, answering his eager questions as best he could. Then he rejoined his companions, and, halting a few paces from the path of the army, watched them move forward upon their march of conquest. The sight was an inspiriting one, for the force seemed to strike the highest note of both hardihood and chivalry, and Edgar, as he watched, longed to take his place within its ranks.
Presently the last files of the army had passed by, the waving banners had receded into the distance, and the Wolsingham party, feeling a sudden sense of loneliness, had nothing left them but to resume their march towards Bordeaux.
For a long time the party was a silent one. Edgar was thinking over the changes which must ensue now that he was a gold-spurred knight. For one thing, he could no longer remain in Sir John's service. His late master could now scarce afford to support a knight, even if he desired to do so. Thus his connection with Wolsingham would seem to be at an end. The thought was hardly a pleasant one.
Beatrice, too, rode as though lost in thoughts none too bright, though once or twice she stole a quick look at her silent companion. Presently she roused herself with an effort, and began to rally Edgar on his gloominess.
"Thou art glum, Sir Edgar," she cried gaily. "Surely thou hast all thou canst desire--knighthood and a goodly fame, the earl's approval: what more canst wish for?"
"Yes, yes, Beatrice," replied Edgar half absently, "'tis as thou sayest. I have much to be thankful for--and yet there are some things I regret, for I fear 'twill mean that I must leave Sir John's service."
"Is that all?" asked Beatrice, raising her eyebrows in indifference.
Edgar's absence of mind vanished, and he stared at his fair companion with a chagrin that his sudden astonishment did not give him time to conceal.
"Is it--is it nothing to thee, then?" he stammered, after an awkward pause.
"Why should it be, Sir Edgar?" asked Beatrice easily.
"I know not--but I thought that perhaps what hath passed----" Edgar stopped quickly, feeling that what he was about to say was far from generous.
"What thou hast done for me, thou meanest? Thou shalt be paid."
"Paid!" almost shouted Edgar. "Not one groat will I accept. How can'st think of such a thing, Beatrice?"
"Dost scorn payment, Edgar? Mayhap thou wilt one day be glad to accept what ye now so scorn."
"Never, Beatrice!" cried Edgar emphatically. "'Tis true I am landless, but at any rate I can always ride away and join the league of the 'knights of the sword', or one of the other bands of knights who spend their lives defending Christendom from the inroads of the Turks. Long have I thought that with no means but a ready sword such might be my fate."
"Dost then look forward to warring all thy days?" asked Beatrice, a look of trouble coming into her face for the first time.
"Nay, how can I, with Father Armand's words still ringing in my ears? But----" and Edgar relapsed again into a silence which his companion for a long time did not care to disturb.
The following day they arrived at Bordeaux.
CHAPTER XXIII
Sir John's Choice
Our story draws to a close, and we must pass over the eager welcome that awaited the travellers from Sir John and his daughter, who were still at the inn. Sir John, indeed, had not progressed so rapidly as had been expected. His fever and his wounds had left him very weak, and he had but the day before resolved to leave France and return to Wolsingham until such time as he might have completely recovered. Gertrude, of course, was to go with him, and now that Beatrice had returned she, too, must accompany her guardian, and the visit to Faucigny had perforce to be completely abandoned.
With Edgar a knight, there was no question as to his movements. It was obvious that his duty was to join the earl's force without delay.
"Thou hast begun well, Edgar," remarked Sir John, when Edgar's final visit was drawing to a close. "Thou must go on and win fame, for I believe that this campaign will be filled with deeds which will add much to the honour and glory of England's name. I would that I might fling my sword into the conflict and strike a few more blows for my beloved country. But no--thou must represent me for the nonce."
Edgar bowed slightly.
"As for Beatrice here," went on Sir John, turning suddenly towards his ward, "she must home with me. I fear she is getting wayward and headstrong, and if I am to keep close watch upon every gallant who dreams of the revenue of her lands, my task will be no light one. Fortunately for me, I have the bestowal of her hand in marriage, and, with no little relief, I have decided to find a suitable husband for her. 'Twill lighten my responsibilities, and her lands need a good sword to defend them in these troublous times. I have for some time had in mind a knight of good descent and of staid demeanour, and I shall now bring matters to a head."
"But, Sir John----" stammered Beatrice in hot amaze.
"Be silent, maid!" cried Sir John angrily. "Wouldst dare to oppose thy wishes against the considered judgment of thy guardian?"
But Beatrice stood her ground rebelliously, tossing her pretty head in unmistakable anger and defiance. Nevertheless, Sir John showed no sign of relenting, and, not daring to oppose him openly, at last she turned with a look of appeal to Edgar, who was staring at the floor with an air that betokened no little disturbance of mind. His glance met hers, and it was clear to her that he knew as little of Sir John's plans as she.
"Who is this knight, then?" she cried in a stifled voice, turning again towards Sir John.
"He is a knight of some fame. One, moreover, of sober and godly habits."
"But who is he?"
"Think not that I will allow thee to question my----"
"Torture me not, Sir John!" cried Beatrice vehemently. "Who is he?"
"'Tis Sir Edgar Wintour, Beatrice."
"Oh!"
"Darest thou oppose my will, Beatrice?"
Beatrice was flushed, and looked as though she hardly knew which way to turn. Edgar was staring at Sir John as if he thought his ears had played him a trick.
For some moments there was silence, and then Sir John repeated his question, for Beatrice had turned away and was toying with her brooch.
"Dost oppose my will, Beatrice?"
"It would grieve me to disobey thee, Sir John," she said at length, in a tone of dutiful submission.
"He will make thee a good husband," replied Sir John, smiling in a way that made Beatrice inwardly furious. "What dost think of my choice, girl?"
Beatrice subdued her resentment as best she could, and replied demurely:
"Mayhap he is better than De Maupas."
"De Maupas! Canst say no more than that, Beatrice?" cried Edgar, breaking in impetuously.
"Not one word," replied the maid, with a haughty stamp of the foot as she turned the vials of her resentment upon the luckless Edgar. Sir John laughed outright, and with the best grace he could Edgar was, for the moment, forced to rest content. But a time would come, he vowed to himself, when a much more satisfactory reply should be forthcoming.
The farewells were soon said, and in a few hours Edgar was on his way to join the earl, while Sir John and his daughter and ward were en route for England. Though scarce another word was exchanged, it was nevertheless well understood between Beatrice and our hero that, on his return from the wars, he would receive a warmer welcome and the full payment promised him so readily a day or two before.
The campaign proved to be a brilliant one. It opened with a sudden and desperate onslaught upon Bergerac, where the French had strongly entrenched themselves. The town was stormed with a swing that so astounded the French that their forces dispersed before the earl, and allowed him to overrun Perigord and the Agenois with scarce an attempt at resistance.
Presently, however, the French collected a new army, and, returning to the attack, laid siege to Auberoche with ten thousand men. The news of the attack reached the Earl of Derby too late to enable him to collect a proper force, but, with the true spirit of chivalry, he started away for the scene with but three hundred lances and six hundred archers.
Arrived in the vicinity of the beleaguered town, the tiny English force stole upon the enemy under cover of a wood, and, regardless of their overwhelming strength, attacked them so furiously that the whole French army were glad to save themselves by flight. So great was the respect this feat brought to the English name that fortress after fortress fell into their hands with scarce a check, and it was not until France was completely aroused, and sent the Duke of Normandy with one hundred thousand men, that the small force of conquering Englishmen could be stayed.
Aiguillon, held by Sir Walter Manny for England, was attacked by the whole of the huge French army. For five months assault after assault was made upon it. On one occasion, indeed, for five successive days the fight went on, each of the four divisions of the French army taking its turn for three hours at a time. All to no purpose. The brave garrison repulsed all assaults, and even then showed no sign of exhaustion. The siege was at length raised, and the earl was left for the time being the undisputed ruler of the south of France.
In all these gallant doings Edgar, still attended by the faithful Peter, took part; and when, only two years after his departure from Wolsingham, he returned to England, he had seen as many stirring fights as most knights of twice his age. He never went to the wars again, for he soon became fast anchored to one whom he had learned to love in the stirring events that centred round the grim Castle of Ruthènes.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAINAt the Villafield Press, Glasgow, Scotland
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