Chapter Twelve.A well-meant warning.Saint Simon glanced in the direction indicated, to see across the yard the King standing at the open doorway, talking, and evidently questioning their hostess, who was pointing towards the stable where the young men were.“Now for a storm, Denis, boy, with plenty of royal thunder, and flashes of lightning from his kingly eyes. Bah! How hard it is to forget his rank! How are you now?”“Oh, better. The sight of—the Comte seems to string me up.”“Come on, then, to make our excuses for the breach of duty, and take our three witnesses to back our words.”The young men led the chargers out through the low doorway into the yard and began crossing to where the King was drawing himself up with a stern look upon his countenance, his right hand upon his hip, his left upon his sword-hilt, which he kept on pressing down and elevating and lowering the long thin blade behind him, the afternoon sun throwing it out in a long dark streak from his shadow, giving him the effect of some monster wagging its wiry tail.The hostess was still there, drawing back a little into the shadow of the comparatively dark doorway, a mingling of curiosity and sympathy detaining her to hear how her offending guests would fare.She had not long to wait, for as the young men came up with the horses’ hoofs clattering upon the paved way, “Now, gentlemen,” was growled forth, “why am I left like this? And by whose orders have you brought forth those steeds?”“What!” thundered the King fiercely, after hearing a brief narration of his followers’ adventure; and turning to their hostess, who heard every word and stood loaning forward with agitated face and clasped hands, “And so, madam, you call this the safety of your inn! This, then, is the meaning of that warning paper which you have disavowed. Gentlemen, we seem to have settled in a nest of thieves. Have your valises placed at your saddles. I thank you for the way in which you have saved us from disaster at the beginning of our journey. We will ride on at once.”“Oh,” ejaculated the hostess, “that it should come to this!” And ceasing to wring her hands she ran out past them and crossed the yard to the open stable-door, disappeared for just long enough to verify the young men’s words by a sight of the sleeping grooms, and then came running back to where her guests were making preparations to continue their journey.“Oh, my lord,” she cried, “it is a disgrace and shame to my house that all this should have taken place. I pray your forgiveness.”“Indeed, madam!” said the King haughtily. “Tell my gentlemen there what there is to pay, and spare your words.”“But, my lord—”“Silence, madam! I have spoken. Gentlemen—”“But, my lord,” she interrupted, “I will have trusty strong men to watch the stables and the house all night. This was the work of a stranger—some horse-thief from afar. It cannot occur again.”The King waved his hand, and turned to his followers.“Gentlemen, you will not leave those horses a moment. Finish the preparations. Pay this woman, Saint Simon, and come and tell me when all is ready for the start.”Then turning his back upon the hostess, he strode into the house, fuming with rage and glowering fiercely at the group of servants whom he passed.“Oh, woe is me!” sobbed the landlady, wringing her hands. “That this great misfortune should happen to such a noble lord as this! And this gallant boy too, hurt as he is! No, no, sir,” she cried pettishly to Saint Simon, who approached her, purse in hand; “don’t talk to me about money. I am thinking of the honour of my house. There, there,” she cried, lowering her tone; and she caught Denis by the doublet and signed to his friend to come closer. “Your lord is angry,” she said, “and he has just cause; but you two must speak to him and try to calm his wrath. I have made all preparations for his staying here to-night, and believe me, everything is safe. I will have trusty friends in, and not a soul here but you shall close an eye. You must sleep here to-night.”“Must, madam?” said Denis, forgetting his own sufferings in something like amusement at his hostess’s pertinacity. “There is no must with our lord.”“Don’t say that, my child,” cried the woman anxiously. “He must give way to-night. I can see with a mother’s eye that you are not fit to mount your horse. You are hurt, and need rest. Go to him and persuade him that he must stay.”“Madam, it is impossible,” said Denis; “and leave me, please. You heard our lord’s commands. We have our preparations to make.”As he spoke Denis glanced at Saint Simon, who had waved back a man who came to help, and was examining their horses’ girths himself. Then, turning his eyes towards the doorway, he caught sight of the King returning, unnoticed by the landlady, who clutched at Denis’s doublet again, and continued in a low, excited voice:“You do not know, my child. Before long it will be dark.”“There will be a moon nearly at the full, madam,” said Denis.“Oh yes, yes, sir; if it is not clouded over; but the road from here towards London is through the forest and overhung with trees and—and,” she added, in a whisper, “it is not safe.”“We have our swords, madam,” said the youth; but he winced as he spoke, for his right arm seemed to give him a sudden warning twinge of his inability to use his weapon. “What do you mean about the road not being safe?”The woman drew herself closer to him, and her ruddy buxom face became blotched with white.“Bad men,” she whispered. “Robbers and murderers have a stronghold in the forest, from which they come out to lay wait for rich travellers.”“Are they mounted men?” said Denis, as the King slowly drew nearer.“Yes,” she said, “with the best of horses.”“And do they steal horses too?”“Oh yes,” she whispered, with a shudder.“Then that man who watched us here was one of them, was he not?” cried Denis excitedly.The woman’s jaw dropped, and the whiteness in her countenance increased.“You saw that man, and you know!” cried Denis excitedly again.The woman closed her lips and seemed to press them tightly together, as she said in a strange voice:“You will be advised by me, and stay here, where you will be safe. I cannot—I will not—let you go.”“Indeed!” said the King fiercely, and the woman started as she realised that her guest had heard her words.“Back into your own place, madam,” continued the King. “I allow no one to tamper with my servants.”The woman shrank trembling back, for there was that in her guest’s manner which she felt she must obey; and with her hands clasped to her breast as if to restrain her emotion, she went slowly into the house, the King watching her, till she turned her head, started on encountering his eyes, and then disappeared.“There, it’s plain enough, gentlemen. This woman is in league with a band of the rogues.”“I think not, sir,” said Denis quickly. “I think she is honest, and her trouble real.”“Indeed?” said the King mockingly. “Wait till you have a few more years over your head, boy, before you attempt to give counsel to one who is used to judge mankind. Foolish boy! Can’t you see that it is part of her work to trap travellers into staying at her house? Why, I believe if we rested here we should be plunged into a long deep sleep, and one from which we should never wake. Now, Saint Simon, you ought to have finished. I want to mount and go.”“The horses are ready, my lord,” said the young man quickly.“But you have not paid the woman.”“I offered her ample, sir, and she refused it.”“Bah! Leave that to me,” said the King haughtily. “But what about you, Denis, boy? Don’t tell me that you are too bad to mount, and force me to stay in this vile nest of thieves.”“No, sir. If Saint Simon will help me to mount, I’ll manage to ride the long night through; but I fear if there is need that I could not fight.”The King hesitated, and stood striking his two stout riding gloves twisted together sharply in his left hand.“Yes, you look hurt, boy. Perhaps it will be better that we should stay. We could hold one room, unless they burnt us out, and take turn and turn to watch.”“Oh no, sir; I am well enough to go,” cried the lad. “Here, Saint Simon, give me a leg up. I am better now, and shall feel easier still when in the saddle.”“Keep back, Saint Simon!” said the King. “Let me be the judge of that. Here, your foot, boy? Do you hear me, sir? Quick!”The lad raised his foot as the King impatiently clasped his hands stirrup fashion and raised the young horseman smartly, so that he flung his right leg over and dropped lightly into the saddle.“Well,” continued the King, as he watched his young esquire keenly, “can you sit there, or are you going to swoon?”The boy smiled scornfully, and the King gave him an encouraging nod.“You will do,” he said, “and if you cannot use your arm you will be able to ride between us if we are attacked and charge the scoundrels when we make them run. Mount, Saint Simon. Have we left aught behind?”“No, sir,” replied the young man, and he hesitated a moment to let the King be first in the saddle; but an angry gesture made him spring into his seat, urge his charger forward, and hold the bridle till his master was mounted, pressed his horse’s sides, and then reined up shortly in the great entry of the inn, level with the door at which the hostess was standing, pale and troubled, and backed up by the servants of the place.“Here, woman,” cried the King, drawing his hand from his pouch; “hold out your apron. Quick! Don’t stand staring there.”The words were uttered in so imperious a tone that the woman involuntarily obeyed, and half-a-dozen gold pieces fell into her stiff white garment with a pleasant chink.The next minute, in answer to a touch of the spur, the horses went clattering through the entry out into the main street, the noise they made arousing the two hostlers from their sleep to come yawning and staring to the open stable-door, while the hostess stepped out into the entry and hurried to the front with hand clasped in hand.“Oh, that gallant boy,” she muttered, with her face all drawn. “If I had only dared to tell them more plainly! But they would have marked me if I had, and it is as much as my life is worth to speak. Why does not our King put an end to these roving bands who keep us all in a state of terror and make us slaves?”
Saint Simon glanced in the direction indicated, to see across the yard the King standing at the open doorway, talking, and evidently questioning their hostess, who was pointing towards the stable where the young men were.
“Now for a storm, Denis, boy, with plenty of royal thunder, and flashes of lightning from his kingly eyes. Bah! How hard it is to forget his rank! How are you now?”
“Oh, better. The sight of—the Comte seems to string me up.”
“Come on, then, to make our excuses for the breach of duty, and take our three witnesses to back our words.”
The young men led the chargers out through the low doorway into the yard and began crossing to where the King was drawing himself up with a stern look upon his countenance, his right hand upon his hip, his left upon his sword-hilt, which he kept on pressing down and elevating and lowering the long thin blade behind him, the afternoon sun throwing it out in a long dark streak from his shadow, giving him the effect of some monster wagging its wiry tail.
The hostess was still there, drawing back a little into the shadow of the comparatively dark doorway, a mingling of curiosity and sympathy detaining her to hear how her offending guests would fare.
She had not long to wait, for as the young men came up with the horses’ hoofs clattering upon the paved way, “Now, gentlemen,” was growled forth, “why am I left like this? And by whose orders have you brought forth those steeds?”
“What!” thundered the King fiercely, after hearing a brief narration of his followers’ adventure; and turning to their hostess, who heard every word and stood loaning forward with agitated face and clasped hands, “And so, madam, you call this the safety of your inn! This, then, is the meaning of that warning paper which you have disavowed. Gentlemen, we seem to have settled in a nest of thieves. Have your valises placed at your saddles. I thank you for the way in which you have saved us from disaster at the beginning of our journey. We will ride on at once.”
“Oh,” ejaculated the hostess, “that it should come to this!” And ceasing to wring her hands she ran out past them and crossed the yard to the open stable-door, disappeared for just long enough to verify the young men’s words by a sight of the sleeping grooms, and then came running back to where her guests were making preparations to continue their journey.
“Oh, my lord,” she cried, “it is a disgrace and shame to my house that all this should have taken place. I pray your forgiveness.”
“Indeed, madam!” said the King haughtily. “Tell my gentlemen there what there is to pay, and spare your words.”
“But, my lord—”
“Silence, madam! I have spoken. Gentlemen—”
“But, my lord,” she interrupted, “I will have trusty strong men to watch the stables and the house all night. This was the work of a stranger—some horse-thief from afar. It cannot occur again.”
The King waved his hand, and turned to his followers.
“Gentlemen, you will not leave those horses a moment. Finish the preparations. Pay this woman, Saint Simon, and come and tell me when all is ready for the start.”
Then turning his back upon the hostess, he strode into the house, fuming with rage and glowering fiercely at the group of servants whom he passed.
“Oh, woe is me!” sobbed the landlady, wringing her hands. “That this great misfortune should happen to such a noble lord as this! And this gallant boy too, hurt as he is! No, no, sir,” she cried pettishly to Saint Simon, who approached her, purse in hand; “don’t talk to me about money. I am thinking of the honour of my house. There, there,” she cried, lowering her tone; and she caught Denis by the doublet and signed to his friend to come closer. “Your lord is angry,” she said, “and he has just cause; but you two must speak to him and try to calm his wrath. I have made all preparations for his staying here to-night, and believe me, everything is safe. I will have trusty friends in, and not a soul here but you shall close an eye. You must sleep here to-night.”
“Must, madam?” said Denis, forgetting his own sufferings in something like amusement at his hostess’s pertinacity. “There is no must with our lord.”
“Don’t say that, my child,” cried the woman anxiously. “He must give way to-night. I can see with a mother’s eye that you are not fit to mount your horse. You are hurt, and need rest. Go to him and persuade him that he must stay.”
“Madam, it is impossible,” said Denis; “and leave me, please. You heard our lord’s commands. We have our preparations to make.”
As he spoke Denis glanced at Saint Simon, who had waved back a man who came to help, and was examining their horses’ girths himself. Then, turning his eyes towards the doorway, he caught sight of the King returning, unnoticed by the landlady, who clutched at Denis’s doublet again, and continued in a low, excited voice:
“You do not know, my child. Before long it will be dark.”
“There will be a moon nearly at the full, madam,” said Denis.
“Oh yes, yes, sir; if it is not clouded over; but the road from here towards London is through the forest and overhung with trees and—and,” she added, in a whisper, “it is not safe.”
“We have our swords, madam,” said the youth; but he winced as he spoke, for his right arm seemed to give him a sudden warning twinge of his inability to use his weapon. “What do you mean about the road not being safe?”
The woman drew herself closer to him, and her ruddy buxom face became blotched with white.
“Bad men,” she whispered. “Robbers and murderers have a stronghold in the forest, from which they come out to lay wait for rich travellers.”
“Are they mounted men?” said Denis, as the King slowly drew nearer.
“Yes,” she said, “with the best of horses.”
“And do they steal horses too?”
“Oh yes,” she whispered, with a shudder.
“Then that man who watched us here was one of them, was he not?” cried Denis excitedly.
The woman’s jaw dropped, and the whiteness in her countenance increased.
“You saw that man, and you know!” cried Denis excitedly again.
The woman closed her lips and seemed to press them tightly together, as she said in a strange voice:
“You will be advised by me, and stay here, where you will be safe. I cannot—I will not—let you go.”
“Indeed!” said the King fiercely, and the woman started as she realised that her guest had heard her words.
“Back into your own place, madam,” continued the King. “I allow no one to tamper with my servants.”
The woman shrank trembling back, for there was that in her guest’s manner which she felt she must obey; and with her hands clasped to her breast as if to restrain her emotion, she went slowly into the house, the King watching her, till she turned her head, started on encountering his eyes, and then disappeared.
“There, it’s plain enough, gentlemen. This woman is in league with a band of the rogues.”
“I think not, sir,” said Denis quickly. “I think she is honest, and her trouble real.”
“Indeed?” said the King mockingly. “Wait till you have a few more years over your head, boy, before you attempt to give counsel to one who is used to judge mankind. Foolish boy! Can’t you see that it is part of her work to trap travellers into staying at her house? Why, I believe if we rested here we should be plunged into a long deep sleep, and one from which we should never wake. Now, Saint Simon, you ought to have finished. I want to mount and go.”
“The horses are ready, my lord,” said the young man quickly.
“But you have not paid the woman.”
“I offered her ample, sir, and she refused it.”
“Bah! Leave that to me,” said the King haughtily. “But what about you, Denis, boy? Don’t tell me that you are too bad to mount, and force me to stay in this vile nest of thieves.”
“No, sir. If Saint Simon will help me to mount, I’ll manage to ride the long night through; but I fear if there is need that I could not fight.”
The King hesitated, and stood striking his two stout riding gloves twisted together sharply in his left hand.
“Yes, you look hurt, boy. Perhaps it will be better that we should stay. We could hold one room, unless they burnt us out, and take turn and turn to watch.”
“Oh no, sir; I am well enough to go,” cried the lad. “Here, Saint Simon, give me a leg up. I am better now, and shall feel easier still when in the saddle.”
“Keep back, Saint Simon!” said the King. “Let me be the judge of that. Here, your foot, boy? Do you hear me, sir? Quick!”
The lad raised his foot as the King impatiently clasped his hands stirrup fashion and raised the young horseman smartly, so that he flung his right leg over and dropped lightly into the saddle.
“Well,” continued the King, as he watched his young esquire keenly, “can you sit there, or are you going to swoon?”
The boy smiled scornfully, and the King gave him an encouraging nod.
“You will do,” he said, “and if you cannot use your arm you will be able to ride between us if we are attacked and charge the scoundrels when we make them run. Mount, Saint Simon. Have we left aught behind?”
“No, sir,” replied the young man, and he hesitated a moment to let the King be first in the saddle; but an angry gesture made him spring into his seat, urge his charger forward, and hold the bridle till his master was mounted, pressed his horse’s sides, and then reined up shortly in the great entry of the inn, level with the door at which the hostess was standing, pale and troubled, and backed up by the servants of the place.
“Here, woman,” cried the King, drawing his hand from his pouch; “hold out your apron. Quick! Don’t stand staring there.”
The words were uttered in so imperious a tone that the woman involuntarily obeyed, and half-a-dozen gold pieces fell into her stiff white garment with a pleasant chink.
The next minute, in answer to a touch of the spur, the horses went clattering through the entry out into the main street, the noise they made arousing the two hostlers from their sleep to come yawning and staring to the open stable-door, while the hostess stepped out into the entry and hurried to the front with hand clasped in hand.
“Oh, that gallant boy,” she muttered, with her face all drawn. “If I had only dared to tell them more plainly! But they would have marked me if I had, and it is as much as my life is worth to speak. Why does not our King put an end to these roving bands who keep us all in a state of terror and make us slaves?”
Chapter Thirteen.An unknown land.The ride out from the town was uneventful, save that the people hurried to their windows and doors to see them pass, and admire the beauty of their steeds. Then as the city gate was passed and they rode out into the open country, with the way before them seeming perfectly clear, the King cried cheerily:“Hah! I can breathe freely now. I must tell my brother Henry that the road to his Court is a disgrace, and travellers’ lives not safe. Now, in my kingdom of beautiful France every road to the capital from the seaports is— Why are you looking at me like that, Saint Simon?”“Well, sir,” said the young man bluntly, “I was thinking about two or three cases where people have been waylaid and plundered and—”“Yes, yes, yes,” said the King impatiently; “I think that there was a case or two, but surely we are better than this. Well, Denis, boy; how’s the bad arm?”“Very stiff, sir, and aches; but I don’t mind now.”“Not you, boy! Too brave a soldier! Ha, ha, ha! I almost think that I can see it all. My faith! I would I had been there to have seen you, you stripling, standing sword in hand in that lane to meet that ruffian’s charge with three horses abreast. And you wounded him too, and saved the beasts. I should like to see the young Englishman who would do a deed like that! Why, Saint Simon, you and I must look after our laurels. We ought to be proud of our companion, eh?”“Oh, sir,” shouted Denis, giving a cry of pain, for as he spoke the King had clapped him heartily upon the shoulder that was nearest to him—unfortunately the right.“Tut, tut, tut!” cried the King, leaning towards him, for the lad turned ghastly white. “There, hold up, boy. I wanted to show you how pleased I was with the bravery of your deed, and I have only given pain.”“Not only, sir,” said the lad quickly. “Your hand hurt me for the moment, but my K— lord’s words of praise are thrilling still.”“Just saved yourself, boy,” cried Francis; “for if you dare to say you know what till we are back again in my own fair France your punishment will be short and sharp.” He gave Saint Simon a merry look as he spoke, and then rode gently on, sweeping the landscape with his eye and making comments from time to time. “Better and better,” he said pleasantly. “My brother Henry has a goodly land. All this woodland landscape forms a pleasant place. Hah! but he should see my hills and forests about Rouen, with the silver river winding through the vale. But that is far away, and this is near, and it will pass if we do not meet the dangers that woman prophesied upon our road.”They rode on in silence for a time, just at a gentle amble, the King giving a shrewd look now and again at his young companion to see how he bore the motion of the horse.It was a glorious evening, and they saw the sun sink like a huge orange globe; the soft, warm, summer evening glow seeming to rise and spread around them from the west.There was a sweet delicious fragrance in the air, and the soft English landscape began gradually to darken from green to purple, and then to deeper shades, while as the glow in the west disappeared the eastern sky grew more pearly; but the indications of the rising moon were not as yet.“Hah!” cried the King at last, speaking as if to two companions of his own rank enjoying with him a summer evening ride. “Here have I been so taken up with our late adventures that I have had no thought of what is to come. Our saddles are comfortable, and after that pleasant dinner and my nap I feel ready for anything. But there will come a time when we shall want to think of supper and of bed, for we can’t go on riding all night even if we are undisturbed. Now then, Saint Simon, what have you to say?”The young man slowly shook his head.“Bah!” cried the King. “What a dumb dog you are! And I know nothing of the way. I begin to feel that we ought to have had old Leoni with us, after all. He has maps, and knowledge always ready in his brain; and he speaks these islanders’ language better than they can themselves. But he would only have been in the way, and I wanted freedom. Here, Denis, boy, what have you to say? Where shall we sleep to-night?”“I had scarcely time, sir, to mark down our course, and the only place I can recall is one called Hurstham.”“Ah!” cried the King. “What of that?”“I know nothing, sir, except that there is a good road over hills and through forests, and that there is a castle there.”“Then that will do,” cried the King. “Once within its walls we can laugh at thieves and murderers. There, boy, you have your task before you: lead us there.”“But I do not know the way, sir. Would it not be best to get a guide from the first village we ride through?”“Excellent!” cried the King—“for him to lead us straight into the den of the forest outlaws.”“It would be his last journey, sir,” said Saint Simon grimly, as he significantly touched the hilt of his sword.“And what good would that do us,” said the King, “if we never saw to-morrow’s sun? Here, I must lead. Look out sharp, both of you, for the next guide-post or stone. I will warrant that those old Romans planted some of them beside the road, telling the way to London.”“Yes, sir,” said Denis drily, “but it will soon be dark.”“Ah, well, we must chance everything. I don’t believe that we shall find the road unsafe; but even if it is we must keep to it all the same. It will lead us somewhere, and—hah! here comes the moon!”It was a welcome light for the travellers, who rode slowly on to ease their steeds, for as the King said, they had all the night before them, and sooner or later, even if they did not reach the castle, they were sure to pass upon this direct road to London some good town where they might venture to stay. But the miles seemed to grow longer, the country more hilly, wild and strange, and, in spite of all endeavours to keep bravely to their task, the two young men had the weight of the past night’s watch upon their brains. The consequence was that just after crossing what seemed to be an open furzy down, and when the road, looking white in the moonlight, had turned gloomy and black, save where it was splashed by the silvery light on the trees of the forest patch into which they had passed, they began to nod upon their horses, and the King’s voice grew as he talked into an incoherent drone.Then they were wide awake again, for just in the darkest part, where the trees met together across the road, a shrill clear whistle rang out, which made all draw rein and listen to the sound of horses’ hoofs clattering upon the hard road they had just traversed.
The ride out from the town was uneventful, save that the people hurried to their windows and doors to see them pass, and admire the beauty of their steeds. Then as the city gate was passed and they rode out into the open country, with the way before them seeming perfectly clear, the King cried cheerily:
“Hah! I can breathe freely now. I must tell my brother Henry that the road to his Court is a disgrace, and travellers’ lives not safe. Now, in my kingdom of beautiful France every road to the capital from the seaports is— Why are you looking at me like that, Saint Simon?”
“Well, sir,” said the young man bluntly, “I was thinking about two or three cases where people have been waylaid and plundered and—”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said the King impatiently; “I think that there was a case or two, but surely we are better than this. Well, Denis, boy; how’s the bad arm?”
“Very stiff, sir, and aches; but I don’t mind now.”
“Not you, boy! Too brave a soldier! Ha, ha, ha! I almost think that I can see it all. My faith! I would I had been there to have seen you, you stripling, standing sword in hand in that lane to meet that ruffian’s charge with three horses abreast. And you wounded him too, and saved the beasts. I should like to see the young Englishman who would do a deed like that! Why, Saint Simon, you and I must look after our laurels. We ought to be proud of our companion, eh?”
“Oh, sir,” shouted Denis, giving a cry of pain, for as he spoke the King had clapped him heartily upon the shoulder that was nearest to him—unfortunately the right.
“Tut, tut, tut!” cried the King, leaning towards him, for the lad turned ghastly white. “There, hold up, boy. I wanted to show you how pleased I was with the bravery of your deed, and I have only given pain.”
“Not only, sir,” said the lad quickly. “Your hand hurt me for the moment, but my K— lord’s words of praise are thrilling still.”
“Just saved yourself, boy,” cried Francis; “for if you dare to say you know what till we are back again in my own fair France your punishment will be short and sharp.” He gave Saint Simon a merry look as he spoke, and then rode gently on, sweeping the landscape with his eye and making comments from time to time. “Better and better,” he said pleasantly. “My brother Henry has a goodly land. All this woodland landscape forms a pleasant place. Hah! but he should see my hills and forests about Rouen, with the silver river winding through the vale. But that is far away, and this is near, and it will pass if we do not meet the dangers that woman prophesied upon our road.”
They rode on in silence for a time, just at a gentle amble, the King giving a shrewd look now and again at his young companion to see how he bore the motion of the horse.
It was a glorious evening, and they saw the sun sink like a huge orange globe; the soft, warm, summer evening glow seeming to rise and spread around them from the west.
There was a sweet delicious fragrance in the air, and the soft English landscape began gradually to darken from green to purple, and then to deeper shades, while as the glow in the west disappeared the eastern sky grew more pearly; but the indications of the rising moon were not as yet.
“Hah!” cried the King at last, speaking as if to two companions of his own rank enjoying with him a summer evening ride. “Here have I been so taken up with our late adventures that I have had no thought of what is to come. Our saddles are comfortable, and after that pleasant dinner and my nap I feel ready for anything. But there will come a time when we shall want to think of supper and of bed, for we can’t go on riding all night even if we are undisturbed. Now then, Saint Simon, what have you to say?”
The young man slowly shook his head.
“Bah!” cried the King. “What a dumb dog you are! And I know nothing of the way. I begin to feel that we ought to have had old Leoni with us, after all. He has maps, and knowledge always ready in his brain; and he speaks these islanders’ language better than they can themselves. But he would only have been in the way, and I wanted freedom. Here, Denis, boy, what have you to say? Where shall we sleep to-night?”
“I had scarcely time, sir, to mark down our course, and the only place I can recall is one called Hurstham.”
“Ah!” cried the King. “What of that?”
“I know nothing, sir, except that there is a good road over hills and through forests, and that there is a castle there.”
“Then that will do,” cried the King. “Once within its walls we can laugh at thieves and murderers. There, boy, you have your task before you: lead us there.”
“But I do not know the way, sir. Would it not be best to get a guide from the first village we ride through?”
“Excellent!” cried the King—“for him to lead us straight into the den of the forest outlaws.”
“It would be his last journey, sir,” said Saint Simon grimly, as he significantly touched the hilt of his sword.
“And what good would that do us,” said the King, “if we never saw to-morrow’s sun? Here, I must lead. Look out sharp, both of you, for the next guide-post or stone. I will warrant that those old Romans planted some of them beside the road, telling the way to London.”
“Yes, sir,” said Denis drily, “but it will soon be dark.”
“Ah, well, we must chance everything. I don’t believe that we shall find the road unsafe; but even if it is we must keep to it all the same. It will lead us somewhere, and—hah! here comes the moon!”
It was a welcome light for the travellers, who rode slowly on to ease their steeds, for as the King said, they had all the night before them, and sooner or later, even if they did not reach the castle, they were sure to pass upon this direct road to London some good town where they might venture to stay. But the miles seemed to grow longer, the country more hilly, wild and strange, and, in spite of all endeavours to keep bravely to their task, the two young men had the weight of the past night’s watch upon their brains. The consequence was that just after crossing what seemed to be an open furzy down, and when the road, looking white in the moonlight, had turned gloomy and black, save where it was splashed by the silvery light on the trees of the forest patch into which they had passed, they began to nod upon their horses, and the King’s voice grew as he talked into an incoherent drone.
Then they were wide awake again, for just in the darkest part, where the trees met together across the road, a shrill clear whistle rang out, which made all draw rein and listen to the sound of horses’ hoofs clattering upon the hard road they had just traversed.
Chapter Fourteen.The war-cry.The whistle in front and the sound of following horsemen had but one meaning for Denis, and that was danger; and there was a movement common to nearly everyone in bygone days when danger was afoot, and that was to throw the right hand across the body in search of the hilt of the sword with which every traveller was armed.It was involuntary then that, upon hearing the whistle and the trampling hoofs, Denis tried to draw his sword, but only uttered a faint cry of pain, for nerve and muscle had during the past few hours stiffened and made him more helpless than before, so that his arm sank back into its sling, but with the hand sufficiently free to receive the reins, which he passed across, thus leaving his left hand at liberty for his dagger.“Hah!” said the King. “They are not fools. They have chosen a likely place for their trap, and we have walked right in. Well, gentlemen, we don’t surrender. Which is it to be—retreat or advance?”“Advance!” cried the young men, in one breath, excitedly, and it sounded like one voice.“Draw, then, and forward,” cried the King. “You, Saint Simon, guard Denis on the left; I shall have the honour of forming his right flank. But no desultory fighting. We advance and keep together as one man with one aim—to pass through the enemy, however many they may be. Forward!”Denis writhed at his helplessness, as in obedience to a touch of the spur the three horses sprang forward, kept in the centre of the dark road, and broke at once into a hand gallop; and for some fifty yards the way seemed perfectly clear.Then all at once the route was barred by a number of men who sprang from each side, yelling and shouting, while from behind the trampling of horses came nearer, and the advance was checked; for apparently with reckless bravery men rushed out of the darkness to seize the horsemen’s reins, with the result that the King struck at the nearest a downward blow with the hilt of his sword, which took effect full in the man’s face, so that he sank with a groan, while, drawing back his arm, the King’s second movement was to give point, running the next man through the shoulder, and he fell back.Saint Simon’s actions were much the same, but in reverse, for he thrust first, and equally successfully; while Denis sat supine, the feeling upon him strong that he was a helpless heavy log to his companions, and in their way.So successful was the resistance to the attack that for the moment the way seemed open, and the boy’s breast began to throb with excitement as he felt that they had won. But they had only dealt with four, and as they were urging on their horses once again at least a dozen were ready to stay their progress, while with a loud shout of triumph four mounted men came up in their rear to hem the trio in.“Give point! Give point!” roared the King, setting the example, and every thrust seemed to tell; but where one enemy went down there seemed to be three or four more to take his place, and in the darkness there was amêléeof writhing, struggling men hanging on to the panting, snorting horses and regardless of the keen steel, striving to drag the wielders down.“It’s all over with us,” thought Denis, and a chill of despair seemed to clutch his heart, as he rose in his stirrups and, dagger in hand, strove, but in vain, to give some aid to his two defenders, who were growing breathless with their exertions and hampered and overpowered by their foes.The horses, too, were becoming frantic, and reared and plunged, greatly to the riders’ disadvantage, but advantage too, for more than one of the assailants fell back from the blows struck by their hoofs, to be trampled the next moment under foot; and then amidst yells, threats, and savage cries, there was a fresh shout of triumph, for on either side the defenders’ arms were held, and but for the way in which the well-trained horses pressed together, both the King and Saint Simon would have been pulled from their saddles.Just at this crucial moment, in the midst of the lull which followed the triumphal yell, there was the loud trampling of hoofs upon the hard road in front, the shouting of a war-cry—“France! France!”—seemed to cut through the darkness, and with a rush a single horseman looking like a dark shadow dashed down upon the group, scattering, so to speak, with wondrous rapidity a perfect shower of thrusts, making those who pinioned King and courtier fall back, some in surprise and dread, others in agony or in death, leaving their prisoners at liberty to assume the offensive once again and aid their new supporter in his gallant efforts upon their behalf.“Right!” he shouted, in a strange shrill voice. “About at once! Now, all together, charge!” And, taking advantage of the temporary astonishment of the enemy, the new-comer ranged himself by the King’s side, and all setting spurs to their horses, the brave beasts shook themselves free from those who grasped their reins, and together broke into a gallop, trampling down and driving to the right and left those who, half-hearted now, held fast and strove to stop their way.The attempt was vain, and away the little party went along the dim, shadowy road for about a hundred yards, when the stranger’s voice rose above the trampling hoofs in the order to halt and turn, followed by a louder command to charge back once more.They needed no urging on the part of the riders, for the horses, excited now to the fullest extent, recognised the orders, and broke into a gallop once again, dashing back over the ground they had just traversed towards where men were gathering together in obedience to excited voices and preparing to once more stop their way. For the danger was not yet over; the first charge had driven the horsemen, who had so far not been seen but heard, into a headlong flight; but at the halt they had rallied again, and as the gallant little band of four had turned for their second charge were coming on in full pursuit.“Gallop!” yelled their new ally, and even in the wild excitement of those few moments, while he seemed borne here and there like the prisoner of his friends, the only help given being by the weight of his horse, Denis fell to wondering who the gallant Englishman could be that had come so opportunely to their aid; for there was a something not familiar in the tones which, trumpet-like, gave forth their orders, but somehow strange in the way in which they seemed to raise echoes in his brain.“Gallop!” he yelled again. “France! France!” And like a flash the question darted through the boy’s brain, why should he use the battle-cry of France?Momentary all this as, before reaching the little, dimly seen crowd that once more barred the way, the chargers attained their fullest speed; and then there were a few slight shocks as man after man went down in their half-hearted resistance, and the rest were scattered, the little line of horsemen passing through them, driving them here and there, and charging on in their headlong gallop forward beneath the overhanging trees which suddenly ceased to darken their way, for the gallant band had passed out into the full bright moonlight once again, and the sound of pursuit by the enemy’s mounted men had died away.
The whistle in front and the sound of following horsemen had but one meaning for Denis, and that was danger; and there was a movement common to nearly everyone in bygone days when danger was afoot, and that was to throw the right hand across the body in search of the hilt of the sword with which every traveller was armed.
It was involuntary then that, upon hearing the whistle and the trampling hoofs, Denis tried to draw his sword, but only uttered a faint cry of pain, for nerve and muscle had during the past few hours stiffened and made him more helpless than before, so that his arm sank back into its sling, but with the hand sufficiently free to receive the reins, which he passed across, thus leaving his left hand at liberty for his dagger.
“Hah!” said the King. “They are not fools. They have chosen a likely place for their trap, and we have walked right in. Well, gentlemen, we don’t surrender. Which is it to be—retreat or advance?”
“Advance!” cried the young men, in one breath, excitedly, and it sounded like one voice.
“Draw, then, and forward,” cried the King. “You, Saint Simon, guard Denis on the left; I shall have the honour of forming his right flank. But no desultory fighting. We advance and keep together as one man with one aim—to pass through the enemy, however many they may be. Forward!”
Denis writhed at his helplessness, as in obedience to a touch of the spur the three horses sprang forward, kept in the centre of the dark road, and broke at once into a hand gallop; and for some fifty yards the way seemed perfectly clear.
Then all at once the route was barred by a number of men who sprang from each side, yelling and shouting, while from behind the trampling of horses came nearer, and the advance was checked; for apparently with reckless bravery men rushed out of the darkness to seize the horsemen’s reins, with the result that the King struck at the nearest a downward blow with the hilt of his sword, which took effect full in the man’s face, so that he sank with a groan, while, drawing back his arm, the King’s second movement was to give point, running the next man through the shoulder, and he fell back.
Saint Simon’s actions were much the same, but in reverse, for he thrust first, and equally successfully; while Denis sat supine, the feeling upon him strong that he was a helpless heavy log to his companions, and in their way.
So successful was the resistance to the attack that for the moment the way seemed open, and the boy’s breast began to throb with excitement as he felt that they had won. But they had only dealt with four, and as they were urging on their horses once again at least a dozen were ready to stay their progress, while with a loud shout of triumph four mounted men came up in their rear to hem the trio in.
“Give point! Give point!” roared the King, setting the example, and every thrust seemed to tell; but where one enemy went down there seemed to be three or four more to take his place, and in the darkness there was amêléeof writhing, struggling men hanging on to the panting, snorting horses and regardless of the keen steel, striving to drag the wielders down.
“It’s all over with us,” thought Denis, and a chill of despair seemed to clutch his heart, as he rose in his stirrups and, dagger in hand, strove, but in vain, to give some aid to his two defenders, who were growing breathless with their exertions and hampered and overpowered by their foes.
The horses, too, were becoming frantic, and reared and plunged, greatly to the riders’ disadvantage, but advantage too, for more than one of the assailants fell back from the blows struck by their hoofs, to be trampled the next moment under foot; and then amidst yells, threats, and savage cries, there was a fresh shout of triumph, for on either side the defenders’ arms were held, and but for the way in which the well-trained horses pressed together, both the King and Saint Simon would have been pulled from their saddles.
Just at this crucial moment, in the midst of the lull which followed the triumphal yell, there was the loud trampling of hoofs upon the hard road in front, the shouting of a war-cry—“France! France!”—seemed to cut through the darkness, and with a rush a single horseman looking like a dark shadow dashed down upon the group, scattering, so to speak, with wondrous rapidity a perfect shower of thrusts, making those who pinioned King and courtier fall back, some in surprise and dread, others in agony or in death, leaving their prisoners at liberty to assume the offensive once again and aid their new supporter in his gallant efforts upon their behalf.
“Right!” he shouted, in a strange shrill voice. “About at once! Now, all together, charge!” And, taking advantage of the temporary astonishment of the enemy, the new-comer ranged himself by the King’s side, and all setting spurs to their horses, the brave beasts shook themselves free from those who grasped their reins, and together broke into a gallop, trampling down and driving to the right and left those who, half-hearted now, held fast and strove to stop their way.
The attempt was vain, and away the little party went along the dim, shadowy road for about a hundred yards, when the stranger’s voice rose above the trampling hoofs in the order to halt and turn, followed by a louder command to charge back once more.
They needed no urging on the part of the riders, for the horses, excited now to the fullest extent, recognised the orders, and broke into a gallop once again, dashing back over the ground they had just traversed towards where men were gathering together in obedience to excited voices and preparing to once more stop their way. For the danger was not yet over; the first charge had driven the horsemen, who had so far not been seen but heard, into a headlong flight; but at the halt they had rallied again, and as the gallant little band of four had turned for their second charge were coming on in full pursuit.
“Gallop!” yelled their new ally, and even in the wild excitement of those few moments, while he seemed borne here and there like the prisoner of his friends, the only help given being by the weight of his horse, Denis fell to wondering who the gallant Englishman could be that had come so opportunely to their aid; for there was a something not familiar in the tones which, trumpet-like, gave forth their orders, but somehow strange in the way in which they seemed to raise echoes in his brain.
“Gallop!” he yelled again. “France! France!” And like a flash the question darted through the boy’s brain, why should he use the battle-cry of France?
Momentary all this as, before reaching the little, dimly seen crowd that once more barred the way, the chargers attained their fullest speed; and then there were a few slight shocks as man after man went down in their half-hearted resistance, and the rest were scattered, the little line of horsemen passing through them, driving them here and there, and charging on in their headlong gallop forward beneath the overhanging trees which suddenly ceased to darken their way, for the gallant band had passed out into the full bright moonlight once again, and the sound of pursuit by the enemy’s mounted men had died away.
Chapter Fifteen.The friend in need.They must have gone a mile at full gallop before the King cried “Halt!”As the beat of their horses’ hoofs ceased he sat with raised hand as if commanding silence, listening; but the heavy breathing of the four steeds was the only sound that broke the silence of the glorious night.“Forward slowly now,” said the King quietly. “The danger is past for the moment, and we shall have good warning if they come on again, for it is not likely that they have thrown out a second detachment to take us if we escaped the first. Now, just one word—who is hurt? Denis, my brave lad, how is it with you?”“You took too much care of me, my lord. I am only hot.”“Well done!” cried the King. “And you, Saint Simon?”“A bit battered with blows, sir,” replied the young man; “and I expect when the day dawns I can show some rags.”“No wounds?” cried the King.“Not a scratch, sir.”“But what of you, sir?” cried Denis eagerly, “I am afraid you must have suffered badly.”“I have,” said the King shortly. “I feel as if my beauty is spoiled by a blow one ruffian struck at my face. But he was the one who suffered,” he added, with a low hiss suggestive of satisfaction. “But no more selfishness. Though I have left him to the last, it is not that I do not want to thank our gallant English preserver, who has given us the best of proofs that he is ready to welcome strangers to his shores. I don’t know by what means you knew, sir, of our peril, or why you should think it worth your while to play the brave knight, and fight against such odds to rescue us from the spoilers, and perhaps from death. Pray give me your name, sir, that we three strangers may bury it deeply in our hearts as one of the most gallant islanders we shall ever meet.”“My name, your Majesty?” said the stranger quietly.“What!” cried the King. “You know who I am?”“As well as your Majesty knows his faithful servant,” came now in familiar tones.“Master Leoni!” cried all three, in a breath, the King’s voice sounding loudest of all.“Yes, Sire,” said the owner of the name quietly, as if there were no such thing as excitement left in his composition, and instead of being a fighting man he was the most peaceable of souls. “Your Majesty, in the fullness of your confidence, thought you would not need your follower’s services, but I feared that you would, and hence I came. You see, you did.”“But how—and mounted! How came you here? You bade us farewell at Fontainebleau a week ago.”“Yes, Sire; a week gave me plenty of time, as you travelled slowly, to get to the port two days earlier than you. I have been well before you all the time.”“Then that paper!” cried Denis excitedly. “It was you who placed that beneath the King’s trencher at the inn?”“I did, Master Denis,” said Leoni quietly, “and I think the warning was needed. It would have been safer if his Majesty had taken it to heart, though I feared in his reckless bravery he would laugh at my warning, and so I kept watch and came on in advance.”“Then you knew that the road was haunted by folk like these?” said the King.“Yes, Sire; I found that in a forest not far from here they have a gathering place, and are always on the look-out for rich travellers on the way to London. They have spies at the port and at the principal towns to give them warning, and I wonder that you escaped so far without the loss of your horses.”“Humph!” ejaculated the King sourly. “We should have lost them but for the brave action of young Denis here; but look you, Master Leoni,” he continued sternly, “I gave you my commands to keep watch and ward over my goods and chattels at my palace of Fontainebleau until my return.”“Your Majesty did,” said Leoni humbly.“And disobedience to my commands is treason, sir, and the punishment of that is death.”“Yes, Sire; but your royal life is the greatest of your possessions, and I felt that might be in danger. You gave me a free hand to do what was best in your service, and even if I have offended I deemed it my duty to save my sovereign’s life even at the cost of my own. Your Majesty, I have no further defence to make.”“Hah!” said the King. “He has disarmed me, boys, and I as his master almost feel that I cannot order him to execution for such a crime as this. What say you, Denis, lad?”“I say, sir,” said the boy, laughing softly, “that this is England, sir, and that you are not King, but my Lord the Comte de la Seine, who has no power to inflict such a punishment as this.”“Hah!” said the King, chuckling. “And you, silent Wisehead Saint Simon, what is your judgement?”“Oh, sir, I think Denis is quite right; but I should like to add one thing.”“Hah!” cried the King. “This fight has made you find your tongue, my lad. Now then, let’s have what you think about Master Leoni’s offence.”“I think, sir, that we had better get on a little faster, for I don’t want another fight to-night.”“Neither do I,” said the King, laughing softly, “for I am sore all over, and I should be miserable if it were not for the thought that this ruffian gang must have suffered far more than we. Why, Master Leoni, the point of your sword I could well believe must have been everywhere at once.”“A trick of fence, sir, merely a trick of fence,” said Leoni quietly. “Your lordship knows how for years I have studied every Italian trick, and it comes easy and useful at a time like this.”“My faith, yes!” said the King, drawing a deep breath. “There, Master Leoni, I must forgive you this time; but don’t offend again. Now then, before we drop into a canter, I believe you know the English roads by heart: can you act as our guide to-night?”“I have studied them a little, sir, and been along here three times before.”“Then you can take us to a place of safety?”“Yes, sir, I can; and you will pardon me when I tell you that four days ago I sent forward a trusty messenger to an old town some ten miles from here where there is a fine old manor-house, the home of a studious English nobleman of whom I asked for hospitality for the noble Comte de la Seine should he by any possibility on his journey to the English Court appeal to him on his way. I and Sir John Carrbroke have often corresponded upon matters of scientific lore, and you will be made welcome as my patron, you may be sure.”“Hah!” cried the King. “There seems to be no end to you, Leoni. You know everything, and are always ready at a pinch. Well, I must let you serve me this time, but to-morrow morning, mind, I shall be sore and stiff, and savage as a Compiegne wild boar, so you had better keep beyond the reach of my tusks when I order you back to France.”“I take your warning, sir,” said Master Leoni, rising in his stirrups and placing his hand to his ear.“Hah!” cried the King. “Are they coming on again?”“No, sir; all is quiet, but we have many good English miles to ride, and it would be wise to keep our horses at a steady pace to get well beyond the outlaws’ grasp, for you do not want to reach my old friend’s manor and rouse his people up with a following of outlaws at our heels.”“There, I give up,” said the King, “and I must give you your due, Leoni. You are the wisest man I know, and I am afraid that you possess a very ungrateful master. Forward, gentlemen, and let’s get there, for I am beginning to grow boar-like and to long to stretch my sore and weary limbs in a good bed, if I can, or merely on a heap of straw. Here, Leoni, I suppose you have not brought any of that healing salve with which you have treated me more than once when I came to misfortune in the hunt?”“By rights, sir, I am achirurgien, or leech,” said Leoni gravely. “On my travels a few simples and my little case are things I never leave behind.”These were almost the last words spoken during the ten-mile ride, the latter part being intensely silent, until Leoni drew rein upon the slope of a wooded hill and pointed across a little valley, where a silver streamlet flashed before their eyes, to the gables of a long low English manor-house whose diamond-shaped casements glittered like the facets of so many gems in a setting of ivy, full in the light of the unclouded moon.
They must have gone a mile at full gallop before the King cried “Halt!”
As the beat of their horses’ hoofs ceased he sat with raised hand as if commanding silence, listening; but the heavy breathing of the four steeds was the only sound that broke the silence of the glorious night.
“Forward slowly now,” said the King quietly. “The danger is past for the moment, and we shall have good warning if they come on again, for it is not likely that they have thrown out a second detachment to take us if we escaped the first. Now, just one word—who is hurt? Denis, my brave lad, how is it with you?”
“You took too much care of me, my lord. I am only hot.”
“Well done!” cried the King. “And you, Saint Simon?”
“A bit battered with blows, sir,” replied the young man; “and I expect when the day dawns I can show some rags.”
“No wounds?” cried the King.
“Not a scratch, sir.”
“But what of you, sir?” cried Denis eagerly, “I am afraid you must have suffered badly.”
“I have,” said the King shortly. “I feel as if my beauty is spoiled by a blow one ruffian struck at my face. But he was the one who suffered,” he added, with a low hiss suggestive of satisfaction. “But no more selfishness. Though I have left him to the last, it is not that I do not want to thank our gallant English preserver, who has given us the best of proofs that he is ready to welcome strangers to his shores. I don’t know by what means you knew, sir, of our peril, or why you should think it worth your while to play the brave knight, and fight against such odds to rescue us from the spoilers, and perhaps from death. Pray give me your name, sir, that we three strangers may bury it deeply in our hearts as one of the most gallant islanders we shall ever meet.”
“My name, your Majesty?” said the stranger quietly.
“What!” cried the King. “You know who I am?”
“As well as your Majesty knows his faithful servant,” came now in familiar tones.
“Master Leoni!” cried all three, in a breath, the King’s voice sounding loudest of all.
“Yes, Sire,” said the owner of the name quietly, as if there were no such thing as excitement left in his composition, and instead of being a fighting man he was the most peaceable of souls. “Your Majesty, in the fullness of your confidence, thought you would not need your follower’s services, but I feared that you would, and hence I came. You see, you did.”
“But how—and mounted! How came you here? You bade us farewell at Fontainebleau a week ago.”
“Yes, Sire; a week gave me plenty of time, as you travelled slowly, to get to the port two days earlier than you. I have been well before you all the time.”
“Then that paper!” cried Denis excitedly. “It was you who placed that beneath the King’s trencher at the inn?”
“I did, Master Denis,” said Leoni quietly, “and I think the warning was needed. It would have been safer if his Majesty had taken it to heart, though I feared in his reckless bravery he would laugh at my warning, and so I kept watch and came on in advance.”
“Then you knew that the road was haunted by folk like these?” said the King.
“Yes, Sire; I found that in a forest not far from here they have a gathering place, and are always on the look-out for rich travellers on the way to London. They have spies at the port and at the principal towns to give them warning, and I wonder that you escaped so far without the loss of your horses.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the King sourly. “We should have lost them but for the brave action of young Denis here; but look you, Master Leoni,” he continued sternly, “I gave you my commands to keep watch and ward over my goods and chattels at my palace of Fontainebleau until my return.”
“Your Majesty did,” said Leoni humbly.
“And disobedience to my commands is treason, sir, and the punishment of that is death.”
“Yes, Sire; but your royal life is the greatest of your possessions, and I felt that might be in danger. You gave me a free hand to do what was best in your service, and even if I have offended I deemed it my duty to save my sovereign’s life even at the cost of my own. Your Majesty, I have no further defence to make.”
“Hah!” said the King. “He has disarmed me, boys, and I as his master almost feel that I cannot order him to execution for such a crime as this. What say you, Denis, lad?”
“I say, sir,” said the boy, laughing softly, “that this is England, sir, and that you are not King, but my Lord the Comte de la Seine, who has no power to inflict such a punishment as this.”
“Hah!” said the King, chuckling. “And you, silent Wisehead Saint Simon, what is your judgement?”
“Oh, sir, I think Denis is quite right; but I should like to add one thing.”
“Hah!” cried the King. “This fight has made you find your tongue, my lad. Now then, let’s have what you think about Master Leoni’s offence.”
“I think, sir, that we had better get on a little faster, for I don’t want another fight to-night.”
“Neither do I,” said the King, laughing softly, “for I am sore all over, and I should be miserable if it were not for the thought that this ruffian gang must have suffered far more than we. Why, Master Leoni, the point of your sword I could well believe must have been everywhere at once.”
“A trick of fence, sir, merely a trick of fence,” said Leoni quietly. “Your lordship knows how for years I have studied every Italian trick, and it comes easy and useful at a time like this.”
“My faith, yes!” said the King, drawing a deep breath. “There, Master Leoni, I must forgive you this time; but don’t offend again. Now then, before we drop into a canter, I believe you know the English roads by heart: can you act as our guide to-night?”
“I have studied them a little, sir, and been along here three times before.”
“Then you can take us to a place of safety?”
“Yes, sir, I can; and you will pardon me when I tell you that four days ago I sent forward a trusty messenger to an old town some ten miles from here where there is a fine old manor-house, the home of a studious English nobleman of whom I asked for hospitality for the noble Comte de la Seine should he by any possibility on his journey to the English Court appeal to him on his way. I and Sir John Carrbroke have often corresponded upon matters of scientific lore, and you will be made welcome as my patron, you may be sure.”
“Hah!” cried the King. “There seems to be no end to you, Leoni. You know everything, and are always ready at a pinch. Well, I must let you serve me this time, but to-morrow morning, mind, I shall be sore and stiff, and savage as a Compiegne wild boar, so you had better keep beyond the reach of my tusks when I order you back to France.”
“I take your warning, sir,” said Master Leoni, rising in his stirrups and placing his hand to his ear.
“Hah!” cried the King. “Are they coming on again?”
“No, sir; all is quiet, but we have many good English miles to ride, and it would be wise to keep our horses at a steady pace to get well beyond the outlaws’ grasp, for you do not want to reach my old friend’s manor and rouse his people up with a following of outlaws at our heels.”
“There, I give up,” said the King, “and I must give you your due, Leoni. You are the wisest man I know, and I am afraid that you possess a very ungrateful master. Forward, gentlemen, and let’s get there, for I am beginning to grow boar-like and to long to stretch my sore and weary limbs in a good bed, if I can, or merely on a heap of straw. Here, Leoni, I suppose you have not brought any of that healing salve with which you have treated me more than once when I came to misfortune in the hunt?”
“By rights, sir, I am achirurgien, or leech,” said Leoni gravely. “On my travels a few simples and my little case are things I never leave behind.”
These were almost the last words spoken during the ten-mile ride, the latter part being intensely silent, until Leoni drew rein upon the slope of a wooded hill and pointed across a little valley, where a silver streamlet flashed before their eyes, to the gables of a long low English manor-house whose diamond-shaped casements glittered like the facets of so many gems in a setting of ivy, full in the light of the unclouded moon.
Chapter Sixteen.The next morning.“Yes! Hallo! What is it?”Denis started up upon his left elbow, gazing in a confused way at a glistening oaken door.He was in a well-furnished room with tall narrow window through which the sun shone brightly, lighting up the furniture, and streaming across the bed in which he lay; but for some moments it did not light up his intellect, which was still oppressed with the impressions of a confused dream, half real, half imaginary, of chasing horses, being ridden down, fighting for life, and then galloping on and on all through the night, while as he stared at the door he was conscious of a heavy, dull, aching pain extending from his right hand right up his shoulder, and giving him sharp twinges every time he breathed.“Some one called,” he thought to himself, and as the idea passed through his brain a pleasant-sounding voice said in English:“Breakfast directly. May I come in?” Then the door was thrown open, and a handsome, frank-looking English youth of about his own age came quickly forward into the sunshine, to stand gazing at the guest from the foot of the bed.“I hope you slept well?” he said eagerly.Denis looked at him admiringly, for there was something about the lad’s face which attracted him.“Oh yes,” he said—“Oh no. It has been all a troubled dream. I got hurt yesterday, and my arm throbs horribly.”“Ah!” cried the new-comer. “I am very sorry. You are wounded?”“No; I was in a bit of a fight with a man on horseback.”“You were? I wish I had been there!” cried the new-comer eagerly. “Well? did you beat him?”“I think so. He ran away. But I had my arm nearly wrenched out of the socket.”“That’s bad. You have had it seen to by a doctor, of course?”“Oh no. It will get well. But who are you?”“Oh, I’m Sir John Carrbroke’s son Edward; but he always calls me Ned. I was so tired last night and slept so soundly that I didn’t hear you and your friends come. Father woke me a little while ago and told me to come and see you and welcome you to the Pines. Glad to see you. You’ve just come from France, haven’t you? But I needn’t ask,” continued the boy, smiling. “Anyone would know you were French.”Denis flushed a little.“Of course I can’t talk English like you,” he said pettishly. “But you said something about breakfast.”“Yes. It will be all waiting by the time you are dressed.”“Then would you mind going—and—”“Oh yes, of course; I’ll go. Only I wanted to see our new visitor, and— but you said your arm was all wrenched.”“Yes. I have only a misty notion about how I managed to undress.”“Of course. It must have been very hard. Here, I’ll stop and help you.”Denis protested, but the frank outspoken lad would not hear a word.“Nonsense,” he said. “I shall help you. I know how. I am a sort of gentleman in waiting at the Court.”“Indeed!” cried Denis, looking at him wonderingly.“Oh yes. I haven’t been there long. My father used to be just the same with the late King, and that made him able to get me there. It’s only the other day that I left the great school—a year ago, though; and now,” he added, laughing, “I am going to be somebody big—King Harry’s esquire—the youngest one there. I say, isn’t it a nuisance to be only a boy?”“Oh no,” said Denis, laughing, and quite taken by the friendly chatter of his new acquaintance. “One wants to grow up, of course; but I don’t know that I ever felt like that.”“Perhaps not,” said his companion, busily helping him with his garments; “but then you see you’re not at Court where there are a lot of fellows who have been there for a bit, ready to look down upon you just because you’re new, and glare at you and seem ready to pick a quarrel and to fight if ever the King gives you a friendly nod or a smile.—No, no: I’ll tie those points. Don’t hurt your arm—but wait a bit.—I am young and inexperienced yet, and they’re too much for me, but I am hard at it.”He ceased speaking, but stood with his mouth pursed up, frowning, as he tied the points in question.“I see you are,” said Denis, “playing servant to me; and it’s very good of you, for my arm does feel very bad.”“Good! Nonsense!” cried the lad merrily. “You’d do the same for me if I were visiting at your father’s house, and crippled.”“That couldn’t be,” said Denis sadly. “I have no father’s house—he’s dead.”“Oh, I am sorry!”“He was a soldier, and died fighting for the King.”“Hah!” said the other softly. “That’s very pitiful; but,” he added, with more animation, “it is very grand as well.—No, no, no: be quiet! I’m here, and what’s the good of making your arm worse? You’re a visitor; and you wouldn’t like me to go away and send one of our fellows. I shall be a knight some day, I hope; and it’s a knight’s duty to fight, of course, but he ought to be able to help a wounded man. Now you’re a wounded man and I’m going to help you, wash you and all, and I say, you want it too. You look as if you had been down in the dust. And what’s this? Why, there’s clay matted in the back of your neck!”“Well,” said Denis, smiling, “I am such a cripple I can’t help myself, and so I must submit.”“Of course you must. I’ll feed you too, if you like, by-and-by.”“But what did you mean,” said Denis, to change the conversation, as he smilingly yielded himself to the busy helpful hands of his new friend.“What did I mean? Why, to help you.”“No, no; I meant about those fellows riding roughshod over you and wanting to pick quarrels.”“Oh, I see. I meant, I’m waiting my time. Can you fence—use a sword well?”“Not very, but I’m practising hard.”“Are you? So am I. We’ve got a Frenchmaître d’armesat Court, and he’s helping me and teaching me all he knows. He’s splendid! He likes me because I work so hand, and pats me on the back, and calls me ‘grand garçon’ and dear pupil. Ah, he’s a wonder. Only he makes me feel so stupid. He’s like one of those magician fellows when you cross swords with him. Yes, it’s just like magic; for when he likes he can make his long thin blade twist and twine about yours as if it were a snake and all alive; and before you know where you are it tightens round, and thentwit, twang, yours is snatched out of your hand and gone flying across the room, making you feel as helpless as a child. Ah, you don’t know what it is to feel like that. I say, hold still. How am I to wipe you? That’s better.”“But I do know what it is to feel like that,” cried Denis, as soon as he could get his face free from the white linen cloth his new friend was handling with great dexterity.“You do?” cried the latter. “What, have you got amaître d’armesover where you came from?”“Yes, and he’s here in this house now. You should have seen him in a desperate fight we had last night against about a score—”“Of the road outlaws coming through the forest?”“Yes, and they attacked us.”“And you got away.”Denis nodded.“My word! You were lucky!”“It was through my fencing master,” said Denis warmly, as his dressing was hurried on. “He can do all you say when he’s teaching; and when he fights as he did last night—”“Oh, I do wish that I had been there!””—his point seems everywhere at once.”“That’s the sort of man I love,” cried the English lad excitedly, and he gave his visitor so hearty a slap on the shoulder that Denis changed colour and reeled.“Oh, what have I done!” cried the lad, catching him in his arms and hurriedly lowering him into a settee, before fetching him water in a silver cup and holding it to his lips.—“Feel better now?” he said.“Oh yes, it’s nothing. Don’t laugh at me, please. I turned faint like a great silly girl. You touched the tenderest place, where my arm was hurt, and—”“Denis, boy! May I come in?”“Yes, yes,” said the lad faintly. “Come in. Carrbroke, this is Master Leoni, the gentleman who handles his sword so well.”“I am glad to know you, sir,” said the youth, drawing himself up and welcoming with courtly grace the slight, keen-looking, elderly man whose strange, penetrating eyes seemed to be searching him through and through. “I am so sorry that I was asleep when you came last night. I was helping my father’s visitor just now, and I am afraid I have hurt him a great deal. His shoulder is hurt, and he tells me that it has not been treated by a leech.”“Hurt?” cried Leoni, speaking quickly. “I did not know of this. Why did you not tell me last night?”“Oh, I didn’t think,” said Denis. “I had enough to do to sit my horse and manage to get here; and,” added the lad lightly, “I thought that it would be better.”“Ah,” said Master Leoni quietly, “let me see.” And he looked at the boy fixedly with that curious hard stare of the left eye which Denis never could explain.“Oh no; I’m nearly dressed now, and breakfast is waiting.”“How did this happen?” said Leoni, paying no heed to the lad’s words. “Sit still, boy, and tell me everything at once.”Denis gave a hurried narrative of his encounter, and his listeners eagerly grasped every word.“I see,” said Leoni gravely. “Your blade must have passed through the ruffian, and been held long enough by the muscles for you to receive a horrible wrench. There, set your teeth, and if I hurt you try and bear it. I will be as gentle as I can.”A rapid examination followed, and then the carefully educated fingers ceased their task, and Leoni spoke again as he drew a white kerchief from his pouch and gently wiped his patient’s moistened brow.“There is nothing wrong,” he said, “but a bad strain at the tendons, and of course the slightest touch gives great suffering. I will return directly. I am only going to my room for something that will lull that pain, and nature will do the rest.”He nodded gravely to both the lads, and passed quickly from the room, while as the door closed the young Englishman said eagerly:“I like him. He seems to know a deal. But you said that he was amaître d’armes.”“He’s everything,” said Denis with a faint laugh—“chirurgien, statesman—oh, I can’t tell you all. Oh, how he hurt me, though! If you hadn’t been here I believe I should have shrieked.”“Not you,” cried the other. “I was watching, and I saw how you set your teeth. Why, if he had pulled your arm off you wouldn’t have said a word. I say, I wish you were English.”“Why?” said Denis wonderingly.“Oh, I don’t know,” said the other rather confusedly, “only I seem to like a fellow who can act like that.”“Then because I am French you feel as if you couldn’t like me?”“That I don’t!” replied the lad bluffly. “Because I do like you, and I’m glad you’ve come. I say, can you shake hands?”“Like the English?” said Denis. “Of course.”“Oh, I did not mean that,” said the other. “Of course I know that you fellows embrace; but I meant about your arm. Can you shake hands without its hurting? Because we always do it with our right.”“Try,” said Denis, smiling, as, passing his left hand under his wrist, he softly raised the injured limb, and the next moment the two lads seemed to seal the beginning of a long friendship in a warm, firm pressure, which had not ended when they became conscious that the door had softly opened and Master Leoni was standing there, a dark, peculiar-looking, living picture in an oaken frame, an inscrutable-looking smile upon his lips and his eyes half closed.The blood flushed to the cheeks of both the lads, as the young Englishman tightened his grip and stood firm, while without appearing to have noticed the lads’ action, Leoni came forward, and they saw that he had a little silverflaconin his hand.“Feel faint now, Denis?” he said.“Oh no,” was the reply. “That passed away at once. Is that what you have been to fetch?”“Yes,” said Leoni, smiling, “and you need not think that I am going to give you drops in water such as will make you shudder. I am only going to moisten this linen pad and lay it beneath your waistcoat. I believe it will quite dull the pain. There,” he said, a few minutes later, after carefully securing the moistened linen so that it should not slip, and fastening the lad’s doublet to his throat, “it feels better now, does it not?”“Better?” said Denis with a low hiss, and speaking through his teeth. “Why, it’s as if a red-hot point was boring through my shoulder.”“Yes,” said Leoni, smiling; “and that’s a good sign. In another minute you will not feel the same. Come, Master Carrbroke, let us both finish dressing our patient and get him to his breakfast.”“Oh, I couldn’t have believed it,” cried Denis, five minutes later. “Master Carrbroke—”“Ned,” said the young man correctively. “Ned always to my friends.”“Ned, then,” said Denis warmly; “once more, this is Master Leoni, and you ought to make him one, for you never before met such a man as he.”
“Yes! Hallo! What is it?”
Denis started up upon his left elbow, gazing in a confused way at a glistening oaken door.
He was in a well-furnished room with tall narrow window through which the sun shone brightly, lighting up the furniture, and streaming across the bed in which he lay; but for some moments it did not light up his intellect, which was still oppressed with the impressions of a confused dream, half real, half imaginary, of chasing horses, being ridden down, fighting for life, and then galloping on and on all through the night, while as he stared at the door he was conscious of a heavy, dull, aching pain extending from his right hand right up his shoulder, and giving him sharp twinges every time he breathed.
“Some one called,” he thought to himself, and as the idea passed through his brain a pleasant-sounding voice said in English:
“Breakfast directly. May I come in?” Then the door was thrown open, and a handsome, frank-looking English youth of about his own age came quickly forward into the sunshine, to stand gazing at the guest from the foot of the bed.
“I hope you slept well?” he said eagerly.
Denis looked at him admiringly, for there was something about the lad’s face which attracted him.
“Oh yes,” he said—“Oh no. It has been all a troubled dream. I got hurt yesterday, and my arm throbs horribly.”
“Ah!” cried the new-comer. “I am very sorry. You are wounded?”
“No; I was in a bit of a fight with a man on horseback.”
“You were? I wish I had been there!” cried the new-comer eagerly. “Well? did you beat him?”
“I think so. He ran away. But I had my arm nearly wrenched out of the socket.”
“That’s bad. You have had it seen to by a doctor, of course?”
“Oh no. It will get well. But who are you?”
“Oh, I’m Sir John Carrbroke’s son Edward; but he always calls me Ned. I was so tired last night and slept so soundly that I didn’t hear you and your friends come. Father woke me a little while ago and told me to come and see you and welcome you to the Pines. Glad to see you. You’ve just come from France, haven’t you? But I needn’t ask,” continued the boy, smiling. “Anyone would know you were French.”
Denis flushed a little.
“Of course I can’t talk English like you,” he said pettishly. “But you said something about breakfast.”
“Yes. It will be all waiting by the time you are dressed.”
“Then would you mind going—and—”
“Oh yes, of course; I’ll go. Only I wanted to see our new visitor, and— but you said your arm was all wrenched.”
“Yes. I have only a misty notion about how I managed to undress.”
“Of course. It must have been very hard. Here, I’ll stop and help you.”
Denis protested, but the frank outspoken lad would not hear a word.
“Nonsense,” he said. “I shall help you. I know how. I am a sort of gentleman in waiting at the Court.”
“Indeed!” cried Denis, looking at him wonderingly.
“Oh yes. I haven’t been there long. My father used to be just the same with the late King, and that made him able to get me there. It’s only the other day that I left the great school—a year ago, though; and now,” he added, laughing, “I am going to be somebody big—King Harry’s esquire—the youngest one there. I say, isn’t it a nuisance to be only a boy?”
“Oh no,” said Denis, laughing, and quite taken by the friendly chatter of his new acquaintance. “One wants to grow up, of course; but I don’t know that I ever felt like that.”
“Perhaps not,” said his companion, busily helping him with his garments; “but then you see you’re not at Court where there are a lot of fellows who have been there for a bit, ready to look down upon you just because you’re new, and glare at you and seem ready to pick a quarrel and to fight if ever the King gives you a friendly nod or a smile.—No, no: I’ll tie those points. Don’t hurt your arm—but wait a bit.—I am young and inexperienced yet, and they’re too much for me, but I am hard at it.”
He ceased speaking, but stood with his mouth pursed up, frowning, as he tied the points in question.
“I see you are,” said Denis, “playing servant to me; and it’s very good of you, for my arm does feel very bad.”
“Good! Nonsense!” cried the lad merrily. “You’d do the same for me if I were visiting at your father’s house, and crippled.”
“That couldn’t be,” said Denis sadly. “I have no father’s house—he’s dead.”
“Oh, I am sorry!”
“He was a soldier, and died fighting for the King.”
“Hah!” said the other softly. “That’s very pitiful; but,” he added, with more animation, “it is very grand as well.—No, no, no: be quiet! I’m here, and what’s the good of making your arm worse? You’re a visitor; and you wouldn’t like me to go away and send one of our fellows. I shall be a knight some day, I hope; and it’s a knight’s duty to fight, of course, but he ought to be able to help a wounded man. Now you’re a wounded man and I’m going to help you, wash you and all, and I say, you want it too. You look as if you had been down in the dust. And what’s this? Why, there’s clay matted in the back of your neck!”
“Well,” said Denis, smiling, “I am such a cripple I can’t help myself, and so I must submit.”
“Of course you must. I’ll feed you too, if you like, by-and-by.”
“But what did you mean,” said Denis, to change the conversation, as he smilingly yielded himself to the busy helpful hands of his new friend.
“What did I mean? Why, to help you.”
“No, no; I meant about those fellows riding roughshod over you and wanting to pick quarrels.”
“Oh, I see. I meant, I’m waiting my time. Can you fence—use a sword well?”
“Not very, but I’m practising hard.”
“Are you? So am I. We’ve got a Frenchmaître d’armesat Court, and he’s helping me and teaching me all he knows. He’s splendid! He likes me because I work so hand, and pats me on the back, and calls me ‘grand garçon’ and dear pupil. Ah, he’s a wonder. Only he makes me feel so stupid. He’s like one of those magician fellows when you cross swords with him. Yes, it’s just like magic; for when he likes he can make his long thin blade twist and twine about yours as if it were a snake and all alive; and before you know where you are it tightens round, and thentwit, twang, yours is snatched out of your hand and gone flying across the room, making you feel as helpless as a child. Ah, you don’t know what it is to feel like that. I say, hold still. How am I to wipe you? That’s better.”
“But I do know what it is to feel like that,” cried Denis, as soon as he could get his face free from the white linen cloth his new friend was handling with great dexterity.
“You do?” cried the latter. “What, have you got amaître d’armesover where you came from?”
“Yes, and he’s here in this house now. You should have seen him in a desperate fight we had last night against about a score—”
“Of the road outlaws coming through the forest?”
“Yes, and they attacked us.”
“And you got away.”
Denis nodded.
“My word! You were lucky!”
“It was through my fencing master,” said Denis warmly, as his dressing was hurried on. “He can do all you say when he’s teaching; and when he fights as he did last night—”
“Oh, I do wish that I had been there!”
”—his point seems everywhere at once.”
“That’s the sort of man I love,” cried the English lad excitedly, and he gave his visitor so hearty a slap on the shoulder that Denis changed colour and reeled.
“Oh, what have I done!” cried the lad, catching him in his arms and hurriedly lowering him into a settee, before fetching him water in a silver cup and holding it to his lips.—“Feel better now?” he said.
“Oh yes, it’s nothing. Don’t laugh at me, please. I turned faint like a great silly girl. You touched the tenderest place, where my arm was hurt, and—”
“Denis, boy! May I come in?”
“Yes, yes,” said the lad faintly. “Come in. Carrbroke, this is Master Leoni, the gentleman who handles his sword so well.”
“I am glad to know you, sir,” said the youth, drawing himself up and welcoming with courtly grace the slight, keen-looking, elderly man whose strange, penetrating eyes seemed to be searching him through and through. “I am so sorry that I was asleep when you came last night. I was helping my father’s visitor just now, and I am afraid I have hurt him a great deal. His shoulder is hurt, and he tells me that it has not been treated by a leech.”
“Hurt?” cried Leoni, speaking quickly. “I did not know of this. Why did you not tell me last night?”
“Oh, I didn’t think,” said Denis. “I had enough to do to sit my horse and manage to get here; and,” added the lad lightly, “I thought that it would be better.”
“Ah,” said Master Leoni quietly, “let me see.” And he looked at the boy fixedly with that curious hard stare of the left eye which Denis never could explain.
“Oh no; I’m nearly dressed now, and breakfast is waiting.”
“How did this happen?” said Leoni, paying no heed to the lad’s words. “Sit still, boy, and tell me everything at once.”
Denis gave a hurried narrative of his encounter, and his listeners eagerly grasped every word.
“I see,” said Leoni gravely. “Your blade must have passed through the ruffian, and been held long enough by the muscles for you to receive a horrible wrench. There, set your teeth, and if I hurt you try and bear it. I will be as gentle as I can.”
A rapid examination followed, and then the carefully educated fingers ceased their task, and Leoni spoke again as he drew a white kerchief from his pouch and gently wiped his patient’s moistened brow.
“There is nothing wrong,” he said, “but a bad strain at the tendons, and of course the slightest touch gives great suffering. I will return directly. I am only going to my room for something that will lull that pain, and nature will do the rest.”
He nodded gravely to both the lads, and passed quickly from the room, while as the door closed the young Englishman said eagerly:
“I like him. He seems to know a deal. But you said that he was amaître d’armes.”
“He’s everything,” said Denis with a faint laugh—“chirurgien, statesman—oh, I can’t tell you all. Oh, how he hurt me, though! If you hadn’t been here I believe I should have shrieked.”
“Not you,” cried the other. “I was watching, and I saw how you set your teeth. Why, if he had pulled your arm off you wouldn’t have said a word. I say, I wish you were English.”
“Why?” said Denis wonderingly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the other rather confusedly, “only I seem to like a fellow who can act like that.”
“Then because I am French you feel as if you couldn’t like me?”
“That I don’t!” replied the lad bluffly. “Because I do like you, and I’m glad you’ve come. I say, can you shake hands?”
“Like the English?” said Denis. “Of course.”
“Oh, I did not mean that,” said the other. “Of course I know that you fellows embrace; but I meant about your arm. Can you shake hands without its hurting? Because we always do it with our right.”
“Try,” said Denis, smiling, as, passing his left hand under his wrist, he softly raised the injured limb, and the next moment the two lads seemed to seal the beginning of a long friendship in a warm, firm pressure, which had not ended when they became conscious that the door had softly opened and Master Leoni was standing there, a dark, peculiar-looking, living picture in an oaken frame, an inscrutable-looking smile upon his lips and his eyes half closed.
The blood flushed to the cheeks of both the lads, as the young Englishman tightened his grip and stood firm, while without appearing to have noticed the lads’ action, Leoni came forward, and they saw that he had a little silverflaconin his hand.
“Feel faint now, Denis?” he said.
“Oh no,” was the reply. “That passed away at once. Is that what you have been to fetch?”
“Yes,” said Leoni, smiling, “and you need not think that I am going to give you drops in water such as will make you shudder. I am only going to moisten this linen pad and lay it beneath your waistcoat. I believe it will quite dull the pain. There,” he said, a few minutes later, after carefully securing the moistened linen so that it should not slip, and fastening the lad’s doublet to his throat, “it feels better now, does it not?”
“Better?” said Denis with a low hiss, and speaking through his teeth. “Why, it’s as if a red-hot point was boring through my shoulder.”
“Yes,” said Leoni, smiling; “and that’s a good sign. In another minute you will not feel the same. Come, Master Carrbroke, let us both finish dressing our patient and get him to his breakfast.”
“Oh, I couldn’t have believed it,” cried Denis, five minutes later. “Master Carrbroke—”
“Ned,” said the young man correctively. “Ned always to my friends.”
“Ned, then,” said Denis warmly; “once more, this is Master Leoni, and you ought to make him one, for you never before met such a man as he.”
Chapter Seventeen.A few bars’ rest.A short time later, the dull aching pain seemed to have passed completely out of the injured shoulder, and after a few words evincing his gratitude, which Leoni received with a rather cynical smile, they passed together, led by their new young friend, into the long low dining-hall of the house, where the King, in company with Saint Simon, both apparently none the worse for the previous night’s experience, was impatiently waiting, and conversing with his host, a tall grey-bearded man of sixty, whose aspect told at once that he was father to the youth who ushered in the injured lad.“Let me introduce my son, my lord,” said Sir John. “Ned, my boy, this is Comte de la Seine, a French nobleman about to visit your royal master’s Court. My lord, my fighting days have long been over, and I only serve my King now with my counsel; but he has honoured me by accepting the service of my only son for his father’s sake, and has made him, young as he is, one of the King’s esquires.”“And a brave one too, I’ll warrant,” said Francis, holding out his hand, quite forgetful of his new character as a travelling nobleman, for his host’s heir to kiss.He winced slightly, his face twitched, and an ejaculation nearly passed his lips, while the sinister look on Master Leoni’s countenance deepened as he half closed his eyes, at heart enjoying the scene; for the youth advanced with the frank, manly courtesy of a young Englishman, and instead of bending over and kissing, courtier-like, the extended hand, he took it and shook it with a hearty grip.“I am glad to know my father’s guest, my lord,” he said. “It was not from want of respect that I was not here before. I have been with your esquire.—He was badly hurt yesterday, father; he mustn’t go on. You must keep him here for days, till we have set him right.”“Gladly, my boy,” cried Sir John, “if his lordship will honour my poor home with his presence.”“Oh no, no,” said the King shortly. “Why, Denis, boy, you are not so bad as that. Here, Master Leoni, what have you to say?”“That he must rest two or three days at least, sir. His arm is badly wrenched, and he is not fit to sit a horse.”“But he sat one bravely enough last night,” cried the King.—“But, Sir John, are all your roads like this? If the people we passed last night could have had their way you would have no guests to throw themselves upon your kindness, for we should have been lying somewhere in the forest to feed the English crows. But there, we have kept you waiting long enough,” and he made a gesture towards the well-spread board.Sir John raised his eyebrows slightly, for his visitor’s imperious, authoritative way impressed him unfavourably. But no suspicion of his status occurred to him then, and directly after he was busily employed doing the honours of his table, the good things spread thereon soon having a mollifying influence upon his guest, whose autocratic ways became less prominent under the influence of a most enjoyable meal.Thoroughly softened then by his meal as far as temper was concerned, the King now began to find out that he was exceedingly stiff, and questioned Saint Simon a good deal about his sensations, to learn that he too was in the same condition.“Ah, well,” he said, “riding will soon take that off. Here, let’s go and have a look at the horses.”Sir John accompanied his guest into the great stable-yard, followed by Saint Simon and the two young esquires.The chargers had been carefully tended by Sir John’s men, who did not fail to point out that they were not taking their corn happily; and it was perfectly evident to everyone that their hard day’s work, following so closely upon much riding down to the port and the stormy crossing, had made them in a very unsatisfactory condition.“Humph!” grunted the King. “They don’t look as I should like.”“Splendid beasts,” said Sir John; “but they want eight and forty hours’ rest. You will not think of continuing your journey to-day?”“Indeed but I shall,” said the King,—“er—that is—how do you think they look, Saint Simon?”“Bough,” said the young man laconically.The King grunted and frowned.“I fear you think that you will not be welcome, my lord,” said Sir John, “and I beg that you will dismiss all such thoughts. Make up your mind, pray, to stay for the next eight and forty hours. I beg you will. Then we shall see how the poor beasts are. Besides, we have to think of our young friend.”The result was that the King consented to stop for the aforesaid forty-eight hours, at the end of which time, feeling himself very comfortable and enjoying his host’s company, he needed very little pressure to prolong his stay, especially as Leoni announced that, though Denis was mending fast, riding might have a bad effect and delay his recovery.
A short time later, the dull aching pain seemed to have passed completely out of the injured shoulder, and after a few words evincing his gratitude, which Leoni received with a rather cynical smile, they passed together, led by their new young friend, into the long low dining-hall of the house, where the King, in company with Saint Simon, both apparently none the worse for the previous night’s experience, was impatiently waiting, and conversing with his host, a tall grey-bearded man of sixty, whose aspect told at once that he was father to the youth who ushered in the injured lad.
“Let me introduce my son, my lord,” said Sir John. “Ned, my boy, this is Comte de la Seine, a French nobleman about to visit your royal master’s Court. My lord, my fighting days have long been over, and I only serve my King now with my counsel; but he has honoured me by accepting the service of my only son for his father’s sake, and has made him, young as he is, one of the King’s esquires.”
“And a brave one too, I’ll warrant,” said Francis, holding out his hand, quite forgetful of his new character as a travelling nobleman, for his host’s heir to kiss.
He winced slightly, his face twitched, and an ejaculation nearly passed his lips, while the sinister look on Master Leoni’s countenance deepened as he half closed his eyes, at heart enjoying the scene; for the youth advanced with the frank, manly courtesy of a young Englishman, and instead of bending over and kissing, courtier-like, the extended hand, he took it and shook it with a hearty grip.
“I am glad to know my father’s guest, my lord,” he said. “It was not from want of respect that I was not here before. I have been with your esquire.—He was badly hurt yesterday, father; he mustn’t go on. You must keep him here for days, till we have set him right.”
“Gladly, my boy,” cried Sir John, “if his lordship will honour my poor home with his presence.”
“Oh no, no,” said the King shortly. “Why, Denis, boy, you are not so bad as that. Here, Master Leoni, what have you to say?”
“That he must rest two or three days at least, sir. His arm is badly wrenched, and he is not fit to sit a horse.”
“But he sat one bravely enough last night,” cried the King.—“But, Sir John, are all your roads like this? If the people we passed last night could have had their way you would have no guests to throw themselves upon your kindness, for we should have been lying somewhere in the forest to feed the English crows. But there, we have kept you waiting long enough,” and he made a gesture towards the well-spread board.
Sir John raised his eyebrows slightly, for his visitor’s imperious, authoritative way impressed him unfavourably. But no suspicion of his status occurred to him then, and directly after he was busily employed doing the honours of his table, the good things spread thereon soon having a mollifying influence upon his guest, whose autocratic ways became less prominent under the influence of a most enjoyable meal.
Thoroughly softened then by his meal as far as temper was concerned, the King now began to find out that he was exceedingly stiff, and questioned Saint Simon a good deal about his sensations, to learn that he too was in the same condition.
“Ah, well,” he said, “riding will soon take that off. Here, let’s go and have a look at the horses.”
Sir John accompanied his guest into the great stable-yard, followed by Saint Simon and the two young esquires.
The chargers had been carefully tended by Sir John’s men, who did not fail to point out that they were not taking their corn happily; and it was perfectly evident to everyone that their hard day’s work, following so closely upon much riding down to the port and the stormy crossing, had made them in a very unsatisfactory condition.
“Humph!” grunted the King. “They don’t look as I should like.”
“Splendid beasts,” said Sir John; “but they want eight and forty hours’ rest. You will not think of continuing your journey to-day?”
“Indeed but I shall,” said the King,—“er—that is—how do you think they look, Saint Simon?”
“Bough,” said the young man laconically.
The King grunted and frowned.
“I fear you think that you will not be welcome, my lord,” said Sir John, “and I beg that you will dismiss all such thoughts. Make up your mind, pray, to stay for the next eight and forty hours. I beg you will. Then we shall see how the poor beasts are. Besides, we have to think of our young friend.”
The result was that the King consented to stop for the aforesaid forty-eight hours, at the end of which time, feeling himself very comfortable and enjoying his host’s company, he needed very little pressure to prolong his stay, especially as Leoni announced that, though Denis was mending fast, riding might have a bad effect and delay his recovery.