Theroad through the forest wound steadily upward, and when they had left behind them the red moors and braes, the heaving, shimmering sea, they gained no view of the open, and but scant glimpses of the sky, so thickly interwoven were the leafy branches above their heads, till they had emerged upon a furzed and brambled down that commanded an uninterrupted prospect for many miles around.
The scene then spread before them was one of superb grandeur, and well repaid them for their march of five hours up the long and tedious slope, of which the point where they were now come marked the extreme summit. The sea had disappeared out of the range of their vision, and in every direction the land dipped away in a myriad of mounds and hills, with splotches of golden gorse dotting their tops and sides, till the last ofthem was lost in a purple haze that hung above the indefinite, circular rim of the horizon; a fleecy wrack of clouds tossed before the light wind across the deep blue dome of the sky. These, speeding between sun and earth, sent patches of light and shadow in a swift pursuit of each other up and down over the breast of the sweet landscape as though they were playing at some pretty game.
Here, word passed among the men that they might dismount to bait themselves and their horses and enjoy a brief period of rest before resuming the march. Amidst resounding talk and laughter they clambered out of their saddles, tethered their steeds where the grass grew most abundantly, and proceeded to make themselves comfortable, after the campaigner's fashion, by sprawling at full length upon the velvety turf in the agreeable warmth of the sun. Meanwhile, serving-men were addressing themselves to the work of gathering armfuls of dried hemlock twigs, building fires over which to warm the pastys, and broaching casks of stum.
A bright-faced youth, who had evidently been appointed equerry to Sir Richard, approachedand signified his readiness to take charge of the young knight's horse. Sir Richard dismounted, gave the reins into the youth's hands, and joined Lord Kennedy, who was leaning against a curiously stunted cedar that grew from the brink of a steep declivity near at hand. Within his mind, Sir Richard had applied the nickname of "Taciturnitus" to his silent companion of the morning, and he was surprised to observe the grim warrior-churchman drinking in the glorious scene with a keen zest of which he had deemed him altogether incapable. For quite a space they stood side by side, silently contemplating the diversified beauties of the landscape that unrolled before them from the sky-line to the base of the cliff.
Here and there, filmy pennants of white smoke, indicating the location of shepherds' cottages, would fling from behind the masses of foliage upon the farther hillsides. There was but one structure visible, however; a rambling pile of gray stone, shot with a trinity of embattled towers, which was nestled along the slope of a down, some three leagues distant from where they were standing.
"What is that building yonder, my lord?"queried Sir Richard, indicating its location with outstretched hand and finger.
"That," replied Bishop Kennedy, "is the Black Friar's Monastery. Our way, sir knight, leads directly beneath its sealed portcullis, which is opened but once in the year, and then only for the purpose of admitting its annual quota of novices. The final glance of the probationer's eye upon a free earth and heaven embraces this bit bonnie scene. When he is quit of the damp cell and noisome cloister, the crypt, lying within the belly of the hill, becomes the final repository of his lime-bleached bones."
While Bishop Kennedy was talking Sir Richard's attention had been directed toward a solitary traveler, who was drawing near along the road that wound around the foot of the cliff and swept over the hill upon which his captors were bivouacing. The pilgrim was mounted upon a round-bodied, slow moving and remarkably long-eared donkey, which was exactly of a color with the rider's voluminous, cowled robe. As he came within easy view it could be seen that he was diligently poring over some sheets of manuscript. It appeared not to annoy the reader in the leastwhen the donkey stopped, which it did every little while, to scratch its underside with its hind hoof.
"Well, by my Faith!" exclaimed Bishop Kennedy, with a display of genuine enthusiasm upon catching sight of the pilgrim.
"You know him, my lord?"
"Yea—that I do, Sir Richard. Upon the round back of yonder ass rides a scholar, sir knight, whose fame will one day be proclaimed over all the land. Aye—and whose name shall live when thine and mine have been erased along with the epitaphs upon our tombs. Let me crave thy indulgence, and call another to keep thee company, whilst I go forward to embrace my friend Erasmus."
"De Claverlok, attend us," he then called to the grizzled knight, who was sitting beside one of the roaring fires and skilfully balancing a pasty above it upon the blade of his halberd.
De Claverlok quickly gulped down the remainder of the contents of the flagon beside him and came toward the two men wearing a good-natured smile, smacking his lips aloud and wiping his beard with the back of his broad hand.
"The wine is to thy liking, I perceive," remarked Bishop Kennedy dryly.
"Ah!" exclaimed the grizzled veteran heartily, "there's nothing, my men, that can equal it. Give me drink with the must in 't every blessed day of the year, ... eh!"
"Thou art ever filled with ardor, de Claverlok, when the meat and drink are in question," observed Kennedy with a faint trace of a smile. "But canst forget thy loves long enough to keep companionship with our guest whilst I go forward to meet my friend riding below?"
"Certes will I bear the sir knight company," the grizzled knight instantly agreed. "And I need not desert my loves in doing so, ... eh, ... my boy?"
Whereupon he led Sir Richard to a seat beside a hastily constructed table, made of two broad planks set lengthwise above a pair of empty casks. Over it, fluttering and crackling in the crisp, invigorating breeze that blew across the mountain, was stretched an awning of purple and black, which the young knight took to be a part of the pavilion beneath which he had been so mysteriously transported, and beneath which thatmorning he had so strangely awakened. The Renegade Duke, with a partially empty tankard at his hand, was already seated before a steaming pasty. From the violent red of his nose and cheeks it could easily be seen that he had been making rather too free with the stum. Besides painting his round face, it had provided him with the fool's courage to unmask his hatred of Sir Richard, at whom he glared across the improvised table with an open defiance. At first he was careful to preserve a sulky silence, but by the time he had emptied a few more flagons he grew noisily vociferant, and would likely have opened the quarrel then and there, had it not been for a now and again lustily delivered nudge of de Claverlok's mailed elbow.
He was sufficiently himself, however, to relapse into silence when the Bishop joined them with his youthful friend, whom he addressed intimately as Gerard, but introduced to the three men as Erasmus.
The scholar's loose robe did not wholly conceal the angularity of his figure. His cheeks, though almost painfully hollow, were touched with the olive bronze of winds and weathers. His nosewas unusually prominent, but cut fine at bridge and nostril. His brow, classically moulded, was deep and broad at its base. Altogether, his physiognomy was remarkable for its combination of severe austerity and innate generosity and kindliness.
"It would seem," said he, seating himself beside the table between Bishop Kennedy and Sir Richard, "that the flower of knighthood is gathered here to look upon the flower of Scotland's scenery. I wonder, sir knights, that the restful peace of yonder view does not communicate itself to your martial breasts and render you brothers-in-love of all the world."
"Thy business it is to think, dream, and observe, Gerard," said Lord Kennedy, "and ours to act. The world is yet too imperfect to receive thy teachings, my friend."
"Yea—that it is," agreed de Claverlok between bites. "With us it's eat, drink, rest betimes, and then away. I'll wager, though, our gear sits lighter on our shoulders than your robe, ... eh?"
"Right readily do I grant you that, sir knight," returned Erasmus smilingly. "This robe, intruth, is one of the heaviest of my burdens. There would be many a naked back, my lord," he added gravely, turning toward Bishop Kennedy, "an the robe were to be stripped from every bigoted hypocrite. It grieves me to admit my belief that steel girded breasts are uniformly more steadfast to their principles than those enveloped within the robe and cowl."
Thus, during the hour of eating, Erasmus held Lord Kennedy and Sir Richard enthralled with the charm and compelling influence of his colloquy, in the course of which he explained to them that he was then journeying from a monastery at Stein to enter the services of the Archbishop of Cambray, and that later it was a part of his plan to go on to Paris, where he intended pursuing his studies under the continued patronage of his amiable and generous master.
Had the scholar touched at all upon the subject of battles, or of deeds of martial gallantry, it is possible that he might again have enticed de Claverlok to give ear. But as it was, that bluff warrior yielded himself in his most heartywise to the business of devastating the remainder of the pasty before him, and maintaining a constantvoid within the pewter flagon beside his plate. As for the Renegade Duke, Sir Richard noted that his vapid smile had resolved itself into something approaching a drunken leer, and that beneath his vain twaddle there ran a distinct undercurrent of thinly veiled sarcasm. It grew apparent that he was striving desperately to mask his quarrel with the young knight from the understanding of Lord Kennedy. In this Sir Richard was assisting him to his uttermost. Some time before he had conceived the idea that a quarrel and subsequent duel, which he hoped that his blatant guard might secretly arrange, would provide a likely means of escape.
That their combined efforts were unfruitful of misleading the shrewd Bishop was soon made apparent; for, before leaving from beneath the awning with Erasmus, he took the grizzled knight aside, talking earnestly with him for several minutes.
"I am but going to make Erasmus acquainted with some of our famous fellows," he was explaining to de Claverlok, "and shall soon return. Above all things, Sir Lionel," he warned in a whisper, "keep a close eye on the Knight of theDouble Rook. Before we came to yonder table I had disquieting news from the scholar from Bannockburn way. Douglas is arming to oppose us, and planning to invade England for a purpose similar with ours. I fear me that he is familiar with every happening within our camp, and doubts have arisen within me as to the Renegade Duke's integrity to our cause. An I am not mistaken, there is a plan afoot to defeat our purpose of delivering the young noble within our northern stronghold. There's something mightily wrong, de Claverlok. Not a breath have I heard from our captive regarding the King's warrant taken from his pouch by Sir James; and yet is he as eager as an unhooded falcon to escape and fare away upon his journey. How it would boot him to go on, I cannot make out. Remember, sir knight," Bishop Kennedy concluded sternly, "that henceforth thou art held responsible for the youth's safe detention; ... by thy knightly oath do we hold thee."
"Aye, my lord," was the extent of de Claverlok's reply, though his tone and manner indicated his determination to be faithful to the trust imposed upon him.
While the three men were seated beneath the awning awaiting Lord Kennedy's return they espied along the road, which wound like a tawny worm beneath the portcullis of the Black Friar's Monastery, a single horseman careering swiftly in the direction of the hill upon which they were stationed. As the rider drew nearer, they could see the glint of the sun's rays upon the burnished trappings of man and horse. Without exchanging a speculative word, their glances followed him till he disappeared at a point where the ochre road was swallowed up in a patch of brilliantly colored gorse. He had likewise been sighted from elsewhere upon the mountain top, for a band of horsemen sallied down from the place of the bivouac and met him precisely at the spot where he again issued into view from behind the bushes. Then, wheeling, they bore him company up the declivitous road. Coincident with their meeting with the men awaiting them above there was a loud shouting of "Douglas! False Douglas, the traitor!" Whereupon Lord Kennedy could be seen striding among them, a trumpeter winded a blast "To horse," and then, amidst a frenzied waving of pennoned lances, the hitherto quietscene became alive with the scurrying of mailed feet, the noise of creaking saddle girths, the hoarse cries of men, and the loud neighing of horses.
Sir Richard, unable to interpret the meaning of this sudden warlike demonstration, and wondering much at the use of the name of Douglas, regarded it in the light of a most opportune happening. For one thing, it had rid him temporarily of the presence of de Claverlok, who was swinging furiously down the slope bellowing aloud for the Duke's horse, for Sir Richard's, and his own. The young knight at once availed himself of the opportunity of resuming his quarrel with the Renegade Duke; and, as he regarded him scornfully across the board, that individual arose and bowed low before him. In despite of Sir Richard's aversion toward the man, he was obliged to pay tribute within his mind to his singular grace and perfect assurance.
"Why all this mock courtesy," said the young knight quietly, arising also to his feet, "when your blade, my brave Duke, dangles so near to your hand?"
The Renegade Duke stole a glance behind himdown the hill, and smiled insolently, coolly, delaying thus his answer for a considerable space.
"The battle-ax, or mace, sir knight," he said then, "would better suit our deadly purposes." He was not above looking to the advantages of his superior weight in offering this suggestion. Moreover, horsemanship played an important part in this kind of warfare, and the Duke was said to be a master horseman. "Yet——" he added the word and then paused reflectively.
"Yet what?" returned Sir Richard. "Out with it ere de Claverlok return to thwart the perfecting of our arrangements."
"Yet—" repeated the Duke slowly, again looking behind him down the hill, his lips still raised from off his teeth in a maddening smile, "I dislike me much to remove the single champion of a maiden in distress. Would you not consent to grant to me the legacy of effecting the fair one's release?"
The violence of Sir Richard's anger, scattering every vestige of prudence to the winds, might easily have resulted in defeating his well laid plan to escape. For, no sooner had the Duke finished, than the young knight found himselfstanding with his emptied tankard in his hand, while his enemy, with a diaphanous lace kerchief, was daintily wiping the dregs from it off his face. The fact that he missed a drop of the wine, which remained hanging from one of the ridiculous points of his upturned mustachios, sent Sir Richard into a paroxysm of laughter.
"An it comes to the question of a legacy, Renegade Duke," he stifled his merriment sufficiently to answer, "I shall do my mightiest to have it from you to me. An I make no mistake, my fine fellow, I shall gain the missive you have pilfered before the day is done."
While Sir Richard was speaking, de Claverlok was seen to be approaching at a swift gallop with their horses.
"Till we meet," returned the Duke quickly, "it shall again be yours. When your bonnet was being burnished this morning it rolled from out the fillet to the pavilion floor." Whereupon, having explained his possession of the note, he tossed the bit of paper before Sir Richard upon the table. Then, as de Claverlok drew rein and called aloud for them to mount—"Which shall it be," he whispered, "mace, battle-ax, or sword?"
"Battle-axes, at cock-shut time," Sir Richard hastily answered, moving in the direction of his waiting horse.
"Battle-axes at cock-shut time," repeated the Duke. Then, with a sweeping bow, he held the young knight's stirrup for him to mount. "Battle-axes at cock-shut time," he said again. "Thou hast laid a command upon me, ... Liege!" he added, with the last word hissed low in Sir Richard's ear as he vaulted lightly past him into his saddle.
"Liege?" thought the young knight to himself as he rode onward down the road beside de Claverlok. "Why all these ceremonious bows? This calling of me anobleknight? This strange captivity? Why should I—I, Richard Rohan, knight, and lowly messenger of the King be thus curtseyed to and addressed? And what mean these subdued mutterings among the men of 'A traitor in camp,' 'Douglas playing false and arming,' 'Tyrrell outmaneuvered'? Fates defend me. I had liefer set my lance against the Dragon of Wantley than make an attempt to unravel the deep mysteries by which I am this moment surrounded."
TheRenegade Duke, whose challenge Sir Richard had so openly invited, and who, through the mishap described, had secured a temporary possession of the playful note written to the young knight by Isabel, had quickly surmised by whom it had been inscribed. He was aware of the maid's dissatisfaction with her surroundings, and that she had chosen Sir Richard to be her deliverer at once sent the Duke into a ferment of passionate jealousy.
The Renegade Duke's accidental meeting with Isabel when he had first come to Scotland to join Tyrrell's projected expedition, had marked the beginning of a mad desire to arouse within her breast a return of the sentiment that he entertained toward her. In so far as his superficial character permitted, his affection for her was genuine. But in the rare instances in which hehad contrived to meet and talk with her alone, she had rejected his suit with an indignant scorn that would have left an ordinary man without the shadow of a hope of future success. The Duke, however, was all egotism and vanity, and remained firm in his belief that his charms would ultimately prevail. By fair means or foul, he had determined upon having her within his power; and, as the initial step toward such an end, he had played the traitor by laying bare before Douglas the whole of Sir James's plan.
Douglas, himself a conspirator of no mean abilities, had immediately set about to concoct a scheme whereby to take advantage of Tyrrell's grave dilemma, caused by the unhappy death of the young prince. Douglas had already instituted measures to have a substitute candidate proclaimed in the place of the one dead, being well aware that Sir James would scarcely dare to incur the ire of his men—from whom he had kept the circumstance of the prince's death a dark secret—by exposing the falsity of the Douglas claimant. Rather, did Douglas figure it, would Tyrrell be under the necessity of joining issues. This would result in a powerful movement, withthe Douglas finger very much in the juicy pasty that was designed to be served up to Henry VII and his followers. Had the Renegade Duke been acquainted with the genuine character of the captive Sir Richard's ancestry he would doubtless have been in haste to communicate his knowledge thereof to his new master, with the result that the plot, then taking shape, would have been infinitely less complex, and probably less interesting than it subsequently turned out to be. In his selection of Sir Richard to assume the leadership of his gathered forces, the Duke fell into the error of supposing that Tyrrell had happened by chance to duplicate Lord Douglas's clever expedient.
In the early morning of that day the Duke had contrived to get word to one of Douglas's lieutenants of the captivity of the young knight, and of Tyrrell's intention to carry him to his stronghold before making known his plans with regard to him. The Duke anticipated a counter move upon the part of Douglas along the way; but he calculated that if he could make himself the instrument of the captive's removal, it would place him high in the esteem of Lord Douglas; while,at the same time, he believed that such a move would leave Tyrrell without a prop wherewith to buttress his tottering conspiracy.
As Sir Richard, around whom simmered this salmagundi of politics, rode onward with the company, he tried many times, by piecing together odds and ends of the talk that drifted to his ears, to gather some inkling of the purpose upon which the company, of which he was a most unwilling member, was engaged. With recurring frequency he heard the word "treason," and its kindred, "traitor," "spy," "base informer" traded from tongue to tongue among the men around him. The march was now being urged rapidly forward, and a something portending evil seemed to be hanging in the air about them.
The end they were seeking to attain, and the part his person was playing in their machinations grew more enigmatical in proportion with the thought that Sir Richard gave to the matter of burrowing to the reason for them. He ceased trying, finally, and suffered himself to be carried along whithersoever chance, or good or bad fortune, listed.
His companion of the morning, now no longertaciturn, was riding well to the front with Erasmus, whom he had evidently persuaded to remain with the company. In sullen silence at his left rode the Renegade Duke. Faithful de Claverlok kept within touch of Sir Richard's hand to his right.
When he was not engaging the bluff old warrior in conversation, the young knight would yield himself to the ineffable delights of conjuring up radiant visions of the maiden of the piece of saffron velvet, whilst all of the time he was building every manner of chimerical plan for effecting her delivery from the hands of the keeper of the Red Tavern. Full often his fingers would seek and caress the soft nap of the cutting of cloth. He had need of constant assurance that the entire mysterious happening had not been of the ephemeral fabric of an unusual dream.
Thinking thus of the unknown maiden to whom he had pledged his knightly sword, led him naturally to the contemplation of his own freedom, and the stratagem through which he was hopeful of achieving it. That his avowed enemy, the Duke, was, at the proper moment, ready to lend himself to his device, Sir Richardwas almost certain. His scheme involved the arrangement of a secret duel, in which he trusted in his strength of arm to vanquish his enemy and thereafter make his escape. But a most substantial and incorruptible barrier offered in the bulky person of the grizzled knight. As many as a score of times had de Claverlok been loudly hailed from the vanguard of the line. But without exception he had laughingly rejoined that he was engaged in keeping companionship with the honored guest of the company, remaining deaf to the young knight's fervent assurances that he must consider himself quite free to ride ahead, if he so desired.
"Aye," he would invariably reply, "I know well that thou art growing tired of my prattle, ... eh? I wish that it were not so, sir knight, for I must do my devoir by thy side till the trumpet sounds a halt for the night."
Once Sir Richard put to him point blank the question of why and how long he was to be thus forcibly detained.
"Before the sun drops beneath the hills in the evening of to-morrow," de Claverlok replied, "thou shalt know all. Would that I were free totell thee the story now, Sir Richard," he added with an honest candor, "but my lips are sealed with an oath most sacred, ... eh! Thou wouldst not expect me to break my knightly vow, I know," upon which he looked significantly across at the Renegade Duke, but that immaculate dandy was busily engaged in polishing his nails against the flowing skirts of his scarletsclaveyn, and remained wholly unconscious of the implied warning.
One thing, at least, had drifted clear of the haze within Sir Richard's topsy-turvy brain. Lord Kennedy was the leader, and had appointed de Claverlok as his especial consort. He wished heartily that some accident might befall to win or send the rugged warrior from his close attendance upon his stirrup, as this was the only means through which he could hope to achieve the end he had in mind.
The sun, by now, was tinting the western sky a rose glow, with all across the face of it a sweeping of thin and luminously pink clouds. The hour had almost come when Sir Richard had promised himself the felicity of trying conclusions with his braggart enemy at his left; yet herewas de Claverlok riding unyielding alongside, the embodiment of everything firm and loyal.
Though he was chafing sore under the restraint, Sir Richard could not but suffer himself to be entertained by the flow of good humored talk of his companion, which went something after the following fashion:
He had been told that Sir Richard had passed the greater part of his life in Brittany? The young knight answered affirmatively. He, too, the grizzled warrior averred, had hunted, fought, and tilted there. There were maidens in Brittany, ... shy, big-eyed, captivating, ... who had once regarded him not unfavorably, ... eh! Their daughters, mayhap, had done the same for Sir Richard? "Thy looks doth certes deny thy age," the young knight had politely assured him. Ah! aye—but he was old, though, ... quite old enough to be the sir knight's father. Why! once he had split a lance or two with the old Duke Francis himself. And at the time when Henry, Earl of Richmond, now England's sovereign ruler, had been but a romping, long-haired boy, ... eh! Yea, ... and the sturdy Duke had come nearer to unhorsing him than anyman across the Channel. He had been informed that the young sir knight had once been Henry's playmate; ... was this true, ... eh?
He had indeed been the companion of Henry, Sir Richard told his friendly guard, and with him had shared the guardianship of Duke Francis and the bountiful hospitality of his court.
Then it may have been, the grizzled knight went on, that Sir Richard had witnessed that self-same tournament upon the field of Anjou, at Vannes? It had been extravagantly rich in prizes, ... that tournament. He himself had been so fortunate as to win two barbs and three coats of Tuscan mail, ... fluted, ... sumptuous, ... exquisitely damascened. But they had long since found their way into the rapacious talons of the Jews. Everything that he had ever possessed ... of any value, ... saving that which he was then wearing, ... and his knightly honor, ... had followed at the tail of them into the same far-reaching, ever greedy claws. Yet he courted no hatred of them, ... eh! Why should one? Were they not as necessary to a gold-lean knight, these gleaners of worldly wealth, as were his verybread and wine, ... eh? What excuse was there for despising one of the prime essentials of life, he wanted to know?
In something after this manner the warrior rambled on. Touching, with a ponderous grace, upon any subject that chanced to fall, haphazard, into his mind, not pausing for a moment to listen to answering comment, or seeming to expect it: Sir Richard was growing convinced that the crafty fellow was witness to the passing of the insult between the Renegade Duke and himself, and that he was merely talking to defeat their avowed purpose of renewing hostilities till the hour when they should halt for the night.
There would be no duel that day, and no escape, of this he was by now almost certain. Disappointed, chagrined, impatient of his strange thralldom, and desiring above all things else to deliver Henry's message to Douglas, he rode gloomily along, lending something less than half an ear to the empty words that his stanch, unwavering guard was volleying into it.
For a considerable while the road had been threading between a pleasing succession of furze and thistle-grown downs. It was from a copseabutting upon the highway, when they were riding between the steeper of these, that a frightened hare scurried in front of them across the road. Upon the instant de Claverlok drew rein and swept each of the hillsides with a swift and keen scrutiny. The trifling incident of the flying hare was as the first eddy of wind that heralds the coming tornado; for, in almost the next moment, there followed the sharp spattering of bolts against bonnet and breast-plate and shield. One struck fair upon Sir Richard's gorget, causing him to reel in his saddle and his temples to throb and ache with the shock of the impact. Among those riding ahead the young knight saw three pitch heavily off their horses. Clear eyed and iron nerved indeed were these Scot archers; men who could pick you out with unerring nicety the crevice between gorget and helm, or the joint between pauldron and breast-plate. Often, with the beaver drawn, they were known to flick an arrow through the eye-slit without touching either side of the orifice.
After the first shower of bolts the slopes upon each side of the company of horsemen became alive with warriors, slipping down the hill uponthem like brown and living torrents. There was a ruddy glare ahead, where the ardent rays of the sun, now setting, were beating against the breastplates of an advancing foe. Uprose, then, loud cries of "Douglas, and the Duke of York!" "Long live the White Rose!" which was met with shouts of "Death to the traitors!" "Long live Tyrrell and the Duke of Warwick!"
Sir Richard was just upon the point of yielding to the instinctive call that would have placed him in the singular position of giving battle against the enemies of his supposed own foes, when the Renegade Duke's hand fell heavily upon the bridle of his prancing stallion.
"Cock-shut time is come!" he was shouting in the young knight's ear. "I am ready to obey thy command of this morning. Ride with me to the left!"
Quick as a flash Sir Richard wheeled, and together they drove upward along a narrow roadway that debouched from the one over which they had been traveling, unlimbering their battle-axes as they sped along.
When the wooded summit of the down intervened between them and the scene of the conflict,they drew rein and went at it. Whatsoever else the Renegade Duke may have been, Sir Richard was quick to discover that as a foeman he was not in the least to be despised. Blow after blow he was parrying, and that with a neatness and cleverness that set the impetuous young knight somewhat by the ears. Indeed, growing out of the very frenzy of his eagerness, he realized that his attacks were losing an alarming measure of their force and accuracy.
There was now need of immediate action, as, upon the further side of the down, the crash of arms seemed to be subsiding. It was just as he was charging his antagonist afresh that Sir Richard heard the thunder of hoof-beats along the narrow road upon which the Duke and he were fighting for their very lives. Summoning every vestige of energy and strength at his command, he aimed a blow full at his foeman's head-piece. When it appeared to be upon the point of striking, the Renegade Duke executed a swift demivolte. The heavy ax, glancing along his helm, clove off its jaunty white plume, and crashed fair upon the chamfron of his mount. There followed then a momentary reeling and staggering,like a maimed ship in a sudden gale, whereupon horse and rider fell, furiously plunging and kicking, into a thornhedge beside the road.
By now the echoes of the approaching hoofbeats were reverberating clear and crepitant from against the steep side of the opposite hill. The Renegade Duke had not done sinking into the crackling brush when Sir Richard wheeled, and, touching rowels lightly to his stallion's foam-flecked side, made off with all the speed there was left in him.
Sofar as qualities of speed and endurance were concerned, Sir Richard would have willingly matched his powerful stallion against any in Scotland. Having no fear, therefore, of the possibility of his recapture, he settled himself with some comfort in his saddle, enjoying a great measure of satisfaction in the belief that he would soon outdistance his pursuers. That he was indeed being followed he was left in no manner of doubt, as not for a single instant did the ring of hoof-beats pause at the spot where his late adversary had sprawled so ignominiously into the brambles.
Being wholly unaware as to the number of miles that might stretch away between himself and Castle Yewe, he deemed it unwise to urge his mount to top speed. Besides, the road alongwhich he was forced to travel was not over-free from scattered boulders and rather steep of descent. He accordingly contented himself with making haste slowly, as the saying goes, maintaining a long, easy, sweeping stride, and observing every possible precaution against the accidental stumbling or laming of his horse. Moreover, in the thin, clear air of the uplands the rattling of steel hoofs against the flinty earth would assuredly carry for the greater part of a league. For this reason he entertained but slight hope of throwing his pursuers off his trail till the character of the soil became changed.
Twice within the distance of the flight of an arrow the road swerved sharply to the left, which rendered it quite impossible, on account of the tangle of bushes that shot high above his crest on either hand, to ascertain how closely they were following at his heels, or how many were engaged in the chase. At times he could have sworn that there was but one. Then, when he would be just upon the point of drawing rein, purposing to try conclusions with that which he supposed to be his single foeman, the surrounding foothills would carry to his ears the echoes of a battalion of flyinghorsemen, whereupon he would touch spurs to his stallion's side and scurry hot-footed up and down dale until the sounds had dwindled again to a mere faint pattering in the twilight distance.
Two full hours of hard riding did not suffice materially to alter the positions of pursuer and pursued. By then the moon had shot clear of the hills, adding her pallid luster to the clear, star-powdered vault, and still Sir Richard could catch the faint pounding of persistent hoofs at his back. Arriving presently at a point where a wider roadway forked to the left, he decided to take his way along that. He was gratified to find that it yielded soft to the hoof, muffling to a considerable extent the hitherto loud noise of his flight.
Sprinting madly for the distance of something near an eighth of a league, he dismounted and led his tired horse within the shadows of a thick wood, fringing the highway to the northward. Tethering him to a tree at a safe distance from the road, he then retraced his way rapidly but cautiously toward the juncture of the two highroads. Purposing through this simple stratagem,should chance favor him, to have a look at his pursuing enemies.
The young knight enjoyed a quiet laugh at his own expense when he discovered that his flying battalion of horsemen had narrowed down to one, and that one, de Claverlok. His rugged profile was set fair against the enormous face of the moon, as he drew to a stand not above a dozen feet from where Sir Richard lay concealed. Distinctly the young knight could see his grizzled head, a silhouette of black against a yellow circle, showing as clear and clean cut as a finely chiseled statue.
It was easy to gather that de Claverlok was in two minds whether to go straight ahead, or to turn to his left into the forking roadway. Now he was inclining his head in a listening attitude. From away in the distance, and ever so faintly, came the clatter of the galloping hoofs of a single horseman. This sound set an instant period to the grizzled knight's perplexity. Forthwith he turned his charger's head straight to the northward, and in a flash was spurring furiously from the vicinity of the bushes where Sir Richard lay hidden.
Keeping well in the brush, the young knight waited till the noise of de Claverlok's flight had merged within the solemn quiet of the night; then, returning to where he had tethered his horse, he led him to the highway, mounted, and, after somewhat of a less impetuous fashion than before again resumed his lonely journey.
He had ample leisure thereafter to indulge himself in meditation. Indeed the young knight was enjoying his first quiet interval since his entrance into the Red Tavern and his meeting with Tyrrell, whom he still regarded as nothing more than a most extraordinary inn-keeper. Again his mind reverted to the maiden; he recalled with a thrill of pleasure her soft whisper, and the kiss through the wall. He thought of the bit of cloth and the note, and immediately grew less lonely than before. They yielded him a sweet companionship that he was quite willing to accept without attempting to define. Through his ardent maze of speculation, however, Nature obtruded with her realities, and he became conscious of the keen, frost-laden air, and of his fatigue and hunger. He was ready to admit that the twinklinglights of an inn would have afforded him a most welcome and agreeable sight.
Sir Richard was destined to be denied this pleasing spectacle, as he had now ridden as far as discretion allowed without glimpsing a sign of a habitable shelter. But as he drew clear of the forest he caught sight of a hut that stood not far from the road within an open meadow. He rode up to it, discovering it to be an abandoned shepherd's dwelling, bleak, uninviting, and dreary. Between this and the cosy corner of an inn abounding in appetizing odors was something of a far cry to be sure. But it was the best that seemed likely to offer for the night; and, desolate, lonely, and utterly cheerless as it was, he nevertheless gave thanks for the mere rude thatch that would at least protect him from the tingling air. A rough lean-to had been constructed against the side of the hut beneath which he secured his horse, a great armful of half-dried grass serving for the animal's feed. Once inside the hovel, by tearing out a plank or two from the rotting floor and disposing them within the rude fireplace he soon contrived to kindle a blaze that warmed him pleasantly to sleep.
So fatigued was he that, in despite of his hunger and thirst, his slumber was of the soundest. Perhaps the assurance that he would likely awaken in the same spot where he had closed his eyes contributed its mite to his comfort of mind and body. At all events he remained undisturbed till well along in the morning. When he aroused himself and opened his eyes the slanting rays of the sun were falling fair upon them through the sashless window that opened upon a fairylike view of hill and forest. He was stretching and yawning himself more fully awake when he was startled suddenly into that condition by a huge shadow moving across the devastated floor. He looked once; then, rubbing his thoroughly surprised eyes, looked again.
Upon the sagged doorsill sat the ubiquitous de Claverlok. He seemed quite unaware of the young knight's awakening, being busily intent upon the burnishing of his helmet, and cocking his grizzled head drolly from one shoulder to the other the while he held his gleaming bonnet at arm's length the better to view and admire the result of his lusty rubbing. The glittering top-piece, catching a ray of the sun, shunted itstraight into Sir Richard's dazzled eyes. For a second or two thereafter he could see nothing above a brilliant splotch of red, with the massive outline of de Claverlok looming gigantic in its center.
When he was recovered of his transitory blindness, he made a hasty examination of the wall against which he had constructed his bed of leaves and boughs. Saving for a narrow vent-hole set high above the floor, and in the corner of the room farthest from where he was lying, it was unpierced by door or window. Sir Richard could not restrain a smile of quiet amusement as he thought of the famous prank he might have played upon the unconquerable old warrior had there been a sufficient opening near at hand to give exit to his body.
As it was, ... "Well!" he shouted at de Claverlok upon a sudden, and at the very limit of his lungs.
Deliberately, and with the most impassive unconcern, the grizzled knight set his helmet upon his head.
"Give thee a right good-morrow, Sir Richard," said he, smiling broad and friendlywiseover his shoulder. "Judging from the quality of thy slumber, I should say that thy conscience is mightily clear and babelike, ... eh?"
"Clearer it should be than thine, ... leech!" Sir Richard retorted. "Much am I perplexed over thy presence within this hut this morning. Methought that yester eve I had bade thee adieu for all."
"Aye, ... and good quittance, well riddance, thou didst think, ... eh? But thou wert remiss, my son, in not bethinking thee to yield me a parting handclasp. I am come to remind thee of thy discourteous oversight, and, what's better, to offer thee wherewith to break thy fast."
"Thou dost but mock mine hunger, de Claverlok, which is most ill beseeming from an unbidden guest within my door."
"Pooh, pooh! guest within thy door, indeed. 'Tis thou who art jesting now, ... eh! But, i' truth, I am not mocking thee, sir knight," protested de Claverlok. "Why, thinkest thou that these bonnie plains and downs are barren of grain and fowl, ... eh? Or that my hand and tongue have lost their cunning? But, tellme, my good Sir Richard, art indeed bereft of thy nostrils?"
When the young knight raised himself upon his elbow he became aware of the appetizing odor of a roasting fowl, which had not quite dropped to the level of his reclining head. In the fireplace behind him he saw that it had all along been sizzling upon an improvised spit, and that beside it there was an iron pot that was sending its cloud of steam merrily up the deep black throat of the chimney.
"I observe," said Sir Richard, rising and going to the door, "that thou art ever thoughtful of the inner man. But, withal, de Claverlok, I like thee right well, and were it not that thou hast designed to constitute thyself my guardian and captor, full gladly would I call thee friend."
"Your hand, Sir Dick, and let us say 'tis so. Your good friend and true have I been since first I clapt my eyes upon your fresh and open countenance, ... eh! By Saint Dunstan, but I wish that I dared tell you a thing or twain as to the reason for my guardianship," he added fervently. "That I am such is the fault of an untoward circumstance of which for the presentyou must perforce remain ignorant. That I am your captor, ... well," he laughed, "and whose fault is 't, ... eh? You were a free man but yester night, my boy."
"Aye," returned Sir Richard; "and ill did I conduct the business of eluding you. But, marry, man! Here's my hand of friendship, for as friend I insist upon regarding you—and not captor—my good de Claverlok."
Smiling broadly, the grizzled knight grasped and heartily shook the young knight's proffered hand.
"From this old tongue," said he, "you shall hear no denial of your claim. But a truce to soft sayings, ... eh? The fowl doth cry aloud from yon spit. The ale is mulled to that degree of perfection where it would tickle the palate of Epicurus himself. The air is growing heavy with the fragrance of toasting cheese. Let us, I pray you, break our fasts and be off. Our journey doth stretch long before us, and the day grows apace."
They thereupon sat down together upon the doorsill, the hollow of de Claverlok's broad and scrupulously burnished shield serving as salverfor the meat, bread and cheese. They took turns at the ale out of the mouth of the earthen jug beside them. When they had finished breakfasting, they went to the lean-to and made ready their horses.
"Do our ways diverge at yonder road?" carelessly asked Sir Richard, as he swung himself into his saddle. "Or shall I be so fortunate as to have you for my companion during a part of my journey?"
"Well, ... by the sun that warms us! Marry, but you are a refreshing youth!" exclaimed de Claverlok, adjusting his breast-plate and gathering his buckler over his left arm. "An I wot my name, Sir Richard, you are to journey wherever I lead, ... eh!"
"Be in a hurry then, my friend," suggested the young knight pleasantly, but firmly, "to become again acquainted with yourself. I go my own way, sir, e'en an my sword or lance must reckon with the hindrance."
By this time the grizzled warrior was seated in his saddle, and had gathered his reins in his hand for the start.
"Which direction is it your wish to travel, myson, ... eh?" he inquired, making as if to submit to Sir Richard's desire.
Withdrawing a chart out of the wallet dangling from his baldric, and making note of the position of the sun and the length of the shadows, the young knight indicated, without speaking, a point midway between north and northwest upon the glowing line of the sky and hill.
"By 'r Lady!" exclaimed de Claverlok, causing his armor to jingle with the heartiness of his laughter, "but I am fair sorry that you are not ignorant of every trick of travel-lore and wood-craft, else might I have conducted you to a place not so imminently dangerous to your handsome——" He ended the sentence by touching his head and sweeping his hand in a circular motion around the base of his corded neck.
"Methinks 'tis an easy hazard," returned Sir Richard lightly; "and I have made choice of accepting it. The choice was made for me before I started, I should have said. An our ways lie together, though, friend de Claverlok, mayhap you would spare the time to show me how to pick up a trail by moonlight. 'Tis a right pretty trick—andafter flying after a false scent, too. A right pretty trick."
"Yea—and the very devil's own time had I to compass it. What with the going astray, and the getting down on my knees in the dust, I had scarce an hour's rest between the welcome sight of you asleep within the hut and sunrise, ... eh! I wot you were watching me beside the road near the fork, for I saw your marks along the thornhedge. A right nice prank that was to play on an old campaigner, ... eh? And am I a night-capped grand-dam, think you, to lose that which has cost me so much to gain? I'll be damned, Sir Dick, an you are not this moment my captive, ... eh!"
"Right glad am I to claim you friend, de Claverlok," maintained Sir Richard, guiding his horse toward the highway; "but I must deny you the right to call yourself my captor. My first escape was an honorable one, effected through force of arms. An I must escape again, let it be in the same manner. Though much do I regret that our friendship should end thus. I leave to thee, sir knight, the choice of weapons."
"Fiends and furies fly away with every kind ofweapon!" roared de Claverlok; "an they are to be wielded between you and me. Would I be keeping my knightly vow by spitting you upon my lance's head, ... eh? By the Rood! You would tempt me to set myself in a class with that foul toad, the Renegade Duke, ... eh? Ah! but how I did laugh to see him kicking and cursing amidst the thorns. I would you had put an end to him, Sir Dick. Yesterday, an I wot myself, began a tale of black treachery, my young friend, to which the false head of that court dandy shall furnish an appropriate and bloody period."
By this time they had come to the road where, as though by common consent, they reined to a halt for further parley.
"An you refuse to give me battle, de Claverlok," said Sir Richard a trifle impatiently, "you must permit me to take my own way, as I am determined not to go yours, unless indeed it be in a helpless and disabled condition, and trussed fast to the back of your barb. How say you, sir knight?"
"How say I, ... eh?" muttered the grizzled warrior within his curly beard. "What can Isay, would be more to the point, it would appear. The hungry vultures, I'll swear, would be the only gainers from a tilt at arms between us. And beshrew me, Sir Dick, an I am of a mind to strew the sward with your precious body. As for mine—well—I am not so partial to vultures as to wish to feast them upon my carcase. But tell me," he added, looking keenly into the young knight's eyes, "why are you so stubbornly determined upon making your way into Castle Yewe; can it be that Douglas is your friend, ... eh? You know full well that you have not the King's paper."
"And a right sorry moment it was for me when I permitted it to be stolen," returned Sir Richard with an angry frown. "Aye—it is true that I cannot now deliver the original, but I have a copy, my shrewd friend—a copy, hear you? And I mean to place it within Lord Douglas's hand as swiftly as my steed can bear me within the sallyport of Yewe. Was your hand, de Claverlok, concerned in the purloining of the original?" he finished sharply.
"Nay—not mine. A copy say you, ... eh? God! what a mess of pottage is this! You couldnot be prevailed upon to rip this parchment open and read its contents, ...?"
"Well, by my soul! What says the man!" exclaimed Sir Richard indignantly. "Friend or no friend, de Claverlok, another word from you upon that score and there'll be an end of peace between us"; whereupon, urging his horse into a swinging canter, he set off in the general direction of Castle Yewe.
"So, ... lead on, Sir Dick!" shouted the grizzled warrior, setting spurs to his mount's side and quickly galloping beside Sir Richard. "I am at once your captor and your slave. Your follower and your guide. Saint Dunstan grant me the strength to keep your foolish head from harm. And when you're done with thrusting yourself into hornet's nests, ... eh! then shall I be waiting to lead you to a place of temporary peace and safety."
"Temporary safety?" queried Sir Richard. "What mean you by that, de Claverlok?"
"'Twill be but temporary," the young knight's companion asserted warningly. "There are many things that this moment must seem full strange to you, ... eh? Yea—but, an I can keepyour head upon your shoulders through this wild adventure, it will be but to yield you into another hornet's nest awaiting you in the end," he finished somberly.
Thegrizzled knight's prophecy of an evil time yet to come provided the young knight with much material for thought, without, however, worrying him in the least. He was unable to surmise even remotely what dire happening it was meant to foretell. Sir Richard was without vaulting ambitions to achieve distinction or power; had never been entangled in any political movement; or concerned in any conspiracies; or acquainted, so far as he was aware, with the instigators of them. He had always held carefully aloof from matters pertaining to the more serious business of Henry's court. Seeking only to gather the full measure of enjoyment out of life, it had always been his wish, withal, to be regarded as an efficient soldier and faithful and obedient servant of his king. In his earnest desire to shine among the chivalric lights of histime, he brought up at the point of being dreamily visionary. Why he was thus suddenly become the center of a dizzying maelstrom of mysterious occurrences was quite beyond him to fathom; but he was none the less keen in his enjoyment of the situation, its inscrutability appealing forcibly to his imagination.
As he rode onward beside his captor-companion, he gave frequent verbal expression to the questions perplexing him, but without exception de Claverlok's replies were the embodiment of remoteness. He was open, however, in his references to the perils that surely awaited Sir Richard inside the walls of Yewe. His warnings were poured into unheeding ears, as the thought uppermost in Sir Richard's mind was to reach there as quickly as his horse could accomplish the journey. The veteran warrior had been revolving in his mind the subject of his oath of secrecy made to Tyrrell, and whether it involved the keeping of the contents of Henry's warrant from its bearer. He concluded finally to make use of every other means that came to hand to keep his young friend, for whom he was already entertaining a sentiment of real affection, from delivering the parchmentto Douglas. Failing of success, he would, as a last resort, expose the duplicity of the King by laying bare the purport of the document.
"I have your word, de Claverlok," Sir Richard interrupted the warrior's thoughts, "that you are well acquainted with the country hereabouts?"
"Yea—that I am, Sir Dick."
"Tell me then," the young knight inquired, "how many leagues is it from here to Yewe?"
"Marry, and is it true you do not know, ... eh?" returned the grizzled knight, shooting a shrewd interrogative glance in the direction of his companion.
"Not I. An I had, my friend, I had not besought your information," said Sir Richard.
"Aye—eh! Most truly said. Well," de Claverlok replied, hesitating while he made a count upon his fingers, "not above two days' journey, I should say," he glibly misled his companion.
"So far as that? Well, by my faith! I wish you had said not above two hours," remarked Sir Richard regretfully. "But how see you, my friend," he thereupon added, pointing his finger directly ahead of them down the road; "an I mistakeme not, in yonder valley beside the fork of the road doth set an inn?"
"Aye—that it is. The good Stag and Hounds; right well do I know its jovial keeper. There, Sir Dick, may we dine, drink our fill, and while away a pleasant hour in reading out of your Tales of—of——"
"Canterbury, do you mean?" suggested Sir Richard.
"Canterbury—aye, of a truth, that's it, my young friend. Beshrew me an I have not the devil's own time with remembering names, ... eh! You have this Canterbury business within your saddle-pouch, I heard you say. I would hear you read somewhat out of it, ... eh!"
"This fondness of yours for written tales is certes something of a recent acquirement," laughed Sir Richard. "Only this morning, an I remember me aright, did you scoff at my keeping it beside me; yea—and did heap scathing ridicule upon the head of the scholar, Erasmus, when I spoke of my admiration for him."
"I did but say," protested the grizzled knight in all seriousness, "that the scholar's nose was an uncommon long member, ... eh! And thathis bookish business made him to be devilishly thin and pallid. I have a strong liking for tales, let me tell you that, Sir Dick. You'll read me out of them, ... eh?"
"Sorry I am to deny you, my good friend," the young knight replied, "but I dare not steal the time from the doing of my errand. I shall but tarry in the Stag and Hounds to feed and rest my barb. But here's a challenge for you, de Claverlok," he added, gathering his loose reins well within his grasp. "The last man to dismount before the steps of the tavern shall foot up score for horse and man. What say you? Come, my hearty warrior, show me the vaunted mettle of your steed!"
"I have you, Sir Dick!" instantly agreed the grizzled knight; whereupon they started off together, with dust and pebbles flying thick in their train from the swiftness of their flight.
De Claverlok's animal was exceptionally deep-breasted and powerful, and a near match for Sir Richard's in speed. For quite a distance they clipped it neck and neck along the road. About midway between them and the goal against which they were flinging there rode a solitary horseman.He was garbed in the habit of a monk, with the cowl drawn well down over his head. The mad volleying of hoofs caused the rider to uncover, as the racers drew near, and shoot a glance of wonderment in their direction. Even with the fleeting view thus afforded him, Sir Richard remarked that the rugged, lean, and livid-scarred countenance appeared singularly incongruous within the brown frame of a monk's hood. It was like anything but that of a peace-loving ascetic. So intent was the young knight upon winning his race, however, that he failed to notice the unusually sharp angles where the robe fell away from the horseman's knees and elbows. Neither was he sufficiently acute to observe that his rapidly forging to the fore of de Claverlok was coincident with the swift uplifting of the traveler's cowl.
He swept on down to the door of the Stag and Hounds, and reining his stallion to its haunches beneath the creaking sign that hung above it, he flung himself from off his saddle in time to see the monk look rather hastily back toward the tavern, mark the stations of the cross in the air with exaggerated gestures above de Claverlok's bowedhead, and disappear at a round gallop over the hill.
The grizzled knight then rode leisurely down to where Sir Richard stood waiting for him, his rugged face beaming with smiles.
"Your barb's hoofs spurned the earth too swiftly for us to bear him company," said he, dismounting beside the young knight, "so I yielded to you the palm of speed, and added to the total of my score by tossing yon pious churchman a noble. Mayhap I may be the gainer through achieving absolution from divers of my recent sins, ... eh? What, ho there, MacWhuddy!" he shouted at the inn-keeper, who was smiling, rubbing his pudgy hands together, and bowing within the door. "Send thy groom, MacWhuddy, and have me these barbs fed and curried whilst we have somewhat of your best to eat and drink. By my soul, MacWhuddy, but thou'rt growing of a size," he went on in a robustious way after the groom had come forward to relieve them of their horses. "Bigger and fatter than ever, ... eh? 'Tis a right healthful business, this keeping of an inn, ... eh? Nothing but eat and drink, and drink and eatfrom day's end to day's end, and trade jokes from the benchside with the toiling traveler that gorges thy till. When I get me done with this fighting, I'll have me a tavern with a warm corner, a soft seat, and a full flagon ever at hand, ... eh! Sir Dick?"
"I could never picture you, my pugnacious friend, without your ready sword and buckler," laughed the young knight. "But make haste, MacWhuddy," he added, turning toward the inn-keeper. "We would quickly bait ourselves and be away upon our travels. Hold! one moment, my good fellow. Cannot you tell me whether this road leads to Castle Yewe? and how many leagues——"
"Pooh—pooh!" interrupted de Claverlok loudly. "And what doth MacWhuddy know, pray, ... eh? Why, by my faith, scarce his own name, Sir Dick! Saint Dunstan hear me, an he keeps him not his scores upon a notched stick, I'll eat him for a flitch of bacon. Get you gone, MacWhuddy," he roared, when the puzzled inn-keeper made as if to protest. "Bring in the meat, MacWhuddy, and not a word out of your blessed pate, or I'll roll you like one of yourown wine butts through yon door, MacWhuddy, ... eh!"
"I wish that you would have expended your wasted energies in bidding the fellow make haste," said Sir Richard, who was much mystified by his companion's sudden display of irritability.
"Haste? He'll make haste, will MacWhuddy—he's built for 't, ... eh?" observed de Claverlok with a dry laugh. "But where's the blessed groom, ... eh? I would have him to—ah! here he comes now. Hey, you, fellow;" he called to the hostler, who was just about to set his foot inside the door, "bring us a book you'll find in the left saddle pouch upon the back of the black horse. Why stand you there twirling your cap and mouthing like a drunken tarry-Jack, ... eh? Fetch us the book, I say!"
"I canna un'erstan' thee, worshipful marster," mumbled the thoroughly frightened menial. "What are a bo-o-ke, good sir? Be it some'at to eat, or some'at to drink—or some'at f'r th' hoorses, mayhap?"
"Well, by Saint Dunstan! Know you not what a book is, ... eh?" roared the grizzledknight, springing up from his seat beside a table and starting for the dumfounded groom. "I'll have the flat of my sword at your hinder quarters for a doddering void-pate!" whereupon, with a great show of anger, he made through the door in a furious pursuit of the innocent offender. "A book, I tell you—" Sir Richard could hear de Claverlok having it out with the groom in the yard; "a handful of paper with a board stuck fast upon each end—do you hear me, ... eh?"
The noise died away presently. Sir Richard supposed that his mercurial companion was engaged in rummaging for the book; but the grizzled knight had beckoned the inn-keeper to his side and was threatening him with every description of chastisement if he but dared to intimate to his young friend within the location or distance of Castle Yewe.
"An the sir knight asks me again, what shall I tell him?" queried the landlord.
"Oh, anything, MacWhuddy, and be damned to you! Anything but the truth."
When de Claverlok came into the tap-room he was puffing and blowing at a tremendous rateand carrying the vellum-bound volume under his arm.
"Come now, Sir Dick," he started off in a wheedling tone, "read me one of these tales of—oh—how say you that name again, ... eh?"
"De Claverlok," observed Sir Richard dryly, "your love of literature has grown to be of an intensity indeed. But your laggard memory halts and stumbles and plays traitor by refusing to keep pace with it. I have said before, my zealous friend, that it would ill beseem me to tarry here in idle reading. Nay—another time, good scholar. Another time! Another time! Here comes our host's pretty daughter with the meat and drink. Let us refresh ourselves quickly and be away."
"Then," said de Claverlok, "I'll return the book to its place within your——"
As he spoke he arose from his stool, and just at the moment when the serving-maid was about to set the platter upon the table. They collided violently, scattering the food and wine over the sanded floor.
De Claverlok wheeled, straightened, set his hands upon his hips, and with a look as thoughall the world was conspiring to do him injury, regarded the cowering, half-tearful maid.
"Well—what fiend's in this blessed place, ... eh?" he bellowed. "Look you at this mess upon the floor, you awkward body! And here the sir knight yonder is fair aching to be upon his way. An you wore not kirtles, I'd have the flat of my hand at your ears for a blundering dunce, ... eh!"
The serving-maid turned an appealing glance in Sir Richard's direction.
"I'll fetch thee more, sir knight," she said. "In truth, I meant not to spill the things, noble sir."
"Fret not yourself, good maid," said Sir Richard kindly. "Nay—I wot well it was not your fault. I fear me my friend has been struck with some fearsome sickness. He was not always thus. You may go, maid. But bring not the food—I dare not wait. Indeed, I was not over keen to eat. A slice of bread from your hand before I get me in the saddle is all I crave."
"That shalt thou have," said the maid with returning spirit, starting for the kitchen door, "and a bit of toasted cheese to keep it company."
"Upon my soul, de Claverlok," remonstrated Sir Richard, "your temper is growing to be something unbearable. 'Twas not the wench's fault that the food was overturned. You backed your great body square against the platter, leaving her no room for escape on either side. You've had your quarrel with our host, who seems, in sooth, a right peaceable and merry fellow; you berated the groom, and glowered upon the kitchen-maid—with whom will you brawl next, my friend?"
"Why, with you, an you stay not here to eat and drink," retorted de Claverlok.
"Then let the fun begin," said the young knight, starting for the rear door that gave to the court and stables. "Not another moment do I tarry here. An you are coming with me—come."
De Claverlok could do nothing but follow, the which he did with obvious reluctance. Once outside, they ran plump into the inn-keeper, who was all at sea whether to smile and pass the usual joke, or to keep his eyes fastened discreetly upon his broad expanse of doublet. Sir Richard, however, allowed him no choice of alternatives. Hestopped him, setting his hand firmly upon the landlord's round shoulder.
"When my friend interrupted," said the young knight, "you were about to tell me the distance and direction of Castle Yewe—is it not so?"
MacWhuddy cast a sheepish look in the direction of de Claverlok, who was scowling fiercely and shaking his fist behind Sir Richard's back.
"'Tis in some'at of that way," he replied, "ower there," waving his trembling hands to the eastward; "some, ... oh! near—I say near, mind thee, worshipful knight, ... near twenty—thirty leagues."
According to that, Sir Richard would have been required to travel some distance out upon the open sea.
De Claverlok strode toward the stable, muttering savage oaths against the stupidity of innkeepers in general, and poor MacWhuddy in particular. Meanwhile, the serving-maid, bread and cheese in hand, was beckoning the young knight from the kitchen window.
"Here is thy bit food, sir knight," she said, as Sir Richard took his station beneath the casement upon which she was leaning. "CastleYewe," she added in a whisper, "doth lie straight along this road in the way thou wert traveling, and not above six leagues. Turn to thy right where the road forks in front of the inn. Often, on a clear day, from yonder hill, have I seen its lofty turrets. Good fortune attend thee, sir noble knight," she concluded, laying her hand, which was just out of a pan of flour, upon his shoulder, "and beware of the brute with the beard on thy way—he means harm to thee, I fear."
When Sir Richard came, whistling a merry tune, into the stable, de Claverlok was making a great show of rage, cursing and boxing the poor stable-boy's ears.
"What now, my friend?" asked the young knight as he went on past the struggling pair toward his horse.
"What now, ... eh?" roared de Claverlok; "why, here has this young cub gone and mislaid your saddle girth! A murrain upon the loutish tribe, say I! and you in a sweat to be off, too. I'll——"
"Have done berating the boy, de Claverlok," said Sir Richard. "Now tell me, man, what haveyoudone with that girth? I know exactly wherelies Castle Yewe, and I wish to ride within its sallyport without further parley or delay. What have you done with my girth, I say?"