With the Black Prince

CHAPTER III. THE EARL AND THE ESQUIRE. "Heaven guard him!" she murmured. "But he can not gain too well the hearts of the old race. They be hard-headed men and slow to choose a leader, but they are strong in a fray. I would the tallest of the forest deerslayers should go shoulder to shoulder with my son into the king's battles." So she gazed until the pair of horsemen disappeared along the road; then she descended a flight of stairs and walked to the end of a corridor. Here was a door that opened into a high vaulted chamber, at the far end of which were candles burning before an altar and a crucifix. This was the chapel of the castle, and Lady Maud's feet bore her on, more and more slowly, until she sank upon her knees at the altar rail and sobbed aloud. Well away now, up the valley, northward, rode Richard Neville and Guy the Bow, but they were no longer in any road marked by wheels of wains. They had left the highway for a narrow bridle path that was leading them into the forest. "My Lord of Wartmont," said the archer, "I pray thee mark well the way as thou goest. Chance might be that thou shouldst one day travel it alone. Put thou thine axe to the bark of a tree, now and then, and let it be a mark of thine own, not like that of another. I think no man of knightly race now liveth who could guide thee, going or coming." In an instant Richard's battle-axe was in his hand, and a great oak had received a mark of a double cross. "There hangeth a shield in the gallery of the armory," he said, "that is blazoned in this wise. It is said that a good knight brought it home from Spain, in the old wars. Well is it dinted, too, in proof that it fended the blows of strong fighters. It is thrust through and it is cloven." "Mayhap in frays with the heathen," said Guy. "A sailor, once, at Portsmouth, one of our own kin, told me rare tales of the Moors that he had seen in the Spanish seas. He told me of men that were black as a sloe; but it is hard to believe, for what should blacken any man? He had seen a whale, too, and a shark three fathoms long. There be wonders beyond seas." "And beyond them all is the end of the world," said Richard, "but the ships do not venture that far to their ruin." So more and more companionlike and brotherly grew the young lord and the forester, as they rode on together, and it seemed to please Guy well both to loosen his own tongue and to ask many questions concerning matters of which little telling had ever yet come in among the forests of Arden. The day waned and the path wound much, and there was increasing gloom among the trees and thickets, when Guy turned suddenly to Richard. "Put down thy visor," he said sharply, "and draw thy sword. We are beset! Sling thy lance behind thee, and get thee down upon thy feet. This is no place to sit upon a horse and be made a mark of." The actions of both were suited to the word on the instant, but hardly was Richard's helmet closed before an arrow struck him on the crest. But that he had been forewarned, it had smitten him through the face. "Outlaws!" said Guy. "Robbers—not our own men. How they came here I know not. Down, quickly!" Even as he spoke, however, his bow twanged loudly, and a cry went up from a dense copse beyond them. "One!" he shouted, and he and Richard sprang lightly to the earth. "Well my sword was out!" said the latter as he gained his feet, for bounding toward him were half a dozen wild shapes carrying blade and buckler. "Down with them!" roared the foremost of the assailants; but Guy the Bow was in front of him, and in his hand was a poleaxe from Wartmont armory. It was a fearful weapon in the hands of such a man as he, to whom its weight was as a splinter. It flashed and fell, and the lifted buckler before it might as well have been an eggshell for all the protection it gave to the bare head of the robber. He should have worn a helmet, but he would never more need cap of any kind. Useless, too, was the light blade that glinted next upon the shield of Richard, for it made no mark, while its giver went down with a thigh wound, struck below his buckler. On swept the terrible blows of the poleaxe, and Guy had no man to meet but was nearly a head shorter than himself. "They are all down!" he shouted. "Mount, my Lord of Wartmont; they in the copse have fled, but there may be more at hand. We will ride hard now. These are thieves from Lancashire, and they have not been heard of in these parts for many a day. I think they have been harried out of their own nests. They are but wolves." "What kin are they?" asked Richard, as he regained his saddle. "That I know not, nor do I know their speech," replied Guy. "But among them are no tall men nor many good bows. Ben o' Coventry hath been told by a monk from those parts that they are a kind of old Welsh that were left when the first King Edward smote their tribe to death. They will live in no town, nor will they obey any law, nor keep troth with any. But the monk told Ben that they were not heathen, and among them were men who could talk Latin like a priest. How that could be I know not." "Nor I," said Richard; "but I tell thee, Guy the Bow, I like this war of the king's with France. We shall cross the sea, and we shall look upon strange lands and towns. I would not bide aye at Wartmont. I would see the world." "That would not I," laughed Guy, "but if the king winneth battles and taketh towns there will be spoils to bring home. I will come back to own land and cattle, and thou canst build again thy castle walls and maintain thy state. I saw a piece of gold once." "There is little enough of gold in England," said Richard; but the path was narrowing and they could no longer gallop abreast. Not far had they pushed on, however, before Guy drew his rein and turned upon his galloway to say, in a hushed voice: "My Lord of Wartmont, I dare not sound a horn. I pray thee dismount and come after me through the hazels. I know not of peril, but we need to go lightly." "Aye," returned Richard, as he dropped from the saddle nimbly enough considering his arms. "I am with thee." Path there seemed to be none in that dim light, but ere long, as he followed his guide, the hazel bushes on either side opened widely and before him spread a grassy level. Only that the grass was too luxuriant and that here and there were rushes, it might have seemed a pleasant glade. "'Tis the southerly arm," said Guy, "of the great moss of Arden. There is little more of it till you get leagues north of this. Oh, but it's deep and fateful. He who steppeth into it cometh not up." "What do we, then?" asked Richard. "That which few may dare," replied Guy with one of his brave laughs. "But a piece onward and I will show thee. Here might be barred an army." "That might they," said Richard, staring across the treacherous green level, below which, Guy told him, there was no bottom. Beyond were shadowy lines that told of forest growths, and these were nearer as they led their horses onward. "A bridge!" exclaimed Richard, as he caught a glimpse of a mass of logs and planks. "Is there crossing?" "None but what the men of the woods can take away before dawn," said Guy. "It is a bridge that some have crossed who came not back again. I pray thee, speak not save in old Saxon. 'Tis the only tongue that may be heard inside o' the moss of Arden." Richard spoke not aloud, but he was saying much in his thoughts. "This, then, is the reason why the sheriff of Warwickshire had missed finding many that were traced to the forest. The takers of the king's deer know where to hide their venison. But even on this bridge a few axemen could hold back a troop. Yonder bushes could hide archery. He would be a bold captain, or crack-brained, who would lead men upon this narrow way." The woodwork trembled somewhat with the weight of the two horses and the men, but it bore them well enough. "Hail, thou!" came hoarsely from among the shadows as they reached the farther bank. "Come well. Thou hast him with thee." "Greet them in Saxon," whispered Guy, and he also responded loudly: "Hail, men, all! Is Ben o' Coventry with ye? This is Richard of Wartmont, with the king's word in his mouth. I gave him safe conduct, and his mother sendeth ye good greeting." Something like a cheer arose from several voices, but the speakers were unseen until Guy and Richard had passed on many paces into the forest. Even then only dark and silent forms walked with them, and there were gleams of bright spearheads before them and behind. "Every man hath his bow and his buckler," thought Richard, "and most of them are sturdy fellows. The king hath need of such. It is said that the outland men are smaller in the bones." It was the prevailing opinion among the English of that day that one of their own was equivalent to four Frenchmen, and they counted as French nearly all of the dwellers beyond the Channel, except the Hollanders and the Danes, or Norsemen. The Norway folk were also, by the greater part, counted as Danes, and were believed to be hard fighters. So, among the country folk, still lingered the traditions of the ancient days, when Knut and his vikings had swept the coast and conquered the island. It was a walk of a league, and there was some talking by the way, but the men all seemed in haste and they strode rapidly. Then they were greeted by loud shouting, and Richard saw a red light grow beyond the trees. "Here is cleared land," was his next thought, "and yonder is a balefire. Ho! In the king's name, what is this? Are there strongholds hidden among the woods?" Before him, as he went forward, was an open area which may have contained hundreds of acres. He could see broad reaches of it by the glaring light of a huge heap of burning wood, a few score yards from the edge of the forest. Beyond the fire, as much farther, he could discern the outlines of a large building, and, even more distinctly, a long line of palisades in front of it. "My lord," said Guy, "yonder is the hidden ward in Arden. If any that are great of thy kinsmen ever heard of it, they told thee not. There was thy mother fended, and there thy father lay long days, when Earl Mortimer's men were seeking his head. Thou art welcome, only let thy lips be as our own concerning our hold. It will be kept well should strangers come." Richard glanced at the rugged forms around him, and at many more that were walking hither and thither in the firelight. All were armed, and he could well believe that they would make Guy's word good for him. They crowded around as he drew near, and there was an increasing heartiness in their manner and words as he continually replied to them in the forgotten tongue. He knew not of gypsies, or the thought might have come to him that these half-outlaws, every man a deerslayer, under the ban of the stern forest laws, had need, as had the Romany or "Bohemians" as they were called, to possess a speech of their own. It was a protection, inasmuch as it aided them in detecting intruders and in secretly communicating with each other. There seemed to be no chief man, no captain, but all stood on a kind of rude equality, save that much deference was paid to Guy the Bow. "Right on to the house, if it please thee, my lord," he said. "It is late, and there is roast venison waiting. Thou mayest well be hungered. Is all ready, Ben o' Coventry?" "All that's to be eaten," responded Ben, "but the talking with the men must be done on the morrow. They from the upper woods are not in. It was well to slay the Lancashire thieves. Some have gone out after what thou and he did leave. They may not tell tales of aught they have seen in Arden." A few words more of explanation informed Richard that he was there sooner than had been expected, and he was quite willing to let his wild entertainers have their own way. "I would see all," he said, "and talk to all at once." "There might be jealousies," whispered Guy. "Thou doest wisely. Here is the gate." A vast oaken portal heavily strengthened with iron swung open in the line of the bristling palisades while he was speaking. There was a moat, of course, with a bridge of planks to the gate, over which Richard and those who were with him went in. The inclosure beyond was large, and in it was blazing more than one log heap, the better to light up the buildings. Some would have called it a grange, if there had not been so much of it, for there were more houses than one, all grouped, attached or built on to a central structure. There was no masonry, but the woodwork was exceedingly heavy and strong. If there were more than one story to the grange, it must have been hidden under the high-pitched roofs, for there were no upper windows. Such of these as could be seen below were all closed with heavy swing shutters, nor was there any chimney on any roof. This was the manner in which the West Saxons of Harold's time builded the palaces of their chiefs and earls. CHAPTER III. THE EARL AND THE ESQUIRE. When Lady Maud Neville arose from her knees at the altar rail there was a beautiful light upon her noble face. Her long, white hair had fallen around her shoulders, but for some reason she seemed to have grown younger. "I will give him to the king!" she loudly exclaimed. "I have prayed that my son may be as was his father, a knight without a stain. But here I may not tarry. It were better I made ready for a journey even ere I sleep, for when Richard returneth there will be haste. There is much that I would not leave behind. I will load no wain with goods, but the pack beasts will bear full panniers." She walked out of the chapel and her serving men and maidens met her, eager to do her bidding. After that there were chambers and storerooms to visit and coffers to open and packs to bind, for she was not ill supplied with the garments that were suited to her rank, and above all there were small caskets of dark wood that were not opened. It was said that there were gems and jewels in Wartmont, and the saying may have reached the ears of such as Clod the Club to bring him thither. If so, well was it that he and his would never come again. Ever and anon, however, as the good lady passed a window, she would pause and look out toward the forest, as if in that direction there might be some one that she longed to see. Day waned and the night came on, and all preparations appeared to be completed, for again she visited the chapel before retiring to her chamber. Long since had the great gate been closed, and the portcullis lowered and the bridge over the moat drawn in. Now, at last, the curfew bell sounded from the tower and the lights in castle and village went out, save one bronze lamp that still burned in that corner of the keep to which the lady herself had retreated. It was a large room and lofty, with twain of narrow windows that were as if for archers to ply their arrows through them rather than for lighting the space within. The floor was strewn with dry rushes for luxury, and the garnishing was such as became the mistress of Wartmont. Heavily carved, of oak, were the tables and the high-backed chairs and the settles. The mirror over the chest of drawers must have come from Venice itself. There were curtains at the windows and around the high-post bedstead which might have been woven in Flanders or Normandy, for none such could be made in England. The walls were wainscoted to the height of a man's shoulder, but there were no tapestries to tell of great wealth. It was as if in this place of retirement had been preserved all that remained of the broken prosperity of this branch of the great house of Neville. The lady slept not, nor even looked at the bed, but sank into a great cushioned chair and seemed to be lost in thought. No words escaped her lips although much time went by. There was no hand to turn the hourglass on the bureau near her, nor could she have known at what hour she was startled to her feet. Loud rang the summoning sound of a clarion at the great gate, and louder was the sudden answer of the alarum bell in the tower. She was at a window ere she knew, and she heard a shouting: "Open, O ye of Wartmont! In the king's name! It is John Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick. Is our lord the prince within?" "Open will we right gladly," sent back the warder at the gate. "But the prince and my Lord of Maunay rode on to Warwick in the morn." "Saints preserve them!" uttered another voice. "But we must needs come in. Bid the Lady Maud rest. I will trouble her not until day." "My noble kinsman!" she exclaimed, turning quickly from her window. "I will make haste to greet him. Well is it that I am robed. I will meet him speedily in the hall." Even so she did, and the minutes were few before she stood face to face with a tall man of noble presence, in full armor save the helmet he had doffed on entering. He seemed in full vigor of life, but gray-headed, as became a statesman upon whom the king might lean. Questions and answers followed fast, and all the while the Wartmont retainers were busily providing for the hundred horsemen who had ridden in the train of the earl. Of them were knights and nobles also, and some of these now stood near the lady and the earl. Strong was their speech, as was his, concerning the rashness which the prince had shown in riding across England with so small a company. "Knoweth he not," said one, "that there is treason in the land?" "Silence on that head, Geoffrey of Harcourt," responded the earl. "But we may trust he is safe in Warwick. Had we taken another highway we might have met him. But, madame, this is fine news of my young kinsman. Well for him that he hath won the favor of the prince and of that rare good lance, De Maunay. More than well is it also that he hath sallied forth promptly to gather his archery. It will please the king. Better bowmen are not than he will bring from Arden. Now, Lady Maud, hie thee to thy rest, and so will we all, for we are weary." The remaining words were few, and once more the castle grew still, save for the stamping of restless horses in the courtyard and the busy chatter of the warders of Wartmont with the guard set by the earl. Now there was another place in which all was quiet, only that on a heap of rushes and a spread garment lay a youth who slept not, but turned at times uneasily. "I fear no treachery," he muttered, but not in Saxon. "I think these be true men. Yet I will leave my sword bare and my axe by it lest peril come. Who would have looked for a hold like this among these woods?" Then his thoughts went back to that which he had seen on coming in. He had passed the moat and the portal with Guy the Bow, and through a short passage. Then he had entered a vast hall, in the middle of which blazed a fire, the smoke whereof escaped at a hole in the peak of the roof. At one end of this hall was a broad dais, two steps higher than the floor of beaten earth, and here had been spread a table for his refection. Kindly, indeed, and full of reverence for his rank and name, had been the words and manners of all who served, for none presumed to eat with him. No other man was there of gentle blood, and even Guy the Bow would have been angered had any trespassed upon his young captain. That was Richard, now, by the command of the prince himself, and the forestmen all honored the king, Saxons though they were. None were permitted to question, overmuch, although Guy himself went out to dispense whatever news was in his own keeping. Refreshed, even with a tankard of ale that was brought him, Richard arose at last, and followed Ben of Coventry to the sleeping place allotted him. None better was in the grange. If at any past day there had been more costly furniture, some hand had taken it away, and naught was left now but safe quarters for such men as Richard had seen. It was but day dawning when a hunter's horn sounded a clear note at the door of the rude chamber. "Hail, my Lord of Wartmont!" spoke Guy the Bow. "I pray thee hasten. Thy men will be ready for thee within the hour. They all have come, and they are eager to hear thee." "On the moment!" shouted Richard. "I am ready. Tell them I come." "God speed thee this day," said Guy. "Full many a good fellow is ready to free himself from peril of the sheriff of Warwickshire. Aye, and to draw the king's good pay and have chance for pillaging French towns. They like it well." Great indeed was the astonishment of Richard when, after hurriedly breaking his fast in the great hall, he walked out with Guy and others like him to view the gathering in the open space beyond the palisades. Women and children, score on score, kept at a little distance, but not beyond hearing. In the middle, however, were clustered fully a hundred brawny men, eager to hear the king's proclamation of free pardon and enlistment for the war in France. They all knew what it was to be from other tongues, but to them the young lord of Wartmont was the king's messenger, and there was no certainty in their minds until he had spoken. Without too many words, but plainly and well, did he announce his message, and they answered him with loud shouting. To some of them it was as a promise of life from certain death, for the law was in search of them, and the judges of that day were pitiless concerning forestry and the protection of the king's deer and the earl's. Short ceremony was needed, for man after man came forward to kneel and put his hands between those of Richard, in the old Saxon custom of swearing to be his men in camp and field, in fight and foray, in the inland and the outland, until the king's will should give them grace to come home again. Born warriors were they all, and they laughed with glee in the hope of fighting the French under so good a leader as was Edward of England. Good captain, good success, they knew; and as for Richard, had they not known the knight, his father, and had not he himself slain the Club of Devon in single-handed combat? They were proud to serve under a Neville, and a man of their Saxon blood, who could order them in their own tongue. "One hundred and one!" shouted Guy at last. "May I not bid them to horse, Lord Richard? Every man can have his own galloway, or another, that the road to the camp at Warwick may be shortened." "Mount!" shouted Richard. His own gallant steed had been led to his side and in a moment more he was in the saddle. John, Earl of Warwick, was also early upon his feet, for he was a man whose life had been spent much in camps, and he was wont to be out and using his eyes as a captain before breaking his fast. From the men of Wartmont he speedily learned all relating to the raid of the Club of Devon and the brave fight made in front of the castle. Of this also he noted the defects, and he roundly declared that he would soon give command and provide means for its repair. "We may need it again some day," he said to himself. "There may be stormy times to come. May God prevent strife at home, but there be overproud hearts and over-cunning heads in this good land of ours. I will see to it that Wartmont shall be made stronger than ever. Glad am I that Sir Edward Neville hath left so brave a son to stand for our house." Many and bitter were the jealousies of the high-hearted barons of England, and none could tell the days to come. Who should prophesy how long the reigning house might keep the throne, or between what claimants of the crown might be the next struggle, if, for example, King Edward or his son, or both of them, and their next of kin, should go down in battle or should die suddenly in their beds, as others of royal blood had died? The head of a great baronial house might well bethink himself of every advantage or possible peril. "But for the poverty the war bringeth," he said, "I would have builders here within the week. As it is, I will have a garrison, and the good dame herself must bide at Warwick while her son is with the army in France. 'Twere shame to leave her here alone." So said he to Lady Maud when they met in the castle, and she told him then how well prepared she was for a departure. Already was she aware of his reason for coming so far to meet the prince; but his anxiety was at an end, and he was willing to linger and make full his soldierly inspection of the castle. "Good fort," he said, "and well was it held against Earl Mortimer. Glad am I that thy son hath so good control of the forest men. They are as clannish as are the Scotch, and they will come to their own chief when they will bide no other." He understood them, but he was yet taken by surprise before the noon. "Horsemen!" he exclaimed, standing in the gateway. "Rightly did I say there was imprudence in the small company of the prince. Yonder is a troop—yea, twain of them." No lances were visible, but at the head of the foremost troop rode one who carried on a high staff a blue banneret, and the earl knew not as yet what its blazonry might be. Truth to tell, it was nothing but an old flag of Sir Edward Neville's which had been stowed away in the crypts of the grange. Not all of these had been inspected by Richard, but he had seen a good smithy wherein galloways were shod, and spearheads and arrowheads and knife blades were hammered and tempered. Not only arrowsmiths were there among the forest men, but good bowyers, that they might not depend for their weapons upon any but themselves. Weaving, too, was done among the women and by skilled websters of the men; but shoemakers or cordwainers they had none, and but rough potters and smelters. So dwelt they as best they might, with cattle and sheep and swine, and the black cattle of the woods and the king's deer for their maintenance. They were not at any time in peril of starvation, for excellent also were the fishes in the pools and streams, and there was no end of skilled brewing of ale. Four and four abreast rode on the mounted archers who had sworn to come to the king with Richard of Wartmont, and they came on right orderly. Well looked he also, in full armor, at their head. "'Tis Richard, my lord the earl!" called out to him Lady Maud as they rode nearer. "'Tis my brave son and his men! Believest thou now that he can call the men of the woods? My boy! God bless him!" "That say I!" loudly responded the earl, striding across the moat-bridge. "Ho, all! Get ready for the way. My lady, I pray thee to go in and lade thy pack beasts. We will even march for Warwick ere the day is an hour older." Loud and hearty was his cousinly greeting to his young kinsman. Strong was his approval of the force he had enlisted, but he added: "What shall we do with all these beasts? The king will have his archers on their own feet." "That is provided for," replied Richard. "I pray thee trust me that the whole drove can go back to Arden, under good driving, as soon as there is no more need for them. I deemed it well to come quickly. Such was the word given me by Sir Walter de Maunay." "Thou didst well to heed him," said the earl; but then he talked little more with Richard. He bade the men dismount and get their noonday meal in the village and in the castle; but he had speech with many of them, for he was well pleased that such a company should come to the royal standard from among his own retaining. Lady Maud had waited, but not all patiently, for her own greeting to her son. It was a joy to both of them that they were to go on to Warwick together, but most of all that a better day seemed to be dawning for them, and that the ruin wrought by the bad Earl Mortimer might be amended. Not many men had been left behind in the hidden hold amid the forest, and such as had not marched with Richard had long since dispersed. Some had ridden gayly away on their stout ponies; others had gone to the fields. Some were in the smithy, the tannery, and the other workshops, and a few had restlessly snatched bows and arrows to hurry out into the woods as hunters. No guards were set, except that a pair of bowmen lingered on the farther side of the causeway over the morass. There was little peril of intrusion now that the Lancashire Welsh thieves had been sorely smitten. Whatever might remain of them would not return to be shot down. As for the secret character of the grange itself, there was small wonder that a few hundred acres, if so much there might be, of patches of farm land should be sheltered among those woods from any but such men as had been Sir Edward Neville. It might all be within the somewhat doubtful borders of his own manorial grant, given to his ancestors by the earlier kings and confirmed by Edward the First, to be lost under his son, the second Edward, and Earl Mortimer, and to be regained under Edward the Third and the house of Beauchamp. It was said, indeed, that there were regions tenfold as wide, in some of the remoter baronies, whereof men knew but little, especially among the Scottish border counties and among the hills. Besides these were the unsearched fen districts on the coasts, the wild mountain parts of Wales, and worst of all were the highlands of Scotland and the seagirt isles of the Scottish coasts. As for Ireland, even the greater part of it was almost an unknown land to Englishmen, for nothing less than an army might venture inland too far with any hope of ever coming back again. In the several parts of the grange itself, as in the cottages scattered beyond it, the women plied their tasks. Some of them spun with distaffs, and two or three looms were busy; more might have been but for the lack of wool. There was much raising of sheep in the more thickly settled parts of England in those days, but there was small room for them in Arden. Moreover, they, more than cattle or horses or swine, were sorely thinned by the wolves. It was a hundred and fifty years later that these fierce beasts disappeared from England, and the last of them in Scotland was slain yet a century later. So was it that so little cloth, even of homespun, was worn by the bowmen who rode behind Richard of Wartmont, in the gloom of that evening when he followed the Earl and his men-at-arms through the gate of Warwick town. Long had been the journey, hard pushed and weary were beasts and men. There was small ceremony of arrival or reception for the greater part of the cavalcade, but the Lady Maud was conducted at once to the care of the Countess Eleanor of Warwick, her younger sister, the wife of the earl. As for Richard, his men were cared for well, under direction of Sir Geoffrey de Harcourt, while their young captain was bidden to hasten with his great kinsman to meet once more the Prince of Wales and Sir Walter de Maunay. This greeting, too, was brief, for the hour was late; but the prince said graciously: "O thou of Wartmont, I will make thee my comrade in arms! In the morn I would fain see thy men. My father himself bade me gather as many deer stealers as I might, for, quoth he, the hand that can send a gray goose shaft to strike a stag at a hundred yards may fairly bring down a Frenchman at half that distance. Give me bowmen enough of the right sort, and I will train them to face anything that Philip of France can muster." "O my Lord the Prince," replied Richard, "I have a hundred with me, of whom any man can send an arrow through a coat of mail at fifty yards. I like the king's notion right well." "Go, now," said the prince; "go with thy kinsman, the earl. On the morrow I will tell thee what to do with thy men." But these, for their part, were all of a merry heart that night. Not often had any of them visited Warwick, at least in later years, for therein was a jail, and they liked not so much as to look thereon, being in danger of being put within it. They had good quarters and good fare, with much ale, and they knew they were to see brave sights next day, and to have a word from even the Black Prince himself. Was not that enough of cheer for men of the woods who had seldom been out beyond the shadows of the oaks of Arden? The stout earl and his nephew walked together from the presence of the prince toward the chamber allotted to Richard. "Thou shalt be to me as a son!" exclaimed the earl, in the dim corridor through which they were pacing. "Thou hast won the prince. Now, if thou wilt go and win thy spurs with him, thy fortune is made. Thou wilt have broader lands than Wartmont, but wert thou even to win much gold, I bid thee bide by thine own keep and hold to thee thy Saxon men. If thou wilt do so, I can foresee the day when thou canst bring five hundred bowmen to the standard of thy house." "I can bring but four more men-at-arms now," said Richard ruefully. "And thy archers?" laughed the earl. "Didst thou not hear Geoffrey Harcourt say to Northampton, that if all the great barons of England would do as well as thou hast done, the array of the king would be gathered right speedily? Too many are afraid to leave their own domains lightly guarded, and, truth to tell, not a few are carrying slender purses. The drainings of these long wars have made us poor. I am myself in the hands of the Jews and the London Lombards for more debts than I can see how to pay. So is the king, and he is troubled in mind as to how he shall feed and pay his armies. Go to thy couch and arise right early. Beware that thou never keep the prince waiting. He is like his royal father, and he who would fail of meeting the king hath gone near to making him a sworn enemy. His temper is dangerous. See that thou arouse him not at any time. His hand is hard upon men, and so will any troops of his be disciplined as were never English troops since William won the island." If that were to prove true, it might be one of the reasons why the king so firmly believed that he could bring the men so disciplined face to face with greater numbers of the disorderly levies of his rival, the King of France. The stern counsel of the wise earl was hardly needed, so far as Richard's early rising was concerned, but he was up not any too soon in the morn. Nor was he any too mindful of his duty as a soldier of the king. He arose and put on his armor and walked out of his chamber, and before him stood an archer. "The commands of the earl," he said bluntly. "Eat not, but hasten to thy men. They break their fast even now. Have thou them in line right speedily. I will be thy guide to their quarters." "I obey the earl," said Richard, following. It was not far to go, beyond the castle gate, and Richard turned for a moment to gaze back upon towers and battlemented walls which had resisted so many a stout assailing. "They are held for the king now," he thought, "but they once were held against him, and oft against other kings. In yonder dungeon keep hath more than one proud earl been brought to the block, and men say that in it, even now, are prisoners of note that may never again see the day." Dark and high and threatening was the aspect of the great keep of Warwick Castle, and there might be terrible secrets of state in its underground chambers. He turned again to follow the archer, but when he came to the quarters of his troop, he found that the commands of the earl were there before him. The forest men were used to be up with the dawn, and it had been no surprise to them to find their tables ready spread. Also, they liked the fare, and they were in good heart when they came out to greet their young captain. They cheered him loudly; but a new thought flashed into his mind. "Soldiers? Drilled?" he said to himself. "I see what the earl means. They all can shoot well, but they can neither form line nor move together, nor do they know the words of command. The prince—is he here thus early?" Here he came, the heir of the crown of England and of the English claim to the crown of France. He was in his plain black armor, with his visor raised, but on his face was no smile of youthful familiarity—rather, something of the hard look that distinguished his father and that made men fear him; and the hardness was in his voice as well, when he shouted swift orders to Richard. Low had been his obeisance, but he had a bitter feeling in his heart, for he knew not how to form his men. All he could do was to turn to them and shout: "Follow!" "By fours! Spears in line!" added Guy the Bow, and more words in Saxon bade them hold their shields in front and step together. Less shame felt Richard when he saw how well they came on, and the lips of the prince relaxed somewhat. "Not a rabble," he muttered. "They will train well. I never saw new men move thus. The Neville doeth better than I thought. I will speak to the earl." Other knights were with him, gallantly mounted all, and behind him they rode out to the broad common of Warwick, for there was to be a morning review of the earl's retainers and of levies which had arrived. Never before had Richard seen together three thousand armed men, horse and foot, and greatly delighted by so rare a show were his woodsmen. In large part these forces had already been well trained by the officers of Earl Warwick, and the prince himself ordered them through many movements, such as might be needed upon a field of battle. A rare man was Guy the Bow, for he and Ben of Coventry had been trained in their time, and they had instructed their comrades at the grange in days gone by, and the rest on the way as they came. So was it that when Richard of Wartmont led his two fifties hither and thither, he and they were a further surprise to the prince and to his captains and noble knights. They fell not into any confusion at any point, and again it was said of them, "No rabble," and "The Wartmont doeth well for a beginner." After that, archery butts were set up and squads from several companies were picked, by lot only, and ordered to show their skill. Right good was the shooting, as might have been expected, for there were prizes as well as praises to be won; but at the noon, when all was over, it was found that every best shot, save one, on all the butts had been made by the slayers of the king's deer in Arden. "O thou of Wartmont," laughed Sir Walter de Maunay, "I think thou wert wise in asking so many pardons! Thy merry men are in good practice." So laughed the prince, but there had been counseling that day and he now summoned Richard to himself. With him were the Earl of Warwick and four other earls, and Richard felt sorely abashed before he was spoken to. "What sayest thou, John Beauchamp of Warwick?" he heard the prince demand. "What wouldst thou with the levies?" "My Lord the Prince," responded the earl, "even as seems to me to have been said by the king. We must hear from Scotland. The king crosseth not the channel before winter. Neither will he keep too many thousands, at great cost and loss, in the Portsmouth camp." "What then?" asked the prince. "As for my nephew's men," said the earl, "they are too few—gathered in a day. Instead of one hundred, he will bring twain or more. Keep these for a week, and send them to recruit their fellows. Thou knowest the power of the Neville name among them. Send Richard to York." "Good counsel!" exclaimed the prince. "Richard of Wartmont, select thee a dozen of thy trustiest men on thy best galloways. Be thou with them two hours hence, at the castle gate. Thou shalt be the king's post bearer to his Grace the Archbishop of York, and to the barons of the north counties." Richard bowed low, flushing with pride and joy, for the spirit of travel and of adventure swelled high within him. "Thanks to thee, O my Prince!" was all that he could say, and he went back among his men. CHAPTER IV. THE KING'S MESSENGER. The prince was but a youth, although of good stature and strongly made. From his cradle up he had been trained under the care of the stout king, his father, and of knights who were chosen from the best swords and bravest hearts in England. Assured was he that only a hardy soldier and a good general might safely keep the crown. The barons of the realm—half kings in their own domains—had proved the ruin of the second Edward, and only by deep cunning and ruthless force had the third of the name broken loose from a like thraldom. Much blood had been shed before the scepter was firmly in his grasp; and a fiercely royal self-will had been instilled into the Prince of Wales as one of the safeguards of his kingship. Therefore, when sent to Warwick to confer concerning the mustering of the forces, he had come there to command as well as to take counsel. "My Lord of Harcourt," he said with much dignity to that noble warrior, "I have listened well to all that hath been said. Plain is it that the earl is right. There will be no crossing to France with King David of Scotland threatening the border counties. We must hear from the Archbishop of York. I will send the Wartmont. He will go and come right speedily." There was he now in front of the castle gate, with Guy the Bow and ten more of the archers of Arden. To Richard himself had been given a fresh horse and good, with two pack beasts well laden, for the king's especial post might make a good show at any castle or town he should come to on his way. So was it with his merry men all, for their buff coats were new and they covered each a doublet of green cloth. All their galloways were saddled and bridled, with fair housings, and one of them carried a lance and a pennon, whereon were blazoned a white star and cross, and over them a gilded crown, in token of their errand. Woe to any who should dare to hinder a messenger of the king, or fail to speed him on the king's errand! Not that Richard himself knew the meaning of the letters that were in his pouch, nor that matters of state were in his head. But a proud band and merry were the bowmen who rode behind him out of the town gate and up the highway to the northward. "O my Lord of Wartmont!" said Guy the Bow. "This is better than I had hoped. I had not so much cared to see the outland folk, but I had hungered for a look at more of England." "Thou art out of the woods now," replied Richard, "and so am I, but there is little more for us than riding from sleep to sleep, and caring well for our beasts. We may not pause under any roof longer than to break our fast and let the galloways rest." "We can see as we go," said Ben of Coventry. "A man learneth much by what he seeth. But half the archers of Arden would come at the king's call, if they knew how well they would be taken in hand." That truly was the wisdom of the prudent Earl of Warwick, and it suited the humor of the prince, for from all the land the levies had been slow in gathering. As for himself, his stay in Warwick was to be of the briefest, for he had learned many things to carry to the ears of his royal sire at London. Well went it with the Lady Maud after she had spoken a short farewell to her son that day, for she was now housed with kindred and with many noble ladies, and was hearing tidings of the world that could not have reached her at Wartmont. Moreover, there were new fashions of dress and equipage that all women love to learn, and the stately dame herself had brought with her goodly fabrics ready for shaping by the skilled needlewomen of her sister, the countess. It was better than being cooped almost alone in the gloomy old keep at Wartmont. A day and a night, and a day and then another night, lingered the prince. His main business seemed to be with the levies, and he said to himself: "I will know them man by man, and so will the king, my father. I will measure with care the force wherewith we are to meet Philip of France. The king is most of all wary concerning his bowmen. I like well the Wartmont's tall deer stealers. They are worth a pardon. We must have more of them. I, too, must be seen in Wales. Would that I could drain out of it the most unruly spirits and the fiercest outlaws. So is the king's command concerning Ireland. If any rogue there is worse than another, let him be brought in and put in training." Deep was the craft of the king, therefore, and of the prince, for if any wild man came at their call, and they liked not the promise of his thews and sinews, him they took not, after testing him, for he might be no better than one of the peasants of the King of France, fitter to dig than to carry sword and buckler. The summer days went by, even as Richard had told his men. Steadily, even hastily, they pressed their northward way, and tower and town gave them hearty welcome. There were those who unduly asked what their errand might be, but to noble or simple there was but one reply: "Ask thou the king, if thou wilt meddle with his business." There were earls and barons, of course, to whom was due great courtesy of speech, and, indeed, to all ears there was much free news to tell. Ever, as they went farther on, they heard more rumors of the doubtful state of things upon the Scottish border. "There was never peace there," said the Earl of Arundel, at the gate of a castle where Richard met with him and other noble lords. "King David will be in England within a week from the sailing of the English fleet. Young sir, tell thou this from me to the good archbishop. Bid him send few levies to the king from the north counties, but hold a force in waiting that shall be as good as any the king may convey to France. Else we shall see the thistles of Scotland halfway to London town before he can meet the lilies of France in any field beyond the sea." Richard bowed low, for he was abashed before so grand a company; but he had not ridden far before he heard Ben of Coventry assuring Guy the Bow, with his usual freedom: "Right wise was yonder earl, thou fat-head. But doth he deem that the king hath forgotten Scotland? Trust thou him for that. Ah me, that we must go and come and never kill a Scot!" "Or be killed by them," said Guy. "Keep thy head for the French to hack at. Thou wilt get knocks enough." "Mayhap," said Ben; "but I say one thing: Never did twelve men from Arden fare so well for no harder work than riding. It payeth me to serve the king. We have been feasted all the way." "Wert thou in Scotland," laughed Guy, "it were otherwise. They eat but oatmeal cakes, and they know not of ale. I wonder much if they have deer in such a land where all is fog and mist, and where the days are short at both ends. But the Scotch fight hard, and sorely would they harry England were a chance given them." They seemed to be at peace at that time, but King Edward and his advisers had rightly read the state of affairs in the kingdom over which David the Bruce was but half a king. No check had as yet been given to the power of the great Scottish baronial houses. They were beyond the control of any man, and David had inherited his father's valor without either the generalship or the prudence of the great Robert the Bruce. It was at last in the morning of a fair, warm day that Richard and his archers rode out from under a dense wood to shout together as one man for what they saw. "Aye, here we are!" said Richard, "and yonder is the spire of York Cathedral. One hour more and we are at our journey's end." Never before had any man among them journeyed so far, but they showed small signs of wear or weariness. Nevertheless, at Richard's command they gave goodly attention to their apparel and their weapons, and to the coats of their beasts, before presenting themselves at the gate of the ancient cathedral city. "I have heard tell," said Richard to Guy, "that here was a town in the old days of the Romans. There hath been many a battle and leaguer before these walls." "The Romans?" replied Guy. "I was told of them by a Cornish man. There were giants in Cornwall in those days. God grant they are all gone their way; but the Cornish men say they at times find the long bones and the big, hollow skulls." "The gates are well guarded," was the next thought of Richard. "Can there be bad news from the north?" Guards there were, and none went out or in without notice to discern well whom they might be, as if, perchance, there were spies in the land. "In the king's name!" shouted Richard, at the gate, "Richard of Wartmont. From Earl Warwick and the king's duty to his Grace the Archbishop." "In the king's name, enter!" as loudly responded a crested knight who had advanced before the sentries. "Follow thou me to the archbishop. The warders will care for thy men. I am Robert Johnstone of the Hill. Art thou not a Neville, and my kinsman?" "That am I," said Richard. "My father was Sir Edward Neville." "Good knight and true," responded Sir Robert. "I have fought at his side. There must needs be a rare message when thy uncle the earl chose thee for his postboy." "Words must be few," said Richard, "but now I know who thou art, I will tell——" "Tell not!" interrupted the knight. "Do I not discern thy pennon? Name not any who were with the earl until thou hast emptied thy postbag. Thou art but young, and these be treacherous times. A brave band are thy men——" "Archers of my own company," said Richard, a little proudly. "Every man from the forests of Arden." "And every man a born retainer of Sir Edward Neville's house," laughed Johnstone. "Do I not know thee and thine? We will have speech together soon, where there may be no other ears. The Johnstones are as thou art, the chiefs of old clans that the new men can do naught with." Great then was the surprise of the young messenger when his sudden acquaintance talked to him in Saxon, bidding him also not to use that speech except among his own, and telling him that the north counties contained more than did the midlands of such men as had preserved jealously the memories of the days of Harold the Saxon. "'Tis a tough race," said the knight. "It is a good foundation for thy house to rest upon. Aye, or for the king's throne. Now, if thou wilt dismount, yonder esquire will care for thy horse." Sir Robert appeared to be acting as captain of warders, and none questioned or hindered him as he and Richard walked on, side by side, toward the castlelike palace which served as the residence of the archbishop. The town was the largest, and its buildings were the best that Richard yet had seen. He knew, moreover, that the learned prince of the Church before whom he was about to stand was also accounted second to none among the statesmen of England, with rare capacity for affairs of war as well as of peace. He was a man, therefore, to whom might be intrusted the safety of a realm in the absence of its king, and in him had Edward the Third unshaken confidence as being loyal and true. Word of their coming had gone on before them swift-footed, and they were ushered with all haste into the great hall where his Grace was already present, for the reception of they knew not what or whom. At the upper end of the hall, upon a raised dais of three steps, was a throne chair, carved richly with emblems of the Church, and surmounted by a high cross that seemed of silver. In front of this, clad gorgeously in flowing robes, stood the archbishop, and before him knelt a knight in splendid armor, but bareheaded, just on the point of rising. The quick eyes of the prelate flashed keenly, and he turned to an attendant monk. "Anselmus," he said in Latin, "bring hither yonder messenger. I must read his letters before I have further speech with Douglas." "He hath summoned thee," whispered Sir Robert to Richard. "Speak not at all to him, lest thou err greatly. Yon is the knight of Liddesdale, the prowest spear of Scotland. His presence bodeth no good to England, I fear." The monk came and touched Richard's arm and led him forward. Glad was he of his injunction not to speak, for he was greatly awed to be in that presence. He walked onward with bowed head, and on the dais he knelt before the archbishop. "Thy letters, my son," said the prelate. Not a word spoke Richard, but he silently presented three sealed missives. One he knew was from the prince, one from the Earl of Warwick, and the third was to him a secret. Nevertheless he heard the archbishop mutter: "The king's own hand?" Then he said aloud: "Wait thou here, my son. Rise; I will return presently. My Lord Douglas, come thou with me into my cabinet." Richard arose and stood in his place, but it seemed not long before the archbishop strode back again, and with him came the knight of Liddesdale. "Your Grace," said the latter, "I ride within the hour." "Peace go with thee," responded the archbishop. "Peace be with thee and thine; with thy king and my king; with Scotland and with England! Amen!" Then from all who were present came a responsive Amen, as the knight knelt for a parting blessing and rose to depart. "Come thou, my son Richard," said the archbishop. "I would hear thee." It was strange fortune for a youth so inexperienced to find himself mingling in affairs so tremendous, and Richard hardly breathed until he was alone with the great man in a kind of oratory wherein was an altar. "Speak!" said the archbishop. "Tell all." First, then, Richard told of the prince and De Maunay at Wartmont, and the archbishop answered not save to mutter: "So! thou hast slain that wolf, the Club of Devon. Thou art like thy father." Then told Richard not of the grange in the woods, but of his going to Warwick with his archers, and again he heard the prelate mutter, but in Saxon: "Saxons, all! How we of the old blood do cling together! He doeth well." All the words of the prince and of those with him were repeated, but no comment was made. After that told Richard the saying of the Earl of Arundel, and he had finished. "Well for thee, my son," said the archbishop. "Thou hast seen Lord Douglas. He is for peace. Mark me, I will write letters. Thou wilt bear them. Wait in York till they are given thee. Come not to me unless I summon thee. I note that thou rememberest clearly, and canst carry that which may not be written. This, then, say to the king or to the prince, but not to another save John Beauchamp the earl, lest thou die. Bid the king from me that Douglas and his friends will fail in their counsels for peace. David of Scotland is for war, and waiteth but opportunity. He must now have one. Edward the King will not but seem to drain of force these northern counties, that the Scottish lords may deem them unguarded. He will gather an army for his war in France. Such another will we prepare to meet the Scottish invasion. Let the king be sure that when he saileth for France the Scottish host will march for the English border. Edward will prove too much for so rash a man, with all his cunning, as is Philip of France. In like manner we will prove too much for David of Scotland, who despiseth the warnings of men like Douglas of Liddesdale. We will crush the Scottish invasion, taking the unwise in a snare. Go!" Deep was the reverence with which Richard turned to depart. More words were given him, however, and much was his wonder at a man who seemed to know the thoughts of the hearts of other men, and to read the forces of the kingdoms as if he were counting pennies. A good monk led the young messenger out of the hall and gave him into the care of Sir Robert Johnstone. "Say not too much to me," said the knight. "I talked with Liddesdale, and heavy of heart is he. A wise man as well as a good captain; but the Scots must learn a lesson. How long tarriest thou in York?" "For letters only," said Richard. "Then bide with me, and let thy men rest and their beasts. I will show thee the town and the castle and the cathedral. 'Tis a grand old town. I like it well." "I shall like well to see," said Richard. "But how great is the archbishop! Never before have I looked into the face of such a man." "Wait, then, until thou hast seen the king," replied Sir Robert. "Try if thou canst read him. Thou wilt be with the prince." Out they went, and Richard's eyes were so busy that he found small use for his tongue. Nor was there great need, save for a question here and there, for the knight had taken a liking to him and was willing to instruct him.

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