Читать книгу: «With the Black Prince», страница 5

"I will harm thee not," said Richard, "but I fear thee not. Thy head were worth but little – "

"Trust me, it is safe," said the stranger. "The king will leave it where it is. I shall see thee again some day. Thou wilt be a good lance, but carry thou not too many king's errands. Fare thee well!"

He had regained control of his horse, and now he suddenly spurred away in the very direction by which Richard had come. Down sprang the latter to pick up the fallen lance and to fasten upon it the pennon his own had carried before it was broken. Then, as he mounted once more, he exclaimed aloud:

"Ride I now for my life! I shall be followed fast and far. I know not friend from foe, save that the nearer I get to the king the safer I shall be."

His good horse neighed cheerily, as if he knew that his rider had conquered, and a proud youth was Richard Neville.

"I have won my first passage at arms," he said. "I shall have somewhat whereof to tell the prince."

CHAPTER V.
THE ENDING OF THE PEACE

"Seven leagues from London, if that wagoner gave me the distance aright," said Richard to himself, "and this horse is sore wearied. Twain have tired under me since my lance was splintered on the shield of that felon knight."

Much and often had he wondered who might be the stranger man-at-arms, but of one thing he felt assured: only some baron of high name had used such speech and worn such armor. Now, at last, even his tough sinews were giving out, for he had ridden hard and slept little. Food had been easy to buy at wayside hostelries. He had ridden through towns and villages with no longer pauses than had been needful that he might ask the way or answer courteously the questions of persons of condition.

His fresh mounts had been freely furnished him on showing of the royal order, for none might lightly disobey the king.

"Surely I now am safe," he thought, "but the night is falling. I will even rest at an inn and go onward in the morning. I must sleep, lest I fall from my horse."

It was a huge, rambling tavern at the right of the highway, and as he drew rein before it a portly host came forth to welcome him.

"In the king's name," said Richard.

"And whence art thou?" asked the landlord.

"On the king's business," said Richard. "See thou to it that I have a fresh steed ready to bear me to London town with the dawn, lest harm come."

"We are all the king's men here," said the landlord heartily. "Canst thou not give us the news of the day? What of the Scots? for thou art from the north."

Richard was slowly, painfully dismounting, but at the same moment another man, not in armor, was springing upon horseback to haste away.

"Yea," said Richard, "I will tell thee the news. I am Richard Neville of Wartmont – "

"Ha! hold thou thy tongue, then, and come in!" sharply returned the host of the inn, but he spoke in pure Saxon. "Do I not know that thou art watched for? I am of Arden, and I knew thy father. By thy hand fell the Club of Devon."

"Aye," said Richard, "but what peril is so near the gates of London?"

"Peril to thee that thou reach them not," replied his new friend. "There be those who would know the king's secret counsel. Small would be their care for thy throat. Eat well. Sleep well. Then ride thou on before the light cometh."

In walked Richard, hardly able to stand, but a room was given him, and here he took off his armor that he might bathe while a repast was preparing. It refreshed him much, but when the landlord came in and found him clad only in his doublet, he loudly exclaimed:

"On with thy mail, my Lord of Wartmont! Let thy bare sword lie by thee. I think thy nag may die, but I have thee a better one ready. 'Tis my own best mare, and she will stand saddled in the stall until thou comest for her."

"I am overworn for fighting," said Richard. "I will even trust my bow rather than my sword or axe."

"As thou wilt," replied his host, but a serving man placed food upon the table, and Richard began to do it full justice.

None other was admitted to the room, and Richard dealt fairly, telling all news that he might tell.

"One thing know I," said the landlord. "The king's levies come in but slowly, and he is sore displeased. Not this year will he cross to France. If I hear truly, some of the great lords would rather march against him than against Philip, and they look for side help from the Scots."

So many true tales creep in at a hostel from the lips of those who tarry there, and the young messenger felt not only weary but half dispirited. The landlord had now gone forth, and for a few moments Richard was alone. The door was not fastened, however, and it opened without a sound to let in a man whose footsteps were unheard until he had passed to the table side.

"My son, peace be with thee! Thou art on the message of the king?"

Richard was startled, but he turned to look, and before him stood a black friar in his long serge robe, with sandals only on his feet. A thought came like a flash:

"I have heard that these holy men are with Philip of France rather than with Edward of England. I must beware of him, for they are cunning men."

Nevertheless he reverently greeted the friar and bade him be seated.

"Tell me, my son, what tidings bringest thou from the north, and from the saintly Archbishop of York?"

With all seeming freedom did Richard respond, but he mentioned not the Knight of Liddesdale, nor the temper of the Scottish king. Cunning indeed was the questioning, but of the letters, either way, naught was said. Rather was there much loose chat of the things by the way, and Richard declared:

"Little know I. I am but a youth."

"And well worn?" said the monk. "Now I will counsel thee, for thou well mayest trust such as I am. Rest thou here in peace, and I will convey to the king any matters from my old and dear friend and father in God, the archbishop. High, indeed, is my reverence for that holy man. Deep is my fealty to our good lord the king. Even give me thy message and I will depart."

"Thanks to thee, reverend father," said Richard. "But there is no haste. It were not well for thee to travel by night. Come thou in the morning, for now I can talk no more. Thou mayest ride my own horse, if thou shalt find him rested."

So the friar smiled, and gave Richard his blessing and departed, not having given any name. That was what came to Richard's mind quickly, but he said to himself:

"Who knoweth what name he would have given – his own, or another? I like him not, but if the host be right, he will not ride far upon that nag. Nor will he be overweighted with the king's errand. But I told him no untruth. Never before was I cunning, but I must care for my head."

So said the landlord, shortly, when he came and heard, but he added:

"Not in the house shalt thou sleep. Come thou with me, my lord. I will show thee a safer resting."

The darkness had fallen, and not even a lanthorn did they take with them as they made their way out of the inn to the barns. None met them, and they paused not until they were among hayricks in the rear.

"Yonder," said the landlord, pointing at a stable, "in the first stall on the right is thy good steed. Ride hard, but kill her not, and send her back to me. I would serve the king and beat his enemies. If thou sleepest too long, I will arouse thee."

Down sank Richard upon a heap of hay, but his bow and arrows were with him as well as his pennoned lance.

How long he slumbered he knew not, but he was feverish, restive, and his ears were not so dull in sleep that they did not catch a faint clang of steel. He woke, but he stirred not, and he lay listening.

"Put thou thy dagger deeply in below the lad's ear!" he heard one say. "He must die without speech. Curse on that hostel keeper! I fear me he hath betrayed us. We found not the king's messenger in the house. I think he is somewhere here away. Search well, but be silent."

Only dim was the lanthorn they carried, but Richard could see three men, and one of them wore mail, without a headpiece. He it was that spoke, and his sword was in his hand. The other twain were in buff coats, and of one of these his long, two-edged, dagger knife was already drawn. They saw not yet the young bowman in the hay, but he was fitting an arrow to the string.

"Ten yards! I must not miss. I will even smite him through the face," thought Richard.

Loudly twanged the bow, and out of the belt came a second arrow to the string.

"Through his buff coat," said Richard aloud, and he sent the shaft strongly, but he at the moment turned toward the stable, looking not behind him. He heard a cry and a gasp, however, and hoarse groaning, and a voice that exclaimed:

"God 'a' mercy, my Lord Bellamont is slain! So is the seneschal! Woe is me! I will summon the two warders."

Uncertainly he lingered a brief space to examine well the fallen men, and Richard made what haste he could.

"I can not run," he thought. "I hardly may climb to the saddle."

Nevertheless he did so, after leading out the goodly beast he was to ride. Nothing was lacking in her appointments, and she knew the way to the road-gate. Out spurred Richard, as loud shouts began to arise behind him. He gained the highway, and he could discern beyond him only one man on foot, in full armor.

"Halt, thou!" he shouted. "Stand, on thy life! I would have speech with thee!"

"In the king's name," shouted back Richard, "out of my way!"

"That will I not!" roared the knight. "Thou cub of Wartmont, draw rein!"

"Take that!" said Richard, spurring hard and striking with his lance.

'Twas a knight of skill in fence, however, and his target was over his visor to receive the thrust, so that he did but measure his length upon the road.

"Traitor!" shouted Richard. "Thou shalt answer for this to the king!"

"St. Andrew!" gasped the fallen man. "Has the boy escaped? John Beauchamp knew whom to send. But I will pay him bitterly for this."

"My lord duke," exclaimed one who came running to him, "De Bellamont is slain by the messenger!"

"Woe worth the day!" groaned the knight, arising slowly. "Back to the castle! I must get me to Flanders in haste. All is lost! We will but say that Bellamont was murdered by thieves at the inn."

On galloped Richard, glad to find how buoyant and free was the stride of the landlord's favorite; but his perils were not ended. A full half mile he rode, and he was thinking, "I will race no more lest I tire her needlessly, and the road to London town is yet long," when far beyond he dimly discerned the forms of mounted men and men on foot.

"'Tis but a lane here to the right," he said. "I care not whither it may lead me, so I fall not in with yonder troop. They are too many."

Then came to him something of his woodcraft, and he did but go out of the road before he turned to see what they might do. And he did wisely, for with one accord the horsemen and the footmen vanished.

"They were at a crossroad," thought Richard. "They deem I have taken the lane, and they have gone to cut me off at its ending. Now I will ride past them."

'Twas a shrewd planning, for when he reached the crossroads only one man could he discern, a man in the serge gown of a black friar, who stood and waited.

"Halt, thou, my son!" commanded the friar. "Greater men than thou art bid thee stand."

"In the king's name, I will not," said Richard, "but if thou needest a nag, thou wilt find one at the inn, as I promised thee. A good beast, truly, save that he is dead. So are some of the traitors who were there, enemies of the king, as thou art. Fare thee not well!"

He struck spurs as he finished, and the friar was left to wait for whom he might.

The gray dawn was showing in the east, and now it would seem that all danger had been left behind.

"Little know I," thought Richard. "Had I not been forewarned, I had trusted any great baron that he would forward the king's business. Now I will trust not one, till I reach London gate."

The noon sun of that day was shining through high, stained windows into the audience chamber of the king, in the Tower of London. It was not a day for him to linger in any palace, and his brows were but black with gloom as he listened to his counselors and to the affairs that were brought before him. These were many and weighty, and few were they who might dare to interrupt him; but he suddenly raised his head, and the dark frown vanished from his face.

Back among the lords and gentlemen in waiting stood the Black Prince himself, and a sign had passed from him to his royal sire. Still for a few moments longer King Edward sat and listened and responded to those around him, nor could they have gathered whether he were ill at ease or not. Iron was he to all circumstances, and naught could seem to move him much, save his ire, if that should be stirred.

And now he arose, and his dismissal of the assembly was but as if he sent them to their noontide refections, but he himself refused other attendance, and passed out by a private door with his son.

"Neville of Wartmont, from the archbishop?" sternly replied the king to the first words of the prince. "Why tarried he on the road?"

"That he did not," said the prince. "He hath ridden four horses. One wearied out, twain were ridden to death, and the last bore him to our gate. He hath been sore beset on the way. He hath slain De Bellamont and another, and he hath much to tell concerning treason. I bade him wait in the southerly corridor and to have speech with none."

"It shall be well with him!" exclaimed the king. "Glad am I of the Nevilles and the Beauchamps in a day when so few may be trusted. Bring him to me in my retiring room."

Unhelmeted, but otherwise clad as he had ridden, Richard Neville was quietly conducted to the apartment which so few were ever allowed to enter, and he was brought face to face with the king.

"Nay, Richard, sit thee down," commanded Edward, for the wornout messenger hardly could rise from his bended knees. "I would hear thee slowly and long. Begin with thy going, and see that thou miss no place nor any man, gentle or simple."

Richard began his tale, and there was no interruption until he came to the message sent by the Earl of Arundel.

"I will remember him for that," he said. "A wise man and true. Speak on."

There was no other stopping until the story reached the York gate.

"Sir Robert," said the king, "then I may trust the Johnstones. It is well. Come now to the archbishop. Nay, hold thy letters until thy words are done."

There were questions concerning his Grace and some others, but most careful were the king's inquiries relating to the Knight of Liddesdale.

"Now, thy ride hitherward," said the king, and Richard told it all. He saw the eyes of the prince flash admiringly at the passage of arms, but the king chafed sorely that he could not guess by whom Richard had been assailed.

"Thou didst well not to slay him," he decided, after a moment's thinking. "If thou ever meetest him again, to know him by his voice or otherwise, tell me."

When all the rest was said, to the London gate, the letters were delivered, but the king as yet opened them not.

"Richard of Wartmont," he said, rising, "the Earl of Warwick waiteth for thee without. Go thou to him. God send me alway as good a messenger! Thou wilt win thy spurs in good season. When thou returnest from Warwick, thou art of the king's household. I promise thee that thou shalt be captain of thine own bowmen when we sail for France."

A proud youth was Richard, but so lame he walked not easily when the prince led him to the door.

"I envy thee, I envy thee!" exclaimed the latter. "A joust of arms by moonlight! A fray i' the night! And thou hast seen the Liddesdale! I would give much to meet him."

Something of romance and of knight errantry, therefore, was in the hot young head of the heir of the throne of England, and they twain parted right friendly, as became such youths, who were to be companions in arms.

In one moment more, upon Richard's shoulders were the strong hands of the Earl of Warwick.

"Thou art as my son!" he exclaimed. "Thou art strengthening thy house. These be times when a man should stand by his own."

Few were the words of their further greeting till they were by themselves in the Warwick palace at London. Nor then was much converse, until Richard had slept long and well. Afterward he was talked with by his uncle as if he had been a grown man and a belted knight, but that was on the morrow.

"Moreover," said the earl, at the end of all, "I have thy freedom from the king. Thou mayest pause in Warwick to see thy mother. Then go thou to Wartmont. Spend what time thou mayest among thy men, but be sure that thy levy shall be full. So shalt thou keep the favor of the king. Then thou wilt return to London town."

One day only was required, and beyond that was the homeward road. Oh, but it was a bright even, full of happiness, when the young warrior – for such he now was – once more was folded in the arms of the Lady Maud! Her long, white hair fell over his shoulders like a veil, and she sobbed most peacefully.

"Alas, my son," she said, "that I can not keep thee with me! Thou art mine all! But obey thou the mandates of the king and of the earl."

"I must speed me to Wartmont, mother," said Richard. "I will return to thee, but it will please me much to see the old tower again, and my merry men."

There were two sunsets after that before he left the castle, and proud was she at the manner of his treatment by the great men who were coming and going. Any were ready to speak graciously to a youth who was known to have won royal favor.

Only the third sun was going down thereafter, when Richard, in full armor but alone, save a serving man with a pack beast heavily laden, drew rein before the portal of his own castle. But all behind him the village had risen as he rode through. Farmer men were also coming in, while every cottage poured forth old and young.

The warders raised the portcullis and swung open the gate, while in the tower the bell swung heels over head. So in the village church the ringers were busy, to show their young lord their gladness at his safe return. For there had been rumors of his going to the north, even unto Scotland. He had slain men. He had served the king. He had done wondrous well, and all his own were joyful.

Hardly could he dismount from his good steed, so close was the press around him, but he bade the castle keepers make ready a goodly feast for all comers.

"Guy the Bow!" he shouted suddenly, "art thou here?"

Not quite had he arrived, but up the street a galloway was coming at his swiftest, and on his bare back rode the best archer of Arden. Down sprang Richard now, and so did Guy, but there was no handshaking, for Richard's arms were around the forester.

"Come thou within!" he shouted. "I have much to tell thee. Much to tell the men. How goeth it with them all?"

"Right well, my Lord Richard," said Guy, greatly delighted. "I tell thee, they came back loyal men. A fortnight's gay drilling with the king's troops. Good fare. Wages as if in war. A new suit each. Then marched they home, avowing they would bring each his man to double the levy."

"I trust they may," said Richard. "I will have speech with them."

"But seest thou not," said Guy, "what the earl's masons are doing for thy castle? I wonder at it, for the time hath been but brief. They work fast, and the walls are nobly mended."

"I will see to that," said Richard eagerly, and they pushed on into the keep, but not till he had spoken many good words to the villagers. Truly the workmen had plied their tools with industry, but they had done more than mend. Some well-skilled engineer of the earl had planned enlargements and outer walls on the farther side. There were to be bastions and stronger battlements and better storage within for the provenders that might withstand a siege. It was a good fort, had said the engineer, and in some dark day it might be worth the holding.

That evening was a feast of welcome and of news-telling, but with the dawn both Guy and Richard rode away. Nor did any at the castle know whither they had gone nor what they did while they were away. All the while the masons and their helpers toiled on, and the stonework grew apace. It was four days before the young lord of Wartmont returned to see what they had done. A score of men on galloways came with him to the edge of the forest, but there they drew rein, and it was Ben of Coventry who spoke for them.

"Fare thee well, Lord Richard of Wartmont!" he said merrily. "We will come at the king's summons, hear it when we may. Only this, that thou do not get thyself slain too soon, for many of us will follow the Neville, and not another."

If he had won them, so had they won him, and well did he love his bowmen, as one loveth kith and kin.

Not long might be his further lingering at the castle nor on the road to Warwick. There, indeed, he found not only his mother, but a message from the earl, bidding him to London speedily. It was a grief, and yet she was willing to have him go, for in it was his future good fortune, and she kissed him farewell after a long talk about Wartmont, and the grange in the forest, and the troop he was to command, although so young.

Two mounted spearmen went with him on the road to London, but none who met him questioned him for harm. It was as if the roads were as safe and peaceful as was their seeming; but Richard knew better than that. Even at the London gate he found himself turning quickly in his saddle to gaze after one who passed him.

"'Twas a scowling face," he thought. "Where have I met that knight? He carrieth his bridle arm in a sling, as if he were wounded there. Did I not smite a left arm with mine axe on the road? I will watch for that man."

So he told the prince when they came together, but there was wisdom of kingcraft in the answer given.

"O true and loyal heart, good comrade," spoke the prince, "if thou thinkest thou knowest him, be sure that thou know him not. If he meet thee, greet him well, as if he were thy kinsman. 'Tis ever well for a man to know his foemen. 'Tis ever ill to let his foemen know that he knoweth them. Safety is in secrecy until the sword is out of the sheath."

"I will obey," said Richard, "but my blade will be out quickly if any seem to threaten thee or my royal master."

The prince inquired with care concerning the archery levy, and he seemed well pleased, but he had somewhat more of counsel for his companion in arms.

"Wert thou ever on shipboard?" he asked. "Hast thou been ever at sea?"

"Never saw I the salt water," responded Richard. "I have but looked upon the masts in the Thames, but I can row a boat."

"A wherry?" said the prince. "There will be no wherry fighting. Even now we are sweeping the French pirate craft from the Channel. Do thou this: at every hour of thy liberties haunt thou the riverside. Read thou each craft thou seest, great and small. I will get thee an order to board any in the king's errand. Talk with seafaring men, and learn the points of shipping and of the manner of all fights at sea. Go not out of the harbor, however, for thou mayest not at any day be beyond recall if thou art needed as a messenger. Thou art of the king's pages. The earl will see to thy equipment, for thou mayest often serve at court and at royal banquets."

Gladly did he hear of that appointment. None of lower rank than his own might carry a dish or hand a napkin at the royal table, or stand behind any of the king's guests in the banquet hall. But hardly less than an earl might deliver the king's own cup or carve or hand for him.

Much teaching of these matters did Richard receive thereafter from the Earl of Warwick, and likewise one of his near friends and tutors was the good Earl of Arundel, brave knight and skillful captain, fitted to lead an army. Noble ladies also smiled upon him, for he was well favored and of goodly stature, and he knew somewhat of music. Even the queen herself spoke graciously to him before long. Nevertheless did he walk always cautiously, knowing more and more of the bitter jealousies and heartburnings which ever beset a court, and of the feuds of houses, and of the plots and cunnings, and of the endless rivalries for place and power and the favor of the king.

Long hours were to be spent each day in the hall of arms of the Warwick palace. There were duties of drill and exercise among the soldiery, that he might know how to work maneuverings on a field or placings on a march, or the choosing and the putting in order of a camp. He learned also of forts and of defenses, and of attacks and of artful dealings with foemen by night or day.

"I will make thee fitted to command thy men," said Earl Warwick. "Thou shalt not go into battle untrained. We learn that Philip of France is taking no such pains with his musterings. He will trust to his counts and barons and to his allies. He will bring against us a multitude, and then he will see what Edward of England will do with his motley array."

Greater and greater grew Richard's confidence, like that of other men, in the war wisdom of his king, but he marveled much from time to time at the words and the deep thinking of his friend the prince. He could speak several tongues, and prudently, and he was notable for his feats of skill and strength in the royal hall of arms.

It was not at first that Richard had leisure to learn much of the sea, save in listening to the talk of knights and captains who had served on shipboard. But he forgot not the counsel of the prince, and in due season he was busy with his new learning.

"Hard work," he said at the beginning. "Even the ropes have names, and every rope hath a place of its own. So have the spars and the sails. 'Tis another tongue to win, and the sailors are not like our inland men. They believe, too, that a man who liveth not on the sea is of small account. They have more respect for a good sailor than for a lord, if so be his lordship knoweth not how to win a sea fight. But they believe that our king is an admiral. What pirates they are in their talk! I have met no sailor yet who thinketh it ill to capture and plunder any foreign craft that he may encounter out of sight of land."

That was the fashion of those times, for all the open seas were as disputed territory, and the best sailors of those waters adjacent to the coasts of the British isles were but as the grandsons of the vikings. Not at all as yet had they abandoned the wild traditions of their roving ancestors.

Ever and anon came tidings from the north counties, but such as came to the public ear were favorable to a continued peace with Scotland; only that all men knew that a Scottish peace was only a war asleep, and was to be kept with the English sword halfway out of the scabbard.

From the Continent of Europe came no peace at all, but from every quarter was heard the clash of arms or the sound of military preparation. Embassies came and went continually, and Richard saw many men whose names were of note in the lands beyond the sea. He studied them well, and he inquired as he might of their deeds in camp and field and council, but none did he see who seemed to him the equals of his own great captains.

Slowly wore on the winter, and the spring went by. His mother came to court with the Countess of Warwick, and Richard was proud to see her in the throne room, unsurpassed by any dame therein for her stately beauty of form and face, and for the sweet graciousness with which she greeted all.

'Twas a fine, fair morn in June when Richard at last was summoned in haste by the Earl of Warwick.

"Grand news, my young kinsman!" shouted the stout earl. "The die is cast! The war with France hath come! Be thou ready!"

"Ready am I," said Richard gladly. "But I must bring my bowmen with me."

"Go thou not, then," said the earl. "Send but thy token by thy own messengers. Bid all the archers of Arden to speed them to Portsmouth in the king's name. The ships are even now gathering rapidly. Thousands of men are in perfect training, and the new levies are in hand to learn the way and the will of the king. Thither wilt thou go thyself. Bid thy mother a long farewell, and haste thee. I trust that when thou seest her again thou wilt wear golden spurs."

"Please God," said Richard, "I will strive to earn the good will of the king. I would not be knighted by any lesser hand than his. Canst thou tell me where is my noble friend Sir Walter de Maunay?"

"Somewhere in Guienne," said the earl, "and the king's enemies there may roundly will that he were somewhere else. Now up and out, Richard Neville! Thou wilt get thy orders further from Geoffrey Harcourt, at the port. I go to Warwick first, and then I come. The days of this mock peace are ended, and may God give his blessing to the armies of England and to our good lord the king! Amen."