Author: John Reed Scott
Category: Adventure
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VI
A WAYSIDE SKIRMISH
For a space Sir Aymer rode alone at the head of the column without evencasting a glance behind or addressing a word to his squire. Presentlythe road forked and turning half around in his saddle, he inquired:"Which leads to Kirkstall Abbey?"
"The straightaway one, my lord; the other would carry you back toWakefield," said the elderly under-officer, whose hair, where it hadstrayed from under his casquetel, was silvered, and across whoseweather-beaten face, from chin to temple, ran a bright red scar.
"The battlefield?"
"The same, sir."
"Ride beside me," said De Lacy. "Did you fight at Wakefield?"
"I did, fair sir--it was a bloody field."
"The Duke of York died that day."
"Aye, sir--I stood not ten feet from him when he fell. He was a braveknight, and our own Gloucester much resembles him in countenance."
"You have seen many battles, my man?"
"Since the first St. Albans I have missed scarce one. It is a tradethat came into the family with my grandsire's sire."
"And do your children follow it, as well?"
"Not so, my lord. Raynor Royk has none to succeed him. And by yourleave it is small matter. In a few years there will be but scant workfor my calling in this land. England has seen her last warriorKing--unless------"
"Unless what?" said De Lacy.
The old retainer glanced shrewdly at his young leader; then answeredwith apparent carelessness.
"Unless Richard of Gloucester should wear the crown."
De Lacy looked at him sharply.
"Small likelihood of that, my man," said he. "Edward left a goodlyfamily."
"In truth yes, my lord," was the answer. "Yet there would be more joyamong the soldiers in the North if Gloucester were our King."
Doubtless the speech merited rebuke,--it was over near to treason,--butthe man was honest in his devotion to the Duke, and likely meant noparticular disrespect to the young Edward. So De Lacy let it pass, butstraightway changed the subject.
"Do you know Craigston Castle?" he asked.
"Most thoroughly."
"Where is it?"
"On the North bank of the Wharfe, a short three leagues beyondKirkstall Abbey."
"And the Abbey?"
"Five leagues or more from Pontefract."
"A proper distance--we can taste the good monks' hospitality and stillmake Craigston before night. Is this the Aire I see shining ahead?"
"The same; the ford is easy."
De Lacy nodded; and the veteran taking that as his dismissal drew backand resumed his place in the column.
The nones bell had already sounded some little time when they drew reinbefore the lodge of the great Cistercian Abbey. The gates were closed,but the wicket was open and at it was the rotund face of the brotherwho served as porter.
"Be so kind, worthy monk, as to say to your superior that a Knight andhis attendants crave refreshment ere they travel further," said De Lacy.
"Enter, fair lord," returned the porter, swinging back the gates. "Bidyour men repair to the buttery yonder, while I conduct your worship tothe holy father."
They found the Abbot pacing the gravel path between the cloister andthe church, with his chancellor at his side. His cowl was thrown backand the white gown of his Order, which hung full to his feet, wasfastened close to the throat. His face was pale, and the well-cutfeatures and the small hands betokened his gentle birth. He was,possibly, about fifty years of age, but his step and bearing were aseasy as De Lacy's own.
"_Benedicite_, my son," said he, as the Knight bent head to theuplifted hand, "you are welcome, and just in time to join us at thenoonday meal."
"It was to ask refreshment for myself and my men that I halted, andyour reverence has in kindness anticipated me," said De Lacy.
The Abbot turned to the porter: "Brother James," he said, "see that allare provided for and that the horses have a full allowance ofgrain.--And now, there sounds the horn for us. Sir------"
"Aymer de Lacy," filled in the Knight.
"A goodly name, my son; and one dear to Yorkshire hereabouts, although,now, near forgotten. Have you seen Pontefract?"
"I quit it but this morning."
"In sooth!" said the Abbot, with sudden interest. "And is His Grace ofGloucester still in presence there?"
"He left shortly before I did."
"For London?"
"Nay, methinks I heard he rode to York," replied De Lacy, who hadlearned enough on the Continent of the ways of churchmen not to tellthem all he knew.
"To York!" said the Abbot in some surprise. "How many men did he takewith him?"
"I was not present when the Duke departed and I did not see hisfollowing," returned Aymer.
The Abbot's keen eyes tried to read behind the answer, but evidentlywithout success, for his next remark was: "I do not recall your face,Sir Aymer, among the many Knights who have traversed these parts."
"Your memory is entirely trustworthy," said De Lacy. "I came fromFrance but lately, and have never seen this section until to-day."
"Fare you not to the coronation?"
"In truth, yes, your reverence; Deo volente."
"Then must you soon turn bridle; London lies to the South, my son,"said the Abbot, with a smile.
De Lacy laughed. "Never fear--I shall be there--Deo volente."
"You have learned the Christian virtue of humility, at all events,"said the priest, as they entered the hall, where the monks were alreadyseated around the long tables, awaiting the coming of the Abbot. Uponhis appearance they all arose and remained standing while theChancellor droned a Latin blessing. Then he took his carved chair atthe smaller table on the dais, with the Knight beside him, and therepast began. During the meal, the Abbot made no effort to obtain hisguest's destination or mission, but discussed matters of generalimport. He, himself, contrary to the usual habits of the monks of hisday, ate but little, and when De Lacy had finished he withdrew with him.
"You are anxious to be on your way," he said, "and I will not detainyou. These roads are scarce pleasant after night-fall."
In the courtyard the men-at-arms were drawn up awaiting the order tomount.
"Verily, you ride well attended, my son. The roads need not botheryou," said the Abbot, as he ran his eyes over the array. . . "MethinksI have seen your face before," looking hard at Raynor Royk.
"Like as not, your reverence," said the old retainer calmly; "I am nostranger in Yorkshire."
At that moment Dauvrey led the Knight's horse forward, and Aymer turnedto the monk before he could address another question to Raynor.
"I am much beholden, my lord Abbot, for your kindly entertainment and Ihope some day I may requite it. Farewell."
"Farewell, my son," returned the monk. "May the peace of the HolyBenedict rest upon you."
He watched them until the last horseman had clattered through thegateway, then turned away.
"My mitre on it, they are Gloucester's men," he muttered.
When they had quit the Abbey, De Lacy again summoned Raynor Royk andquestioned him regarding the Abbot of Kirkstall. The old soldier, likethe majority of his fellows who made fighting a business, had acontemptuous indifference to the clerical class. A blessing or a cursewas alike of little consequence to men who feared neither God, man, norDevil, and who would as readily strip a sleek priest as a good, fatmerchant. Raynor's words were blunt and to the point. He knew nothingof the Abbot except through the gossip of the camp and guard-room, andthat made him a cadet of a noble family of the South of England, whofor some unknown reason had, in early manhood, suddenly laid aside hissword and shield and assumed Holy Orders. He had been the Abbot ofKirkstall for many years, and it was understood had great power andinfluence in the Church; though he, himself, rarely went beyond thelimits of his own domain. He was, however, regarded as an intriguing,political priest, of Lancastrian inclination, but shrewd enough to trimsuccessfully to whatever facti
on might be in power.
Two of the remaining leagues had been covered, and they were within amile or so of the Wharfe when, rounding a sharp turn, they came upon ascene that brought every man's sword from its sheath. The narrow road,at this point, was through a dense forest of oaks and beeches thatcrowded to the very edge of the track and formed an arch over it. Thetrees grew close together, and the branches were so interlocked thatthe sunlight penetrated with difficulty; and though the day was stillfar from spent, yet, here, the shadows had already begun to lengtheninto an early twilight. Some two hundred yards down this road was agroup of figures that swayed, now this way, now that, in the broil ofconflict, while from it came the clash of steel. In the road was thedead body of a horse, and, upon either side of it, lay two men whowould never draw weapon again. The one had been split almost to thenose by a single downright blow, and the other had been pierced throughthe throat by a thrust of the point.
At a little distance, with his back against a tree and defendinghimself vigorously from the assault of half a dozen men, stood a talland elderly Knight. He was not in armor, except for a light corseletof steel, and already he had been more than once slightly wounded. Hisbonnet had been lost in the melee, and his grey hair was smudged withblood along the temple. Two more men were dead at his feet, and forthe moment the others hesitated to press in and end the fight. Thathuge sword could make short work of at least another pair of thembefore the hands that held it would relax, and the uncertainty as towhich would be the victims stayed their rush. Suddenly the Knightleaped forward, cut down the one nearest him, and was back to the treebefore the others had recovered from their surprise. Then with a roarof anger they flung themselves upon him, and the struggle began anew.In their rage and impetuosity, however, they fought without method, andthe Knight was able for a short interval, by skilful play, to sweepaside their points and to parry their blows. But it forced him tofight wholly on the defensive, and his age and wounds left no doubt asto the ultimate result. His arm grew tired, and the grip on his swordhilt weakened. . . His enemies pressed him closer and closer. . . Ablow got past his guard and pierced his thigh. He had strength foronly one more stroke; and he gathered it for a final rush and balancedhimself for the opportunity. So fierce was the conflict that no onenoticed the approach of De Lacy until, with a shout of "_Au secours_!"he rode down upon them. He had out-stripped all his escort, except hissquire, and even he was several lengths behind. Taken by surprise, theassailants hesitated a moment, and so lost their only opportunity forescape. With a sweep of his long sword he shore a head clean from itsshoulders, another man went down before his horse's rush; and then,swinging in a demi-volte, he split a third through collar-bone and deepinto the breast. Meanwhile, the old Knight had slain one and GilesDauvrey had stopped the flight of another. But one escaped, and he, inthe confusion, had darted into the forest and was quickly lost amid itsshadows.
"By St. Luke, sir!" said the old Knight, as he leaned heavily on hissword, "your coming was most opportune. My strength was almost spent."
"It was a gallant fight," said Aymer. "I feared every instant theywould close ere I could reach you. . . But you are wounded!"
"Nay, they are only scratches and will heal shortly--yet the leg growsheavy and I would best rest it," and he seated himself on the turf atthe foot of the tree. "This comes of riding in silk instead ofsteel--certes, I am old enough to know better."
De Lacy dismounted and aided him to examine his wounds. The only oneof any consequence was in the leg; it had been made by a sword thrust;and the point having penetrated only the fleshy part of the thigh, nomaterial damage was inflicted.
"Were you alone when assaulted?" asked De Lacy, the while he wasbinding a scarf around the injury.
"Yes--and another piece of childishness. I had despatched my squire ona sudden errand, a short ways back, and had no notion of danger, whenthese rogues suddenly set upon me. I made short work of two of themand would have got through, without difficulty, but for the death of myhorse. They stabbed him, as you see. Then I got my back against thetree and managed to keep them off for a period. The rest you know.And to whom am I so heavily indebted?"
"My name is Aymer de Lacy."
"By St. Luke! John de Bury is glad that it is to a De Lacy he owes hislife."
"Are you Sir John de Bury of Craigston Castle?"
"The same--although, but for you I would be of the Kingdom of Spiritsinstead."
"It would appear that my coming was very timely for us both," said DeLacy, "for my mission in these parts is with you."
"With me?" Sir John de Bury exclaimed, struggling to his feet. "Then,if you will let me have a horse, I will ride beside you to thecastle--it is less than half a league distant."
"One moment, Sir John," said Aymer. "Did you recognize any of yourassailants?"
"Not one, by St. Luke," said De Bury. "Some rascally robbers, I fancy;there are enough of them in these parts."
De Lacy motioned to Raynor.
"Do you know this carrion?" he asked.
The veteran dismounted and examined the bodies; turning with his footthose that had fallen face downward.
"They are strangers to me, my lord," he said. "I never saw hair ofthem before. But, perchance, this fellow can give you someinformation," and suddenly stooping, he seized one of the seeming deadmen by the neck and jerked him to his feet. "Answer the Knight,rogue," he said. "Raynor Royk has seen too many dead bodies to befooled by one that has not a scratch upon it."
"By St, Denis!" said Do Lacy, "he is the one my good horse knockedover. I clean forgot him. How now, fellow," he continued sternly,"what mean you by assaulting a Knight upon the King's highway; and whoset you up to such work?"
The man, who had been simulating death, hoping so to escape, regardedDe Lacy with a frown and in sullen silence.
"Speak," said Raynor, giving him a shake that made his teeth rattle.
For answer he suddenly plucked a small dagger from a concealed sheathand, twisting around, struck full and hard at the old soldier's face,which was unprotected by the steel cap. Raynor sprang back and avoidedthe blow, but in so doing he released his hold, and the rogue dashedinstantly for cover. No one was in his way and his escape seemedcertain, for the heavily armed men of De Lacy would have no chance in afoot race with one lightly clad. With two bounds he had reached theline of trees and was almost secure when, like a flash, Giles Dauvreydrew his heavy dagger and hurled it after him. The point struck fullin the centre of the neck and sank deep into flesh and bone. With agurgling cry he plunged forward and lay still--dead before his bodytouched the turf.
"By St. Peter! a neat throw, Sir Squire," said Raynor, as he jerked outthe weapon and handed it to Dauvrey. "I mind never to have seen abetter."
"Toss the other carrion by the roadside," said De Lacy; "we tarry hereno longer."