Sir Nigel Read online

  XI. IN THE HALL OF THE KNIGHT OF DUPLIN

  The King had come and had gone. Tilford Manor house stood once more darkand silent, but joy and contentment reigned within its walls. In onenight every trouble had fallen away like some dark curtain which hadshut out the sun. A princely sum of money had come from the King'streasurer, given in such fashion that there could be no refusal. Witha bag of gold pieces at his saddle-bow Nigel rode once more intoGuildford, and not a beggar on the way who had not cause to bless hisname.

  There he had gone first to the goldsmith and had bought back cup andsalver and bracelet, mourning with the merchant over the evil chancethat gold and gold-work had for certain reasons which only those in thetrade could fully understand gone up in value during the last week, sothat already fifty gold pieces had to be paid more than the price whichNigel had received. In vain the faithful Aylward fretted and fumed andmuttered a prayer that the day would come when he might feather a shaftin the merchant's portly paunch. The money had to be paid.

  Thence Nigel hurried to Wat the armorer's and there he bought that verysuit for which he had yearned so short a time before. Then and there hetried it on in the booth, Wat and his boy walking round him with spannerand wrench, fixing bolts and twisting rivets.

  "How is that, my fair sir?" cried the armorer as he drew the bassinetover the head and fastened it to the camail which extended to theshoulders. "I swear by Tubal Cain that it fits you as the shell fits thecrab! A finer suit never came from Italy or Spain."

  Nigel stood in front of a burnished shield which served as a mirror,and he turned this way and that, preening himself like a little shiningbird. His smooth breastplate, his wondrous joints with their deftprotection by the disks at knee and elbow and shoulder, thebeautifully flexible gauntlets and sollerets, the shirt of mail and theclose-fitting greave-plates were all things of joy and of beauty in hiseyes. He sprang about the shop to show his lightness, and then runningout he placed his hand on the pommel and vaulted into Pommers' saddle,while Wat and his boy applauded in the doorway.

  Then springing off and running into the shop again he clanked down uponhis knees before the image of the Virgin upon the smithy wall. Therefrom his heart he prayed that no shadow or stain should come upon hissoul or his honor whilst these arms incased his body, and that he mightbe strengthened to use them for noble and godly ends. A strange turnthis to a religion of peace, and yet for many a century the sword andthe faith had upheld each other and in a darkened world the best idealof the soldier had turned in some dim groping fashion toward the light."Benedictus dominus deus meus qui docet manus meas ad Praelium etdigitos meos ad bellum!" There spoke the soul of the knightly soldier.

  So the armor was trussed upon the armorer's mule and went back with themto Tilford, where Nigel put it on once more for the pleasure of the LadyErmyntrude, who clapped her skinny hands and shed tears of mingled painand joy--pain that she should lose him, joy that he should go so bravelyto the wars. As to her own future, it had been made easy for her, sinceit was arranged that a steward should look to the Tilford estate whilstshe had at her disposal a suite of rooms in royal Windsor, where withother venerable dames of her own age and standing she could spend thetwilight of her days discussing long-forgotten scandals and whisperingsad things about the grandfathers and the grandmothers of the youngcourtiers all around them. There Nigel might leave her with an easy mindwhen he turned his face to France.

  But there was one more visit to be paid and one more farewell to bespoken ere Nigel could leave the moorlands where he had dwelled so long.That evening he donned his brightest tunic, dark purple velvet of Genoa,with trimming of miniver, his hat with the snow-white feather curlinground the front, and his belt of embossed silver round his loins.Mounted on lordly Pommers, with his hawk upon wrist and his sword byhis side, never did fairer young gallant or one more modest in mind setforth upon such an errand. It was but the old Knight of Duplin to whomhe would say farewell; but the Knight of Duplin had two daughters, Edithand Mary, and Edith was the fairest maid in all the heather-country.

  Sir John Buttesthorn, the Knight of Duplin, was so called because he hadbeen present at that strange battle, some eighteen years before, whenthe full power of Scotland had been for a moment beaten to the ground bya handful of adventurers and mercenaries, marching under the bannerof no nation, but fighting in their own private quarrel. Their exploitfills no pages of history, for it is to the interest of no nation torecord it, and yet the rumor and fame of the great fight bulked large inthose times, for it was on that day when the flower of Scotland was leftdead upon the field, that the world first understood that a new forcehad arisen in war, and that the English archer, with his robust courageand his skill with the weapon which he had wielded from his boyhood, wasa power with which even the mailed chivalry of Europe had seriously toreckon.

  Sir John after his return from Scotland had become the King's own headhuntsman, famous through all England for his knowledge of venery, untilat last, getting overheavy for his horses, he had settled in modestcomfort into the old house of Cosford upon the eastern slope of theHindhead hill. Here, as his face grew redder and his beard more white,he spent the evening of his days, amid hawks and hounds, a flagon ofspiced wine ever at his elbow, and his swollen foot perched upon a stoolbefore him. There it was that many an old comrade broke his journey ashe passed down the rude road which led from London to Portsmouth, andthither also came the young gallants of the country to hear the stoutknight's tales of old wars, or to learn, from him that lore of theforest and the chase which none could teach so well as he.

  But sooth to say, whatever the old knight might think, it was not merelyhis old tales and older wine which drew the young men to Cosford, butrather the fair face of his younger daughter, or the strong soul andwise counsel of the elder. Never had two more different branches sprungfrom the same trunk. Both were tall and of a queenly graceful figure.But there all resemblance began and ended.

  Edith was yellow as the ripe corn, blue-eyed, winning, mischievous, witha chattering tongue, a merry laugh, and a smile which a dozen of younggallants, Nigel of Tilford at their head, could share equally amongstthem. Like a young kitten she played with all things that she found inlife, and some there were who thought that already the claws could befelt amid the patting of her velvet touch.

  Mary was dark as night, grave-featured, plain-visaged, with steady browneyes looking bravely at the world from under a strong black arch ofbrows. None could call her beautiful, and when her fair sister cast herarm round her and placed her cheek against hers, as was her habit whencompany was there, the fairness of the one and the plainness of theother leaped visibly to the eyes of all, each the clearer for that hardcontrast. And yet, here and there, there was one who, looking at herstrange, strong face, and at the passing gleams far down in her darkeyes, felt that this silent woman with her proud bearing and her queenlygrace had in her something of strength, of reserve and of mystery whichwas more to them than all the dainty glitter of her sister.

  Such were the ladies of Cosford toward whom Nigel Loring rode that nightwith doublet of Genoan velvet and the new white feather in his cap.

  He had ridden over Thursley Ridge past that old stone where in days goneby at the place of Thor the wild Saxons worshiped their war-god. Nigellooked at it with a wary eye and spurred Pommers onward as he passed it,for still it was said that wild fires danced round it on the moonlessnights, and they who had ears for such things could hear the scream andsob of those whose lives had been ripped from them that the fiend mightbe honored. Thor's stone, Thor's jumps, Thor's punch-bowl--the wholecountry-side was one grim monument to the God of Battles, though thepious monks had changed his uncouth name for that of the Devil hisfather, so that it was the Devil's jumps and the Devil's punch-bowl ofwhich they spoke. Nigel glanced back at the old gray boulder, and hefelt for an instant a shudder pass through his stout heart. Was it thechill of the evening air, or was it that some inner voice had whisperedto him of the day when he also might lie bound on such a
rock and havesuch a blood-stained pagan crew howling around him.

  An instant later the rock and his vague fear and all things else hadpassed from his mind, for there, down the yellow sandy path, the settingsun gleaming on her golden hair, her lithe figure bending and swayingwith every heave of the cantering horse, was none other than the samefair Edith, whose face had come so often betwixt him and his sleep. Hisblood rushed hot to his face at the sight, for fearless of all else, hisspirit was attracted and yet daunted by the delicate mystery of woman.To his pure and knightly soul not Edith alone, but every woman, sat highand aloof, enthroned and exalted, with a thousand mystic excellenciesand virtues which raised her far above the rude world of man. Therewas joy in contact with them; and yet there was fear, fear lest his ownunworthiness, his untrained tongue or rougher ways should in some waybreak rudely upon this delicate and tender thing. Such was his thoughtas the white horse cantered toward him; but a moment later his vaguedoubts were set at rest by the frank voice of the young girl, who wavedher whip in merry greeting.

  "Hail and well met, Nigel!" she cried. "Whither away this evening? SureI am that it is not to see your friends of Cosford, for when did youever don so brave a doublet for us? Come, Nigel, her name, that I mayhate her for ever."

  "Nay, Edith," said the young Squire, laughing back at the laughing girl."I was indeed coming to Cosford."

  "Then we shall ride back together, for I will go no farther. How thinkyou that I am looking?"

  Nigel's answer was in his eyes as he glanced at the fair flushed face,the golden hair, the sparkling eyes and the daintily graceful figureset off in a scarlet-and-black riding-dress. "You are as fair as ever,Edith."

  "Oh, cold of speech! Surely you were bred for the cloisters, and not fora lady's bower, Nigel. Had I asked such a question from young Sir GeorgeBrocas or the Squire of Fernhurst, he would have raved from here toCosford. They are both more to my taste than you are, Nigel."

  "It is the worse for me, Edith," said Nigel ruefully.

  "Nay, but you must not lose heart."

  "Have I not already lost it?" said he.

  "That is better," she cried, laughing. "You can be quick enough when youchoose, Master Malapert. But you are more fit to speak of high andweary matters with my sister Mary. She will have none of the prattle andcourtesy of Sir George, and yet I love them well. But tell me, Nigel,why do you come to Cosford to-night?"

  "To bid you farewell."

  "Me alone?"

  "Nay, Edith, you and your sister Mary and the good knight your father."

  "Sir George would have said that he had come for me alone. Indeed youare but a poor courtier beside him. But is it true, Nigel, that you goto France?"

  "Yes, Edith."

  "It was so rumored after the King had been to Tilford. The story goesthat the King goes to France and you in his train. Is that true?"

  "Yes, Edith, it is true."

  "Tell me, then, to what part you go, and when?"

  "That, alas! I may not say."

  "Oh, in sooth!" She tossed her fair head and rode onward in silence,with compressed lips and angry eyes.

  Nigel glanced at her in surprise and dismay. "Surely, Edith," said he atlast, "you have overmuch regard for my honor that you should wish me tobreak the word that I have given?"

  "Your honor belongs to you, and my likings belong to me," said she. "Youhold fast to the one, and I will do the same by the other."

  They rode in silence through Thursley village. Then a thought came toher mind and in an instant her anger was forgotten and she was hot on anew scent.

  "What would you do if I were injured, Nigel? I have heard my father saythat small as you are there is no man in these parts could stand againstyou. Would you be my champion if I suffered wrong?"

  "Surely I or any man of gentle blood would be the champion of any womanwho had suffered wrong."

  "You or any and I or any--what sort of speech is that? Is it acompliment, think you, to be mixed with a drove in that fashion? Myquestion was of you and me. If I were wronged would you be my man?"

  "Try me and see, Edith!"

  "Then I will do so, Nigel. Either Sir George Brocas or the Squire ofFernhurst would gladly do what I ask, and yet I am of a mind, Nigel, toturn to you."

  "I pray you to tell me what it is."

  "You know Paul de la Fosse of Shalford?"

  "You mean the small man with the twisted back?"

  "He is no smaller than yourself, Nigel, and as to his back there aremany folk that I know who would be glad to have his face."

  "Nay, I am no judge of that, and I spoke out of no discourtesy. What ofthe man?"

  "He has flouted me, Nigel, and I would have revenge."

  "What--on that poor twisted creature?"

  "I tell you that he has flouted me!"

  "But how?"

  "I should have thought that a true cavalier would have flown to my aid,withouten all these questions. But I will tell you, since I needs must.Know then that he was one of those who came around me and professed tobe my own. Then, merely because he thought that there were others whowere as dear to me as himself he left me, and now he pays court to MaudeTwynham, the little freckle-faced hussy in his village."

  "But how has this hurt you, since he was no man of thine?"

  "He was one of my men, was he not? And he has made game of me to hiswench. He has told her things about me. He has made me foolish in hereyes. Yes, yes, I can read it in her saffron face and in her watery eyeswhen we meet at the church door on Sundays. She smiles--yes, smiles atme! Nigel, go to him! Do not slay him, nor even wound him, but lay hisface open with thy riding-whip, and then come back to me and tell me howI can serve you."

  Nigel's face was haggard with the strife within, for desire ran hot inevery vein, and yet reason shrank with horror. "By Saint Paul! Edith,"he cried, "I see no honor nor advancement of any sort in this thingwhich you have asked me to do. Is it for me to strike one who is nobetter than a cripple? For my manhood I could not do such a deed, and Ipray you, dear lady, that you will set me some other task."

  Her eyes flashed at him in contempt. "And you are a man-at-arms!" shecried, laughing in bitter scorn. "You are afraid of a little man who canscarce walk. Yes, yes, say what you will, I shall ever believe that youhave heard of his skill at fence and of his great spirit, and that yourheart has failed you! You are right, Nigel. He is indeed a perilous man.Had you done what I asked he would have slain you, and so you have shownyour wisdom."

  Nigel flushed and winced under the words, but he said no more, for hismind was fighting hard within him, striving to keep that high imageof woman which seemed for a moment to totter on the edge of a fall.Together in silence, side by side, the little man and the stately woman,the yellow charger and the white jennet, passed up the sandy windingtrack with the gorse and the bracken head-high on either side. Soon apath branched off through a gateway marked with the boar-heads of theButtesthorns, and there was the low widespread house heavily timbered,loud with the barking of dogs. The ruddy Knight limped forth withoutstretched hand and roaring voice--

  "What how, Nigel! Good welcome and all hail! I had thought that you hadgiven over poor friends like us, now that the King had made so muchof you. The horses, varlets, or my crutch will be across you! Hush,Lydiard! Down, Pelamon! I can scarce hear my voice for your yelping.Mary, a cup of wine for young Squire Loring!"

  She stood framed in the doorway, tall, mystic, silent, with strange,wistful face and deep soul shining in her dark, questioning eyes. Nigelkissed the hand that she held out, and all his faith in woman and hisreverence came back to him as he looked at her. Her sister had slippedbehind her and her fair elfish face smiled her forgiveness of Nigel overMary's shoulder.

  The Knight of Duplin leaned his weight upon the young man's arm andlimped his way across the great high-roofed hall to his capacious oakenchair. "Come, come, the stool, Edith!" he cried. "As God is my help,that girl's mind swarms with gallants as a granary with rats. Well,Nigel, I hear strange tales of your sp
ear-running at Tilford and of thevisit of the King. How seemed he? And my old friend Chandos--many happyhours in the woodlands have we had together--and Manny too, he was evera bold and a hard rider--what news of them all?"

  Nigel told to the old Knight all that had occurred, saying little of hisown success and much of his own failure, yet the eyes of the dark womanburned the brighter as she sat at her tapestry and listened.

  Sir John followed the story with a running fire of oaths, prayers,thumps with his great fist and flourishes of his crutch. "Well, well,lad, you could scarce expect to hold your saddle against Manny, and youhave carried yourself well. We are proud of you, Nigel, for you are ourown man, reared in the heather country. But indeed I take shame that youare not more skilled in the mystery of the woods, seeing that I have hadthe teaching of you, and that no one in broad England is my master atthe craft. I pray you to fill your cup again whilst I make use of thelittle time that is left to us."

  And straightway the old Knight began a long and weary lecture upon thetimes of grace and when each beast and bird was seasonable, with manyanecdotes, illustrations, warnings and exceptions, drawn from his owngreat experience. He spoke also of the several ranks and grades of thechase: how the hare, hart and boar must ever take precedence overthe buck, the doe, the fox, the marten and the roe, even as a knightbanneret does over a knight, while these in turn are of a higher classto the badger, the wildcat or the otter, who are but the common populaceof the world of beasts. Of blood-stains also he spoke--how the skilledhunter may see at a glance if blood be dark and frothy, which means amortal hurt, or thin and clear, which means that the arrow has struck abone.

  "By such signs," said he, "you will surely know whether to lay on thehounds and cast down the blinks which hinder the stricken deer in itsflight. But above all I pray you, Nigel, to have a care in the use ofthe terms of the craft, lest you should make some blunder at table, sothat those who are wiser may have the laugh of you, and we who love youmay be shamed."

  "Nay, Sir John," said Nigel. "I think that after your teaching I canhold my place with the others."

  The old Knight shook his white head doubtfully. "There is so much to belearned that there is no one who can be said to know all," said he. "Forexample, Nigel, it is sooth that for every collection of beasts of theforest, and for every gathering of birds of the air, there is their ownprivate name so that none may be confused with another."

  "I know it, fair sir."

  "You know it, Nigel, but you do not know each separate name, else areyou a wiser man than I had thought you. In truth--none can say that theyknow all, though I have myself picked off eighty, and six for a wagerat court, and it is said that the chief huntsman of the Duke of Burgundyhas counted over a hundred--but it is in my mind that he may have foundthem as he went, for there was none to say him nay. Answer me now, lad,how would you say if you saw ten badgers together in the forest?"

  "A cete of badgers, fair sir."

  "Good, Nigel--good, by my faith! And if you walk in Woolmer Forest andsee a swarm of foxes, how would you call it?"

  "A skulk of foxes."

  "And if they be lions?"

  "Nay, fair sir, I am not like to meet several lions in Woolmer Forest."

  "Aye, lad, but there are other forests besides Woolmer, and other landsbesides England, and who can tell how far afield such a knight errantas Nigel of Tilford may go, when he sees worship to be won? We will saythat you were in the deserts of Nubia, and that afterward at the courtof the great Sultan you wished to say that you had seen several lions,which is the first beast of the chase, being the king of all animals.How then would you say it?"

  Nigel scratched his head. "Surely, fair sir, I would be content to saythat I had seen a number of lions, if indeed I could say aught after sowondrous an adventure."

  "Nay, Nigel, a huntsman would have said that he had seen a pride oflions, and so proved that he knew the language of the chase. Now had itbeen boars instead of lions?"

  "One says a singular of boars."

  "And if they be swine?"

  "Surely it is a herd of swine."

  "Nay, nay, lad, it is indeed sad to see how little you know. Your hands,Nigel, were always better than your head. No man of gentle birth wouldspeak of a herd of swine; that is the peasant speech. If you drive themit is a herd. If you hunt them it is other. What call you them, then,Edith?"

  "Nay, I know not," said the girl listlessly. A crumpled note brought inby a varlet was clinched in her right hand and her blue eyes looked afarinto the deep shadows of the roof.

  "But you can tell us, Mary?"

  "Surely, sweet sir, one talks of a sounder of swine."

  The old Knight laughed exultantly. "Here is a pupil who never brings meshame!" he cried. "Be it lore--of chivalry or heraldry or woodcraft orwhat you will, I can always turn to Mary. Many a man can she put to theblush."

  "Myself among them," said Nigel.

  "Ah, lad, you are a Solomon to some of them. Hark ye! only last weekthat jack-fool, the young Lord of Brocas, was here talking of havingseen a covey of pheasants in the wood. One such speech would have beenthe ruin of a young Squire at the court. How would you have said it,Nigel?"

  "Surely, fair sir, it should be a nye of pheasants."

  "Good, Nigel--a nye of pheasants, even as it is a gaggle of geese or abadling of ducks, a fall of woodcock or a wisp of snipe. But a covey ofpheasants! What sort of talk is that? I made him sit even where you aresitting, Nigel, and I saw the bottom of two pots of Rhenish ere I lethim up. Even then I fear that he had no great profit from his lesson,for he was casting his foolish eyes at Edith when he should have beenturning his ears to her father. But where is the wench?"

  "She hath gone forth, father."

  "She ever doth go forth when there is a chance of learning aught that isuseful indoors. But supper will soon be ready, and there is a boar'sham fresh from the forest with which I would ask your help, Nigel, anda side of venison from the King's own chase. The tinemen and verderershave not forgotten me yet, and my larder is ever full. Blow three mootson the horn, Mary, that the varlets may set the table, for the growingshadow and my loosening belt warn me that it is time."