CHAPTER IV.
As merry a peal as ever was rung, though not perhaps as scientific aone, ushered in the month of May, and as bright a sun as ever shonerose up in the eastern sky, and cast long lines of light over the greenfields, glistening with the tears of departed night. The spring hadbeen one of those fair seasons which have but rarely visited us inlatter years, when, according to the old rhyme,
"March winds and April showers Had brought about May flowers."
Almost every leaf was upon the trees, except, indeed, in the case ofsome of those sturdy old oaks, which, in their brown hardihood, seemedunwilling to put on the livery of spring. The snowdrop had had herseason and was gone, but the violet still lingered, shedding herperfume in the shade, and the hawthorn flaunted her fragrant blossomsto the wooing air. It was, in short, the merry, merry month of May, andher ensigns were out in every hedge and every field, calling younghearts to gaiety and enjoyment, and promising a bright summer in hertrain.
Many a maiden had been out, before the sun rose, from behind thedistant slopes, to gather May dew to refresh her beauty, and many ayouth, seeking the blossom of the white-thorn, had met, by preconcertedaccident, the girl he loved under the lover's tree, and kissed her aswarmly as under the mistletoe. Young Harland, however, had looked forKate Greenly at the place where he had found her on the same day in theformer year, but had looked in vain; and, as he returned homeward,somewhat disappointed, had found her with a party of gay girls,sometimes laughing with their laughter, sometimes falling into deep andgloomy thought.
Her young companions broke away to leave her alone with heracknowledged lover; and Kate walked quickly home by his side, with avarying and a changeful air, which we must notice for a moment, thoughwe cannot pause to tell all that passed between them. Sometimes she wasgay and saucy, as her wont; sometimes she was thoughtful and even sad;sometimes she affected scorn for her lover's gentle reproaches;sometimes she raised her eyes, and gazed on him with a look oftenderness and regret that made him sorry he had uttered them. Herdemeanour was as varying as an April day; but that it had often beenbefore, and he saw not a deeper shadow that spread with an ominouscloud-like heaviness over all. They parted at the door of her father'shouse, and young Ralph Harland turned him home again, thinking of thepleasure of the merry dance and all the sports that were to come, andhow a little gift, which he had prepared for her he loved, would quietall idle quarrels between him and fair Kate Greenly.
The village green, the sweet little village green which we havedescribed, was early decked out with all that could be required for thesports of the day. The tall May-pole in the centre, surmounted with acoronet of flowers, streaming with ribbons and green leaves, and everysort of country ornament, was prepared for the dance around it, whichwas soon to take place. Every tree was hung with garlands, and even theold well was decorated with wreaths and branches of the hawthorn andthe oak. The inn itself was a complete mass of flowers; and, before thedoor, at a very early hour, were arranged the various prizes which wereto reward the successful competitors in the rustic sports of the day.There was a runlet of wine stood beside the little bench beneath theeaves, and in a pen, formed by four hurdles, was a milk-white ram, withhis horns gilded, and a chaplet twisted round his curly pate; andfurther off, leaning against the wall, stood a long yew bow, with abaldric, and sheaf of arrows, winged with peacock's feathers, bearingsilver ornaments upon the quiver.
These prizes were the first object of curiosity, and at an early hourmany a group of boys and girls, and youths and maidens, gathered roundthe pen where the fat, long fleeced ram was confined, and pulled him bythe gilded horns, while others looked at the bow, and every now andthen stretched out a hand to touch and examine it more closely, butwere deterred by a loud shrill voice from one of the windows of theinn, shouting, "Beware the thong!"
No season of merriment occurred at that time in England withoutbringing together its crowd of minstrels and musicians; and even thenso populous had the gentle craft become, and so dissolute withal, thatlaws and regulations were found necessary for the purpose ofdiminishing the numbers of its followers and regulating their manners.
"Free drink for the minstrels" was a general proverb assented to byall, and the consequence was, that having the opportunity, they seldomwanted the inclination to pour their libations too freely, a good dealto the inconvenience, very frequently, of their entertainers. Theclass, however, which came to a May-day merry-making in a commoncountry village was, of course, not of the highest grade, either inmusical skill or professional rank; and the first who appeared on thevillage-green was a piper, with his bag under his arm, producing, as hecame, those extraordinary sounds which are found to have a verypleasant effect upon some portions of the human species, but are almostuniversally distasteful to the canine race. Upon this occasion almostall the dogs in the village followed him, either barking or howling.The good piper, however, did not seem to consider it as at all a badcompliment, but sitting himself down upon the bench before the inndoor, played away to his square-headed auditory, till some humanbipeds, and amongst the rest Jack Greenly himself, came forth with ajug of humming ale, and set it down beside him.
The piper drank, as pipers will drink, a long and hearty draught, thenlooked around him, and as a matter of course, commended liberally tothe ears of his entertainer the preparations which had been made forthe May-day games.
A floyter, or player on the flute, was not long behind, and he himselfwas succeeded by a man with a rote but the great musician of all, theperformer on the viol, without whom the dance would not have beenperfect, like all other important personages, caused himself to bewaited for; and at length, when he did appear, came accompanied by hisretinue, consisting of two long-eared curs, and a boy, carrying hisviol, carefully wrapped up in the recesses of a fustian bag. With greatairs of dignity, too, he took his way at once into the house, and bothprudently and humanely tuned his instrument in a room where few if anyears were nigh to hear.
Fain would I, dear reader, could such a thing be permitted, indulge ina long description of the May-day games of old England. Fain would Itell you who in the wrestling match won the milk-white ram, or shot thebest arrow, or hurled the best quoit; but there are more serious thingsbefore us, and to them we must hurry on, leaving to imagination toundertake the task of depicting not only these, but the still greaterstruggle which took place amongst many a hardy yeoman for a fine horse.of Yorkshire breed, given by Ralph Harland himself in honour of her heloved.
Suffice it then, for the present, that the sports of the morning wereover, that the noonday meal, too, was at an end, that the girls of thevillage had rearranged their dress for the lighter amusement of theevening, and were gathering gaily under the group of trees to begintheir first dance around the Maypole. Ralph Harland stood by Kate'sside, and was asking anxiously what made her so sad, when suddenly heraised his eyes, and his countenance became even more overcast thanhers.
The sound which had made him look up had certainly nothing unusual init on that busy morning. It was but the tramp of three or four horsescoming at a rapid pace, but the young man's heart was anxious; and whenhis eyes rested on the face of Richard de Ashby, who rode in, followedby three men, and dressed with unusual splendour, well might the youngfranklin's bosom be troubled with feelings bitter and indignant,especially as he saw her whom he loved turn red and white, and read inthe changing colour the confirmation of many a dark suspicion.
The personage who had produced these sensations seemed at first to takeno notice of the gay groups around him, but advancing at once to thelow inn door, which was nearly blocked up by the jovial person of JohnGreenly himself, he sprang to the ground lightly and gracefully,asking, in such a tone that all around could hear what he said, whetherthe Earl of Ashby had yet arrived.
On finding that such was not the case, he turned round with anindifferent air, saying, "Good faith, then I must amuse myself as bestI may, till my fair cousin comes. What have you going f
orward here--aMay-day dance? Good sooth, I will make one. Pretty Kate," he continued,advancing to the spot where she stood, "will you give me your hand tolead you a measure round the Maypole?"
"It is promised to me," said Ralph Harland, in a stern tone, beforeKate could reply, bending his brows angrily upon his rival.
"Is it, indeed!" cried Richard de Ashby, gazing at him from head tofoot with that cool look of supercilious contempt which is so hard tobear, and yet so difficult to quarrel with.--"Well, but she has twohands; she shall give you one and me the other, and this pretty littledamsel," he continued, to a girl of some twelve or thirteen years ofage, who stood by listening, "this pretty little damsel shall take myother hand--so that is all settled. Come, Master Violer, let us hearthe notes of the catgut! Come, sweet Kate, I long to see those lovelylimbs playing in the graceful dance."
Poor Ralph Harland! it was one of those moments when it is equallydifficult to act and not to act, especially for one inexperienced,young, and brought up in habitual deference for superior rank andstation. A direct insult, an open injury, he would have avenged at onceupon the highest head that wagged in all the realm; but the covertscorn of the manner, the hidden baseness of the design, he knew not howto meet; and following, rather than accompanying, his light-o'-lovesweetheart to the dance, he joined in a pastime to which his heart wasbut ill attuned.
It is under such circumstances that those who are wronged have alwaysthe disadvantage. Ralph was fierce, silent, gloomy; while Richard deAshby was all grace, self-possession, smiles, and cheerfulness. Hisspeech and his glances were for Kate Greenly alone. His looks and hisvoice were full of triumph, his eyes full of meaning; and many a timeand oft, as they danced gaily round, he whispered to her soft things,of which no one heard the whole, although there was a keen and eagerear close by, listening for every sound to fix a quarrel on thespeaker.
At length the notes of the viol stopped, and the dance came to an end,just as Richard de Ashby was adding a word or two more to something hehad been saying in a low tone to the fair coquette beside him, whileher colour changed more than once, and eyelids were cast down. Thesudden silence rendered the last half of the sentence audible. Itwas--"Then lose not a moment."
Ralph Harland cast her hand from him indignantly, and fronting Richardde Ashby, exclaimed--"To do what?"
"What is that to thee, peasant?" demanded Richard de Ashby, colouringas much with anger at his words having been overheard, as with pride.
"Everything that she does is matter to me," replied Ralph, fiercely,"if I am to be her husband; and if I am not, woe be to the man thatmakes her break her promise."
"You are insolent, peasant," replied the Earl's kinsman, with a look ofscorn; "take care, or you will make me angry."
"It shall be done without care," replied Ralph Harland, feeling no morehesitation, now that he was fully embarked; "let go my arm, Kate, and Iwill soon show you and others of what egg-shells a lord's cousin can bemade.--What brings you here to spoil our merriment, and mar our May-daygames? Take that as a remembrance of Ralph Harland!" and he struck hima blow, which, although Richard de Ashby partially warded it off, madehim stagger and reel back. But at that very moment, the three servantshe had brought with him, who had hitherto stood at a distance, seeingtheir master engaged in a squabble with one of the dancers, ran up, andone of them, catching him by the arm, prevented him from falling.
His sword was now out of the sheath in an instant; the weapons of hisattendants were not behind, and all four rushed upon the youngfranklin, exclaiming, "Cut off his ears! The villain has dared tostrike a nobleman! Cut off his ears!"
All the villagers scattered back from the object of their fury, excepttwo--Kate Greenly, who cast herself upon her knees before Richard deAshby, begging him to spare her lover, and Ralph's old grey-headedfather, who, running up from the inn door, placed a stout staff in hisson's hand, exclaiming, "Well done, Ralph, my boy! Thrash 'em all! Ho!Greenly, give me another stick that I may help him!"
One of the serving-men, however, struck the old franklin with thepummel of his sword, and knocked him down, while the two others pressedforward upon Ralph, and the foremost caught his left arm, just asRichard de Ashby, putting Kate aside, came within arm's-length of himin front, reiterating with fierce vehemence, "Cut off his ears!"
It is probable that the order would have been executed unmercifully,had not a sudden ally appeared upon Ralph Harland's side.
Leaping from the window of the inn, a man clothed in a close-fittingcoat, and hose of Lincoln green, with a sword by his side, a narrowbuckler on his shoulder, a sheaf of arrows under his left arm, and aleathern bracer just below the bend of the elbow, sprang forward, witha pole some six feet long in his hand, and at three bounds cleared thespace between the inn and the disputants. The third leap, which broughthim up with them, was scarcely taken, when one blow of his staff struckthe man who held Ralph by the left arm to the ground, and a second sentthe sword of Richard de Ashby flying far over his head.
At the same moment he exclaimed, looking at the servant whom he hadknocked down, "Ha! ha! my old acquaintance; when last we had a fall inyonder inn together, I thought we should meet again! Fair play! fairplay!--Not four against one! Get you in, Kate Light-o'-love! out ofharm's way! The day may not end so well as it has begun. Fair play, Isay, or we may take odds too!"
Richard de Ashby looked round, furiously, after his sword, and laid hishand upon the dagger that hung at his right side; but the sight he saw,as he turned his eyes towards the inn, was one well calculated tomoderate, at least, the expression of his rage, for some eight or ninemen, all habited alike in close coats of Lincoln green, were coming upat a quick pace from behind the house, and their apparel, andappearance altogether, could leave little doubt that they werecompanions of him who had first arrived, and in whom he recognised withno slight surprise, the same blue-nosed old peasant whom he had foundcontending with his servants not many nights before. The hump, indeed,was gone, and the neck was straight enough. All signs of decrepitude,too, had passed away; but the face was not to be mistaken, and Richardde Ashby's countenance fell at the sight.
He was no coward, however; for, amongst the swarm of vices, andfollies, and faults, which degraded so many of the Norman nobility ofthat day, cowardice was rarely, if ever, to be met with. They were apeople of the sword, and never unwilling to use it.
His first thought, then, was to resist to the death, if need might be;his next, how to resist to the best advantage. Snatching his sword,then, which one of his servants had picked up, he looked to the clumpof trees, but Harland, and the man in green, with a whole host ofvillagers, whose angry faces betokened him no good, were immediately inthe way, so that his only resource seemed to be to retreat to the inndoor.
The first step he took in that direction, however, produced a rapidmovement on the part of the yeomen, or foresters, or whatever thegreen-coated gentlemen might be, which cut him off from that place ofrefuge, and, at the same moment, the voice of Hardy exclaimed, "Stophim from the church path, Much! This rat-trap of ours has too manyholes in it, but that will close them all--Now, Master Richard deAshby, listen to a word or two. You come here with no good purposes toany one, and we want no more of you. But you shall have your choice ofthree things:--You shall either get to your horse's back, and go away,swearing, as you believe in the blessed Virgin, never to set foot inthis place again,--I don't think you dare break that oath,--or--"
"I will not!" replied Richard de Ashby, fiercely.
"Very well, then," said Hardy; "if that is the case, you shall standout in the midst, cast away sword and dagger, betake you to aquarter-staff, and see whether, with the same arms, young Ralph Harlandhere will not thrash you like a sheaf of wheat."
"Fight a peasant with a quarter-staff!" cried Richard de Ashby. "I willnot!"
"Well, then, the third may be less pleasant," said Hardy. "I havenothing else to offer, but that we all fall upon you and yours, andbeat you till you remember Hendley-green as long as you call yourself aman
."
"Murder us, if you will," said Richard de Ashby, doggedly; "but we willsell our lives dearly."
"I don't know that, worshipful sir," said the man with the purple nose;"we have no inclination to thrash more men than necessary, so all yourservitors may take themselves off, if they like. Run, my men, run, ifit so please you. But make haste, for my quarter-staff is itching to beabout your master's ears!" And so saying, he made it whirl round in hishand like the sails of a mill.
One of the men needed no time to deliberate, but betook himself to hisheels as fast as he could go. A second hesitated for a moment or two,and then saying, "It is no use contending with such odds," moved slowlyaway. The third, however--Hardy's old adversary in the hostelry--placedhimself by Richard de Ashby's side, saying, "I will stand by you, sir!"and added a word or two in a lower tone.
"Now, Much--and you, Tim-of-the-Mill," cried Hardy, "let us rush onthem all at once, beat down their swords with your bucklers, and tiethem tight. Then we will set the bagpipe before them, and flog themhalf way to Pontefract. Quick! quick! I see the priest coming, and hewill be for peace-making."
The first step was hardly taken in advance, however, when the blast ofa trumpet sounded upon the high road, and a dozen different cries fromthe villagers of----
"Hold off! hold off!"
"Forbear! Here comes the Sheriff!"
"Run for it, Master Hardy--they are the lords Greenly talked of!"
"Away--away, good yeomen!" all uttered at once, gave notice to thegentlemen in green that some formidable enemy was in the rear.
In a moment after, two or three gentlemen of distinguished port, ridingslowly at the head of some fifty horsemen, came down the road upon thegreen; and Hardy, as he was called, seeing that the day was no longerhis own, was passing across to join his companions on the other side,when Richard de Ashby cast himself in his way, and aimed a blow at himwith his sword. The stout yeoman parried it easily with his staff, andstruck his opponent on the chest with the sharp end of the pole, thusclearing a path by which he soon placed himself at the head of theforesters.
"Come with us, Harland," he cried, "you will be safer away."
Richard de Ashby, however, shouting aloud, and waving his hand to theparty of gentlemen who were advancing, soon brought some of them to hisside. "Stop them! stop them!" he cried, pointing to the men in green."I have been grossly ill used, and well-nigh murdered!--Let your men goround, my lord, and cut them off."
A word, a sign, from an elderly man at the head of the party, instantlyset some twenty of the horsemen into a gallop, to cut off the forestersfrom the road to the church. They, on their part, took the matter verycalmly, however, unslinging their bows, bending them, and laying anarrow on the string of each, with a degree of deliberation which shewedthat they were not unaccustomed to such encounters.
The villagers however, scattered like a flock of sheep at theseintimations of an approaching fray; the girls and the women, screaming,and running, and tumbling down, took refuge in the neighbouring houses,or ran away up the road. The greater part of the men decamped moreslowly, looking back from time to time to see what was going on; whilesome six or seven stout peasants and the yeomen stood gathered togetherunder one of the trees, armed, in some instances, with swords and bows,and one or two displaying a quarter-staff, but all seeming very welldisposed to take part in the fray, on one side or the other.
Things were in this state, and that hesitating pause had intervenedwhich usually precedes the first blow in a strife of any kind, when thepriest, who had been seen before to quit his house, now hurried forwardto the group of gentlemen who, without dismounting from their horses,had gathered round Richard de Ashby. His errand was, of course, topreach peace and forbearance; and although his face was round and rosy,his body stout, and indicating strongly a life of ease and a fondnessfor good things, it is but justice to say, that he not only urged thenecessity of quiet and tranquillity with eagerness and authority, buthe rated Richard de Ashby boldly for his conduct in the village, andshowed that ho knew a great deal more of his proceedings than was atall pleasant to that personage.
"Sir, you are one of those," he said, "who are ever ready to play thefool with a poor village coquette, who, if in riding through a placethey see a poor girl proud of a neat ankle or a jimp waist, are everready to take advantage of her vanity to work her ruin; and if such menput themselves in danger, and get a broken head, they must take theconsequences, without running on to bloodshed and murder."
The priest was still speaking; the yeomen were slowly retreatingtowards the church, without at all heeding the horsemen in their way;two or three elderly noblemen were listening attentively to the worksof the good clergyman; and two young ones, a step behind, were holdingthemselves somewhat apart from each other, with no great appearance offriendship between them, when the one on the left hand of the groupsuddenly put the magnificent horse on which he was mounted into a quickcanter, and rode straight towards the foresters.
At first, supposing his purpose to be hostile, they wheeled upon him,raising their bows at once, and each man drew his arrow to his ear; butseeing that he was not followed, they assumed a more pacific aspect;and, while one of the old lords whom he had left behind, called to himloudly, by the name of Hugh, to come back, he not only rode on, but, tothe surprise of all, sprang from his horse and grasped young Harlandwarmly by the hand.
This proceeding for the time drew all eyes in that direction, and theend of the priest's speech was but little attended to; but, at hisrequest, one of the gentlemen sent off a servant to the horsemen nearthe church, telling them not to act without orders.
In the meantime a brief conversation between the young nobleman and thefranklin took place, after which, remounting his horse, the former cameback to the group, and said, "May I venture a few words, my lords?"
"Of course, Lord Hugh will take part against me," exclaimed Richard deAshby, "or old Earl Hubert's blood will not be in his veins!"
"Not so," replied the young gentleman; "all old feuds between ourfamilies have--thanks to God and the wisdom of those two nobleEarls--been done away. No one more rejoices in the friendship which nowexists between our houses than I do--none will more strenuously striveto preserve it. I came merely to tell that which I know and that whichI have just heard. The young man I have been speaking with is as honestand true as any knight or noble in the world. He once rendered me agood service, and no one shall harm him; for that at least I pawn myname and knighthood. He tells me, however, that this worthy gentlemanhere, having taken a fancy to his promised bride, thinks fit to intrudeon their May-day sports, and, stretching somewhat the privileges of agentleman, makes love to the girl before his face. His endurance, itseems, does not reach that length, and he struck our friend SirRichard, who fell upon him again, sword in hand, with his threeservants, when these good foresters of Barnesdale interfered to seefair play."
"The whole is true, I doubt not," cried the priest, "for----"
"Look! look!" cried Richard de Ashby, fiercely; "while you listen tosuch gossip, they are making their escape! They are going into thepriest's house, as I live!"
As he spoke, a loud voice from the other side of the green shouted, ina laughing tone, "For Richard de Ashby's bonnet!"
All eyes were instantly turned in that direction, where, at the door ofthe priest's house, two or three of the foresters were still to beseen, the rest of them having gone in one by one. In front of the groupstood the man they called Hardy, and he repeated again, with a loudshout, "For Richard de Ashby's bonnet!"
As soon as he saw that he had attracted attention, he suddenly raisedthe bow he held in his hand, drew it to the full extent of his arm, andan arrow whistled through the air. Richard de Ashby had startedslightly on one side as soon as he saw the archer take his aim, but theforester altered the direction of his arm, with a laugh, even as heloosed the shaft from the string, and the missile, with unerring truth,passed through the hood that it was intended for, and would have fallenbeyond had it not been
stopped by a jewel in the front. As it was, thearrow remained hanging amongst his black hair, and when he drew itforth, with a white cheek, and a somewhat trembling hand, he readimprinted in black letters, on the wood just below the feather,"Scathelock. Remember!"
The nobles handed the arrow one to another, read the name, and the wordthat followed it, and then gazed in each other's faces with a meaninglook.
"Call back the horsemen," said one of the elder gentlemen. "These menare gone; and it is as well as it is."
Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times Page 4