by G. A. Henty
“I don’t think they will be quite so ready to follow, now,” Roger said. “They are like to be some time, before they take up our track again.”
“We will break into a walk, in a few minutes, Roger; and then go along quietly, and keep our ears open. Their yells will be bringing others down, from all directions, and we might run right into the middle of another party, if we kept on at this rate.”
In another five minutes they dashed down a steep descent, at whose foot a streamlet, swelled now into a rushing stream, five or six feet wide, was running.
“We will follow this down,” Oswald said, as he stepped into it.
It was a little over two feet deep, and they waded along it for a couple of hundred yards, and then stepped out, where some rock cropped out by the side of the stream. It had not yet dried after the rain, and their feet therefore left no marks on it.
“That was a sharp run, Roger,” Oswald said as, with rapid but stealthy steps, they strode along.
“Ay, it was. My breath was coming short, when you gave the word to stop. Another half mile would have finished me. Those Welshmen run well.”
“I have no doubt we should have beaten them, easily enough, on the open ground, Roger; but they are more accustomed to this forest work than we are.
“Mind where you tread, and don’t put your foot on fallen sticks. There must be scores of them in the forest behind, yet, though I don’t think that they have struck our track. The nearest must be a quarter of a mile away. I am not afraid of their overtaking us. It is the risk of falling in with other parties that I am afraid of.”
They now bore away to the right again. More than once they heard parties moving near them, and stood quiet until their voices died away; which they quickly did, as all were hurrying towards the spot whence the shouting still continued.
For an hour they kept straight onward, and then the trees thinned; and as they stepped out from the edge of the forest they saw, to their delight, a few tents in front of them, and a large number of soldiers scattered about. As they were seen, some of the soldiers caught up their arms; but when they saw that but two men were approaching, they laid them down again, and proceeded with the work on which most of them were engaged; in polishing up their arms and armour, whose brightness had been grievously dimmed by the rain. A sub-officer with four men came up to them, as they reached the line.
“Who are you, sirs?” he asked.
“I am an esquire of Sir Henry Percy, and have brought hither a letter for the king.”
The man looked doubtfully at him, and Oswald continued, “I know not whether the Earl of Talbot is in the camp, but if so he will, I think, recognize me.”
“The earl arrived, with five hundred of his men, yesterday,” the officer said, with a tone of more respect than he had before used. “I will take you to his tent;” and he led the way to a tent, pitched a short distance away from that before which the royal standard waved.
Oswald took off his cloak, which was rolled up over his shoulder, and handed it to Roger, and then opened his jerkin. As they came up to the tent the front opened, and the earl himself came out.
“Whom have we here?” he asked the officer.
“They have just come out of the forest, my lord, and this gentleman asked to be taken to you, saying that you would recognize him.”
The earl looked scrutinizingly at Oswald.
“I seem to know your face, sir,” he said, “but I cannot recall where I have seen it.”
“My name is Oswald Forster, an esquire of Sir Henry Percy. I joined you at Chester, my Lord Talbot, with a band of his men; and some of Sir Edmund Mortimer’s, led by one of his knights.”
“I remember now,” the earl said. “Yes, I see you wear the Percy badge; but how have you got here, and why have you come?”
“I come as a simple messenger, my lord. A royal courier arrived at Ludlow, with a letter from London for the king. His majesty had laid his commands on Sir Edmund Mortimer, that he was not to weaken his force by a single lance; and as, for aught Sir Edmund knew, the letter might be of great importance, I volunteered to endeavour to carry it through; taking with me only this man-at-arms, on whom I could wholly rely, whatever might happen, he having accompanied me on more than one dangerous expedition.
“Sir Edmund consented. We rode first to Shrewsbury, to obtain information as to the course the king had taken. At Welshpool we left our horses behind us, thinking it easier to make our way through the woods on foot, seeing that the roads were said to be beset by the Welsh. So we reached Llanidloes; and then, hearing where the king was then posted, from a convoy of wounded that had been brought in that day, and who had been attacked and very hardly treated as they came along, we thought to make a detour through the woods, so as to get behind any Welshmen who might be watching the road.
“Unfortunately, in the storm of rain, having no guide, we lost our way; and were so detained, near two days, in the forest. This morning, the weather having changed and the sun come out, we learned the direction that we must take. On the way we fell in with a party of some twenty Welshmen, who pursued us hotly. We outran all but five. As their shouts would have brought large numbers upon us, we stopped and slew them; and though search was hot for us, we succeeded in making our way through, without adventure, until we came out from the forest, close by.”
“Truly it was an adventure of great peril,” the earl said, “for the Welsh are swarming round us; though we see nought of them, when we are once in the saddle. Assuredly you would never have got through, even as far as Llanidloes, if you had followed the road on horseback; for the last party that came along brought word that the Welsh had felled trees across it, in many places, and had broken down the bridges.
“It was a gallant exploit, sir. I will, myself, take you in to the king.”
Oswald took off his jerkin.
“I am but in poor plight to show myself before his majesty,” he said, as he handed it to Roger.
“Ah! I remember this good fellow,” the earl said. “He is not one easily forgotten, for ’tis seldom one sees so stout a man-at-arms.
“As to your dress, ’tis nought; and indeed, it is in better order than most in camp, for the soldiers have no tents, and have, for the last forty-eight hours, been over their ankles in mud and water.
“Have you been with Mortimer ever since we harried Glendower’s valley?”
“No, my lord. I returned after that to the north, and was at Alnwick for nine months. Then Sir Henry sent me back again to Ludlow, in order that I might keep him well informed of the extent of this rebellion, concerning which but few tidings came to him.”
They had, by this time, arrived at the entrance of the king’s tent. The two sentries on duty there stood back and saluted, as the earl entered, followed by Oswald.
“This, sire, is a messenger, one Master Oswald Forster, an esquire of Sir Henry Percy’s. He had been sent by his lord to Ludlow, to keep him acquainted with the extent of this rebellion. Some few days since, a royal messenger reached the town, with a letter for you; as doubtless, in London, they cannot have known which way you were marching, and directed it there, so that it might be forwarded to you thence. Sir Edmund, having your royal order not to send any force away, would have been at a loss how to forward it; deeming that it would need a strong body of men-at-arms to penetrate to you, as he knew, from what had happened on the two last expeditions, that the Welsh, being unable to oppose your advance, would swarm behind you, so as to prevent reinforcements or convoys of provisions from reaching you. He was, therefore, doubtful as to what course to adopt, when this gentleman volunteered to carry it to you; and this he has accomplished, attended by but a single follower. Knowing that he could only hope to reach you on foot, he and his man-at-arms left their horses at Welshpool; and have made their way through the woods on foot, not without adventure, having lost their way in the storm, and having slept in the wood for two days, and killed five Welshmen, scarcely escaping a crowd of others as they came in.”
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br /> “A very gallant deed, sir,” the king said to Oswald, as the latter bent upon one knee and handed the letter to him. “By Our Lady, it was no slight thing to venture through the woods, swarming with these wild Welshmen. How long have you been an esquire to Percy?”
“Over three years, sire.”
“I met Master Forster at Chester,” the earl said. “He commanded a score of Percy’s men, and rode with us when we captured Glendower’s house. The knights with him told me that he and his little band had done excellent service, in the fight when the Welsh made their first irruption; and that Sir Henry Percy had written in the warmest terms to Mortimer, saying that the gentleman stood high in his regard, and that he had the most perfect confidence in him, and had selected him for the service since he was able to write well, and could, therefore, communicate freely with him as to the troubles on the Welsh border.”
“And have you been at Mortimer’s ever since that time?” the king asked.
Oswald noticed that each time Mortimer’s name was mentioned, the king’s brow was somewhat clouded.
“Not so, your majesty. I returned to the north, with Percy’s men, a few days after the capture of Glendower’s house. I came back to Ludlow in the spring.”
“Why did Sir Henry Percy despatch you there again?” the king asked, sharply.
“From what he said, sire, it was because he was anxious to know whether the rebellion was growing, fearing that there might be some correspondence between Glendower and the Scots; and that, if it should come to a point when you might have to lead the whole force of the south to put the Welsh down, the Scots might make a great irruption into the northern counties, and it would be needful for him to keep a larger body of men than usual under arms; as the earl, his father, and the Earl of Westmoreland, would have to stand the whole brunt of the matter, for a time, without aid from the south.”
The king’s brow cleared.
“It was a thoughtful act of Sir Henry,” he said; “and ’tis like enough that the Scots will, as you say, take advantage of our troubles here; and it is well, therefore, that the Lords of the Northern Marches should hold themselves in readiness.
“What think you, Talbot? It seems to me that the bold service this esquire has performed merits reward.”
“I think so, indeed,” the earl said. “It was a singular act of courage.”
The king drew his sword from his scabbard.
“Kneel, sir,” he said.
And, as Oswald knelt, the king laid the sword across his shoulder, and said, “Rise, Sir Oswald Forster.”
Oswald rose.
“I thank you, my Lord King,” he said, “and trust that I may live for many years to do worthy knightly service to my liege, who has so highly honoured me.”
“My lord,” the king said to Talbot, “I leave it to you to see that this young knight is provided with horse and armour. Unfortunately there is more than one suit without an owner, at present. You will do well to wait with me while I open this letter; which, maybe, contains matter of moment.”
Feeling that his audience was over, Oswald bowed deeply, and left the tent to rejoin Roger.
“What said the king, master?”
“He spoke much more highly of what we had done, Roger, than it deserved; and as a reward for the service, he has just knighted me.”
“I think that he has done well, master!” Roger exclaimed, joyously. “I had hoped that Hotspur would have done it, after that adventure with the Bairds; of which, as Alwyn told me, he spoke to him in tones of wondrous praise.”
“That was a private business, Roger, and he would know that I would much rather that, when knighthood came, I should receive it for service in the field. The king regards our coming here as a service to himself, and therefore rewarded me; but I would rather that it should have been for service in the field, against the enemy, than for tramping through the forest.”
“Yes, but a forest full of Welshmen,” Roger said, “who are more to be feared, in that way, than when met in open fight.”
“Earl Talbot spoke very kindly of me, and said that he had heard that, with Percy’s men, I had done good service in that fight with the Welsh, near Knighton.”
“That was certainly pretty hot work, master—I shall get to say Sir Oswald, in time; but at present my tongue is not used to it. What are we to do now?”
“The king asked Lord Talbot to provide me with armour, and a horse; so we must wait until he comes this way.”
It was half an hour before the earl came out.
“The letter was of importance,” he said, “and it is well that it was brought on.
“Now, Sir Oswald, let us see to your matter. Two days ago Sir William Baxter was killed, by a sudden attack of the Welsh, while he was burning a village. His men rallied, beat off the Welsh, and brought his body in; and methinks his armour will fit you, though he was shorter, by two or three inches, than yourself.”
He accompanied Oswald to one of a small group of tents, standing a quarter of a mile farther down the road.
“Is Sir William Baxter’s squire here?”
A young man at once came up.
“I was his esquire, my lord.”
“I have the king’s orders,” the earl said, “that his arms, armour, and horses are to be handed over, forthwith, to Sir Oswald Forster here, who will take command of his troop. He will take over all the other belongings of the knight.”
The young squire bowed.
“I will hand them over to you, sir.”
“You will, of course, take possession of the tent also, Sir Oswald. Sir William was one of my knights. He was unwedded, and has no male kin; therefore, you need have no hesitation in taking his belongings; which indeed we should, in any case, have little chance of taking back with us, for our waggons are but few, and will daily become fewer: for on such roads as these, both waggons and horses break down, and it will be as much as we can do to carry even necessities with us.
“Come to my tent at noon, it lacks but an hour of it, and I will present you at dinner to some of my knights; among whom, for the present, I shall rank you.”
So saying, he turned away. The young squire held open the entrance of the tent, for Oswald to enter, and followed him in.
“It seems a strange thing to be thus possessed of another man’s goods,” he said.
“It is often so,” the squire said, “and sometimes even his estates go with them, also. As the earl said, Sir William Baxter had none to whom these things could have been given; seeing that he had, so far as I know, only one sister, to whom armour and horses could be of no use. She is one of the Countess of Talbot’s ladies.”
“And what are you going to do, yourself?”
“For the present, I know not,” the squire said. “I had been with Sir William Baxter but three years. The knight I served with, before, was thrown from his horse and killed; and Sir William, who had been just knighted, took me into his service.”
“How long have you been a squire?”
“Six years, and I hoped that, in this campaign, I might have done something to win my spurs.”
“I am but a poor knight, Master—” and he paused.
“Henry Pemberton,” the squire said.
“And being but knighted today, and having no lands to keep up my knighthood, it may be that the earl will appoint you to another of his knights; but should he not do so, I shall be glad if, for the rest of this campaign, you will ride with me; and trust that you, too, may have an opportunity of gaining knighthood, before it is over. But whether or no, as soon as we cross the border again, I doubt not that you will be able to find some lord under whom you may gain advancement.”
“I will gladly do so, Sir Oswald. ’Tis strange that I should not have seen your face before; for, since we left Worcester, I have come to know the greater part of the esquires here.”
“I arrived but an hour ago,” Oswald replied, “having made my way through the Welsh, on foot, with that tall fellow you saw without.”
“I was the bearer of a despatch for the king. I was an esquire to Sir Henry Percy, but have for some time been staying with his brother-in-law, Sir Edmund Mortimer.
“Had Sir William a man-at-arms, who served as his servant? For I shall make my man-at-arms, who has gone through many adventures with me, has fought by my side, and saved my life, my second squire.”
“Yes, a very good and trusty fellow.”
“Then of course I shall keep him on. Now, will you tell my man to come in?
“Roger,” he said, “You doubtless heard the earl’s words, and I am now master of this tent, together with the armour, horses, and clothes of Sir William Baxter. Master Henry Pemberton will act as my squire, during the campaign. You will be my second squire.”
“Well, master, I never looked so high as to become an esquire; and would rather remain a simple man-at-arms, were it not that it will keep me near you.”
“You will find Roger a good comrade, Master Pemberton. He has been a man-at-arms at his own choice; for, as he can read and write as well as any clerk, he might have done better for himself.”
Pemberton looked, with some surprise, at Roger. He himself had not these accomplishments, and he was surprised at finding a man-at-arms so well endowed.
“As you may tell by his speech,” Oswald went on, “he is, like myself, a Northumbrian; and has done good service in the wars with the Scots.”
“That I can well imagine,” the squire said, with a smile. “I would certainly wish for no stouter comrade.”
“We must see about arms and armour for you, Roger,” Oswald said.
“There will be no difficulty about that. None whatever, Sir Oswald. We have lost fully three hundred men, since we crossed the border, and a hundred and fifty since we came here, four days since. There is a pile of harness and arms, lying by the roadside; and there, methinks, it is likely it will lie. You have but to go with him, when you have attired yourself and buckled on spurs, and you can pick and choose among it. Assuredly, no one will gainsay you.”