by Howard Pyle
Piece by piece the Earl of Mackworth recounted every circumstance and detail of the revenge that the blind man’s enemy had afterwards wreaked upon him. He told Myles how, when his father was attainted of high-treason, and his estates forfeited to the crown, the King had granted the barony of Easterbridge to the then newly-created Earl of Alban in spite of all the efforts of Lord Falworth’s friends to the contrary; that when he himself had come out from an audience with the King, with others of his father’s friends, the Earl of Alban had boasted in the anteroom, in a loud voice, evidently intended for them all to hear, that now that he had Falworth’s fat lands, he would never rest till he had hunted the blind man out from his hiding, and brought his head to the block.
“Ever since then,” said the Earl of Mackworth “he hath been striving by every means to discover thy father’s place of concealment. Some time, haply, he may find it, and then—”
Myles had felt for a long time that he was being moulded and shaped, and that the Earl of Mackworth’s was the hand that was making him what he was growing to be; but he had never realized how great were the things expected of him should he pass the first great test, and show himself what his friends hoped to see him. Now he knew that all were looking upon him to act, sometime, as his father’s champion, and when that time should come, to challenge the Earl of Alban to the ordeal of single combat, to purge his father’s name of treason, to restore him to his rank, and to set the house of Falworth where it stood before misfortune fell upon it.
But it was not alone concerning his and his father’s affairs that the Earl of Mackworth talked to Myles. He told him that the Earl of Alban was the Earl of Mackworth’s enemy also; that in his younger days he had helped Lord Falworth, who was his kinsman, to win his wife, and that then, Lord Brookhurst had sworn to compass his ruin as he had sworn to compass the ruin of his friend. He told Myles how, now that Lord Brookhurst was grown to be Earl of Alban, and great and powerful, he was forever plotting against him, and showed Myles how, if Lord Falworth were discovered and arrested for treason, he also would be likely to suffer for aiding and abetting him. Then it dawned upon Myles that the Earl looked to him to champion the house of Beaumont as well as that of Falworth.
“Mayhap,” said the Earl, “thou didst think that it was all for the pleasant sport of the matter that I have taken upon me this toil and endeavor to have thee knighted with honor that thou mightst fight the Dauphiny knight. Nay, nay, Myles Falworth, I have not labored so hard for such a small matter as that. I have had the King, unknown to himself, so knight thee that thou mayst be the peer of Alban himself, and now I would have thee to hold thine own with the Sieur de la Montaigne, to try whether thou be’st Alban’s match, and to approve thyself worthy of the honor of thy knighthood. I am sorry, ne’theless,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “that this could not have been put off for a while longer, for my plans for bringing thee to battle with that vile Alban are not yet ripe. But such a chance of the King coming hither haps not often. And then I am glad of this much — that a good occasion offers to get thee presently away from England. I would have thee out of the King’s sight so soon as may be after this jousting. He taketh a liking to thee, and I fear me lest he should inquire more nearly concerning thee and so all be discovered and spoiled. My brother George goeth upon the first of next month to France to take service with the Dauphin, having under his command a company of tenscore men — knights and archers; thou shalt go with him, and there stay till I send for thee to return.”
With this, the protracted interview concluded, the Earl charging Myles to say nothing further about the French expedition for the present — even to his friend — for it was as yet a matter of secrecy, known only to the King and a few nobles closely concerned in the venture.
Then Myles arose to take his leave. He asked and obtained permission for Gascoyne to accompany him to France. Then he paused for a moment or two, for it was strongly upon him to speak of a matter that had been lying in his mind all day — a matter that he had dreamed of much with open eyes during the long vigil of the night before.
The Earl looked up inquiringly. “What is it thou wouldst ask?” said he.
Myles’s heart was beating quickly within him at the thought of his own boldness, and as he spoke his cheeks burned like fire. “Sir,” said he, mustering his courage at last, “haply thou hast forgot it, but I have not; ne’theless, a long time since when I spoke of serving the — the Lady Alice as her true knight, thou didst wisely laugh at my words, and bade me wait first till I had earned my spurs. But now, sir, I have gotten my spurs, and — and do now crave thy gracious leave that I may serve that lady as her true knight.”
A space of dead silence fell, in which Myles’s heart beat tumultuously within him.
“I know not what thou meanest,” said the Earl at last, in a somewhat constrained voice. “How wouldst thou serve her? What wouldst thou have?”
“I would have only a little matter just now,” answered Myles. “I would but crave of her a favor for to wear in the morrow’s battle, so that she may know that I hold her for my own true lady, and that I may have the courage to fight more boldly, having that favor to defend.”
The Earl sat looking at him for a while in brooding silence, stroking his beard the while. Suddenly his brow cleared. “So be it,” said he. “I grant thee my leave to ask the Lady Alice for a favor, and if she is pleased to give it to thee, I shall not say thee nay. But I set this upon thee as a provision: that thou shalt not see her without the Lady Anne be present. Thus it was, as I remember, thou saw her first, and with it thou must now be satisfied. Go thou to the Long Gallery, and thither they will come anon if naught hinder them.”
Myles waited in the Long Gallery perhaps some fifteen or twenty minutes. No one was there but himself. It was a part of the castle connecting the Earl’s and the Countess’s apartments, and was used but little. During that time he stood looking absently out of the open casement into the stony court-yard beyond, trying to put into words that which he had to say; wondering, with anxiety, how soon the young ladies would come; wondering whether they would come at all. At last the door at the farther end of the gallery opened, and turning sharply at the sound, he saw the two young ladies enter, Lady Alice leaning upon Lady Anne’s arm. It was the first time that he had seen them since the ceremony of the morning, and as he advanced to meet them, the Lady Anne came frankly forward, and gave him her hand, which Myles raised to his lips.
“I give thee joy of thy knighthood, Sir Myles,” said she, “and do believe, in good sooth, that if any one deserveth such an honor, thou art he.”
At first little Lady Alice hung back behind her cousin, saying nothing until the Lady Anne, turning suddenly, said: “Come, coz, has thou naught to say to our new-made knight? Canst thou not also wish him joy of his knighthood?”
Lady Alice hesitated a minute, then gave Myles a timid hand, which he, with a strange mixture of joy and confusion, took as timidly as it was offered. He raised the hand, and set it lightly and for an instant to his lips, as he had done with the Lady Anne’s hand, but with very different emotions.
“I give you joy of your knighthood, sir,” said Lady Alice, in a voice so low that Myles could hardly hear it.
Both flushed red, and as he raised his head again, Myles saw that the Lady Anne had withdrawn to one side. Then he knew that it was to give him the opportunity to proffer his request.
A little space of silence followed, the while he strove to key his courage to the saying of that which lay at his mind. “Lady,” said he at last, and then again— “Lady, I — have a favor for to ask thee.”
“What is it thou wouldst have, Sir Myles?” she murmured, in reply.
“Lady,” said he, “ever sin I first saw thee I have thought that if I might choose of all the world, thou only wouldst I choose for — for my true lady, to serve as a right knight should.” Here he stopped, frightened at his own boldness. Lady Alice stood quite still, with her face turned away. “Thou — thou
art not angered at what I say?” he said.
She shook her head.
“I have longed and longed for the time,” said he, “to ask a boon of thee, and now hath that time come. Lady, to-morrow I go to meet a right good knight, and one skilled in arms and in jousting, as thou dost know. Yea, he is famous in arms, and I be nobody. Ne’theless, I fight for the honor of England and Mackworth — and — and for thy sake. I — Thou art not angered at what I say?”
Again the Lady Alice shook her head.
“I would that thou — I would that thou would give me some favor for to wear — thy veil or thy necklace.”
He waited anxiously for a little while, but Lady Alice did not answer immediately.
“I fear me,” said Myles, presently, “that I have in sooth offended thee in asking this thing. I know that it is a parlous bold matter for one so raw in chivalry and in courtliness as I am, and one so poor in rank, to ask thee for thy favor. An I ha’ offended, I prithee let it be as though I had not asked it.”
Perhaps it was the young man’s timidity that brought a sudden courage to Lady Alice; perhaps it was the graciousness of her gentle breeding that urged her to relieve Myles’s somewhat awkward humility, perhaps it was something more than either that lent her bravery to speak, even knowing that the Lady Anne heard all. She turned quickly to him: “Nay, Sir Myles,” she said, “I am foolish, and do wrong thee by my foolishness and silence, for, truly, I am proud to have thee wear my favor.” She unclasped, as she spoke, the thin gold chain from about her neck. “I give thee this chain,” said she, “and it will bring me joy to have it honored by thy true knightliness, and, giving it, I do wish thee all success.” Then she bowed her head, and, turning, left him holding the necklace in his hand.
Her cousin left the window to meet her, bowing her head with a smile to Myles as she took her cousin’s arm again and led her away. He stood looking after them as they left the room, and when they were gone, he raised the necklace to his lips with a heart beating tumultuously with a triumphant joy it had never felt before.
CHAPTER 26
AND NOW, AT last, had come the day of days for Myles Falworth; the day when he was to put to the test all that he had acquired in the three years of his training, the day that was to disclose what promise of future greatness there was in his strong young body. And it was a noble day; one of those of late September, when the air seems sweeter and fresher than at other times; the sun bright and as yellow as gold, the wind lusty and strong, before which the great white clouds go sailing majestically across the bright blueness of the sky above, while their dusky shadows skim across the brown face of the rusty earth beneath.
As was said before, the lists had been set up in the great quadrangle of the castle, than which, level and smooth as a floor, no more fitting place could be chosen. The course was of the usual size — sixty paces long — and separated along its whole length by a barrier about five feet high. Upon the west side of the course and about twenty paces distant from it, a scaffolding had been built facing towards the east so as to avoid the glare of the afternoon sun. In the centre was a raised dais, hung round with cloth of blue embroidered with lions rampant. Upon the dais stood a cushioned throne for the King, and upon the steps below, ranged in the order of their dignity, were seats for the Earl, his guests, the family, the ladies, knights, and gentlemen of the castle. In front, the scaffolding was covered with the gayest tapestries and brightest-colored hangings that the castle could afford. And above, parti-colored pennants and streamers, surmounted by the royal ensign of England, waved and fluttered in the brisk wind.
At either end of the lists stood the pavilions of the knights. That of Myles was at the southern extremity and was hung, by the Earl’s desire, with cloth of the Beaumont colors (black and yellow), while a wooden shield bearing three goshawks spread (the crest of the house) was nailed to the roof, and a long streamer of black and yellow trailed out in the wind from the staff above. Myles, partly armed, stood at the door-way of the pavilion, watching the folk gathering at the scaffolding. The ladies of the house were already seated, and the ushers were bustling hither and thither, assigning the others their places. A considerable crowd of common folk and burghers from the town had already gathered at the barriers opposite, and as he looked at the restless and growing multitude he felt his heart beat quickly and his flesh grow cold with a nervous trepidation — just such as the lad of to-day feels when he sees the auditorium filling with friends and strangers who are to listen by-and-by to the reading of his prize poem.
Suddenly there came a loud blast of trumpets. A great gate at the farther extremity of the lists was thrown open, and the King appeared, riding upon a white horse, preceded by the King-at-arms and the heralds, attended by the Earl and the Comte de Vermoise, and followed by a crowd of attendants. Just then Gascoyne, who, with Wilkes, was busied lacing some of the armor plates with new thongs, called Myles, and he turned and entered the pavilion.
As the two squires were adjusting these last pieces, strapping them in place and tying the thongs, Lord George and Sir James Lee entered the pavilion. Lord George took the young man by the hand, and with a pleasant smile wished him success in the coming encounter.
Sir James seemed anxious and disturbed. He said nothing, and after Gascoyne had placed the open bascinet that supports the tilting helm in its place, he came forward and examined the armor piece by piece, carefully and critically, testing the various straps and leather points and thongs to make sure of their strength.
“Sir,” said Gascoyne, who stood by watching him anxiously, “I do trust that I have done all meetly and well.”
“I see nothing amiss, sirrah,” said the old knight, half grudgingly. “So far as I may know, he is ready to mount.”
Just then a messenger entered, saying that the King was seated, and Lord George bade Myles make haste to meet the challenger.
“Francis,” said Myles, “prithee give me my pouch yonder.”
Gascoyne handed him the velvet bag, and he opened it, and took out the necklace that the Lady Alice had given him the day before.
“Tie me this around my arm,” said he. He looked down, keeping his eyes studiously fixed on Gascoyne’s fingers, as they twined the thin golden chain around the iron plates of his right arm, knowing that Lord George’s eyes were upon him, and blushing fiery red at the knowledge.
Sir James was at that moment examining the great tilting helm, and Lord George watched him, smiling amusedly. “And hast thou then already chosen thee a lady?” he said, presently.
“Aye, my Lord,” answered Myles, simply.
“Marry, I trust we be so honored that she is one of our castle folk,” said the Earl’s brother.
For a moment Myles did not reply; then he looked up. “My Lord,” said he, “the favor was given to me by the Lady Alice.”
Lord George looked grave for the moment; then he laughed. “Marry, thou art a bold archer to shoot for such high game.”
Myles did not answer, and at that moment two grooms led his horse up to the door of the pavilion. Gascoyne and Wilkes helped him to his saddle, and then, Gascoyne holding his horse by the bridle-rein, he rode slowly across the lists to the little open space in front of the scaffolding and the King’s seat just as the Sieur de la Montaigne approached from the opposite direction.
As soon as the two knights champion had reached each his appointed station in front of the scaffolding, the Marshal bade the speaker read the challenge, which, unrolling the parchment, he began to do in a loud, clear voice, so that all might hear. It was a quaint document, wrapped up in the tangled heraldic verbiage of the time.
The pith of the matter was that the Sieur Brian Philip Francis de la Montaigne proclaimed before all men the greater chivalry and skill at arms of the knights of France and of Dauphiny, and likewise the greater fairness of the ladies of France and Dauphiny, and would there defend those sayings with his body without fear or attaint as to the truth of the same. As soon as the speaker had ended, the Marshal b
ade him call the defendant of the other side.
Then Myles spoke his part, with a voice trembling somewhat with the excitement of the moment, but loudly and clearly enough: “I, Myles Edward Falworth, knight, so created by the hand and by the grace of his Majesty King Henry IV of England, do take upon me the gage of this battle, and will defend with my body the chivalry of the knights of England and the fairness of the ladies thereof!”
Then, after the speaker ended his proclamation and had retired to his place, the ceremony of claiming and redeeming the helmet, to which all young knights were subjected upon first entering the lists, was performed.
One of the heralds cried in a loud voice, “I, Gilles Hamerton, herald to the most noble Clarencieux King-at-arms, do claim the helm of Sir Myles Edward Falworth by this reason, that he hath never yet entered joust or tourney.”
To which Myles answered, “I do acknowledge the right of that claim, and herewith proffer thee in ransom for the same this purse of one hundred marks in gold.”