The Winning of the Golden Spurs

by Percy F. Westerman

  Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen

  THE WINNING OF THEGOLDEN SPURS

  RAYMOND SAVES THE BLACK PRINCE]

  THE WINNING OFTHE GOLDEN SPURS

  BY

  PERCY F. WESTERMANAUTHOR OF "A LAD OF GRIT," "THE SEA MONARCH,""THE TREASURE OF THE SAN PHILIPO," ETC.

  LONDONJAMES NISBET & CO., LIMITED22 BERNERS STREET, W.1911

  Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh

  CONTENTS

  CHAP. PROLOGUE I. THE ARCHER, REDWARD BUCKLAND II. THE SHADOW OF WAR III. OF THE MIDNIGHT DESCENT OF THE FRENCH INVADERS IV. OF THE GALLANT STAND OF THE NINE ARCHERS V. THE MEN OF HAMPSHIRE AND THE GENOESE GALLEY VI. AT THE ABBEY VII. THE SACK OF SOUTHAMPTON VIII. OF THE ASSAULT ON ST. BARBARA'S TOWER IX. ON THE HEELS OF THE ENEMY X. FATHER AND SON SET OUT FOR HENNEBON XI. THE CHIRURGEON OF LEGUE XII. THE JOURNEY PERILOUS XIII. THE RELIEF OF HENNEBON XIV. RAYMOND'S ERRAND XV. TRAPPED! XVI. THE TABLES TURNED XVII. THE FALL OF THE COUNT'S STRONGHOLD XVIII. REDWARD'S CONFESSION XIX. CRECY XX. HIS LIFE FOR HIS FOE XXI. THE REJECTED GUERDON XXII. SIR RAYMOND XXIII. THE ADVENTURE AT THE RUINED MILL XXIV. THE HOMECOMING

  THE WINNING OF THE GOLDEN SPURS

  PROLOGUE

  IT was early morning on the 5th day of August, 1303, the Royal Cityof Winchester. The sun had not yet risen, but a cold grey lightfiltered in through a narrow window and dimly illumined a small,scantily-furnished room overlooking the city walls.

  Seated on a rough wooden stool, his face buried in his hands, was ayoung fellow of about twenty years of age. His body swayed withuncontrollable grief, and, though dry-eyed, deep sobs of mingledremorse and despair showed the anguish that rent his body anddistracted his mind.

  In a corner of the room a torch, burnt low in its iron socket, threwa yellow light that was fast being overmastered by the growing dawn,yet the glimmer was sufficient to play upon the naked blade of asword, the steel of which was discoloured towards its point by adull, rust-coloured stain.

  Suddenly the sound of a heavy footstep was heard on the stairs. Theyouth started to his feet and gazed wildly around, as if seeking aplace of concealment or some means of escape. He was tall, wellformed, and, in spite of his haggard looks, comely of face, and hisclothes, though rent and covered with chalk and dust, showed that hewas of no mean position.

  Realising the impossibility of hiding himself, he stood erect andalert, awaiting the arrival of what he took to be his fate; but,instead of a thundering summons of the officers of the law, therecame a gentle rap, and the door was slowly pushed ajar.

  "Hist! Art there, Master Revyngton? 'Tis I, Nicholas Hobbes!"

  "Enter, Nicholas! Certes I thought 'twas the watch."

  The new arrival was a man some few years older than the fugitive. Hewas clad in a rough leather suit, frayed at elbows and knees, and towhich shavings and feathers still clung--a silent witness to histrade of fletcher.

  "'Tis a sorry pass, Master Revyngton. How came it about?"

  "Ay, that I will say right willingly; but first tell me--how knowestthou that I am here?"

  "Easily said! Dick Ford told me that thou wert a fugitive in hishouse, and asked me to use my scatterbrain wits to find a way tosmuggle thee out of the city. That being so, 'twere best I saw thee,and to that purpose I am here. But, again, how came it to pass?"

  "Faith! I can scarce say. 'Twas in the meads, yestereven. YoungStephen Scarsdale and Reginald, his brother, were on this side of thestream, I on the nether bank, with Wulf, my favourite hound. 'Hothere!' cried Stephen. 'What meanst thou by trespassing on the groundof my Lord Bishop?' 'I do not trespass,' I replied. 'The Mead hathever been free to the men of this city, and no one hath yet said menay.' 'I'll warrant thou art after my Lord Bishop's trout. By therood, I'll send a bolt through the head of thy lurcher.' 'Thy aimmust be more sure than when I beat thee at the butts,' I replied,little thinking but that he spoke in jest, but in answer he levelledhis crossbow, and ere I was aware of it poor Wulf was lyingtransfixed on the ground."

  "Then I was seized by a thousand devils, and sprang across the narrowplank bridge to hurl the slayer of my hound into the river, butStephen, whipping out his blade, bade me do likewise. In less timethan it takes to tell our swords crossed, though, mark ye, I meantnot to harm him; yet, like a fool, he ran in upon my blade, and 'twasall over in an instant."

  "And then?"

  "The younger Scarsdale, who is a worthy gentleman compared with hiswitless brother, tried to stop me as I fled. There was no help forit, so he, too, went down, though I trow he is not much hurt. Hastheard aught of Stephen?"

  "Naught save that he is as dead as a door-nail. But, MasterRevyngton, 'tis, as I said, a sorry pass. What wilt thou do?"

  "Do? Give myself into the hands of the law. What else wouldst thouhave me do?"

  "Anything but that. Consider! Thou art young and full of life. Whyshouldst thou grace a halter if it can be avoided, for, mark well,the Scarsdales are a powerful family, and moreover Stephen was of theBishop's household. How thinkst thou to make good thy case before thypeers when the weight of title and position is set against thee? Besober, young master, and think on't."

  "Ay, 'tis hard to die thus."

  "No need to die at all--at any rate, just yet. Flee the country.France or the States of the Rhine ever offer an attraction for aroving blade, and peradventure in a few years the affair will haveblown over."

  "But how can I escape?"

  "There thou hast me. Where is Dick Ford?"

  "Gone to gather tidings. He will be here anon."

  Both men relapsed into silence, staring moodily at the narrow window,through which could be seen the battlements of the city gilded by therising sun, while ever and again came the sweet strains of a lark asit soared heavenwards from the dew-sodden meadows without the walls.

  Again came the sound of footsteps, and Dick Ford, the bowyer,entered. He was a short, red-complexioned man, with a cheerfulcountenance, as if nothing could upset his good nature, though attimes his looks belied him, and the worthy citizens of Winchester ofthad cause to remember his tongue when it ran riot. Like the fletcher,his appearance betrayed him, for the sharp wittle that hung from hisgirdle, the daubs of beeswax, and the faint reek of varnish markedhis calling as a maker of the famous English longbows.

  "A pretty hornet's nest thou hast raised, Master Revyngton," heexclaimed, shaking his head. "Yesternight the city crier called theeat the marketcross, and on the Soke Bridge. The Bishop's Court hathclaimed thee, and in default of thy appearance thou wilt be declaredoutlaw. Furthermore, the gates are doubly guarded, and men are evennow in ambush on the road to the sanctuary at St. Cross if so be thouseekest refuge therein. By the saintly Swithun, I trow thou art themost sought-for man in Winton."

  "He hath made up his mind, Dick," exclaimed Hobbes. "Better an outlawwith a heavy conscience than a corpse with none at all."

  "Ay, let me but get once clear of the city and I'll reck not what Ibecome."

  "Bravely spoken, Master Revyngton! And now, how canst thou make goodthine escape? Thou canst count on us to a surety, for 'twould illrequite thy father's kindness to us in times past if we let thee fallinto the hands of the Bishop's men. Where is thine arrow-wain, Dick?"

  "Below, in the barn."

  "And laden?"

  "Nay, but it soon could be. Wherefore?"

  "Place Master Revyngton in the cart and cover him with arrows. 'Tisthe day thou journeyest to Bishopstoke and Botley. He would then bewell on his way to the abbey at Netley."

  "Steady, Dick, steady! Should the guard at Kingsgate search the wainmy neck is as good as if fitted with a halter. Yet I'll take therisk; but
see to it, young master, if the plan goeth amiss, thou'ltbear me witness that I wot not of thy presence?"

  "Ay, good Nicholas. But if they question thee and search the cart Imust make a bid for freedom, so stand in the way, and I'll warrantI'll knock thee down just to give colour to the deceit."

  "But strike not too hard, Master Revyngton, neither on the face, forI am in no mind to go home to my good wife with my nose awry or mineeyes closed up. A gentle tap, I pray thee--like this--and I'llwarrant I'll fall as surely as if I were smitten with the club of theSouthampton giant Ascupart."

  "After all's said and done," remarked the fletcher, "there may be noneed to smite thee, Nick, for 'tis unlikely that they will search thycart. But the day groweth apace. If it is to be done, the sooner thebetter, say I."

  "Then make a good meal, Master Revyngton," said Hobbes, setting aloaf of brown bread, some cheese, and a jack of ale, "for if notthou'lt feel the want of it ere long. Now set to like a goodtrencherman, though, being but plain men, our fare is likewise plain.Thou knowest the road?"

  "Passably well, save the latter part."

  "Then keep close, but not on it if perchance thou art pursued, for itis to Southampton that they'll think thou art bound. Take the by-roadto Botley, whence the abbey lies but a league or so away."

  While the fletcher and the bowyer were giving advice the younger mandid justice to the food; then, at a sign from Ford, his companionstole softly down the rough ladder that did duty as a staircase, andpeered cautiously up and down the street. Another moment, and thethree men had darted across the narrow road to a small barn, themutual property of several of the inhabitants of that quarter, andshortly afterwards a rough cart, laden with bundles ofnewly-feathered arrows, was jolting over the rough stones towardsKingsgate, Nicholas Hobbes leading the sorry nag and whistling alively air as well as the anticipation of being floored would permit.

  "Thou art early abroad, Nick," quoth one of the guards, as he madeready to throw open the heavy door. "There's naught but arrows in thywain, I take it?"

  "What meanest thou?"

  "Why, hast heard naught of the slaying of Master Scarsdale, that tallyouth belonging to the Bishop's household? Surely thou hast him inmind?"

  "Ay, I knew him; is he dead?"

  "Where hath been thine eyes and thine ears since yesternoon?"

  "I have but small time for gossip, Tom, above all towards the end ofthe week, when my stock hath to be renewed. But I'll hear the storyanon, for time is precious."

  The heavy gate swung slowly open, the fletcher called to his horse,and the cart with its living burden moved towards the open countryand safety.

  "Hold!" cried a hoarse voice. "Tom, thou arrant rascal, wouldst letthe cart through unsearched What were thine orders from the captainof the gate?"

  And, to the fletcher's terror, a burly man-at-arms came down a flightof steps at the side of the gate, and advanced towards him.

  The first soldier sullenly strolled over to the back of the cart,but, suddenly recovering himself, Nicholas Hobbes backed his horse,causing the man to be pinned between the wheel and the stonework ofthe arch. There was a sudden scattering of the arrows, an indistinctmass hurtling through the air, and the fletcher found himself, as hehad foretold, lying prone in the dust. When he sat up the soldierswere calling wildly to the rest of the guard, while a fleeing figure,already growing small in the distance, showed that the fugitiveRevyngton was well on his way to freedom.

  With the din of the soldiers' shouts still ringing in his ears,Revyngton ran steadily onwards with a long, steady swing, his elbowspressed against his sides, and breathing easily, for he was no meanrunner.

  Away in front rose the gaunt outline of St. Catherine's Hill, withthe square tower of the Hospital of St. Cross, which sanctuary heknew was denied him, slightly to the right. Between ran theswift-flowing river Itchen, and the fugitive realised that he wouldhave to run the gauntlet of the watchers before the sanctuary ere hecould reach the ford where the river swept the base of the hill. Hisway lay through the meadows where, but a few hours ago, he hadwandered in blissful, though then unappreciated, freedom, andshudderingly, and with averted face, he raced past the scene of thefatal encounter. Fortunately his local knowledge prevented him fromcrossing the narrow plank bridge that led solely to a marshy meadowenclosed by two arms of the river, so, keeping close to the shadow ofthe pollard willows, he held steadily on his way, the babbling of theriver as it flowed with sparkling eddies in the bright sunshinesounding like soothing music to the hunted man.

  Just as he reached the ford his movements were observed by a party ofthe officers of the law who had been keeping a toilsome vigil aroundthe outer wall of St. Cross, and a crossbow bolt, shot at a highangle, boomed through the air and buried itself less than twentyyards from him.

  There was a general scene of confusion, some of the men running afterhim afoot, others rushing off to where their horses stood tethered ina clump of trees.

  It being the hot season, the river was but ankle deep at the ford,and, refreshed by the coldness of the water, Revyngton hastened hispace up the long, dusty road towards the hamlet of Twyford. As he ranhe could not resist the inclination to look back, and from theelevated position of the highway he could see the whole of thedistance betwixt him and the cathedral city.

  To his satisfaction he saw that he was more than holding his own withthose who pursued afoot, and even now they were giving up the pursuitand the horsemen of the party had not yet started, but away along thecity road a number of dark, swiftly-moving objects showed that atroop of mounted soldiers and retainers of the episcopal authoritieswere rapidly covering the distance between them and their quarry.

  The sun, though the morning was yet young, smote down upon him withrelentless strength, and there was not the faintest zephyr to coolhis heated frame, yet onwards he sped, though the strain of thepursuit was gradually yet surely telling upon him.

  Through the almost deserted village of Twyford he ran, one or two ofthe earlier risers looking with open-mouthed astonishment at thefugitive, while a little way further a black-robed monk gazedamazedly at the approaching man, till, fearing violence, he gatheredup his ragged gown and fled across a field at the roadside, hissandals clattering as he ran.

  At length, worn out by his exertions, Revyngton reached a spot wherea road branched off to his left, while between it and the highway hewas following lay a large pond, surrounded by trees and fringed withclusters of reeds. Here he threw himself down on the spongy turf,thrust his head and arms in the limpid water, and lay panting on thegrass, oblivious of his danger, till the regular thud of horses'hoofs roused his jaded energies.

  Quickly he looked around, and to his joy he perceived the gnarledtrunk of a tree that had fallen into a horizontal position over thepond, its branches form ing a dark, shady shelter. Silently andswiftly as an eel he plunged into the water, and a few powerfulstrokes brought him to the friendly refuge. Secure from observation,he drew himself upon a branch and waited the arrival of the horsemen.

  In a cloud of dust they appeared--five bronzed men-at-arms, withlong, straight swords strapped against their thighs; four layservants of the Bishop, with hard-set mouths and scowling faces thatill-matched their calling as members of an ecclesiastical house; andthree of the city watch, more lightly armed than their companions,carrying crossbows across their backs. Revyngton realised that scantmercy could be expected at their hands.

  At a word from their leader the party halted, there was a hurriedconsultation, and two of the men trotted their horses to the edge ofthe pond, while the rest resumed their headlong pursuit.

  Then Revyngton felt that he stared death in the face, for less thanfive paces from him were the two soldiers, sitting motionless ontheir steeds and staring fixedly at the spot where he lay concealed,their reflections being clearly mirrored in the still water. To thefugitive it seemed as if his leafy bower were rent asunder, and thathe lay exposed to his pursuers in utter helplessness; but at length,to his great relief, one of the men s
poke.

  "Why this fool's errand for the sake of a hot-blooded youth? Faith, Iam not averse to earning the five marks reward, yet 'tis a uselessquest. Far rather would I be in a snug inn, for my throat is as dryas a friar's sermon."

  "There's drink for thee," replied the other, indicating the pond witha nod of his steel-capped head.

  "Water!" exclaimed the first with an oath; "I like it not, neitherinside nor out, to be plain-spoken. Art game to return to Twyford,where the ale is of the best?"

  "Give them time to get out of hearing, thou dolt. Why doth thesheriff keep bloodhounds and use them not, eh, Giles?"

  "'Twould have been the better way. But now, comrade, let's away!"

  Revyngton waited till the sound of their horses' hoofs had died away,then, swimming softly back to the bank, he emerged and resumed hisway.

  Now the dangers were doubled, for not only had his pursuers placedthemselves between him and his refuge, but he knew not but that everybush or hedge concealed a foe. Thus he was compelled to forsake thehigh road and follow it at some distance away, keeping as close aspossible to the shelter of the coppices and dells that formed thechief features of the district.

  As he neared the village of Fair Oak he struck the highway betweenBishopstoke and the Bishop's hunting lodge at Waltham, and for a longtime he lay hidden in the bracken ere the road was free from theseemingly endless cavalcade of huntsmen that journeyed towards thefamous Waltham Chase, while hucksters from Southampton and Romsey,intent on doing a good business, were hurrying in the same direction.

  At length the opportunity came, and the fugitive darted across theroad and gained the fields beyond. Here the nature of the countrychanged, the ground offering less shelter, but away to the south rosethe dark, fir-clad hills that lay close to his goal.

  He had now left the Botley road well on his left, and he couldperceive the haze of smoke that marked the hollow where the villagelay. His clothes were long dried, and the heat was well-nighunbearable, so, overcoming his fears, he turned aside to a cottage,the thatched roof of which rose amid a thicket. Here he found thatanother by-road or lane crossed his path, but there was no sign ofany one passing; the cottage itself looked deserted.

  As the fugitive approached a dog barked, and there was a sound ofsome one moving about in an outhouse, and to the tortured man thesight of several pails of milk was irresistible. The yelping of thecur brought a woman to the door of the shed, a strong-limbed,coarse-featured creature, with a face lined with innumerable wrinklesand a back bent with years of toil in the fields.

  "What lack ye?" she demanded sourly.

  "Am I on the right road for the abbey at Netley?"

  "Yea. Turn to thy left hand at the cross roads."

  "Also, I prithee, give me a draught of milk."

  "Begone, for a worthless clown! Begone, I say, or the dog shall flyat thee," she shrieked, wild with fury; but Revyngton heeded her not,and seizing a small earthenware pitcher, drained its contents, thenturning on his heel, he resumed his fearsome journey.

  "Haste, Tom, run up to the village and get help!" shouted the woman."'Tis a gadabout churl, or a riever, or worse," and as the fugitiveran he heard the farm-servant making off towards Botley, while thewoman unloosed the dog.

  Ere Revyngton had gone a bowshot from the cottage the cur was barkingand yelping at his heels, showing its teeth, but fearing to close,till at length it drew off, leaving the man to wonder at thechurlishness of the hard-faced woman compared with the reception ofwayfarers on his father's manor in Devon, where meat and drink wereever at the disposal of even the most humble stranger.

  At the brow of the hill he saw the tower of the abbey amid the treesa mile or more away, with the beautiful expanse of Southampton Wateras a fitting background to the peaceful scene. Yet the fugitive hadneither time nor inclination to appreciate the natural surroundings;to him the abbey meant rest and safety, and with renewed hope he spedtowards the monastic buildings.

  Weary and footsore he reached the outer door, his senses reeling withthe effects of his exertions. Seeing his plight the porter gave himwine, and sent a lay brother to summon the abbot.

  As the venerable head of the establishment appeared, Revyngton raisedhimself with an effort and knelt before him.

  "Thy blessing, father."

  "_Benedicite_, my son; what wouldst thou?"

  "Sanctuary, father."

  The abbot shook his head sorrowfully.

  "'Tis not permitted, my son; such blessed privileges belong only toour parent abbey at Beaulieu and to the Hospital of St. Cross. Itrow there is no other within the jurisdiction of the Lord Bishop ofWinchester. What crime bast thou committed?"

  "I slew a man in anger, and even now my pursuers are hard at myheels."

  The abbot turned to a lay brother.

  "Tell Brother Balthazar to repair to the tower and to quickly bringme word if any soldiers appear." Then to the fugitive he added,"Confess thy sin and seek God's pardon; then perchance the means ofthy earthly salvation may be vouchsafed to thee. Follow me, my son."

  To the venerable abbot Revyngton told the whole of the circumstancesof the case; then, having eased his soul, the abbot took care torelieve his body, causing food and drink to be set before him, whilea brother washed his cut and travel-worn feet.

  "Thou must make for the Abbey of the Blessed Mary at Beaulieu, wherethou shalt find sanctuary. Knowest thou the way?"

  "Nay, father," replied the man, sad at heart at the prospect ofanother journey at the peril of his life.

  "Then listen, my son. Two of the brethren will take thee across thearm of the sea that thou canst see yonder. Thence it is but an hour'ssharp travel across the heath to the abbey, the path being well wornby reason of many of the brethren who travel thereby. There are threeways from the spot where thou wilt land the one on the left handgoeth towards Fawley and the town of Lepe, the one on the right tothe village of Hythe, but the way thou must take goeth neither rightnor left, but leads towards the sun just before the hour ofvespers----Ah! What is thy message, my son?"

  The last question was addressed to a novice, who, pantingbreathlessly, was standing in the doorway with folded arms and benthead, awaiting the abbot's pleasure.

  "Horsemen, father; a score or more have appeared on the hill and aremaking towards the abbey."

  "Then summon Brother Angelique and Brother Petrox. Hasten, for 'tisno season for leisure."

  Quickly the two brethren--tall, gaunt, yet sinewy men, with faces andarms tanned a deep red by reason of their calling as boatmen of theabbey--answered the behest, and with the reverence due to theirsuperior awaited his commands.

  "Take this man across and put him fairly on his way to our parentabbey. Tarry not on thy journey, for the matter is urgent."

  "Is it thy wish, father, to land him at Ashlett or Cadland?" askedone of the monks.

  "At Cadland, should the tide prove aright. Now, my son," he added tothe refugee, "take mine earnest blessing and go, and may the blessedSaints Mary and Edward, the patrons of our abbey, be with thee."

  There was little time to lose, for already the horsemen were withintwo bow-shots of the abbey, and with a loud clatter of sandals thetwo monks led the way, Revyngton following closely at their heels,the brethren of the abbey speeding him on his way with prayers andcries of encouragement.

  At the end of a little causeway a boat, broadbeamed and lofty of headand stem, rode on the little wavelets. With a sign Brother Petroxmotioned the fugitive to step aboard, then unfastening the rope thatheld the craft to the quay, he followed Brother Angelique and pushedoff.

  Both monks rolled the sleeves of their gowns above their elbows,seized the two heavy ash oars, and rowed with a will, Revyngtonsitting on a rough fishing-tray at the stern of the boat and drinkingin the cool sea breezes. The rush of events had well-nigh bewilderedhim, and listlessly he watched the rhythmical motion of the sinewyarms as the rowers urged the boat towards the opposite shore.

  Suddenly his reveries were broken by an exclamation from one
of themonks. "They follow us; pull thy hardest!"

  Revyngton turned and looked astern. From the place they had left buta quarter of an hour before half a score of men were dragging a heavyboat down the steep beach.

  "By the blessed Peter, my holy namesake," groaned one of the monks,"I had overlooked that, and the oars are in the boat. See, alreadythey have launched it."

  "'Tis after all but a crare."

  "With a crew of lusty fellows to make amends for its weight. Thesaints forfend them!"

  "Let us trust that they cannot handle the sails, for, mark well, thewind bloweth fair."

  The rowers relapsed into silence, and with long, heavy strokes, thatseemed far too slow to the hunted fugitive, they resolutely andunfalteringly lessened the distance betwixt them and the nethershore. The hour of noon had already passed, and the sun's raysattained a greater strength than they had previously in the day, yet,though streaming with moisture, the monks laboured in their effortsto shake off their pursuers.

  "We hold our own," muttered one over his shoulder.

  "Nay, I doubt it; but we must needs make for Ashlett Creek, for theother channel is yet uncovered."

  Accordingly the boat's head was turned towards a distant opening inthe mud-fringed shore, and the pursuing craft followed suit, therebygaining considerably on the fugitive, who could now distinguish thedress of the men.

  "They overtake us," quoth he, speaking for the first time since theabbey gates had closed behind him. "See, a bowman makes ready!"

  Gradually the distance between the boats lessened, but the monks'craft was now close to the creek, and Revyngton saw in front anapparently closed-in basin surrounded by a high bank of slimy mud. Afew more strokes and the boat was within the creek, which wound itssinuous way up to the shore, while the little waves caused by theirrapid motion through the water lapped the sides of the narrowchannel.

  Just as they were about to round the first bend the bowman let loose,and an arrow sung over their heads and struck the mud with a dullswish. Revyngton instinctively bent his head, but his companions,though men of peace, barely took notice of the deadly shaft.

  "Safe for the time," commented Brother Angelique, as the boat shotbehind a sheltering bank.

  "But how about thy safety?" asked the fugitive.

  "By St. Edward, 'tis not to be thought of," replied the monk,thrusting back his sleeve, which in his exertions had slipped down."They seek not us."

  "But thou hast aided a fugitive from justice."

  "Nay, that I wot not of. Besides, how am I to know that these men arethe officers of justice They might well be but water-pikers for aughtI know....Oh!"

  An exclamation of pain interrupted his words, for an arrow, shothaphazard from the bend of the creek over the intervening bank, hadpierced his forearm betwixt elbow and wrist, while another shafttrembled with its head buried in the thwart.

  "On, Brother Petrox! On! 'Tis but a small matter," he gasped, and asthe other monk seized his companion's oar, the wounded man, shuttinghis eyes tightly, snapped off the head of the arrow with his freehand and drew the broken shaft from the wound.

  A gush of blood followed, but the brave monk, gripping the woundedmember to stop the crimson flow, never ceased to urge the rower togreater effort, while ever and again a shaft shot by their stillinvisible pursuers flew perilously close to their heads.

  At length the boat grounded on the hard bed of the channel, andBrother Petrox called to Revyngton to jump out. Wading through theshallow water the two started for the shore, leaving the wounded monkcalmly seated in the deserted craft.

  From the mud hovels of the village of Ashlett wimpled women andrough-haired children looked interestedly at the two runners, thelayman in his travel-stained apparel and the monk in his sombre garb.Men there were none, for the hours of toil had called them to thefields or out on the waters, where they sought a livelihood byfishing; but had there been, the sight of the two speeding alongwould hardly have excited anything but curiosity in the minds ofthese dull-witted sons of the soil.

  "I can go with thee no farther," panted the monk, as they reached thecross-roads. "Follow yonder path, and God be with thee." And asRevyngton sped onwards towards the rolling expanse of purple heather,he saw the solitary figure of his benefactor waving encouraginglytowards the distant and invisible goal.

  Settling down to a steady pace, the fugitive kept doggedly on hisway, his eyes fixed on a distant clump of trees that marked the browof the hill overlooking the valley of the Exe where lay the abbey.

  Narrower and narrower became the road, till it deteriorated into amere footpath, the prickly gorse encroaching on either side andhurting his feet as he ran. Yet, spurred onward by renewed hope, hisstrength seemed well-nigh inexhaustible.

  Suddenly, from behind a low heather-clad hillock at the side of theroad, four wild-looking men sprang up and barred his progress.

  "Hold, stranger!" shouted one, brandishing a club. "Whither goestthou? Hast aught in thy scrip that we would relieve thee of, for thelighter thou art the easier thou'lt run."

  "I have nothing in the world. Let me pass, I pray; 'tis a matter thatbrooks no delay."

  "Nay, not so fast, young master. What is thine errand?"

  "My errand?" replied Revyngton, with a mirthless laugh. "I seeksanctuary."

  "Art without the pale of the law?"

  "Of that there is little doubt."

  "Then throw in thy lot with us. A free life in the forest glades,with many a weighty scrip to balance the lightness of our minds, isbetter than being cooped up in yonder monastery."

  The fugitive shook his head.

  "Nay, 'tis not to my liking."

  "Neither is the other, I trow, but look!"

  Following the direction of his hand, Revyngton saw coming over thebrow of a distant hill which he had crossed but a short while ago anumber of his pursuers. Three had procured horses, while the rest,some five in number, ran by their side, holding on to the stirrups toaid their speed.

  Instantly the robbers vanished into the tangle of bracken, leavingthe fugitive alone on the narrow path, and once again he broke into aheadlong pace, his pursuers thundering along but three arrow-flightsbehind him.

  Fortunately the unevenness of the path prevented the horsemen fromriding their hardest, and when at length Revyngton, exhausted andfaint, reached the brow of the hill, he saw that the situation wasstill in his favour. Blindly plunging onwards, with labouredbreathing and aching sides, he ran down the hill, at the foot ofwhich clustered the extensive buildings of the abbey.

  Through a gap in the trees on his left he caught a glimpse of thesilvery river as it wound in majestic splendour towards the sea, butto the hunted man the beauty of the scene was lost; all thatconcerned him was the thought of the possibility of being overtakenere he could cover the last stretch of dusty road.

  He was dimly conscious of hearing a crash behind him, and of lookinground for one brief moment, thereby catching a glimpse of two of thehorsemen mingled in utter confusion on the rough path. And still thesound of the rapidly approaching hoofs of the remaining horse thuddedin his ears.

  Now he had gained the angle of the abbey wall. The gate, with itsmassive iron knocker, was within his grasp. The noise of thefootfalls of the pursuer's steed ceased; there was a sharp hiss, andan arrow pierced the fugitive's leg just above the knee. Then, with afinal effort, he thundered at the portal, and, as his head swam andhis limbs gave way under him, he was dimly aware that he wassurrounded by a group of grey-robed figures. He had found sanctuary.