Chapter IV: Part 4

"Master Page, here's thy missive; there's naught in it that concerneth me, so thou mayest e'en take it to the Hermit of St Catherine's; but when thou returnest to the Castle, give this message to thy lord; thou needest not to say who gave it thee--he will ask no questions."

Ralph now felt his captors relax their hold, in another second he was free. He rose to his feet, the men had already disappeared. He looked round; there was nothing to be seen of any living being; only his horse was browsing tranquilly a few paces off, and two white bits of parchment lay on the grass.

Picking these up, he went to the edge of the cliff. The sea was restlessly seething and surging among the rocks, each ripple and wave rolling like molten silver to the iron-bound coast. Every crevice and rock stood out sharp and clear in the brilliant moonlight, only marking in blacker contrast the hideous gloom of the yawning chasm at his side. He could see no path, yet the men must have gone down that way, or else he would have seen them had they ventured to clamber down the precipice in front. He stood up and looked round--the light had disappeared. Had they told him the truth about that light? Was it the Hermitage of St Catherine's? But there was none to ask, and he felt as bewildered as ever, nay, more so, for he had utterly lost his bearings.

And then he thought of his lord's command, and of the urgency of the matter. What should he do? With the recklessness of despair, he bawled aloud,--

"You varlets, which way am I to go to get to St Catherine's?" But only the echo from the blackness beyond answered mockingly "Catherine" in quivering note, and the waves surged ceaselessly below. He cried again,--"You caitiffs, you, why don't you answer?" and the echo laughed back "answer," but none other answer came. "'Tis little use," he muttered, in sullen bitterness of spirit; "but I will yet find out where that smoke came from." He looked at his horse, how should he tether him? He saw beyond, and nearer the head of the chasm, a few bushes growing. Carefully he led his horse along the edge of the abyss, marvelling how he had escaped so awful a death, and regretfully thinking how he had chidden his noble horse, whose sensible instinct had saved both their lives.

When he reached the bushes, he saw that he was on the brink of a deep gully, but the ground was all broken and boggy, and covered with closely-growing bush, bramble, and scrub. The mist was gathering up afresh. Great banks of vapour were scudding across the moon, and flitting up the black chasm, suddenly appearing in the moonlight out of the darkness below, like steam out of a cauldron.

While he was debating what to do, he was startled by a gentle voice almost at his elbow. Turning quickly round, he saw a graceful figure standing on the edge of the gully, looking like black marble against the broad path of silver glory that stretched across the sea behind it.

"Fair sir, whither wouldst thou go?" said the voice.

"If thou art of real flesh and blood, gentle damoiselle, I would thank thee to tell me which is my way to St Catherine's Hermitage."

"And thou wouldst not thank me if I were not real flesh and blood?"

"Ay, marry would I, an' thou wert Sathanas himself!" cried the youth impatiently, "if only I could escape from this quagmire of a hole."

"Thou art not over-courteous, Sir Page," said the gentle voice.

"Certes, fair damsel, I crave thy pardon, but I am much belated, and have been sorely bested. I cry your mercy. But tell me, an thou canst, how I can find the Hermit of St Catherine's?"

"Right easily, fair sir. Seest thou yonder hill to thy right?"

"The fire I saw was to the left, I'll wager my falcon," said Ralph; then he added aloud, "Marry, do I, fair damsel."

"Then ride straight up that hill--there is naught save a few rough stones to hinder thee; only walk thy horse carefully till thou gettest upon hard ground, as 'tis all quick about here. Nay, I will show thee," added the figure quickly; "'tis but a poor return for thy kindness to us."

"And when did I show kindness to thee, gentle damsel?" said Ralph, in astonishment.

"Thou quickly forgettest thy good deeds, I see," said the girl. "'Tis a good sign of one gently nurtured."

"But when saw I thee before?"

"I did not say thou hadst seen me before!"

"Marry, fair damsel, thou speakest in riddles. I did thee a kindness, and yet did not see thee! A-read me the riddle?"

"Nay, 'tis best to forget the kindnesses you do, so long as they to whom they are done keep them in mind. There, now, thou art on safe ground. Ride boldly up the hill. At the summit thou wilt see the beacon light. Fare-thee-well."

"But, damsel, wilt thou not tell me thy name? Who are those caitiffs who wrought me such wrong? Where dwellest thou? How camest thou here?"

"And then men call us poor women curious and prying," laughed the girl. "Good-night, gentle sir, mayest thou prosper, and have a pleasant journey;" and before Ralph realised she was gone, she had disappeared down the head of the gully.

"Well, 'tis little use following her," thought Ralph; "my business is up there. I marvel whether she told me truth; but I shall soon see."

He mounted his horse, and pursued his way as fast as he could, consistently with the steepness of the ascent.

So steep was the hill in some places, that he dismounted once more, and led his horse up. He had no idea the hill was so high or so difficult to climb, from the view he had had of it below, but at length he found the steep incline becoming rounder and more level. Mounting again, he set spurs to his horse, and galloped over the smooth, close-cropped, wind-shorn grass.

After riding a few hundred yards, he saw a bright glow before him, and in another minute he was trotting up to a low building with a small octagonal tower, on the top of which was a cresset holding a mass of flaming tow and faggots, which cast a lurid glare all over the summit of the lofty down. It was St Catherine's Chapel and Hermitage.

As Ralph rode up, the figure of a man in a monk's dress emerged in the tower, and attended to the fire.

"Art thou the Hermit of St Catherine?" called out Ralph.

The monk turned round.

"Who is it that calls?"

"One of the Captain of the Wight's pages, who has come with a missive for thee."

"Tarry, my son, till I come down," said the Hermit.

The figure then disappeared, and shortly afterwards a low door at the base of the tower opened, and the Hermit came out, holding a lantern in his hand. He carefully scrutinised Ralph without saying anything, and took the paper the page handed to him.

After reading it attentively, he said,--

"Tell my lord there hath been no strange sail seen to-day, but as it is parlous thick to-night, and was so the greater part of the afternoon, a vessel might have passed without my seeing. Tell his lordship I will be sure to keep a trusty look-out."

"Is that all, holy father?"

"Yes, my son; get thee back as soon as may be, for it behoveth him to take measures in case a schallop hath gotten past unperceived."

Ralph turned his horse's head; the mist was now far down below, and dispersing before it spread inland. His road lay clear before him. Clapping spurs to his horse, he galloped off, and in the course of another hour was hallooing to the guard at the outer gate of the Castle to open and let him in. In a few minutes more he had dismounted at the Captain's apartments, given his horse to Humphrey, who was sitting up for him, and in another second was ushered into the presence of the Captain of the Wight.

*CHAPTER IX.*

*HOW THE COCKEREL LEARNT HARDIHOOD.*

When Ralph pushed aside the heavy curtain which hung inside the ill-fitting but massive oak door, he was for a moment dazed by the brilliant light within the room.

The chambers of the more luxurious nobles were at this time fitted up with much profusion of rich draperies, gorgeous tapestries, and splendidly carved and gilded furniture. Lord Woodville inherited and shared all the lavish tastes of his mother and his family. His brother, the ill-fated Lord Scales, had been the patron of Caxton, having himself translated and composed some of the earliest works published by the Father of Printing, and the Captain of the Wight upheld the traditions of his house.

Seated before an elaborately-carved desk, lighted by long wax candles standing in exquisitely-designed brass candlesticks, whose bold bosses and delicate spiral work reflected the light in countless sparkles and scintillations, sat the Lord Woodville, his handsome face in conspicuous distinctness with the light shining full upon it, while behind hung a gorgeous tapestry from the looms of Flanders, which had belonged to his mother, Jacquetta of Luxemburg. He was clad in a close-fitting short tunic of black stamped velvet, made very full across the chest and shoulders, and drawn in with narrowing pleats at the waist, where it was confined by a magnificent belt of scarlet Cordovan leather, richly studded with gold and jewelled mountings. A finely-chased silver-hilted poignard hung at his right side, and his shapely legs were set off to fullest advantage by his tight-fitting hose, which, after the fashion of the time, were parti-coloured, of light blue and white in alternate pieces. Long and fanciful scarlet Cordovan slippers encased his feet, and a rich purple mantle, lined with the fur of the silver fox, hung over the back of his chair. One elegantly-formed hand rested on the desk, where a few characters had been inscribed on a sheet of paper before him, while the other arm hung negligently over the back of his chair. There was a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes, and no one could have realised in that slightly effeminate figure, and almost womanish face, with its sensitive mouth and finely-chiselled nose and broad brow, round which the long hair fell in waving masses, the warrior who had fought in nearly all the bloodiest battles of those fierce civil wars, and had borne himself in ranged field or tented lists "righte hardilie, valyentlie, and of full lusty prowess." For the conflict on the battle-field was then no child's play as regards the noble, to whom quarter in those bloody civil wars was rarely or never given.

It was probably the refined tastes of the Woodvilles, while rendering them such favourites with the luxurious Edward IV. and the ladies of his court, which caused the ruder barons of that rough age to hate them so bitterly. The taunt flung in the face of Lord Rivers and his son by Warwick, when he was brought before him a prisoner at Calais, showed the malignity of hate and contempt the nobles felt for the family, a hatred arising, no doubt, from jealousy at the Woodvilles' sudden rise to distinction, but aggravated by a contempt for their accomplishments, which were considered totally inconsistent with the stern realities of life. How was it possible that a hardy knight and well-seasoned man-at-arms could find time to paint, write, or even read? Such occupations were for jongleurs or monks, not belted knights and stout barons.

As Ralph dropped the curtain behind him, the Captain of the Wight rose from his chair, the dreamy look of abstraction giving place to the alertness of real life.

"Well, Master Lisle, thou hast been a dullard on the way; what hath made thee so late?"

"There was a thick mist abroad, my lord."

"Oh, and thou lost thy way? Like enough. These sea fogs are sudden in their uprising. But thou gavest my missive to the Hermit?"

"Yea, my lord, and he bid me say that he had seen no sail, but that, as the mist had overspread the land and sea the latter part of the day, it were very possible for a schallop to have gotten past unnoticed."

"Yea, forsooth, he sayeth well," said the Captain thoughtfully; then he added, "There was no other message?"

"None my lord, save--" and Ralph hesitated, for he did not like to tell of his mishaps, and as he thought of the strange adventure on the wild cliff, in the brilliant light of that luxurious room, he could scarcely believe it was not a dream. The utter contrast between the present moment, the elegant surroundings, the absolute security of that splendid castle, with all its guards, walls, men-at-arms, bastions, archers, and turrets, and the wild weirdness of that solitary wrestle on the verge of the black precipice, in the cold light of the moon, and the ghostly vapour, seemed too impossible. Surely he must have dreamt it.

"Save what, my child?" said Lord Woodville.

"Save that I lost my way, and--" and again he hesitated.

"Well, my page, and what?"

"And I was set on by a base caitiff."

"Ay, marry--who has dared to lay hands on one of my pages?"

"That I know not, my lord," and then Ralph narrated the adventure as best he could.

Lord Woodville listened to the end, his countenance expressing no feeling until Ralph came to the part where the man bid him take a note to the Captain of the Wight. He then looked up gravely, and said,

"Where is it, my child?"

Ralph fumbled in his pocket; he searched everywhere--he could not find it. Seeing his nervousness, the Lord Woodville said, smiling,--

"Nay, fair page, take it quietly; thou mayest have overlooked it. Search each of thy pockets one by one, and so we shall arrive at a just conclusion."

Ralph did as he was told, and displayed but few things to the amused eyes of Lord Woodville, for he had not troubled to replace the rubbish which the man had left upon the grass when he turned out his pockets. When all had been gone through, there was nothing found.

"My lord," said Ralph, abashed, "I must have dropped it when I delivered thy missive to the Hermit of St Catherine's."

"Like enough, my page; but thou shouldest be more careful. An thou didst, I shall get it in the morning; or thou canst ride in search of it. But thou art sure thou hast not been dreaming?" added Lord Woodville, with a smile.

"Nay, my lord, that I will warrant, for thou mayest see the stain of the grass and the earth on my surcoat and hose."

"Well that is somewhat, certes, but 'tis a quaint tale. Who could they be who would attack thee, do thee no harm, take no gold from thee, or strip thee of thy rich poignard and gaudy dress? For I see they have left thee thy purse and gold pieces."

"Nay, my lord, I know not; but I can show thee the place to-morrow, an thou wilt ride thither."

"What was the man like who captured you? Didst thou see his face?"

"Nay, my lord, for he ever came between me and the moon; but he was of marvellous strength, and of a wondrous bigness; and he spoke like one in authority, and of gentle birth and breeding."

"Well, 'tis a strange adventure, in sooth, and we will take thought for it to-morrow. Perchance thou mayest find the missive in thy saddle housings, or in thy dress, as thou retirest to sleep. But it groweth late; get thee now to thy rest. I shall need thee to-morrow."

So saying, Lord Woodville nodded kindly to the boy, as a sign for him to retire, and Ralph left the room, glad enough to have escaped so easily, marvelling more than ever whether what had happened had really been a dream.

Meanwhile the Captain of the Wight stood musing before his fire, for there was now need for a fire, since the season was drawing on, and it was near the end of September, while the thick stone walls of the strong building were damp and cold.

Presently he went to his desk, pressed a spring, and out of a drawer at the side he took a little scented leathern case. Opening this, he took out two very faded flowers, a long lock of wavy soft brown hair, and a golden heart. He gazed at the silent relics, his lips moved, and he crossed himself devoutly. He then, after pressing them to his lips, put them back in the case, shut the case up, and replaced it in the drawer, which he carefully fastened again.

This done, with a heavy sigh he stepped across to a _prie dieu_, and devoutly kneeling before a richly-carved crucifix, he remained absorbed in prayer. When he rose up, his face looked white and haggard. Before retiring to rest, he drew aside the curtain over his door, opened it, and called to the archer on guard to pass the word to the man who relieved him, to usher, without question, any monk who should come to him in the morning.

When Ralph awoke next morning, the events of the previous night seemed more than ever like a dream. The commonplace realities of everyday life, the bright morning sun, the boyish chaff of his companions, and the decisive tone of Tom o' Kingston as he put them through their exercises, seemed so utterly out of keeping with the romantic adventure of the night before.

Dicky Cheke seemed somewhat crestfallen this morning, and he and Maurice Woodville had each a rather swollen cheek and lip, while Willie Newenhall was decidedly puffy and red about the eye.

Even Bowerman showed signs of the manful handling given him by Ralph, who had almost forgotten the scuffle, in the greater excitement that had followed.

"I' faith, Ralph," said Dicky Cheke, "there'll be war anon, and Bowerman shall grin. What do you think? After you had gone, and the Captain had gotten well away, that rogue 'Pig's Eyes' got Bowerman to attack us; but we gave them enough work before we gave in, and that's why his eye's so wadged up, and Bowerman's nose looks so red about the bridge."

"Now, Master Cheke," called out Tom o' Kingston, "are you going to give over gossiping? I hear there's talk of a tilt toward, and that Sir John thinks two of you young men can break a lance in it. Now I'd be loth you bore yourselves boorishly, so please to give heed to all I've to say to you. Master Bowerman, you look but sadly this morning; what's come to your nose?"

"Never mind my nose, Tom," said that youth sulkily. "It's no business of yours if my nose is well or amiss. Let me have a run at you with the lance; I want to practise against a live man."

"Not this morning, Master Bowerman; you've enough to do to hit the Saracen fairly. Now are you ready. Go!"

The boys were all mounted on their hackneys horses that formed part of the stud of the castle garrison, and which were trained for the work. Each boy carried a lance about thirteen feet long, and they were this morning going to tilt at a large and roughly-made figure of a Saracen, who held a shield in one arm, and a loose club in the other. The figure, when hit on the shield, spun round, and, unless the performer were quick in his movements, caught its assailant a more or less violent blow in the back, depending upon the force with which the shield was hit.

At the word of command of Tom o' Kingston, Bowerman dug his heels into his horse's side and rode at the figure. He hit the shield fairly, and galloped past untouched, raising his lance as he trotted round.

"That's well done, but give him a harder buffet next time. Now, Master Newenhall!" cried the instructor.

Willie Newenhall was but half awake. He was yawning desperately when he received the order to go. He had scarcely fastened up his clothes, and he looked a sodden mass of sleepy stupidity. His half-washed face, squat nose, and little eyes, which were now smaller than ever, owing to the events of the night before, did not look prepossessing, and not the uttermost vagaries of the most vivid imagination would have thought that the owner of that countenance and that appearance fancied himself to be a dangerous lady-killer, a cause of disquiet alike to the anxious husband as well as the fond father. But the nights of fancy are proverbially wild, and had anybody suggested to Willie Newenhall that he was anything else than a very handsome, irresistible youth, he would have regarded that person with the pitying scorn justly due to the envious and the blighted. Sleepy, and unfinished in the matter of his toilette--for it was seven o'clock in the morning, and Willie dearly loved his bed--he heard the order to put his horse in motion at the quintain. With another prolonged yawn he shook his horse's reins, and trotted lazily towards the post. It so happened that he had not fastened up his tunic properly. As the pace of the horse increased, and he prepared to level his spear to hit the shield, the tunic flew open, and got in the way of his arms. Forgetting, or not noticing, how near he was to the quintain, he moved his arm up to clear the dress, thus bringing the lance across his body, and before he had time to recover his position, the long spear struck athwart the quintain, and got askew between the shield and the wooden post on which it revolved, with the effect of its becoming jammed and immovable. As Willie's horse was well trained, and had increased his speed on nearing the quintain, his rider was swept out of his saddle, and over the crupper, falling to the ground like a sack of flour.

The onlookers greeted this mishap with a roar of laughter, and their instructor, with whom Willie Newenhall was no favourite, scoffingly bid him pick himself up, and "not lie there like a trussed pullet."

Ruefully the sleepy page, now rudely awakened, got up, and came limping back.

"Pick up thy lance, stupid, and go after thy nag. Beshrew me, but an I were the Captain, I'd as lief have a turnip for a page as thee. For you both grow, and that's all; saving that a turnip is good to eat, which is more than can be said o' thee." Then turning to Ralph, Tom o' Kingston said, "Now, Master Lisle, do thou show them how to do the matter."

Ralph dearly loved these exercises, and had become an apt pupil. Sticking spurs to his horse, he cantered eagerly forward. As he neared the post, with knees and voice he encouraged his horse, and with loose reins and gathering speed he struck the quintain a vigorous blow; then, raising his lance aloft, galloped on, untouched by the swiftly-revolving club.

"By my faith, 'twas well done, young master! You'll make the best lance of them all. But, when all's said and done, that's not much praise neither."

"You're a bit grumpy this morning--Tom," said Dicky Cheke. "What's gone wrong? Has Polly Bremeskate been unkind to thee?"

"Now, Master Cheke, mind your work, and let me have none of your sauce," said Tom o' Kingston, who was supposed to cherish a fatal passion for this very buxom and florid spinster, who was the inheritor of certain lands and tenements sufficient to be a powerful attraction, over and above her other charms, to the yeomen of the island. Her suitors therefore were numerous, and she gave herself airs of importance becoming in one so happily placed.

Dicky and Maurice went through the performance very well, and after the exercise had been repeated several times, the little group was joined by the Breton knight and Sir John Trenchard.

The arrival of these important spectators caused the performers to try their best, and even the stolid Willie was roused into something like emulation.

"How do they tackle to their work, Master Tom?" asked Sir John.

"There's naught amiss, Sir John, with Master Bowerman and Lisle; they'll bear themselves well enough--leastways the last-named gentleman will; and so, for their size, will the other two young masters. But as for Master Newenhall, you'd as well mount Betty the scullery wench on Jenny the donkey, and give her a broomstick, as let him ride among press of knights."

"Go in, boys, and don your breastpieces, brassarts, gauntlets, and burgonets, and get your targets. This worshipful knight and I would see how you can bear yourselves in a tilt."

It was delightful news to all the pages, except Willie Newenhall, who in his heart detested the whole thing, and would much rather have sat at the window where Lady Trenchard's maids were looking at the sports, than have been down there, jeered at by the others, and with a strong probability of receiving hard knocks. If only he could gossip, he was happy. He could scarcely open his mouth among men, but with a garrulous woman--if only she were married, or beyond the chance of having designs upon himself--he was quite at home, and would discuss by the hour the latest fashion in 'cotes hardies,' or 'furbelows,' or any other of the mysteries usually never spoken of by men, or, if referred to at all, mentioned with bated breath, as though conscious of venturing on unknown ground, and with the usual result of bringing ridicule upon themselves, by the utter ignorance they displayed. But not so with Willie. He was as much at home when discussing women's dress or idle gossip and scandal, as his companions were at handling the lance or throwing the bar.

In a few minutes more the pages all re-appeared, armed entirely from the waist upwards in polished steel their faces looking bright and boyish under their raised visors, with their shields on their left arms. At the word 'Mount,' they vaulted into the saddle, or attempted to do so, for although they were practised every day at this exercise, yet it was a difficult matter to accomplish in armour. Bowerman and Ralph, owing to the advantage of height, were able to do it gracefully enough, but poor Dicky ignominiously failed, while Maurice managed to scramble up with loss of dignity, but ultimate success. Willie had also failed, and received a sharp rebuke from Sir John Trenchard. When at last, by dint of great struggles, the two unfortunates had got on their horses, they were ranged in a line, sitting motionless with lance erect and visor raised.

The scene was pretty. The morning drill took place in the castle yard properly so called; the place of arms outside the walls, on the east of the castle, not being used for the lesser exercises. The five martial figures of the youths, their fresh boyish faces, contrasting with their warlike panoply, the graceful figure of the Breton knight, in his close-fitting tunic and picturesque dress, set off to advantage by the grizzled head and weather-beaten appearance of Sir John Trenchard, formed a becoming contrast to the burly form and soldierly bearing of the esquire, sitting his horse to the right of the little squad, and completing the group on the yellow gravel of the yard. Behind all, the towering keep, with its base hidden by thick brushwood, carefully trimmed and topped, stood up dark and grim against the eastern sky. To the south east, Mountjoy's Tower, and the long line of wall between, cast their deep shadows over the barracks and store-houses below; while opposite, in the bright sunlight, was the old chapel of St Nicholas, the chaplain's room, guard-room, and the noble towers of the main gateway. The Captain's apartments, on the north, commanded a view on three sides into the yard, and the boys were made more eager than ever to do well, by seeing the Captain of the Wight standing in the oriel window, looking down upon them.

About the quadrangle were grouped, some in shadow some in bright sunlight, the picturesque figures of the garrison of the castle who were off duty, while the flitting shadows on the parapet of the eastern walls showed where the sentries were pacing to and fro on their beat.

Above the keep floated the standard of England, and from the main tower the banner of the Captain of the Wight flung its blazon in the breeze.

*CHAPTER X.*

*HOW THE COCKEREL VAUNTED HIMSELF.*

"Let the varlets tilt according to size, Master Tom," said Sir John Trenchard. "Master Bowerman, do you and Master Newenhall begin: close your visors."

This was bad news for Willie. As he turned his horse's head to take up his place, that disconsolate youth murmured through the bars of his closed visor,--

"Bowerman, I say, there's little need to tilt in earnest. I won't hit you hard, if you'll only rap on my breastpiece lightly."

But Bowerman only laughed. He was delighted to have so easy an adversary.

"Marry, 'Pig's Eyes,'" he replied, "do thy best, there's the Captain looking on."

With a deep sigh of woe-begone anticipation, poor Willie, whose bones still ached from his last fall, wheeled his horse round at the word of command, and sat facing Bowerman.

"At the word 'Ready,'" said Tom o' Kingston, in a dry, monotonous voice, "you will lay your spears in rest, holding the point on a level with your own eye, and the hand pressed well into the side, keeping the guard well up to the rest. At the word 'Go,' you will clap spurs to your horses, and ride straight for each other."

There was a pause for the combatants to settle themselves well in their saddles, look to any part of their armour that might be amiss, and generally pull themselves together.

"Ready!" called out the esquire.

Down came the lances in a graceful sweep, and the two pages sat waiting for the next word.

"Go!" shouted the instructor, and the previously motionless figures dug their spurs into their horses, and rode at each other.

The two lances struck almost at the same moment, but Bowerman adroitly caught Newenhall's lance on his polished shield, and thus caused it to glance over his left shoulder. His own spear struck his adversary under the rim of the breastplate, where it turned over to protect the gorget. Sliding along the smooth surface of the steel, it held under the roundel which protected the right shoulder, and the miserable Willie was lifted out of the saddle, and hurled once more over the crupper to the ground, while Bowerman, raising his lance aloft, after the proper fashion, trotted round to his own place again, saluting the Breton knight and Sir John Trenchard as he rode past.

"Well and manfully done, Sir Page!" cried the latter warrior.

"_Ma foi! oui! il a fait son devoir en bon soudard_," said the sire Alain de Kervignac.

The hapless Newenhall lay still upon the ground; not that he was really hurt, beyond being considerably shaken, and bumped about the head; but he wisely thought if it were seen that he were hurt he might be sent indoors, and allowed to sit in Lady Trenchard's room, and be made a fuss of, a state of affairs he dearly loved.

"Is he hurt, think you?" said Sir John Trenchard. "I would be loth that he really got a hurt."

"Nay, Sir John," said Tom o' Kingston, winking at his chief in a knowing fashion, "he'll be all right anon. I know the habits of the lad." Then he called out, "Master Newenhall, the others are going to begin; you'd best get out of the way."

But that astute youth determined not to move. "They'll never be such caitiffs as to ride over me," he thought. However, it looked very much like it, for without any concern the esquire called out,--

"Now, Master Cheke and Master Woodville, 'tis your turn. Lower your beavers."

"You'd best take care, Maurice," said Dicky, as they rode off. "I mean to do my best, and I'm sorry for thee."

"None of thy peppercorn wit, Dicky. I'll topple thee out of thy saddle like a pint pot off a brown jack."

And so the two boys took up their positions, waiting for the word. It was soon given. Down came the lances.

"Go," called the esquire, and the two boys rode at each other manfully enough. They were very equally matched, and struck each other full on their breastplates; but in Dicky's case the lance of his adversary glanced off the sharp edge of the convex corslet, and slipped under his arm, doing him no injury, while his own lance also glanced aside, and the two boys were nearly unseated by their horses' impetus. Had they not both held on tightly by the reins, and been prevented from going backwards by the high-peaked saddle, they must have fallen to the ground. As it was, they remained with their horses stationary, each spear locked under the other's arm.

"Maurice, I shall do thee a mischief," cried Dicky Cheke, through his visor. "Thou hadst best give up, and fall off thy horse. I won't hurt thee then."

"Grammercy for thy gentleness, Master Dicky, but I'll soon have thee down," and the two boys pushed at each other, with the guards of their spears pressing against their breastplates.

"Maurice, I say, don't be such an obstinate pig! I'll give thee all my share of the marchpane of strawberries when we have it again, if thou wilt only fall off this once. I'll promise I'll do it for thee another time."

"That _is_ gammon! Marry come up, my pipkin!" said Maurice ironically, and, pushing and wriggling his lance harder than ever, to the great aggravation of Dicky Cheke, he almost lifted him out of the saddle.

"Maurice, I shall get mad soon," said Dicky, "and then I shall hurt thee. Ah! would'st thou?" and Dicky, dropping his reins, and gripping the saddle with his knees, grasped Maurice's lance with his left hand, and tried to force it back out of his hold.

The two horses were pushing against each other. Suddenly Maurice grasped Dicky's lance, and at the same time backing his horse, he pulled that young gentleman out of the saddle forward, who, however held on all the time to the lance, and thus broke his fall. The moment he was on the ground, he rose to his feet, holding the spear all the time, and fiercely tried to push Maurice out of the saddle. But Sir John Trenchard called out that all was fairly done, and that both had done their devoir as right hardy varlets, but that natheless Woodville had gotten most honour, for he kept his seat while the other was dismounted.

"That's as may be," said the unquenchable Dicky, "albeit, had it been in real lists, I should have driven thee against the barrier, and so I should have won the prize."

Willie Newenhall, when he saw that the boys really were to tilt across the very place where he was lying, with no more concern for him than if he had been a log of wood, vowing vengeance on the two youngsters, rolled out of the way, and got up sulkily enough, limping back to the place where his well-trained horse was standing, and appearing in great distress. But as no one took any notice of him, with a growl of disgust at their heartlessness, he gave up the game, and stood watching the others.

"Now, Master Bowerman, an thou art in good wind again, here's Master Lisle ready for a course with thee."

"Right willing I am," answered Bowerman, who felt highly elated at the success of his first essay, and the praises he had received. In addition to this, he had long hoped to have an opportunity of effectually quenching Ralph, to whom he had taken a dislike the moment he saw him, and which had been increased by many circumstances since.

The two took up their respective positions and awaited the word of command. There was a certain swagger of easy self-assurance in Bowerman as he trotted his horse to his post, saluting the Captain of the Wight, who was standing at his window.

By this time there was a considerable concourse of spectators, for it was drawing near chapel time, and the garrison was assembling to fall in.

Tom o' Kingston glancing at the two figures, who looked very equally matched, called out "Ready," quickly followed by the command to go.

The well-trained horses hardly needed the spur, so perfectly accustomed were they to the words of command. They broke at once into a canter, and with levelled lances the two combatants met exactly in the middle of the ground. Bowerman's lance struck Ralph full and fair under the gorget, and flew into a thousand splinters. The blow was a rude one, and Ralph staggered under it; but his own lance had been aimed at his antagonist's visor, and took far more severe effect than he intended. The visor was forced violently up, and a splinter from Bowerman's own lance, struck him full under the eye at the same moment, inflicting a severe wound. The shock of Ralph's well-aimed blow, together with the pain of the splinter cut, caused Bowerman to reel in his seat, and as the spear had caught in the bars of the visor, he was borne backwards out of the saddle, and hurled to the ground.

"My faith,'twas well done!" cried Sir John Trenchard, while all the bystanders raised a shout of congratulation, for Ralph was already a great favourite with them all.

But Ralph, directly he saw what had happened, thought no more of the tilt, and how he ought to have ridden round and saluted the judges and spectators. He only saw Bowerman on the ground, bleeding from the severe wound under the eye, which looked worse than it really was. He instantly reined in his horse, threw down his spear, and leaped to the ground.

"Oh, Bowerman, I am so sorry!" he cried, as he stooped down to help to raise him.

"Get up, you fool!" answered Bowerman, in furious wrath. "Do you think I am a girl, that I want your whinings and whimperings? Get away, you viper you, had my lance not gone all to pieces, you'd have been lying on your back instead of me. Tom ought to have given me a new one. He should have known it was sprung in the first course."

So saying, and fiercely wrathful, Bowerman spurned all offer of assistance from Ralph, and rose from the ground. The others had now come forward, seeing the blood flowing from the wound, and Bowerman was taken to Lady Trenchard to have the cut attended to.

The bell was now tolling, and the other pages had no time to doff their armour. Hastily walking their horses over to the stables, they hurried into chapel.

When the service was over they withdrew to their common room, in the north-west side of the Captain's apartments, and talked over the events of their first trial at real tilting in armour, while they ate their meal.

Newenhall was very sulky. He complained of severe pains in his head, and said it was a great shame he was not allowed to go to the sick-room,--that Bowerman was no worse than he was, and he was always treated unfairly.

Dicky and Maurice nearly had their harmony spoilt by bickering over their contest; and Ralph was very much distressed at the accident that had happened to Bowerman, and of which he was the unwilling cause, while he was still more grieved at the evident animosity with which Bowerman regarded him.

"I tell thee what, Lisle," said Dicky, who was in a very rasping mood, "it was lucky for thee that Bowerman's spear went all to pieces, or he would have had thee out of the saddle as roughly as he knocked over 'Pig's Eyes.'"

"No he wouldn't," said Maurice. "I saw it all, and it would have gone just the same had Bowerman's spear kept sound. Lisle had got him neatly in the beaver--nothing could have kept him in his seat."

"That's all you know about it! Why, couldn't he have held on to the reins?"

"And what'd be the use of that, when he was being knocked over sideways?"

And so the boys wrangled until they were set to work by the chaplain.

After they had been working rather less steadily than usual, and Dicky had drawn down upon his head some very severe rebukes from Sir Simon Halberd, while "Pig's Eyes" was so very much more stupid than ordinary that even the gentle Sir Simon's commonly placid spirit was ruffled, and he complained loudly of his dulness, a message came that Ralph Lisle was wanted in the Captain's room.

Wondering what was the matter, Ralph hastily complied with the summons. On opening the Captain's door, he found Lord Woodville pacing up and down the room. Seeing Ralph enter, he stopped, and greeted him with a kindly smile.

"My child," he said, "thou bearedst thyself right gallantly this morning, and I liked thy courtesy and gentleness even more than thy prowess. Go on like that and thou wilt make a full, gentle, perfect knight; for gentleness, courtesy, and thought for others become a good knight quite as much as hardihood and masterfulness."

Ralph's face glowed with joy at these commendations from his lord, and he rejoiced to hear this renowned and skilful warrior using very nearly the same words as his father had done on the eve of his quitting home.

"I have sent for thee, my page, to tell thee I have heard no news of thy lost missive. Thinkest thou now that the whole matter was but a dream?"

Ralph had by this time forgotten all about the last night's adventure. It all came before him in its startling reality. It could not have been a dream.

"My lord," he answered, "I think it was no dream; how could my clothes have been all soiled with grass and earth if it were a dream?"

Lord Woodville smiled at the earnestness of the boy, and said,--

"Well, we will go a-hawking that way this afternoon, and thou shalt come with us to show us this terrible scene--perchance we may find trace of thy strange caitiffs. Thou must even don thy best, for thy fair kinswoman, the Mistress Yolande, is to be of our company."

Ralph would have given worlds not to have coloured up as he did, but he was never master of himself when that fair lady's name was mentioned.

"We shall be a large band; I would that Bowerman could be of it, but I hear his hurt needs care; it is parlous near his eye, and was a marvellous narrow chance."

As Ralph left the room he could have danced with joy at the delightful prospect before him. He went out to direct Humphrey to get his horse well groomed, and have his smartest attire put out for him, and, brimful of happiness, was returning to the room where the studies were still going on. As he passed the chapel door he found a concourse of men standing round it. Pushing in among them, he saw a parchment affixed to the door, and two shields of arms hanging up. His heart leaped within him. It was the public announcement of the tilt or joust.

Not many of the bystanders could read, and the two or three who were laboriously spelling out the words for the benefit of the rest, were bidden to stand aside to let Ralph read it aloud. Pleased to be able to make use of his superior advantages, Ralph read out, in a loud voice, the long and wordy cartel or general challenge, which was the formal way of announcing a tilt, joust, or tourney. After reciting the names and degree of the challengers, or appellants, which took up several lines, the proclamation went on to say that "they were prepared to meet all comers at a joust, to run in jousting harness along a tilt, and that they do this, not out of presumption, but only for the laud and honour of the feast"--it was to take place on St Michael and All Angels' Day--"for the pleasure of the ladies, and their own learning and exercise of deeds of arms, and to enserve the ancient laudable customs." It further went on to declare that "the said worshipful knights, Sir Alain de Kervignac and Sir Amand de la Roche Guemene, would be at the tilt-yard of Carisbrooke Castle by eleven of the clock before noon, to run six courses with any comer ensuing, the comers to choose their own spears; and if the said six courses be finished before sundown, then they may be at liberty to begin other six courses. And if any man's horse faileth before he be disarmed, then his fellow may go on and finish the course for his companion."

The prizes were a ruby ring and a diamond ring. The cartel was signed by the Breton knights, and scaled with their signets, and it was countersigned by "Edward Wydevil, knight, commonly called the Lord Woodville, Lord and Captain of the Isle of Wight," and sealed with his coat of arms. It also further set forth that on the second day there would be a tourney with sword strokes. There were to be eighteen hand strokes, but no knight was to "foine" or thrust with the sword point, on pain of instant dismissal from the lists. The strokes were to be given on foot, and with sword and axes at barriers.

There was a general hum of applause after Ralph had finished.

"Marry, these Frenchman have done full knightly," said one.

"Ay, you may say so! but I would we had more knights," said another. "There's none now in the island who are skilled in the joust."

"There'll have to be some overrunners[*] asked over," said a third.

[*] The local name for newcomers or "foreigners" from the mainland to the Isle of Wight.

"If only that right hardy knight Sir George Lisle of Briddlesford, old Sir William's son, were in these parts now," said the first speaker.

"I never heard tell of him," replied the other.

"Why should you, comrade? 'Tis many years since he's been heard of. There's some as said he were lately come over with the Lord Lincoln to Stoke field, and died there in harness, fighting with his face to the foe, by the side of the Lord Geraldine, Captain Martin Swartz, Sir Thomas Broughton, and all those lusty Allemaynes who gave us such hard knocks ere we made them give in. But I were with the Herald when we searched the field, and never saw him there; and I should have known him alive or dead anywhere. We were boys together down Briddlesford way."

"Now you've named Sir George Lisle, that minds me," said the second soldier, "that when King Edward was alive, he was in rare favour with the king, who gave him in marriage a right lovely lady. But there was some talk of his lady, how, when he was away in France with old Bear and Ragged Staff, she went off with some one, I don't rightly remember who."

"Silence, man, an you value your tongue!" said his comrade. "That's a tale you'd best not call to mind hereabouts," he added significantly.

Ralph, full of the news, was going off to the pages' room, when he noticed the shields.

"What are they for?" he asked of the old man-at-arms who had just spoken so pointedly to his more garrulous comrade.

"I' faith, when a knight wants to take up their challenge, he smiteth on these shields, and his name and lineage are taken down by the clerk or herald appointed to put in the roll of the tilt the names of those who come to take their challenge."

Ralph longed to be able to hit that shield.

"Are any who are not knights admitted to the joust?" he asked..

"Sometimes, but very rarely. Howbeit, the judges have the right to let in whomsoever they choose, provided he be of noble or gentle birth."

This was enough for Ralph. He would leave no stone unturned to obtain leave to splinter a lance in the approaching jousts. As he thought of it, the colour came into his face; he pictured himself riding in the lists, armed _cap-a-pie_, winning the prize under the lovely blue eyes of the fair Yolande. As he crossed the yard, deep in this delightful thought, he ran against a man in a monastic dress, who had just entered by the main gate.

"Certes, my son, thou shouldest give heed to thy steps," said the monk, as he staggered under the unprovoked assault.

*CHAPTER XI.*

*HOW JOYOUSLY LIFE GOETH.*

The midday meal was spread in the large hall of the Captain's apartments. Sir William Lisle and his fair daughter had arrived. Gaily Yolande was chatting in the large, deep, bay window at the upper end of the hall, amid a group of young men, conspicuous among whom were the strongly-marked features, bullet head, and broad chest of Sir Amand de la Roche Guemene. Beside him, but topping him by some inches, although he was more than ten years his junior, stood the strong, active figure and boyish, honest face of Ralph Lisle, gazing at Yolande with rapturous admiration, but saying never a word, listening to all she said, and to all that was said to her, with simple enjoyment. No thought of selfish jealousy crossed his mind. All men must admire so lovely a girl--what harm in that? Did not he admire her too? would not he have willingly suffered anything for her? would not he be her dog to fetch and carry, do her slightest wish, be her devoted slave, and ask for nothing more than to be near her? No greater privilege could he have than to do her behests. The boy paid her the most absolute homage of his whole soul and body. It never occurred to him to ask for anything in return. He did not know he wanted anything more than to be allowed to be always near her, adore her, minister to her slightest whims. Whatever so lovely a being did, was sure to be right. To question the acts of so glorious a beauty, was like doubting divinity. Ralph was under the glamour of the most potent spell that ever worked on a pure and generous nature. To give utterly to the object of his worship, was to him the simplest thing. He would have given his last farthing to help a poor beggar; what would he not give to her, who was in his eyes the noblest, loveliest, purest thing in creation? Only would she want anything? There was the pain. What could he give her that she could need? Had she not everything?--homage, wealth, youth, beauty?

"And so, my fair cousin, I hear thou hast done right knightly this forenoon," said Yolande, addressing him at last, for after the first greeting he had stood aside to let the more vivacious and older Breton knights pay their respects to his cousin.

As Yolande spoke, she glanced at his large build, powerful chest, and tall figure, and then she let her eyes drop sideways on the smaller proportions of the Breton knight who stood beside him. She noticed the breadth of shoulders, bull neck, and length of arm of this latter, and thoughtfully said, without paying any attention to what Ralph blurted out,--

"And so, Sir Amand, you have proclaimed a joust. 'Twas well done of you; and all we poor damoiselles of the island owe you many thanks. But I fear me we have no knights now here will do us poor ladies justice. Alas that my stepbrother is not here!"

"Surely, fair lady, thou wilt let me be thy knight?" said the Breton gentleman. "I could not have a fairer queen for whom to lay lance in rest."

"Nay, fair sir, thou surely mockest. I have heard that the damoiselles of France are the loveliest in the world."

Yolande spoke dreamily; she still glanced sideways at her cousin, and then at the Breton knight.

"I wonder will the Captain tilt?" she asked absently, toying with a gold chain round her neck.

"Pardie, mademoiselle, I trust he will do us that honour: but it would be a marvellous gracious act."

Ralph was yearning to say something to his cousin, but he could not find the opportunity. While all were chatting gaily, waiting lor the Captain of the Wight, a varlet came up the hall and spoke a few words to Sir John Trenchard, who directly afterwards said in a loud voice,--

"The noble Captain is detained by some slight matter. He prayeth you all to forgive him, and in especial that the fair ladies will grant him their pardon; and desireth that we tarry no more for dinner. Master Gamelyn, bring in the covers."