Chapter XI: Of How Sir Richard Came to Castle Yewe

The grizzled knight's prophecy of an evil time yet to come provided the young knight with much material for thought, without, however, worrying him in the least. He was unable to surmise even remotely what dire happening it was meant to foretell. Sir Richard was without vaulting ambitions to achieve distinction or power; had never been entangled in any political movement; or concerned in any conspiracies; or acquainted, so far as he was aware, with the instigators of them. He had always held carefully aloof from matters pertaining to the more serious business of Henry's court. Seeking only to gather the full measure of enjoyment out of life, it had always been his wish, withal, to be regarded as an efficient soldier and faithful and obedient servant of his king. In his earnest desire to shine among the chivalric lights of his time, he brought up at the point of being dreamily visionary. Why he was thus suddenly become the center of a dizzying maelstrom of mysterious occurrences was quite beyond him to fathom; but he was none the less keen in his enjoyment of the situation, its inscrutability appealing forcibly to his imagination.

As he rode onward beside his captor-companion, he gave frequent verbal expression to the questions perplexing him, but without exception de Claverlok's replies were the embodiment of remoteness. He was open, however, in his references to the perils that surely awaited Sir Richard inside the walls of Yewe. His warnings were poured into unheeding ears, as the thought uppermost in Sir Richard's mind was to reach there as quickly as his horse could accomplish the journey. The veteran warrior had been revolving in his mind the subject of his oath of secrecy made to Tyrrell, and whether it involved the keeping of the contents of Henry's warrant from its bearer. He concluded finally to make use of every other means that came to hand to keep his young friend, for whom he was already entertaining a sentiment of real affection, from delivering the parchment to Douglas. Failing of success, he would, as a last resort, expose the duplicity of the King by laying bare the purport of the document.

"I have your word, de Claverlok," Sir Richard interrupted the warrior's thoughts, "that you are well acquainted with the country hereabouts?"

"Yea--that I am, Sir Dick."

"Tell me then," the young knight inquired, "how many leagues is it from here to Yewe?"

"Marry, and is it true you do not know, ... eh?" returned the grizzled knight, shooting a shrewd interrogative glance in the direction of his companion.

"Not I. An I had, my friend, I had not besought your information," said Sir Richard.

"Aye--eh! Most truly said. Well," de Claverlok replied, hesitating while he made a count upon his fingers, "not above two days' journey, I should say," he glibly misled his companion.

"So far as that? Well, by my faith! I wish you had said not above two hours," remarked Sir Richard regretfully. "But how see you, my friend," he thereupon added, pointing his finger directly ahead of them down the road; "an I mistake me not, in yonder valley beside the fork of the road doth set an inn?"

"Aye--that it is. The good Stag and Hounds; right well do I know its jovial keeper. There, Sir Dick, may we dine, drink our fill, and while away a pleasant hour in reading out of your Tales of--of----"

"Canterbury, do you mean?" suggested Sir Richard.

"Canterbury--aye, of a truth, that's it, my young friend. Beshrew me an I have not the devil's own time with remembering names, ... eh! You have this Canterbury business within your saddle-pouch, I heard you say. I would hear you read somewhat out of it, ... eh!"

"This fondness of yours for written tales is certes something of a recent acquirement," laughed Sir Richard. "Only this morning, an I remember me aright, did you scoff at my keeping it beside me; yea--and did heap scathing ridicule upon the head of the scholar, Erasmus, when I spoke of my admiration for him."

"I did but say," protested the grizzled knight in all seriousness, "that the scholar's nose was an uncommon long member, ... eh! And that his bookish business made him to be devilishly thin and pallid. I have a strong liking for tales, let me tell you that, Sir Dick. You'll read me out of them, ... eh?"

"Sorry I am to deny you, my good friend," the young knight replied, "but I dare not steal the time from the doing of my errand. I shall but tarry in the Stag and Hounds to feed and rest my barb. But here's a challenge for you, de Claverlok," he added, gathering his loose reins well within his grasp. "The last man to dismount before the steps of the tavern shall foot up score for horse and man. What say you? Come, my hearty warrior, show me the vaunted mettle of your steed!"

"I have you, Sir Dick!" instantly agreed the grizzled knight; whereupon they started off together, with dust and pebbles flying thick in their train from the swiftness of their flight.

De Claverlok's animal was exceptionally deep-breasted and powerful, and a near match for Sir Richard's in speed. For quite a distance they clipped it neck and neck along the road. About midway between them and the goal against which they were flinging there rode a solitary horseman. He was garbed in the habit of a monk, with the cowl drawn well down over his head. The mad volleying of hoofs caused the rider to uncover, as the racers drew near, and shoot a glance of wonderment in their direction. Even with the fleeting view thus afforded him, Sir Richard remarked that the rugged, lean, and livid-scarred countenance appeared singularly incongruous within the brown frame of a monk's hood. It was like anything but that of a peace-loving ascetic. So intent was the young knight upon winning his race, however, that he failed to notice the unusually sharp angles where the robe fell away from the horseman's knees and elbows. Neither was he sufficiently acute to observe that his rapidly forging to the fore of de Claverlok was coincident with the swift uplifting of the traveler's cowl.

He swept on down to the door of the Stag and Hounds, and reining his stallion to its haunches beneath the creaking sign that hung above it, he flung himself from off his saddle in time to see the monk look rather hastily back toward the tavern, mark the stations of the cross in the air with exaggerated gestures above de Claverlok's bowed head, and disappear at a round gallop over the hill.

The grizzled knight then rode leisurely down to where Sir Richard stood waiting for him, his rugged face beaming with smiles.

"Your barb's hoofs spurned the earth too swiftly for us to bear him company," said he, dismounting beside the young knight, "so I yielded to you the palm of speed, and added to the total of my score by tossing yon pious churchman a noble. Mayhap I may be the gainer through achieving absolution from divers of my recent sins, ... eh? What, ho there, MacWhuddy!" he shouted at the inn-keeper, who was smiling, rubbing his pudgy hands together, and bowing within the door. "Send thy groom, MacWhuddy, and have me these barbs fed and curried whilst we have somewhat of your best to eat and drink. By my soul, MacWhuddy, but thou'rt growing of a size," he went on in a robustious way after the groom had come forward to relieve them of their horses. "Bigger and fatter than ever, ... eh? 'Tis a right healthful business, this keeping of an inn, ... eh? Nothing but eat and drink, and drink and eat from day's end to day's end, and trade jokes from the benchside with the toiling traveler that gorges thy till. When I get me done with this fighting, I'll have me a tavern with a warm corner, a soft seat, and a full flagon ever at hand, ... eh! Sir Dick?"

"I could never picture you, my pugnacious friend, without your ready sword and buckler," laughed the young knight. "But make haste, MacWhuddy," he added, turning toward the inn-keeper. "We would quickly bait ourselves and be away upon our travels. Hold! one moment, my good fellow. Cannot you tell me whether this road leads to Castle Yewe? and how many leagues----"

"Pooh--pooh!" interrupted de Claverlok loudly. "And what doth MacWhuddy know, pray, ... eh? Why, by my faith, scarce his own name, Sir Dick! Saint Dunstan hear me, an he keeps him not his scores upon a notched stick, I'll eat him for a flitch of bacon. Get you gone, MacWhuddy," he roared, when the puzzled inn-keeper made as if to protest. "Bring in the meat, MacWhuddy, and not a word out of your blessed pate, or I'll roll you like one of your own wine butts through yon door, MacWhuddy, ... eh!"

"I wish that you would have expended your wasted energies in bidding the fellow make haste," said Sir Richard, who was much mystified by his companion's sudden display of irritability.

"Haste? He'll make haste, will MacWhuddy--he's built for 't, ... eh?" observed de Claverlok with a dry laugh. "But where's the blessed groom, ... eh? I would have him to--ah! here he comes now. Hey, you, fellow;" he called to the hostler, who was just about to set his foot inside the door, "bring us a book you'll find in the left saddle pouch upon the back of the black horse. Why stand you there twirling your cap and mouthing like a drunken tarry-Jack, ... eh? Fetch us the book, I say!"

"I canna un'erstan' thee, worshipful marster," mumbled the thoroughly frightened menial. "What are a bo-o-ke, good sir? Be it some'at to eat, or some'at to drink--or some'at f'r th' hoorses, mayhap?"

"Well, by Saint Dunstan! Know you not what a book is, ... eh?" roared the grizzled knight, springing up from his seat beside a table and starting for the dumfounded groom. "I'll have the flat of my sword at your hinder quarters for a doddering void-pate!" whereupon, with a great show of anger, he made through the door in a furious pursuit of the innocent offender. "A book, I tell you--" Sir Richard could hear de Claverlok having it out with the groom in the yard; "a handful of paper with a board stuck fast upon each end--do you hear me, ... eh?"

The noise died away presently. Sir Richard supposed that his mercurial companion was engaged in rummaging for the book; but the grizzled knight had beckoned the inn-keeper to his side and was threatening him with every description of chastisement if he but dared to intimate to his young friend within the location or distance of Castle Yewe.

"An the sir knight asks me again, what shall I tell him?" queried the landlord.

"Oh, anything, MacWhuddy, and be damned to you! Anything but the truth."

When de Claverlok came into the tap-room he was puffing and blowing at a tremendous rate and carrying the vellum-bound volume under his arm.

"Come now, Sir Dick," he started off in a wheedling tone, "read me one of these tales of--oh--how say you that name again, ... eh?"

"De Claverlok," observed Sir Richard dryly, "your love of literature has grown to be of an intensity indeed. But your laggard memory halts and stumbles and plays traitor by refusing to keep pace with it. I have said before, my zealous friend, that it would ill beseem me to tarry here in idle reading. Nay--another time, good scholar. Another time! Another time! Here comes our host's pretty daughter with the meat and drink. Let us refresh ourselves quickly and be away."

"Then," said de Claverlok, "I'll return the book to its place within your----"

As he spoke he arose from his stool, and just at the moment when the serving-maid was about to set the platter upon the table. They collided violently, scattering the food and wine over the sanded floor.

De Claverlok wheeled, straightened, set his hands upon his hips, and with a look as though all the world was conspiring to do him injury, regarded the cowering, half-tearful maid.

"Well--what fiend's in this blessed place, ... eh?" he bellowed. "Look you at this mess upon the floor, you awkward body! And here the sir knight yonder is fair aching to be upon his way. An you wore not kirtles, I'd have the flat of my hand at your ears for a blundering dunce, ... eh!"

The serving-maid turned an appealing glance in Sir Richard's direction.

"I'll fetch thee more, sir knight," she said. "In truth, I meant not to spill the things, noble sir."

"Fret not yourself, good maid," said Sir Richard kindly. "Nay--I wot well it was not your fault. I fear me my friend has been struck with some fearsome sickness. He was not always thus. You may go, maid. But bring not the food--I dare not wait. Indeed, I was not over keen to eat. A slice of bread from your hand before I get me in the saddle is all I crave."

"That shalt thou have," said the maid with returning spirit, starting for the kitchen door, "and a bit of toasted cheese to keep it company."

"Upon my soul, de Claverlok," remonstrated Sir Richard, "your temper is growing to be something unbearable. 'Twas not the wench's fault that the food was overturned. You backed your great body square against the platter, leaving her no room for escape on either side. You've had your quarrel with our host, who seems, in sooth, a right peaceable and merry fellow; you berated the groom, and glowered upon the kitchen-maid--with whom will you brawl next, my friend?"

"Why, with you, an you stay not here to eat and drink," retorted de Claverlok.

"Then let the fun begin," said the young knight, starting for the rear door that gave to the court and stables. "Not another moment do I tarry here. An you are coming with me--come."

De Claverlok could do nothing but follow, the which he did with obvious reluctance. Once outside, they ran plump into the inn-keeper, who was all at sea whether to smile and pass the usual joke, or to keep his eyes fastened discreetly upon his broad expanse of doublet. Sir Richard, however, allowed him no choice of alternatives. He stopped him, setting his hand firmly upon the landlord's round shoulder.

"When my friend interrupted," said the young knight, "you were about to tell me the distance and direction of Castle Yewe--is it not so?"

MacWhuddy cast a sheepish look in the direction of de Claverlok, who was scowling fiercely and shaking his fist behind Sir Richard's back.

"'Tis in some'at of that way," he replied, "ower there," waving his trembling hands to the eastward; "some, ... oh! near--I say near, mind thee, worshipful knight, ... near twenty--thirty leagues."

According to that, Sir Richard would have been required to travel some distance out upon the open sea.

De Claverlok strode toward the stable, muttering savage oaths against the stupidity of innkeepers in general, and poor MacWhuddy in particular. Meanwhile, the serving-maid, bread and cheese in hand, was beckoning the young knight from the kitchen window.

"Here is thy bit food, sir knight," she said, as Sir Richard took his station beneath the casement upon which she was leaning. "Castle Yewe," she added in a whisper, "doth lie straight along this road in the way thou wert traveling, and not above six leagues. Turn to thy right where the road forks in front of the inn. Often, on a clear day, from yonder hill, have I seen its lofty turrets. Good fortune attend thee, sir noble knight," she concluded, laying her hand, which was just out of a pan of flour, upon his shoulder, "and beware of the brute with the beard on thy way--he means harm to thee, I fear."

When Sir Richard came, whistling a merry tune, into the stable, de Claverlok was making a great show of rage, cursing and boxing the poor stable-boy's ears.

"What now, my friend?" asked the young knight as he went on past the struggling pair toward his horse.

"What now, ... eh?" roared de Claverlok; "why, here has this young cub gone and mislaid your saddle girth! A murrain upon the loutish tribe, say I! and you in a sweat to be off, too. I'll----"

"Have done berating the boy, de Claverlok," said Sir Richard. "Now tell me, man, what have _you_ done with that girth? I know exactly where lies Castle Yewe, and I wish to ride within its sallyport without further parley or delay. What have you done with my girth, I say?"

"By Saint George, Sir Dick, what have _I_ done with _your_ saddle girth, ... eh? 'Tis too much, this, I tell you. Give me nothing above a padded lance and a sword of lath, and I'd do battle with the whole of you together. Here have I suffered all manner of insults from every blessed soul within this tavern--and now you, Sir Dick, must say to me, what have _I_ done with _your_ girth, ... eh!"

"Mayhap," whined the stable-boy, who was squirming to get loose from de Claverlok's grasp, "I mislaid me it in yon hay-cock."

"Then I'll go with thee to help find it," de Claverlok said, wriggling up the great pile of hay behind the boy.

While they were both down on their hands and knees digging, Sir Richard quickly unbuckled the grizzled knight's saddle and set it upon the back of his own horse.

"Have you found it, my friend?" he called, when he had made de Claverlok's strap secure.

"Nay--not yet. Have patience, Sir Dick," called the grizzled knight without stopping to look behind him.

"Then," laughed Sir Richard triumphantly, "being in sore haste to get away, I've e'en borrowed thine. Thou canst follow later, sir knight. Adieu to you--adieu!"

"Fie--Sir Dick!" shouted de Claverlok, starting up red-faced and sliding down the steep side of the hay; "I pray you, be not in such an undue haste. Wait! You are leaving with the mark of a powdered hand upon your shoulder-cape. Hold, I say! Let me brush it from you, boy!"

The young knight was safe upon the highway before de Claverlok got clear of the hay.

"An I have the mark of the scullery-maid upon my shoulder," he called back, "I have also the knowledge of the true distance of Castle Yewe beneath my bonnet. Give you a round good-day, de Claverlok," he added, laughing gaily, and with that pelted off down the road at top speed.

He had a fine view of the Stag and Hounds from the crest of the next hill, and saw his companion swing into his saddle and follow after him at a great pace, with the lost girth strapped securely about his horse's belly. The race was now on in grim earnest, and the young knight was resolved, at any hazard, to hold fast to the advantage he had gained.

The breadth of the hill intervening, he lost sight of de Claverlok for a little space. But he had another view of him when his pursuer rode over its summit. The grizzled knight was shouting a string of words that, because of the roaring of the wind in his ears and the pounding of his horse's hoofs, he could not at all make out, and waving his long arms about in the most frantic manner. The young knight was enjoying the situation to the marrow. It was worth everything to him merely to have outwitted the crafty veteran.

Sir Richard calculated that he was laying the road behind him at the rate of five leagues an hour. He was relieved and happy to know that of a certainty he would soon arrive at his journey's end, and that, too, in despite of the many obstacles that had been so stubbornly thrust in his way. "Then," thought he, with a thrill of pleasure, "upon fulfilling my King's behest I shall be free to retrace my way to the Red Tavern to deliver the fair maiden from her imprisonment."

Thus much, at least, he meant surely to do. After that was accomplished, he felt constrained to relinquish the marking of the sequel into the hands of the kind--or unkind--Fates.

Meanwhile the race was going steadily and swiftly forward. Though exacting the utmost of speed from his horse, Sir Richard was unable appreciably to change their positions. With a dogged persistence de Claverlok contrived to maintain the rapid pace and relative distance, which, when galloping over the level, was well within sight of the pursued.

At length, through a narrow cleft between the hills, Sir Richard caught a welcome glimpse of high, square-built and crenelated towers. It was the goal for which he was so mightily striving.

He had passed through the cleft and was well up the slope leading to the portcullis when of a sudden he felt the saddle girth giving way beneath him. Appreciating that it would be sheer madness to risk a fall and certain defeat of his purpose of delivering the warrant, with victory so near, he instantly drew rein, flung himself from off the back of his panting stallion and began the work of securing the ill adjusted strap.

While thus feverishly engaged he shouted at the top of his voice for the guard upon the tower to lower the drawbridge across the wide moat. Covered with scarlet-flecked foam, de Claverlok's horse came thundering upon him up the hill.

With the grizzled knight scarce above two lance-haft's lengths behind him, and wildly calling upon him to wait, that death lay in the King's warrant, Sir Richard vaulted into his saddle and made for the castle gate.

When he had laid something near half of the remaining distance behind him he heard the clear blast of a bugle go singing across the down. Without in the least diminishing his speed, he turned in time to see a band of armored horsemen flashing out of the pine forest to the eastward. Riding in the van he was certain that he recognized the livid-scarred face of the traveler in the monk's robe.

If the bridge were now but lowered it would be impossible for them to cut Sir Richard off. Would it fall for him? Now he had reached to within easy flight of an arrow from the massively buttressed gray walls; and as yet he could discern no sign of movement among the thick ropes, wheels, and pulleys sustaining it. There appeared no hint of life along the face of the great pile. At the very moment when he was about to wheel to the westward, in the faint hope of eluding his pursuers through a continued flight, there sounded a creaking of wheels, and the heavy structure began slowly to move earthward.

De Claverlok's lance, hilt-foremost, went hurtling past the young knight's shoulder. Distinctly he heard the dull splash of it as it struck the black waters of the moat, far below.

At every stride the slope was growing steeper, and it seemed to Sir Richard's straining eyes that the bridge, with its underwork of mossy beams and rusted iron trusses, was hanging in mid air directly above his head.

So closely had its fall been timed, however, that there was no margin left to the young knight upon the side of safety. He was forced to put his mount to the leap to gain the top of it.

"God wot there be death here for the twain of us!" Sir Richard heard de Claverlok shout as he, too, took the perilous leap but an instant behind him.

Through the yawning maw of the arched sallyport they shot together, and the heavy portcullis, like iron teeth snapping down after gulping their prey, crashed upon the flagging at their backs.