The Red Tavern

by C. R. Macauley

  CHAPTER IX

  OF AN AMBUSCADE, A DUEL, AND AN ESCAPE

  The Renegade Duke, whose challenge Sir Richard had so openly invited,and who, through the mishap described, had secured a temporarypossession of the playful note written to the young knight by Isabel,had quickly surmised by whom it had been inscribed. He was aware of themaid's dissatisfaction with her surroundings, and that she had chosenSir Richard to be her deliverer at once sent the Duke into a ferment ofpassionate jealousy.

  The Renegade Duke's accidental meeting with Isabel when he had firstcome to Scotland to join Tyrrell's projected expedition, had marked thebeginning of a mad desire to arouse within her breast a return of thesentiment that he entertained toward her. In so far as his superficialcharacter permitted, his affection for her was genuine. But in the rareinstances in which he had contrived to meet and talk with her alone,she had rejected his suit with an indignant scorn that would have leftan ordinary man without the shadow of a hope of future success. TheDuke, however, was all egotism and vanity, and remained firm in hisbelief that his charms would ultimately prevail. By fair means or foul,he had determined upon having her within his power; and, as the initialstep toward such an end, he had played the traitor by laying barebefore Douglas the whole of Sir James's plan.

  Douglas, himself a conspirator of no mean abilities, had immediatelyset about to concoct a scheme whereby to take advantage of Tyrrell'sgrave dilemma, caused by the unhappy death of the young prince.Douglas had already instituted measures to have a substitute candidateproclaimed in the place of the one dead, being well aware that SirJames would scarcely dare to incur the ire of his men--from whom he hadkept the circumstance of the prince's death a dark secret--by exposingthe falsity of the Douglas claimant. Rather, did Douglas figure it,would Tyrrell be under the necessity of joining issues. This wouldresult in a powerful movement, with the Douglas finger very much inthe juicy pasty that was designed to be served up to Henry VII andhis followers. Had the Renegade Duke been acquainted with the genuinecharacter of the captive Sir Richard's ancestry he would doubtlesshave been in haste to communicate his knowledge thereof to his newmaster, with the result that the plot, then taking shape, would havebeen infinitely less complex, and probably less interesting than itsubsequently turned out to be. In his selection of Sir Richard toassume the leadership of his gathered forces, the Duke fell into theerror of supposing that Tyrrell had happened by chance to duplicateLord Douglas's clever expedient.

  In the early morning of that day the Duke had contrived to get word toone of Douglas's lieutenants of the captivity of the young knight, andof Tyrrell's intention to carry him to his stronghold before makingknown his plans with regard to him. The Duke anticipated a countermove upon the part of Douglas along the way; but he calculated thatif he could make himself the instrument of the captive's removal, itwould place him high in the esteem of Lord Douglas; while, at the sametime, he believed that such a move would leave Tyrrell without a propwherewith to buttress his tottering conspiracy.

  As Sir Richard, around whom simmered this salmagundi of politics, rodeonward with the company, he tried many times, by piecing together oddsand ends of the talk that drifted to his ears, to gather some inklingof the purpose upon which the company, of which he was a most unwillingmember, was engaged. With recurring frequency he heard the word"treason," and its kindred, "traitor," "spy," "base informer" tradedfrom tongue to tongue among the men around him. The march was now beingurged rapidly forward, and a something portending evil seemed to behanging in the air about them.

  The end they were seeking to attain, and the part his person wasplaying in their machinations grew more enigmatical in proportion withthe thought that Sir Richard gave to the matter of burrowing to thereason for them. He ceased trying, finally, and suffered himself to becarried along whithersoever chance, or good or bad fortune, listed.

  His companion of the morning, now no longer taciturn, was riding wellto the front with Erasmus, whom he had evidently persuaded to remainwith the company. In sullen silence at his left rode the Renegade Duke.Faithful de Claverlok kept within touch of Sir Richard's hand to hisright.

  When he was not engaging the bluff old warrior in conversation, theyoung knight would yield himself to the ineffable delights of conjuringup radiant visions of the maiden of the piece of saffron velvet, whilstall of the time he was building every manner of chimerical plan foreffecting her delivery from the hands of the keeper of the Red Tavern.Full often his fingers would seek and caress the soft nap of thecutting of cloth. He had need of constant assurance that the entiremysterious happening had not been of the ephemeral fabric of an unusualdream.

  Thinking thus of the unknown maiden to whom he had pledged his knightlysword, led him naturally to the contemplation of his own freedom,and the stratagem through which he was hopeful of achieving it. Thathis avowed enemy, the Duke, was, at the proper moment, ready to lendhimself to his device, Sir Richard was almost certain. His schemeinvolved the arrangement of a secret duel, in which he trusted in hisstrength of arm to vanquish his enemy and thereafter make his escape.But a most substantial and incorruptible barrier offered in the bulkyperson of the grizzled knight. As many as a score of times had deClaverlok been loudly hailed from the vanguard of the line. But withoutexception he had laughingly rejoined that he was engaged in keepingcompanionship with the honored guest of the company, remaining deaf tothe young knight's fervent assurances that he must consider himselfquite free to ride ahead, if he so desired.

  "Aye," he would invariably reply, "I know well that thou art growingtired of my prattle, ... eh? I wish that it were not so, sir knight,for I must do my devoir by thy side till the trumpet sounds a halt forthe night."

  Once Sir Richard put to him point blank the question of why and howlong he was to be thus forcibly detained.

  "Before the sun drops beneath the hills in the evening of to-morrow,"de Claverlok replied, "thou shalt know all. Would that I were free totell thee the story now, Sir Richard," he added with an honest candor,"but my lips are sealed with an oath most sacred, ... eh! Thou wouldstnot expect me to break my knightly vow, I know," upon which he lookedsignificantly across at the Renegade Duke, but that immaculate dandywas busily engaged in polishing his nails against the flowing skirts ofhis scarlet _sclaveyn_, and remained wholly unconscious of the impliedwarning.

  One thing, at least, had drifted clear of the haze within Sir Richard'stopsy-turvy brain. Lord Kennedy was the leader, and had appointedde Claverlok as his especial consort. He wished heartily that someaccident might befall to win or send the rugged warrior from his closeattendance upon his stirrup, as this was the only means through whichhe could hope to achieve the end he had in mind.

  The sun, by now, was tinting the western sky a rose glow, with allacross the face of it a sweeping of thin and luminously pink clouds.The hour had almost come when Sir Richard had promised himself thefelicity of trying conclusions with his braggart enemy at his left; yethere was de Claverlok riding unyielding alongside, the embodiment ofeverything firm and loyal.

  Though he was chafing sore under the restraint, Sir Richard could notbut suffer himself to be entertained by the flow of good humored talkof his companion, which went something after the following fashion:

  He had been told that Sir Richard had passed the greater part of hislife in Brittany? The young knight answered affirmatively. He, too, thegrizzled warrior averred, had hunted, fought, and tilted there. Therewere maidens in Brittany, ... shy, big-eyed, captivating, ... who hadonce regarded him not unfavorably, ... eh! Their daughters, mayhap, haddone the same for Sir Richard? "Thy looks doth certes deny thy age,"the young knight had politely assured him. Ah! aye--but he was old,though, ... quite old enough to be the sir knight's father. Why! oncehe had split a lance or two with the old Duke Francis himself. And atthe time when Henry, Earl of Richmond, now England's sovereign ruler,had been but a romping, long-haired boy, ... eh! Yea, ... and thesturdy Duke had come nearer to unhorsing him than any man across theChannel. He had been informed tha
t the young sir knight had once beenHenry's playmate; ... was this true, ... eh?

  He had indeed been the companion of Henry, Sir Richard told hisfriendly guard, and with him had shared the guardianship of DukeFrancis and the bountiful hospitality of his court.

  Then it may have been, the grizzled knight went on, that Sir Richardhad witnessed that self-same tournament upon the field of Anjou, atVannes? It had been extravagantly rich in prizes, ... that tournament.He himself had been so fortunate as to win two barbs and three coatsof Tuscan mail, ... fluted, ... sumptuous, ... exquisitely damascened.But they had long since found their way into the rapacious talons ofthe Jews. Everything that he had ever possessed ... of any value, ...saving that which he was then wearing, ... and his knightly honor,... had followed at the tail of them into the same far-reaching, evergreedy claws. Yet he courted no hatred of them, ... eh! Why should one?Were they not as necessary to a gold-lean knight, these gleaners ofworldly wealth, as were his very bread and wine, ... eh? What excusewas there for despising one of the prime essentials of life, he wantedto know?

  In something after this manner the warrior rambled on. Touching, with aponderous grace, upon any subject that chanced to fall, haphazard, intohis mind, not pausing for a moment to listen to answering comment, orseeming to expect it: Sir Richard was growing convinced that the craftyfellow was witness to the passing of the insult between the RenegadeDuke and himself, and that he was merely talking to defeat their avowedpurpose of renewing hostilities till the hour when they should halt forthe night.

  There would be no duel that day, and no escape, of this he was by nowalmost certain. Disappointed, chagrined, impatient of his strangethralldom, and desiring above all things else to deliver Henry'smessage to Douglas, he rode gloomily along, lending something less thanhalf an ear to the empty words that his stanch, unwavering guard wasvolleying into it.

  For a considerable while the road had been threading between a pleasingsuccession of furze and thistle-grown downs. It was from a copseabutting upon the highway, when they were riding between the steeperof these, that a frightened hare scurried in front of them acrossthe road. Upon the instant de Claverlok drew rein and swept each ofthe hillsides with a swift and keen scrutiny. The trifling incidentof the flying hare was as the first eddy of wind that heralds thecoming tornado; for, in almost the next moment, there followed thesharp spattering of bolts against bonnet and breast-plate and shield.One struck fair upon Sir Richard's gorget, causing him to reel inhis saddle and his temples to throb and ache with the shock of theimpact. Among those riding ahead the young knight saw three pitchheavily off their horses. Clear eyed and iron nerved indeed were theseScot archers; men who could pick you out with unerring nicety thecrevice between gorget and helm, or the joint between pauldron andbreast-plate. Often, with the beaver drawn, they were known to flick anarrow through the eye-slit without touching either side of the orifice.

  After the first shower of bolts the slopes upon each side of thecompany of horsemen became alive with warriors, slipping down the hillupon them like brown and living torrents. There was a ruddy glareahead, where the ardent rays of the sun, now setting, were beatingagainst the breastplates of an advancing foe. Uprose, then, loud criesof "Douglas, and the Duke of York!" "Long live the White Rose!" whichwas met with shouts of "Death to the traitors!" "Long live Tyrrell andthe Duke of Warwick!"

  Sir Richard was just upon the point of yielding to the instinctive callthat would have placed him in the singular position of giving battleagainst the enemies of his supposed own foes, when the Renegade Duke'shand fell heavily upon the bridle of his prancing stallion.

  "Cock-shut time is come!" he was shouting in the young knight's ear. "Iam ready to obey thy command of this morning. Ride with me to the left!"

  Quick as a flash Sir Richard wheeled, and together they drove upwardalong a narrow roadway that debouched from the one over which they hadbeen traveling, unlimbering their battle-axes as they sped along.

  When the wooded summit of the down intervened between them and thescene of the conflict, they drew rein and went at it. Whatsoever elsethe Renegade Duke may have been, Sir Richard was quick to discover thatas a foeman he was not in the least to be despised. Blow after blowhe was parrying, and that with a neatness and cleverness that set theimpetuous young knight somewhat by the ears. Indeed, growing out of thevery frenzy of his eagerness, he realized that his attacks were losingan alarming measure of their force and accuracy.

  There was now need of immediate action, as, upon the further side ofthe down, the crash of arms seemed to be subsiding. It was just as hewas charging his antagonist afresh that Sir Richard heard the thunderof hoof-beats along the narrow road upon which the Duke and he werefighting for their very lives. Summoning every vestige of energyand strength at his command, he aimed a blow full at his foeman'shead-piece. When it appeared to be upon the point of striking, theRenegade Duke executed a swift demivolte. The heavy ax, glancing alonghis helm, clove off its jaunty white plume, and crashed fair upon thechamfron of his mount. There followed then a momentary reeling andstaggering, like a maimed ship in a sudden gale, whereupon horse andrider fell, furiously plunging and kicking, into a thornhedge besidethe road.

  By now the echoes of the approaching hoofbeats were reverberatingclear and crepitant from against the steep side of the opposite hill.The Renegade Duke had not done sinking into the crackling brush whenSir Richard wheeled, and, touching rowels lightly to his stallion'sfoam-flecked side, made off with all the speed there was left in him.