VIII. HOW THE KING HAWKED ON CROOKSBURY HEATH
The King and his attendants had shaken off the crowd who had followedthem from Guildford along the Pilgrims' Way and now, the mounted archershaving beaten off the more persistent of the spectators, they rodeat their ease in a long, straggling, glittering train over the darkundulating plain of heather.
In the van was the King himself, for his hawks were with him and he hadsome hope of sport. Edward at that time was a well-grown, vigorous manin the very prime of his years, a keen sportsman, an ardent gallantand a chivalrous soldier. He was a scholar too, speaking Latin, French,German, Spanish, and even a little English.
So much had long been patent to the world, but only of recent years hadhe shown other and more formidable characteristics: a restless ambitionwhich coveted his neighbor's throne, and a wise foresight in mattersof commerce, which engaged him now in transplanting Flemish weavers andsowing the seeds of what for many years was the staple trade of England.Each of these varied qualities might have been read upon his face. Thebrow, shaded by a crimson cap of maintenance, was broad and lofty. Thelarge brown eyes were ardent and bold. His chin was clean-shaven, andthe close-cropped dark mustache did not conceal the strong mouth, firm,proud and kindly, but capable of setting tight in merciless ferocity.His complexion was tanned to copper by a life spent in field sports orin war, and he rode his magnificent black horse carelessly and easily,as one who has grown up in the saddle. His own color was black also, forhis active; sinewy figure was set off by close-fitting velvet of thathue, broken only by a belt of gold, and by a golden border of open podsof the broom-plant.
With his high and noble bearing, his simple yet rich attire and hissplendid mount, he looked every inch a King.
The picture of gallant man on gallant horse was completed by the nobleFalcon of the Isles which fluttered along some twelve feet above hishead, "waiting on," as it was termed, for any quarry which might arise.The second bird of the cast was borne upon the gauntleted wrist of Raoulthe chief falconer in the rear.
At the right side of the monarch and a little behind him rode a youthsome twenty years of age, tall, slim and dark, with noble aquilinefeatures and keen penetrating eyes which sparkled with vivacity andaffection as he answered the remarks of the King. He was clad in deepcrimson diapered with gold, and the trappings of his white palfrey wereof a magnificence which proclaimed the rank of its rider. On his face,still free from mustache or beard, there sat a certain gravity andmajesty of expression which showed that young as he was great affairshad been in his keeping and that his thoughts and interests were thoseof the statesman and the warrior. That great day when, little morethan a school-boy, he had led the van of the victorious army which hadcrushed the power of France and Crecy, had left this stamp upon hisfeatures; but stern as they were they had not assumed that tinge offierceness which in after years was to make "The Black Prince" a nameof terror on the marches of France. Not yet had the first shadow of felldisease come to poison his nature ere it struck at his life, as he rodethat spring day, light and debonair, upon the heath of Crooksbury.
On the left of the King, and so near to him that great intimacywas implied, rode a man about his own age, with the broad face, theprojecting jaw and the flattish nose which are often the outwardindications of a pugnacious nature.
His complexion was crimson, his large blue eyes somewhat prominent,and his whole appearance full-blooded and choleric. He was short, butmassively built, and evidently possessed of immense strength. His voice,however, when he spoke was gentle and lisping, while his manner wasquiet and courteous. Unlike the King or the Prince, he was clad in lightarmor and carried a sword by his side and a mace at his saddle-bow, forhe was acting as Captain of the King's Guard, and a dozen other knightsin steel followed in the escort. No hardier soldier could Edward haveat his side, if, as was always possible in those lawless times, suddendanger was to threaten, for this was the famous knight of Hainault,now naturalized as an Englishman, Sir Walter Manny, who bore as higha reputation for chivalrous valor and for gallant temerity as Chandoshimself.
Behind the knights, who were forbidden to scatter and must always followthe King's person, there was a body of twenty or thirty hobblers ormounted bowmen, together with several squires, unarmed themselves butleading spare horses upon which the heavier part of their knights'equipment was carried. A straggling tail of falconers, harbingers,varlets, body-servants and huntsmen holding hounds in leash completedthe long and many-colored train which rose and dipped on the lowundulations of the moor.
Many weighty things were on the mind of Edward the King. There was trucefor the moment with France, but it was a truce broken by many smalldeeds of arms, raids, surprises and ambushes upon either side, and itwas certain that it would soon dissolve again into open war. Money mustbe raised, and it was no light matter to raise it, now that the Commonshad once already voted the tenth lamb and the tenth sheaf. Besides, theBlack Death had ruined the country, the arable land was all turnedto pasture, the laborer, laughing at statutes, would not work underfourpence a day, and all society was chaos. In addition, the Scotchwere growling over the border, there was the perennial trouble inhalf-conquered Ireland, and his allies abroad in Flanders and in Brabantwere clamoring for the arrears of their subsidies.
All this was enough to make even a victorious monarch full of care; butnow Edward had thrown it all to the winds and was as light-hearted asa boy upon a holiday. No thought had he for the dunning of Florentinebankers or the vexatious conditions of those busybodies at Westminster.He was out with his hawks, and his thoughts and his talk should be ofnothing else. The varlets beat the heather and bushes as they passed,and whooped loudly as the birds flew out.
"A magpie! A magpie!" cried the falconer.
"Nay, nay, it is not worthy of your talons, my brown-eyed queen," saidthe King, looking up at the great bird which flapped from side toside above his head, waiting for the whistle which should give her thesignal. "The tercels, falconer--a cast of tercels! Quick, man, quick!Ha! the rascal makes for wood! He puts in! Well flown, brave peregrine!He makes his point. Drive him out to thy comrade. Serve him, varlets!Beat the bushes! He breaks! He breaks! Nay, come away then! You will seeMaster Magpie no more."
The bird had indeed, with the cunning of its race, flapped its waythrough brushwood and bushes to the thicker woods beyond, so thatneither the hawk amid the cover nor its partner above nor the clamorousbeaters could harm it. The King laughed at the mischance and rode on.Continually birds of various sorts were flushed, and each was pursuedby the appropriate hawk, the snipe by the tercel, the partridge by thegoshawk, even the lark by the little merlin. But the King soon tired ofthis petty sport and went slowly on his way, still with the magnificentsilent attendant flapping above his head.
"Is she not a noble bird, fair son?" he asked, glancing up as her shadowfell upon him.
"She is indeed, sire. Surely no finer ever came from the isles of thenorth."
"Perhaps not, and yet I have had a hawk from Barbary as good a footerand a swifter flyer. An Eastern bird in yarak has no peer."
"I had one once from the Holy Land," said de Manny. "It was fierce andkeen and swift as the Saracens themselves. They say of old Saladin thatin his day his breed of birds, of hounds and of horses had no equal onearth."
"I trust, dear father, that the day may come when we shall lay our handson all three," said the Prince, looking with shining eyes upon theKing. "Is the Holy Land to lie forever in the grasp of these unbelievingsavages, or the Holy Temple to be defiled by their foul presence? Ah! mydear and most sweet lord, give to me a thousand lances with ten thousandbowmen like those I led at Crecy, and I swear to you by God's soulthat within a year I will have done homage to you for the Kingdom ofJerusalem!"
The King laughed as he turned to Walter Manny. "Boys will still beboys," said he.
"The French do not count me such!" cried the young Prince, flushing withanger.
"Nay, fair son, there is no one sets you at a higher rate than yourf
ather. But you have the nimble mind and quick fancy of youth, turningover from the thing that is half done to a further task beyond. Howwould we fare in Brittany and Normandy while my young paladin with hislances and his bowmen was besieging Ascalon or battering at Jerusalem?"
"Heaven would help in Heaven's work."
"From what I have heard of the past," said the King dryly, "I cannot seethat Heaven has counted for much as an ally in these wars of the East. Ispeak with reverence, and yet it is but sooth to say that Richard ofthe Lion Heart or Louis of France might have found the smallest earthlyprincipality of greater service to him than all the celestial hosts. Howsay you to that, my Lord Bishop?"
A stout churchman who had ridden behind the King on a solid bay cob,well-suited to his weight and dignity, jogged up to the monarch's elbow."How say you, sire? I was watching the goshawk on the partridge andheard you not."
"Had I said that I would add two manors to the See of Chichester, Iwarrant that you would have heard me, my Lord Bishop."
"Nay, fair lord, test the matter by saying so," cried the jovial Bishop.
The King laughed aloud. "A fair counter, your reverence. By the rood!you broke your lance that passage. But the question I debated was this:How is it that since the Crusades have manifestly been fought in God'squarrel, we Christians have had so little comfort or support in fightingthem. After all our efforts and the loss of more men than could becounted, we are at last driven from the country, and even the militaryorders which were formed only for that one purpose can scarce hold afooting in the islands of the Greek sea. There is not one seaport norone fortress in Palestine over which the flag of the Cross still waves.Where then was our ally?"
"Nay, sire, you open a great debate which extends far beyond thisquestion of the Holy Land, though that may indeed be chosen as afair example. It is the question of all sin, of all suffering, ofall injustice--why it should pass without the rain of fire and thelightnings of Sinai. The wisdom of God is beyond our understanding."
The King shrugged his shoulders. "This is an easy answer, my LordBishop. You are a prince of the Church. It would fare ill with anearthly prince who could give no better answer to the affairs whichconcerned his realm."
"There are other considerations which might be urged, most gracioussire. It is true that the Crusades were a holy enterprise which mightwell expect the immediate blessing of God; but the Crusaders--is itcertain that they deserved such a blessing? Have I not heard that theircamp was the most dissolute ever seen?"
"Camps are camps all the world over, and you cannot in a moment changea bowman into a saint. But the holy Louis was a crusader after your ownheart. Yet his men perished at Mansurah and he himself at Tunis."
"Bethink you also that this world is but the antechamber of the next,"said the prelate. "By suffering and tribulation the soul is cleansed,and the true victor may be he who by the patient endurance of misfortunemerits the happiness to come."
"If that be the true meaning of the Church's blessing, then I hope thatit will be long before it rests upon our banners in France," said theKing. "But methinks that when one is out with a brave horse and a goodhawk one might find some other subject than theology. Back to thebirds, Bishop, or Raoul the falconer will come to interrupt thee in thycathedral."
Straightway the conversation came back to the mystery of the woods andthe mystery of the rivers, to the dark-eyed hawks and the yellow-eyed,to hawks of the lure and hawks of the fist. The Bishop was as steepedin the lore of falconry as the King, and the others smiled as the twowrangled hard over disputed and technical questions: if an eyas trainedin the mews can ever emulate the passage hawk taken wild, or how longthe young hawks should be placed at hack, and how long weathered beforethey are fully reclaimed.
Monarch and prelate were still deep in this learned discussion, theBishop speaking with a freedom and assurance which he would never havedared to use in affairs of Church and State, for in all ages there isno such leveler as sport. Suddenly, however, the Prince, whose keeneyes had swept from time to time over the great blue heaven, uttered apeculiar call and reined up his palfrey, pointing at the same time intothe air.
"A heron!" he cried. "A heron on passage!"
To gain the full sport of hawking a heron must not be put up from itsfeeding-ground, where it is heavy with its meal, and has no time to getits pace on before it is pounced upon by the more active hawk, butit must be aloft, traveling from point to point, probably from thefish-stream to the heronry. Thus to catch the bird on passage was theprelude of all good sport. The object to which the Prince had pointedwas but a black dot in the southern sky, but his strained eyes hadnot deceived him, and both Bishop and King agreed that it was indeed aheron, which grew larger every instant as it flew in their direction.
"Whistle him off, sire! Whistle off the gerfalcon!" cried the Bishop.
"Nay, nay, he is overfar. She would fly at check."
"Now, sire, now!" cried the Prince, as the great bird with the breezebehind him came sweeping down the sky.
The King gave the shrill whistle, and the well-trained hawk raked out tothe right and to the left to make sure which quarry she was to follow.Then, spying the heron, she shot up in a swift ascending curve to meethim.
"Well flown, Margot! Good bird!" cried the King, clapping his handsto encourage the hawk, while the falconers broke into the shrill whooppeculiar to the sport.
Going on her curve, the hawk would soon have crossed the path of theheron; but the latter, seeing the danger in his front and confident inhis own great strength of wing and lightness of body, proceeded to mounthigher in the air, flying in such small rings that to the spectators italmost seemed as if the bird was going perpendicularly upward.
"He takes the air!" cried the King. "But strong as he flies, he cannotout fly Margot. Bishop, I lay you ten gold pieces to one that the heronis mine."
"I cover your wager, sire," said the Bishop. "I may not take gold sowon, and yet I warrant that there is an altar-cloth somewhere in need ofrepairs."
"You have good store of altar-cloths, Bishop, if all the gold I haveseen you win at tables goes to the mending of them," said the King. "Ah!by the rood, rascal, rascal! See how she flies at check!"
The quick eyes of the Bishop had perceived a drift of rooks when ontheir evening flight to the rookery were passing along the very linewhich divided the hawk from the heron. A rook is a hard temptation fora hawk to resist. In an instant the inconstant bird had forgotten allabout the great heron above her and was circling over the rooks, flyingwestward with them as she singled out the plumpest for her stoop.
"There is yet time, sire! Shall I cast off her mate?" cried thefalconer.
"Or shall I show you, sire, how a peregrine may win where a gerfalconfails?" said the Bishop. "Ten golden pieces to one upon my bird."
"Done with you, Bishop!" cried the King, his brow dark with vexation."By the rood! if you were as learned in the fathers as you are in hawksyou would win to the throne of Saint Peter! Cast off your peregrine andmake your boasting good."
Smaller than the royal gerfalcon, the Bishop's bird was none the lessa swift and beautiful creature. From her perch upon his wrist she hadwatched with fierce, keen eyes the birds in the heaven, mantling herselffrom time to time in her eagerness. Now when the button was undoneand the leash uncast the peregrine dashed off with a whir of hersharp-pointed wings, whizzing round in a great ascending circle whichmounted swiftly upward, growing ever smaller as she approached thatlofty point where, a mere speck in the sky, the heron sought escape fromits enemies. Still higher and higher the two birds mounted, while thehorsemen, their faces upturned, strained their eyes in their efforts tofollow them.
"She rings! She still rings!" cried the Bishop. "She is above him! Shehas gained her pitch."
"Nay, nay, she is far below," said the King.
"By my soul, my Lord Bishop is right!" cried the Prince. "I believe sheis above. See! See! She swoops!"
"She binds! She binds!" cried a dozen voices as the two dots blen
dedsuddenly into one.
There could be no doubt that they were falling rapidly. Already theygrew larger to the eye. Presently the heron disengaged himself andflapped heavily away, the worse for that deadly embrace, while theperegrine, shaking her plumage, ringed once more so as to get high abovethe quarry and deal it a second and more fatal blow. The Bishop smiled,for nothing, as it seemed, could hinder his victory.
"Thy gold pieces shall be well spent, sire," said he. "What is lost tothe Church is gained by the loser."
But a most unlooked-for chance deprived the Bishop's altar cloth ofits costly mending. The King's gerfalcon having struck down a rook, andfinding the sport but tame, bethought herself suddenly of that nobleheron, which she still perceived fluttering over Crooksbury Heath. Howcould she have been so weak as to allow these silly, chattering rooks toentice her away from that lordly bird? Even now it was not too late toatone for her mistake. In a great spiral she shot upward until she wasover the heron. But what was this? Every fiber of her, from her crest toher deck feathers, quivered with jealousy and rage at the sight ofthis creature, a mere peregrine, who had dared to come between a royalgerfalcon and her quarry. With one sweep of her great wings she shot upuntil she was above her rival. The next instant--
"They crab! They crab!" cried the King, with a roar of laughter,following them with his eyes as they bustled down through the air. "Mendthy own altar-cloths, Bishop. Not a groat shall you have from me thisjourney. Pull them apart, falconer, lest they do each other an injury.And now, masters, let us on, for the sun sinks toward the west."
The two hawks, which had come to the ground interlocked with clutchingtalons and ruffled plumes, were torn apart and brought back bleeding andpanting to their perches, while the heron after its perilous adventureflapped its way heavily onward to settle safely in the heronry ofWaverley. The cortege, who had scattered in the excitement of the chase,came together again, and the journey was once more resumed.
A horseman who had been riding toward them across the moor now quickenedhis pace and closed swiftly upon them. As he came nearer, the King andthe Prince cried out joyously and waved their hands in greeting.
"It is good John Chandos!!" cried the King. "By the rood, John, I havemissed your merry songs this week or more! Glad I am to see that youhave your citole slung to your back. Whence come you then?"
"I come from Tilford, sire, in the hope that I should meet yourmajesty."
"It was well thought of. Come, ride here between the Prince and me, andwe will believe that we are back in France with our war harness on ourbacks once more. What is your news, Master John?"
Chandos' quaint face quivered with suppressed amusement and his one eyetwinkled like a star. "Have you had sport, my liege?"
"Poor sport, John. We flew two hawks on the same heron. They crabbed,and the bird got free. But why do you smile so?"
"Because I hope to show you better sport ere you come to Tilford."
"For the hawk? For the hound?"
"A nobler sport than either."
"Is this a riddle, John? What mean you?"
"Nay, to tell all would be to spoil all. I say again that there is raresport betwixt here and Tilford, and I beg you, dear lord, to mend yourpace that we make the most of the daylight."
Thus adjured, the King set spurs to his horse, and the whole cavalcadecantered over the heath in the direction which Chandos showed. Presentlyas they came over a slope they saw beneath them a winding river withan old high-backed bridge across it. On the farther side was a villagegreen with a fringe of cottages and one dark manor house upon the sideof the hill.
"This is Tilford," said Chandos. "Yonder is the house of the Lorings."
The King's expectations had been aroused and his face showed hisdisappointment.
"Is this the sport that you have promised us, Sir John? How can you makegood your words?"
"I will make them good, my liege."
"Where then is the sport?"
On the high crown of the bridge a rider in armor was seated, lance inhand, upon a great yellow steed. Chandos touched the King's arm andpointed. "That is the sport," said he.
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