CHAPTER XXX
A GRAND FEAT OF HORSEMANSHIP
After reaching Chas-Chateil, and relating his adventure to DameWaledger, Sir Anthony saw no reason to repent of the resolution he hadexpressed to befriend the mysterious entity whom, as he devoutlybelieved, the saints had sent to his succour in the hour of peril, andwhen, otherwise, nothing could have intervened between him and certaindestruction. The dame encouraged his pious intent, and expressedunbounded curiosity to see the strange child but for whose timelyappearance she would have been a weeping widow; and no sooner had theknight dined than he sent for the young stranger to the daïs of thegreat hall.
Apprehensive, however, that the whole business--the carouse of theprevious night, the boar-hunt of the morning, and the danger to whichher husband had been exposed, might be a device of Satan, and that theboar and the boy might be agents of his satanic majesty, Dame Waledgersuggested the propriety of first handing over the child to be examinedby the chaplain of the castle as to his origin and position in life; andFather Peter, though a little nervous, undertook the delicateinvestigation.
The result was, in the main, satisfactory. Father Peter was no greatlinguist, but he had been on the continent, and knew enough ofcontinental tongues to comprehend that the boy’s name was Pedro; that hewas a native of Burgos, the capital of Castile; that he had left hiscountry as one of a band of musicians bound for London: that they hadbeen shipwrecked on the coast, and that he, having escaped a waterygrave, had wandered into the woods, not knowing whither he went; and onthe approach of the boar, and the hounds, and the hunter, he had climbeda tree to escape observation; and, with an innocent smile, he confirmedhis story by producing an instrument, and accompanying himself, while hesang the ballad of “The Captive Knight and the Merle;” and finallymelted all hearts by bursting into tears, and deploring his plight as ahelpless orphan in a strange land.
The victory was now complete. Dame Waledger insisted on young Pedrobeing handed over to her as a page; and in a day or two he was struttingabout dressed in crimson, accompanying the ladies of the castle whenthey ventured into the chase to fly their hawks, singing to them hisnative ballads, and diverting them with his droll attempts to speak thelanguage of the country in which he found himself, and of the peopleamong whom he had been so strangely cast.
Sir Anthony’s liking for Pedro rather increased as weeks passed over,and he allowed the boy to come about him at times when he would not havebeen seen by any other mortal--even in a certain wainscoted chamber ofthe great hall, which was reserved for the use of the lord of the castleand the governor, and which none of the household--knights, squires, orgrooms--were ever allowed to enter; not that there was anything veryparticular about the interior, except one tall panel, on which wasdepicted the battle of Hastings, with a very grim De Moreville bearingone of the conqueror’s standards. But this panel appeared to have muchmore interest for Pedro than even the pictorial embellishment wouldaccount for, and often his eye stole furtively towards it.
Ere long Pedro did something which, but for superstition and jealousy,ought to have won golden opinions among that part of De Moreville’shousehold attached to the stables, and devoted to the Norman baron’sstud. After being conducted to his stall, fresh from the horrors of theboar-hunt, Ayoub displayed a very haughty temper. For days he declinedin the most distinct manner to be groomed, and refused all provender,and after his hunger got the better of him, and he began to feed, hetook refuge in sullenness, and repelled every attempt to deal with himas an ordinary steed.
At length Sir Anthony’s peremptory command had such an effect that thegrooms forcibly cast the refractory steed in his stall, bitted andbridled him, and led him forth to exercise. But a fresh difficulty nowarose. Do what they would, he kicked against all attempts to mount him,and Clem the Bold Rider, a lad of seventeen, and one of those mediævalstable-boys who had hitherto had the credit of being able to dealsuccessfully with the wildest and fiercest of chargers, in vain essayedto bring Ayoub to reason or reduce him to submission.
It was a November morning, but the sun was shining brightly for thetime, when the grand struggle took place outside the great drawbridgeleading into the courtyard, and all the officials connected with thestable, and the huntsmen, and most of the garrison, were present towitness the contest between the skilful equestrian and the refractorysteed. Sir Anthony also was there, determined that--no matter how manynecks might be broken--Ayoub should be mounted and ridden; and with himwere Richard de Moreville, Hugh’s nephew, and Pedro, the lady’s page,who appeared to take a lively interest in the business, and clapped hishands in the excess of his innocent excitement, till the knight, smilingkindly on him, patted his head, and remarked to young De Moreville thatof all urchins this urchin was the most diverting.
At length the critical moment arrived, and Clem the Bold Rider mannedhimself with dauntless air, and, coaxing and caressing the while,attempted quietly to mount. It was vain. Ayoub declined. Unable toaccomplish his purpose by flattery, Clem had recourse to stratagem, andmade a brave effort to take the charger unawares, vault on his back, andthen trust to his skilful hand and strong arm. But it would not do.Ayoub was vigilant as a rabbit, and though his eyes were covered for themoment by the grooms who held him, he seemed instinctively to know whatwas intended, and baffled the stratagem by a sudden movement which leftClem sprawling on the ground. Still, the word of Sir Anthony being law,and his purpose continuing inflexible, force was resorted to, and afierce struggle ensued, the men having the advantage at one moment andthe horse at another. But in the long run, Ayoub, by plunging, andcapering, and kicking furiously, gained the victory, and the knight’srage knew no bounds.
“By the head of St. Anthony!” exclaimed he, drawing his dagger, “theaccursed brute shall pay the penalty of its obstinacy by dying on thespot where he has defied our will.”
“Holy Woden, sir knight!” exclaimed Richard de Moreville in surprise,“you would not kill that noble horse, and he the property of anotherperson? Master Icingla is a prisoner, but not taken in battle, andneither his steed nor his sword is forfeit. Credit me, the world, if ithears of this, will cry shame on us if we so flagrantly violate the lawsof honour, which are binding on all chevaliers--especially on you andme, who are of Norman race, and therefore doubly bound to observe allusages.”
Sir Anthony was about to reply, but at that moment Pedro, who had beenlistening to the conversation, without, of course, understanding it, ranforward to the spot where the grooms were still holding Ayoub, andcommenced earnest endeavours to communicate by signs something which hewished them to understand, now pointing to the sky, then to the ground,and then to the horse. Meanwhile Richard de Moreville resumed theconversation.
“By my faith, Sir Anthony,” said he, half laughing, as if thinking thathe had spoken too strongly, and wishing to soothe the knight, “methinks,since this steed proves too much for the whole garrison, we could not dobetter than bring forth the captive, and let him try his powers ofpersuasion. Master Icingla, doubtless, could find some way of castingout the devil which seems to have entered into his charger.”
Sir Anthony laughed a hoarse laugh.
“Bring forth the captive!” said he--“bring forth the captive, and givehim an opportunity of escape! That, forsooth, were blind policy, and youmay call me Englishman when I do aught so foolish. No, by St. Anthony’shead, had I my will the young Saxon churl should be in the deepestdungeon of Chas-Chateil till he rotted, if it were only to avengeourselves for the heart of pride which made the father who begot himlook down, as from an elevation, on better men than himself. I myselfforget not his insolence when he was on the eve of departing from MountMoreville, where he was a guest, when last summoned to embark withCœur-de-Lion for Normandy. ‘Good Norman,’ said he, ‘I pray thee holdmy stirrup while I mount;’ and when I showed some disinclination, headded, calmly, ‘Nay, sir, it misbecomes you not; albeit you have landsand living, and wear golden spurs as well as myself, you are still thedescendant of one of the adventurers
who fought for hire at Hastings: Iam still the heir of the Icinglas.’”
“Holy Woden!” exclaimed Richard de Moreville, with a sly laugh, whichhad its meaning, “and what answered you, sir knight? You drew yoursword, or challenged him to mortal combat on the spot?”
Sir Anthony changed colour, and hesitated.
“No,” said he, at length, “I wished not to have the death of the husbandof a de Moreville on my conscience, and I pardoned his insolence for hislady’s sake.”
“And held his stirrup?”
Sir Anthony did not reply, but turned away to avoid doing so; and abroad grin was on the Norman squire’s aquiline face.
Meanwhile Pedro, unable to make the grooms comprehend his meaning,advanced to the head of the stubborn charger, looked in his face,muttered in his ear, led him a few paces by the rein, then turned hishead from the sun, jabbering to the grooms as he did so what to them wasunintelligible. Then he made a sign that he would mount, and as theylifted the boy to the charger’s back, Ayoub not only stood still andquiet, but immediately obeyed the touch of his heel, and walked quietlydown among the trees that grew on the slope that led from the castle,and then returned at a gentle canter. All present stood amazed, but nonemore than Sir Anthony and Richard de Moreville.
“By the saints!” cried the knight, forgetting in his wonder to mentionhis patron in particular, “this is marvellous to behold. I have everdeemed that boy more than mortal since he came so opportunely to myrescue.”
“On my faith,” said the squire, “I believe that never has the like beenseen since Alexander of Macedon mounted Bucephalus in spite of his heelsand horns.”
“It is magic,” exclaimed Hubert the Huntsman, in terror.
“Nay, nay, Hubert lad,” said old Martin; “bearest thou not in mind thatI said the fierce steed took kindly to the simple child from the first?”
No sooner had Pedro alighted from Ayoub than he commenced jabbering andinviting Clem the Bold Rider to mount, and Clem, having done so, rodequietly down the acclivity. But it did not suit the Bold Rider to occupythe seat which he did “on sufferance,” and on reaching the level groundhe took measures to convince Ayoub that the rider and not the horse wasmaster. The experiment was not successful, and the result was notflattering to his vanity. A brief struggle took place. When it was over,the Bold Rider lay prostrate on the grassy sward, and Ayoub, therefractory steed, with his head reared aloft and his bridle-rein flyinghither and thither, was snorting and rushing with the speed of the windtowards the banks of the Kennet.
Sir Anthony uttered a fierce oath as he saw Ayoub disappear among thetrees, and watched Clem the Bold Rider rise from the ground.
“My curse on the braggart churl’s clumsiness!” said he. “The steed isgone beyond hope of recovery. Would that the fall had smashed every bonein his body!”
And the knight, having thus given vent to his disappointment, went withRichard de Moreville to see his dame and De Moreville’s daughter mounttheir palfreys and ride forth to fly their falcons, escorted by a bodyof horsemen, and attended by their maidens, and their spaniels, andPedro the page.
“Sir Anthony,” said Richard de Moreville as they went, “you have excitedmy curiosity as to these Icinglas. I crave your permission to visit thiscaptive squire, and hear the adventures in love and war which he had inCastile and Flanders.”
“Nay, nay,” replied the knight sternly; “ask anything in reason, butnot that. By St. Anthony’s head! even the chaplain should not have gonenear him, but that he pressed me hard. Let him pine in solitude; wouldthat it were in chains and darkness!”
“But men say that he is fair, and brave, and high of spirit!”
“He is his father’s son,” replied Sir Anthony in a conclusive tone, “andthe calf of a vicious bull is ever vicious. Besides,” continued theknight, his anger rising as he proceeded, “he is English by birth, andthe eggs of the serpent hatch only serpents; and,” added he, staying hisstep to stamp on the ground, while he ground his teeth with vindictiverage, “it is ever safest for us when we have our armed heel on theviper’s brood.”
Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter Page 32
