The G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  Here he was interrupted by a cry of rage which broke from the assembled foresters. Continuing unmoved, he said:

  “Sir Rudolph, being unwilling to take the life of a woman, however justly forfeited by the law, commands me to say that if you will deliver yourself up to him by to-morrow at twelve the Dame Editha shall be allowed to go free. But that if by the time the dial points to noon you have not delivered yourself up, he will hang her over the battlements of the castle.”

  Cuthbert was very pale, and he waved his hand to restrain the fury which animated the outlaws.

  “This man,” he said to them, “is a herald, and, as such, is protected by all the laws of chivalry. Whatsoever his message, it is none of his. He is merely the mouthpiece of him who sent him.” Then, turning to the herald, he said, “Tell the false knight, your master, on my part, that he is a foul ruffian, perjured to all the vows of knighthood; that this act of visiting upon a woman the enmity he bears her son will bring upon him the execration of all men; and that the offer which he makes me is as foul and villainous as himself. Nevertheless, knowing his character, and believing that he is capable of keeping his word, tell him that by to-morrow at noon I will be there; that the lady, my mother, is to leave the castle gates as I enter them; and that though by his foul device he may encompass my death, yet that the curse of every good man will light upon him, that he will be shunned as the dog he is, and that assuredly Heaven will not suffer that deeds so foul should bring with them the prize he seeks to gain.”

  The herald bowed, and, escorted by two archers to the edge of the forest, returned to Evesham Castle.

  After his departure an animated council took place. Cnut and the outlaws, burning with indignation, were ready to attempt anything. They would, had Cuthbert given the word, have attacked the castle that very night. But Cuthbert pointed out the absolute impossibility of their carrying so strong a place by such an assault, unprovided with engines for battering down the gates. He said that surprise would be impossible, as the knight would be sure to take every precaution against it; and that in the event of such an attack being attempted, he would possibly carry his threat into execution, and murder Dame Editha before their eyes. Cnut was like a madman, so transported with fury was he; and the archers were also beside themselves. Cuthbert alone retained his calmness. Retiring apart from the others, he paced slowly backward and forward among the trees, deliberating upon the best course to be pursued. The archers gathered round the fire and passed the night in long and angry talk, each man agreeing that in the event of their beloved leader being sacrificed by Sir Rudolph, they would one and all give their lives to avenge him by slaying the oppressor whensoever he ventured beyond the castle gates.

  After a time, Cuthbert called Cnut to him, and the two talked long and earnestly. Cnut returned to his comrades with a face less despairing than that he had before worn, and sent off at once a messenger with all speed to a franklin near the forest to borrow a stout rope some fifty feet in length, and without telling his comrades what the plans of Sir Cuthbert were, bade them cheer up, for that desperate as the position was, all hope was not yet lost.

  “Sir Cuthbert,” he said, “has been in grievous straits before now, and has gone through them. Sir Rudolph does not know the nature of the man with whom he has to deal, and we may trick him yet.”

  At eleven o’clock the next day from the walls of Evesham Castle a body of archers one hundred and fifty strong were seen advancing in solid array.

  “Think you, Sir Rudolph,” one of his friends, Sir Hubert of Gloucester, said to him, “that these varlets think of attacking the castle?”

  “They might as well think of scaling heaven,” Sir Rudolph said. “Evesham could resist a month’s siege by a force well equipped for the purpose; and were it not that good men are wanted for the king’s service, and that these villains shoot straight and hard, I would open the gates of the castle and launch our force against them. We are two to one as strong as they, and our knights and mounted men-at-arms could alone scatter that rabble.”

  Conspicuous upon the battlements a gallows had been erected.

  The archers stopped at a distance of a few hundred yards from the castle, and Sir Cuthbert advanced alone to the edge of the moat.

  “Sir Rudolph of Eresby, false knight and perjured gentleman,” he shouted in a loud voice, “I, Sir Cuthbert of Evesham, do denounce you as foresworn and dishonored, and do challenge you to meet me here before the castle in sight of your men and mine, and decide our quarrel as Heaven may judge with sword and battle-ax.”

  Sir Rudolph leaned over the battlements, and said: “It is too late, varlet. I condescended to challenge you before, and you refused. You cannot now claim what you then feared to accept. The sun on the dial approaches noon, and unless you surrender yourself before it reaches the mark, I will keep my word, and the traitress, your mother, shall swing from that beam.”

  Making a sign to two men-at-arms, these brought forward Dame Editha and so placed her on the battlements that she could be seen from below. Dame Editha was still a very fair woman, although nigh forty years had rolled over her head. No sign of fear appeared upon her face, and in a firm voice she cried to her son:

  “Cuthbert, I beg—nay, I order you to retire. If this unknightly lord venture to carry out his foul threats against me, let him do so. England will ring with the dastardly deed, and he will never dare show his face again where Englishmen congregate. Let him do his worst. I am prepared to die.”

  A murmur rose from the knights and men-at-arms standing round Sir Rudolph. Several of his companions had from the first, wild and reckless as they were, protested against Sir Rudolph’s course, and it was only upon his solemn assurance that he intended but to frighten Sir Cuthbert into surrender, and had no intention of carrying his threats against the lady into effect, that they had consented to take part in the transaction. Even now, at the fearless words of the Saxon lady several of them hesitated, and Sir Hubert of Gloucester stepped forward to Sir Rudolph.

  “Sir knight,” he said, “you know that I am your true comrade and the faithful servant of Prince John. Yet in faith would I not that my name should be mixed up in so foul a deed. I repent me that I have for a moment consented to it. But the shame shall not hang upon the escutcheon of Hubert of Gloucester that he stood still when such foul means were tried. I pray you, by our long friendship, and for the sake of your own honor as a knight, to desist from this endeavor. If this lady be guilty, as she well may be of aiding her son in his assaults upon the soldiers of Prince John, then let her be tried, and doubtless the court will confiscate her estates. But let her son be told that her life is in no danger, and that he is free to go, being assured that harm will not come to her.”

  “And if I refuse to consent to allow my enemy, who is now almost within my hand, to escape,” Sir Rudolph said, “what then?”

  “Then,” said the knight, “I and my following will at once leave your walls, and will clear ourselves to the brave young knight yonder of all hand in this foul business.”

  A murmur of agreement from several of those standing round showed that their sentiments were in accordance with those of Sir Hubert.

  “I refuse,” said Rudolph passionately. “Go, if you will. I am master of my actions, and of this castle.”

  Without a word, Sir Hubert and two others of the knights present turned, and briefly ordering their men-at-arms to follow them, descended the staircase to the courtyard below. Their horses were brought out, the men fell into rank, and the gates of the castle were thrown open.

  “Stand to arms!” Sir Cuthbert shouted to the archers. “They are going to attempt a sortie.” And hastily he retired to the main body of his men.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE FALSE AND PERJURED KNIGHT

  As the band of knights and their retainers issued from the gate a trumpeter blew a parley, and the three knights advanced alone toward the group of archers.

  “Sir Cuthbert de Lance,” Sir Hubert said, “in the name
of myself and my two friends here we ask your pardon for having so far taken part in this foul action. We did so believing only that Sir Rudolph intended the capture of your lady mother as a threat. Now that we see he was in earnest, we wash our hands of the business; and could we in any way atone for our conduct in having joined him, we would gladly do so consistently only with our allegiance to the prince regent.”

  Cuthbert bowed courteously.

  “Thanks for your words, Sir Hubert. I had always heard yourself and the knights here spoken of as brave and gallant gentlemen, whose sole fault was that they chose to take part with a rebel prince rather than with the King of England. I rejoice that you have cleared your name of so foul a blot as this would have placed upon it, and I acknowledge that your conduct now is knightly and courteous. But I can no more parley. The sun is within a few minutes of twelve, and I must surrender, to meet such fate as may befall me.”

  So saying, with a bow he left them, and again advanced to the castle gate.

  “Sir Rudolph,” he shouted, “the hour is at hand. I call upon you to deliver, outside the gate, the lady, my mother. Whether she wills it or not, I call upon you to place her beyond the gate, and I give you my knightly word that as she leaves it I enter it.”

  Dame Editha would then have attempted resistance; but she saw that it would be useless. With a pale face she descended the steps, accompanied by the men-at-arms. She knew that any entreaty to Sir Rudolph would be vain, and with the courage of her race she mentally vowed to devote the rest of her life to vengeance for her son.

  As the gate opened and she was thrust forth, for a moment she found herself in the arms of her son.

  “Courage, mother!” he whispered; “all may yet be well.”

  Cnut was waiting a few paces behind, and offering his hand to Dame Editha, he led her to the group of archers, while Cuthbert, alone, crossed the drawbridge and entered the portal, the heavy portcullis falling after him.

  Cnut, immediately ordering four of his men to escort Dame Editha to the wood with all speed, advanced with his men toward the walls. All had strung their bows and placed their arrows on the ground in front of them in readiness for instant use. Cnut himself, with two others carrying the rope, advanced to the edge of the moat. None observed their doings, for all within the castle were intent upon the proceedings there.

  In the courtyard Sir Rudolph had taken his post, with the captain of the mercenaries beside him, and the men-at-arms drawn up in order. He smiled sardonically as Cuthbert entered.

  “So, at last,” he said, “this farce is drawing to an end. You are in my power, and for the means which I have taken to capture you, I will account to the prince. You are a traitor to him; you have attacked and slaughtered many of my friends; you are an outlaw defying the law; and for each of these offenses your head is forfeited.”

  “I deny,” Cuthbert said, standing before him, “your right to be my judge. By my peers only can I be tried. As a knight of England and as rightful lord of this castle, I demand to be brought before a jury of my equals.”

  “I care nothing for rights or for juries,” said Sir Rudolph. “I have the royal order for your execution, and that order I shall put into effect, although all the knights and barons in England objected.”

  Cuthbert looked round to observe the exact position in which he was standing. He knew, of course, every foot of the castle, and saw that but a short distance behind a single row of armed men was the staircase leading to the battlements.

  “False and perjured knight,” he said, taking a step forward, “I may die; but I would rather a thousand deaths than such a life as yours will be when this deed is known in England. But I am not yet dead. For myself, I could pardon you; but for the outrage to my mother—” and with a sudden movement he struck Sir Rudolph in the face with all his strength with his mailed hand.

  With the blood gushing from his nostrils, the knight fell backward, and Sir Cuthbert, with a bound, before the assembly could recover from their astonishment at the deed, burst through the line of men-at-arms, and sprang up the narrow staircase. A score of men-at-arms started in pursuit; but Sir Cuthbert gained the battlements first, and without a moment’s hesitation sprang upon them and plunged forward, falling into the moat fifty feet below. Here he would have perished miserably, for in his heavy armor he was of course unable to swim a stroke, and his weight took him at once into the mud of the moat. At its margin, however, Cnut stood awaiting him, with one end of the rope in his hand. In an instant he plunged in, and diving to the bottom grasped Cuthbert by the body, and twisted the rope round him. The two archers on the bank at once hauled upon it, and in a minute Sir Cuthbert was dragged to the bank.

  By this time a crowd of men-at-arms appeared upon the battlements. But as they did so the archers opened a storm of arrows upon them, and quickly compelled them to find shelter. Carried by Cnut and the men with him—for he was insensible—Sir Cuthbert was quickly conveyed to the center of the outlaws, and these at once in a compact body began their retreat to the wood. Cuthbert quickly recovered consciousness, and was soon able to walk. As he did so the gates of the castle were thrown open, and a crowd of men-at-arms, consisting of the retainers of the castle and the mercenaries of Prince John, sallied forth. So soon as Cuthbert was able to move the archers started at a brisk run, several of them carrying Cuthbert’s casque and sword, and others assisting him to hurry along. The rear ranks turned as they ran and discharged flights of arrows at the enemy, who, more heavily armed and weighted, gained but slowly upon them.

  Had not Sir Rudolph been stunned by the blow dealt him by Cuthbert he would himself have headed the pursuit, and in that case the foresters would have had to fight hard to make their retreat to their fastness. The officer in command of the mercenaries, however, had no great stomach for the matter. Men were hard to get, and Prince John would not have been pleased to hear that a number of the men whom he had brought with such expense from foreign parts had been killed in a petty fray. Therefore after following for a short time he called them off, and the archers fell back into the forest.

  Here they found Dame Editha, and for three days she abode among them, living in a small hut in the center of the forest. Then she left, to take up her abode until the troubles were past with some kin who lived in the south of Gloucestershire.

  Although the lady abbess had assured Cuthbert that the retreat of Lady Margaret was not likely to be found out, he himself, knowing how great a stake Sir Rudolph had in the matter, was still far from being easy. It would not be difficult for the latter to learn through his agents that the lady superior of the little convent near Hereford was of kin to her of St. Anne’s, and, close as a convent is, yet the gossiping of the servants who go to market was certain to let out an affair so important as the arrival of a young lady to reside under the charge of the superior. Cuthbert was not mistaken as to the acuteness of his enemy. The relationship between the two lady superiors was no secret, and after having searched all the farmhouses and granges near the forest, and being convinced that the lady abbess would have sent her charge rather to a religious house than to that of a franklin, Sir Rudolph sought which of those within the circuit of a few miles would be likely to be the one selected. It was not long before he was enabled to fix upon that near Hereford, and spies going to the spot soon found out from the country people that it was a matter of talk that a young lady of rank had been admitted by the superior. Sir Rudolph hesitated whether to go himself at the head of a strong body of men and openly to take her, or to employ some sort of device. It was not that he himself feared the anathema of the church; but he knew Prince John to be weak and vacillating, at one time ready to defy the thunder of the pope, the next cringing before the spiritual authority. He therefore determined to employ some of his men to burst into the convent and carry off the heiress, arranging that he himself, with some of his men-at-arms, should come upon them in the road, and make a feigned rescue of her, so that, if the lady superior laid her complaint before the pope’s legate
he could deny that he had any hand in the matter, and could even take credit for having rescued her from the men who had profaned the convent. That his story would be believed mattered but little. It would be impossible to prove its falsity, and this was all that he cared for.

  This course was followed out. Late one evening the lady superior was alarmed by a violent knocking at the door. In reply to questions asked through the grill, the answer was given, “We are men of the forest, and we are come to carry the Lady Margaret of Evesham off to a secure hiding-place. The Lord of Evesham has discovered her whereabouts, and will be here shortly, and we would fain remove her before he arrives.”

  “From whom have you warrant?” the lady superior said. “I surrender her to no one, save to the lady abbess of St. Anne’s. But if you have a written warrant from Sir Cuthbert, the rightful Lord of Evesham, I will lay the matter before the Lady Margaret, and will act as it may seem fit to her.”

  “We have no time for parleying,” a rough voice said. “Throw open the gate at once, or we will break it down.”

  “Ye be no outlaws,” the lady superior said, “for the outlaws are men who fear God and respect the church. Were ye what ye say, ye would be provided with the warrants that I mention. I warn you, therefore, that if you use force, you will be excommunicated, and placed under the ban of the church.”

  The only answer was a thundering assault upon the gate, which soon yielded to the blows. The sisters and novices ran shrieking through the corridors at this rude uproar. The lady superior, however, stood calmly awaiting the giving way of the gate.

  “Where is the Lady Margaret?” the leader of the party, who were dressed in rough garb, and had the seeming of a band of outlaws, demanded.