Complete Works of Howard Pyle

by Howard Pyle

  “Nay,” said Myles; “ye do fear him too greatly. I tell ye I fear not to stand up to try battle with him and will do so, too, if the need arise. Only say ye that ye will stand by my back.”

  “Marry,” said Gascoyne, quaintly, “an thou wilt dare take the heavy end upon thee, I for one am willing to stand by and see that thou have thy fill of fighting.”

  “I too will stand thee by, Myles,” said Edmund Wilkes.

  “And I, and I, and I,” said others, chiming in.

  Those who would still have held back were carried along by the stream, and so it was settled that if the need should arise for Myles to do a bit of fighting, the others should stand by to see that he had fair play.

  “When thinkest thou that thou wilt take thy stand against them, Myles?” asked Wilkes.

  Myles hesitated a moment. “To-morrow,” said he, grimly.

  Several of the lads whistled softly.

  Gascoyne was prepared for an early opening of the war, but perhaps not for such an early opening as this. “By ‘r Lady, Myles, thou art hungry for brawling,” said he.

  CHAPTER 13

  AFTER THE FIRST excitement of meeting, discussing, and deciding had passed, Myles began to feel the weight of the load he had so boldly taken upon himself. He began to reckon what a serious thing it was for him to stand as a single champion against the tyranny that had grown so strong through years of custom. Had he let himself do so, he might almost have repented, but it was too late now for repentance. He had laid his hand to the plough, and he must drive the furrow.

  Somehow the news of impending battle had leaked out among the rest of the body of squires, and a buzz of suppressed excitement hummed through the dormitory that evening. The bachelors, to whom, no doubt, vague rumors had been blown, looked lowering, and talked together in low voices, standing apart in a group. Some of them made a rather marked show of secreting knives in the straw of their beds, and no doubt it had its effect upon more than one young heart that secretly thrilled at the sight of the shining blades. However, all was undisturbed that evening. The lights were put out, and the lads retired with more than usual quietness, only for the murmur of whispering.

  All night Myles’s sleep was more or less disturbed by dreams in which he was now conquering, now being conquered, and before the day had fairly broken he was awake. He lay upon his cot, keying himself up for the encounter which he had set upon himself to face, and it would not be the truth to say that the sight of those knives hidden in the straw the night before had made no impression upon him. By-and-by he knew the others were beginning to awake, for he heard them softly stirring, and as the light grew broad and strong, saw them arise, one by one, and begin dressing in the gray morning. Then he himself arose and put on his doublet and hose, strapping his belt tightly about his waist; then he sat down on the side of his cot.

  Presently that happened for which he was waiting; two of the younger squires started to bring the bachelors’ morning supply of water. As they crossed the room Myles called to them in a loud voice — a little uneven, perhaps: “Stop! We draw no more water for any one in this house, saving only for ourselves. Set ye down those buckets, and go back to your places!”

  The two lads stopped, half turned, and then stood still, holding the three buckets undecidedly.

  In a moment all was uproar and confusion, for by this time every one of the lads had arisen, some sitting on the edge of their beds, some nearly, others quite dressed. A half-dozen of the Knights of the Rose came over to where Myles stood, gathering in a body behind him and the others followed, one after another.

  The bachelors were hardly prepared for such prompt and vigorous action.

  “What is to do?” cried one of them, who stood near the two lads with the buckets. “Why fetch ye not the water?”

  “Falworth says we shall not fetch it,” answered one of the lads, a boy by the name of Gosse.

  “What mean ye by that, Falworth?” the young man called to Myles.

  Myles’s heart was beating thickly and heavily within him, but nevertheless he spoke up boldly enough. “I mean,” said he, “that from henceforth ye shall fetch and carry for yourselves.”

  “Look’ee, Blunt,” called the bachelor; “here is Falworth says they squires will fetch no more water for us.”

  The head bachelor had heard all that had passed, and was even then hastily slipping on his doublet and hose. “Now, then, Falworth,” said he at last, striding forward, “what is to do? Ye will fetch no more water, eh? By ‘r Lady, I will know the reason why.”

  He was still advancing towards Myles, with two or three of the older bachelors at his heels, when Gascoyne spoke.

  “Thou hadst best stand back, Blunt,” said he, “else thou mayst be hurt. We will not have ye bang Falworth again as ye once did, so stand thou back!”

  Blunt stopped short and looked upon the lads standing behind Myles, some of them with faces a trifle pale perhaps, but all grim and determined looking enough. Then he turned upon his heel suddenly, and walked back to the far end of the dormitory, where the bachelors were presently clustered together. A few words passed between them, and then the thirteen began at once arming themselves, some with wooden clogs, and some with the knives which they had so openly concealed the night before. At the sign of imminent battle, all those not actively interested scuttled away to right and left, climbing up on the benches and cots, and leaving a free field to the combatants. The next moment would have brought bloodshed.

  Now Myles, thanks to the training of the Crosbey-Dale smith, felt tolerably sure that in a wrestling bout he was a match — perhaps more than a match — for any one of the body of squires, and he had determined, if possible, to bring the battle to a single-handed encounter upon that footing. Accordingly he suddenly stepped forward before the others.

  “Look’ee, fellow,” he called to Blunt, “thou art he who struck me whilst I was down some while since. Wilt thou let this quarrel stand between thee and me, and meet me man to man without weapon? See, I throw me down mine own, and will meet thee with bare hands.” And as he spoke, he tossed the clog he held in his hand back upon the cot.

  “So be it,” said Blunt, with great readiness, tossing down a similar weapon which he himself held.

  “Do not go, Myles,” cried Gascoyne, “he is a villain and a traitor, and would betray thee to thy death. I saw him when he first gat from bed hide a knife in his doublet.”

  “Thou liest!” said Blunt. “I swear, by my faith, I be barehanded as ye see me! Thy friend accuses me, Myles Falworth, because he knoweth thou art afraid of me.”

  “There thou liest most vilely!” exclaimed Myles. “Swear that thou hast no knife, and I will meet thee.”

  “Hast thou not heard me say that I have no knife?” said Blunt. “What more wouldst thou have?”

  “Then I will meet thee halfway,” said Myles.

  Gascoyne caught him by the sleeve, and would have withheld him, assuring him that he had seen the bachelor conceal a knife. But Myles, hot for the fight, broke away from his friend without listening to him.

  As the two advanced steadily towards one another a breathless silence fell upon the dormitory in sharp contrast to the uproar and confusion that had filled it a moment before. The lads, standing some upon benches, some upon beds, all watched with breathless interest the meeting of the two champions.

  As they approached one another they stopped and stood for a moment a little apart, glaring the one upon the other. They seemed ill enough matched; Blunt was fully half a head taller than Myles, and was thick-set and close-knit in young manhood. Nothing but Myles’s undaunted pluck could have led him to dare to face an enemy so much older and stouter than himself.

  The pause was only for a moment. They who looked saw Blunt slide his hand furtively towards his bosom. Myles saw too, and in the flash of an instant knew what the gesture meant, and sprang upon the other before the hand could grasp what it sought. As he clutched his enemy he felt what he had in that instant expected to feel
— the handle of a dagger. The next moment he cried, in a loud voice: “Oh, thou villain! Help, Gascoyne! He hath a knife under his doublet!”

  In answer to his cry for help, Myles’s friends started to his aid. But the bachelors shouted, “Stand back and let them fight it out alone, else we will knife ye too.” And as they spoke, some of them leaped from the benches whereon they stood, drawing their knives and flourishing them.

  For just a few seconds Myles’s friends stood cowed, and in those few seconds the fight came to an end with a suddenness unexpected to all.

  A struggle fierce and silent followed between the two; Blunt striving to draw his knife, and Myles, with the energy of despair, holding him tightly by the wrist. It was in vain the elder lad writhed and twisted; he was strong enough to overbear Myles, but still was not able to clutch the haft of his knife.

  “Thou shalt not draw it!” gasped Myles at last. “Thou shalt not stab me!”

  Then again some of his friends started forward to his aid, but they were not needed, for before they came, the fight was over.

  Blunt, finding that he was not able to draw the weapon, suddenly ceased his endeavors, and flung his arms around Myles, trying to bear him down upon the ground, and in that moment his battle was lost.

  In an instant — so quick, so sudden, so unexpected that no one could see how it happened — his feet were whirled away from under him, he spun with flying arms across Myles’s loins, and pitched with a thud upon the stone pavement, where he lay still, motionless, while Myles, his face white with passion and his eyes gleaming, stood glaring around like a young wild-boar beset by the dogs.

  The next moment the silence was broken, and the uproar broke forth with redoubled violence. The bachelors, leaping from the benches, came hurrying forward on one side, and Myles’s friends from the other.

  “Thou shalt smart for this, Falworth,” said one of the older lads. “Belike thou hast slain him!”

  Myles turned upon the speaker like a flash, and with such a passion of fury in his face that the other, a fellow nearly a head taller than he, shrank back, cowed in spite of himself. Then Gascoyne came and laid his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “Who touches me?” cried Myles, hoarsely, turning sharply upon him; and then, seeing who it was, “Oh, Francis, they would ha’ killed me!”

  “Come away, Myles,” said Gascoyne; “thou knowest not what thou doest; thou art mad; come away. What if thou hadst killed him?”

  The words called Myles somewhat to himself. “I care not!” said he, but sullenly and not passionately, and then he suffered Gascoyne and Wilkes to lead him away.

  Meantime Blunt’s friends had turned him over, and, after feeling his temples, his wrist, and his heart, bore him away to a bench at the far end of the room. There they fell to chafing his hands and sprinkling water in his face, a crowd of the others gathering about. Blunt was hidden from Myles by those who stood around, and the lad listened to the broken talk that filled the room with its confusion, his anxiety growing keener as he became cooler. But at last, with a heartfelt joy, he gathered from the confused buzz of words that the other lad had opened his eyes and, after a while, he saw him sit up, leaning his head upon the shoulder of one of his fellow-bachelors, white and faint and sick as death.

  “Thank Heaven that thou didst not kill him!” said Edmund Wilkes, who had been standing with the crowd looking on at the efforts of Blunt’s friends to revive him, and who had now come and sat down upon the bed not far from Myles.

  “Aye,” said Myles, gruffly, “I do thank Heaven for that.”

  CHAPTER 14

  IF MYLES FANCIED that one single victory over his enemy would cure the evil against which he fought, he was grievously mistaken; wrongs are not righted so easily as that. It was only the beginning. Other and far more bitter battles lay before him ere he could look around him and say, “I have won the victory.”

  For a day — for two days — the bachelors were demoralized at the fall of their leader, and the Knights of the Rose were proportionately uplifted.

  The day that Blunt met his fall, the wooden tank in which the water had been poured every morning was found to have been taken away. The bachelors made a great show of indignation and inquiry. Who was it stole their tank? If they did but know, he should smart for it.

  “Ho! ho!” roared Edmund Wilkes, so that the whole dormitory heard him, “smoke ye not their tricks, lads? See ye not that they have stolen their own water-tank, so that they might have no need for another fight over the carrying of the water?”

  The bachelors made an obvious show of not having heard what he said, and a general laugh went around. No one doubted that Wilkes had spoken the truth in his taunt, and that the bachelors had indeed stolen their own tank. So no more water was ever carried for the head squires, but it was plain to see that the war for the upperhand was not yet over.

  Even if Myles had entertained comforting thoughts to the contrary, he was speedily undeceived. One morning, about a week after the fight, as he and Gascoyne were crossing the armory court, they were hailed by a group of the bachelors standing at the stone steps of the great building.

  “Holloa, Falworth!” they cried. “Knowest thou that Blunt is nigh well again?”

  “Nay,” said Myles, “I knew it not. But I am right glad to hear it.”

  “Thou wilt sing a different song anon,” said one of the bachelors. “I tell thee he is hot against thee, and swears when he cometh again he will carve thee soothly.”

  “Aye, marry!” said another. “I would not be in thy skin a week hence for a ducat! Only this morning he told Philip Mowbray that he would have thy blood for the fall thou gavest him. Look to thyself, Falworth; he cometh again Wednesday or Thursday next; thou standest in a parlous state.”

  “Myles,” said Gascoyne, as they entered the great quadrangle, “I do indeed fear me that he meaneth to do thee evil.”

  “I know not,” said Myles, boldly; “but I fear him not.” Nevertheless his heart was heavy with the weight of impending ill.

  One evening the bachelors were more than usually noisy in their end of the dormitory, laughing and talking and shouting to one another.

  “Holloa, you sirrah, Falworth!” called one of them along the length of the room. “Blunt cometh again to-morrow day.”

  Myles saw Gascoyne direct a sharp glance at him; but he answered nothing either to his enemy’s words or his friend’s look.

  As the bachelor had said, Blunt came the next morning. It was just after chapel, and the whole body of squires was gathered in the armory waiting for the orders of the day and the calling of the roll of those chosen for household duty. Myles was sitting on a bench along the wall, talking and jesting with some who stood by, when of a sudden his heart gave a great leap within him.

  It was Walter Blunt. He came walking in at the door as if nothing had passed, and at his unexpected coming the hubbub of talk and laughter was suddenly checked. Even Myles stopped in his speech for a moment, and then continued with a beating heart and a carelessness of manner that was altogether assumed. In his hand Blunt carried the house orders for the day, and without seeming to notice Myles, he opened it and read the list of those called upon for household service.

  Myles had risen, and was now standing listening with the others. When Blunt had ended reading the list of names, he rolled up the parchment, and thrust it into his belt; then swinging suddenly on his heel, he strode straight up to Myles, facing him front to front. A moment or two of deep silence followed; not a sound broke the stillness. When Blunt spoke every one in the armory heard his words.

  “Sirrah!” said he, “thou didst put foul shame upon me some time sin. Never will I forget or forgive that offence, and will have a reckoning with thee right soon that thou wilt not forget to the last day of thy life.”

  When Myles had seen his enemy turn upon him, he did not know at first what to expect; he would not have been surprised had they come to blows there and then, and he held himself prepared for any event.
He faced the other pluckily enough and without flinching, and spoke up boldly in answer. “So be it, Walter Blunt; I fear thee not in whatever way thou mayst encounter me.”

  “Dost thou not?” said Blunt. “By’r Lady, thou’lt have cause to fear me ere I am through with thee.” He smiled a baleful, lingering smile, and then turned slowly and walked away.

  “What thinkest thou, Myles?” said Gascoyne, as the two left the armory together.

  “I think naught,” said Myles gruffly. “He will not dare to touch me to harm me. I fear him not.” Nevertheless, he did not speak the full feelings of his heart.

  “I know not, Myles,” said Gascoyne, shaking his head doubtfully. “Walter Blunt is a parlous evil-minded knave, and methinks will do whatever evil he promiseth.”

  “I fear him not,” said Myles again; but his heart foreboded trouble.

  The coming of the head squire made a very great change in the condition of affairs. Even before that coming the bachelors had somewhat recovered from their demoralization, and now again they began to pluck up their confidence and to order the younger squires and pages upon this personal service or upon that.

  “See ye not,” said Myles one day, when the Knights of the Rose were gathered in the Brutus Tower— “see ye not that they grow as bad as ever? An we put not a stop to this overmastery now, it will never stop.”

  “Best let it be, Myles,” said Wilkes. “They will kill thee an thou cease not troubling them. Thou hast bred mischief enow for thyself already.”

  “No matter for that,” said Myles; “it is not to be borne that they order others of us about as they do. I mean to speak to them to-night, and tell them it shall not be.”

  He was as good as his word. That night, as the youngsters were shouting and romping and skylarking, as they always did before turning in, he stood upon his cot and shouted: “Silence! List to me a little!” And then, in the hush that followed— “I want those bachelors to hear this: that we squires serve them no longer, and if they would ha’ some to wait upon them, they must get them otherwheres than here. There be twenty of us to stand against them and haply more, and we mean that they shall ha’ service of us no more.”