CHAPTER XXI
THE REJECTED GUERDON
MORNING came, and with it the trumpets again sounded for the troopsto assemble. Was it that a renewal of the fight was expected? Nay,for the French were in headlong flight, their King being already wellon the way to La Broye. But Edward, sensible of the advantage gained,had determined to advance on Calais.
Silently the weary soldiers fell into their ranks. The archers, theirwhite surcoats soiled with mud and stained with blood, themen-at-arms, with battered armour, and, in many cases,roughly-bandaged wounds, stood grimly in their martial array,conscious of the many comrades who had stood thus but a day beforeand had gone to their last account.
Suddenly a fanfare of trumpets announced the approach of the King.With his eyes shining with pardonable pride, the monarch rode slowlydown the war-worn lines, stopping at intervals to bestow honours andpraise as cases of individual merit were pointed out to him. At hisright hand rode the Prince of Wales, and attending him were Sir JohnChandos, the Earls of Warwick, Arundel, Oxford, and Southampton.
When in front of the Hampshire companies the King again drew rein,and surveyed the stern, determined faces of the men on whom the bruntof the attack had fallen. Sir John Hacket, attended by his threesquires, stood in front of his command, the banners, according tocustom, being lowered to the ground in the presence of the Sovereign.
"By Our Lady! 'Tis our trusted Constable of Portchester!" exclaimedEdward. "And by report thou didst hold thyself right gallantly onyesterday's field. Ah, Sir John, we have something in store to makeamends for our former forgetfulness. Advance thy banner!"
The Constable, taking his banner from the hands of the guidon-bearer,stepped forward, and, with bended knee, presented the blue silkemblazoned with the golden crescent to the King, who, drawing adagger from his belt, deftly cut off the pointed end of the pennon.Handing the severed portion to a knight in attendance, the Kingreturned the banner to Sir John.
The action, simple as it seemed, roused the company to the highestpitch of enthusiasm, for their adored leader had achieved the greatdistinction of being created a knight-banneret, the greatest honourto be paid by the sovereign, only on the field of battle.
Ere the cheering had died away, the Prince of Wales had plucked hisfather's sleeve, and whispered in his ear.
"Of a truth, 'tis the squire who brought the Count of Tancarville toour camp! And he is the man that came betwixt thee and thine enemiesin the thickest of the fray! 'Tis our pleasure to bestow honoursfreely to-day, though, methinks, they be well deserved, and no manwill chide us for being too freehanded. Thy squire's name, Sir John?"
"He is named Raymond Buckland, sire."
"Come hither, squire," commanded the King, alighting from his palfreyand taking a sword from the hand of the Earl of Warwick.
The supreme moment of Raymond's life was at hand, but the squire,instead of kneeling to receive the honour of knighthood, advanced afew paces and stood irresolutely before his sovereign.
"On thy knees, squire!" commanded Edward.
"Nay, sire, I cannot," replied the unhappy Raymond. Low murmurs ofastonishment arose from the King's attendants, while Sir John Hacket,placing his hand heavily on his squire's shoulder, hissed into hisear, "Kneel, thou fool! Art bereft of thy senses?"
A dark cloud gathered on the King's face. Then a thought seemed tostrike him, and he spoke again.
"Here, sirrah, tell us the reason of this strange refusal. Nay, haveno fear," he added, in a more kindly tone, observing the squire'sdejection, "for we perceive there is something amiss that willaccount for thy demeanour."
Encouraged by the King's words, and rendered bold by the desperateposition in which circumstances had placed him, Raymond replied, in alow yet distinct voice, "Sire, I am the son of an outlaw, andtherefore unworthy of the honour thou would'st bestow."
"Ah!" exclaimed the King. "This requires further consideration. SirJohn, knowest aught of this?"
"Nay, sire," replied the amazed Constable.
Once again the young Prince of Wales whispered in his father's ear.The King nodded in response, and again addressed the squire.
"It is our desire to hear more of this matter. See to it that thoucomest before us in our pavilion at noon, Sir John. I hold theeresponsible for thy squire's appearance. And, Sir William," he added,turning to his scrivener, "I pray thee see to it that the worthyConstable of Portchester and his squire be instantly admitted to ourpresence at that hour."
Remounting his steed, the King, accompanied by his retinue, continuedhis tour of inspection, and, on this being completed, he returned tohis pavilion. The ranks broke, and the men were told to enjoy awell-earned rest ere the march to Calais was begun on the morrow,while the camp-followers were put to the melancholy task of buryingthe dead who had fallen in the fight.
On hearing the story from Raymond's own lips, the kind-hearted SirJohn Hacket's expressions of surprise and pity were unbounded. Fornot for one moment had he suspected that the sturdy master-bowman,though an outlaw, was at one time a gentleman of quality.
"Take it not too much to heart, Raymond," he said. "Many a man hathbeen in a worse scrape. I am of a mind to bring Sir Maurice Revyngtonwith us when we repair to the King's presence, and 'twould be well ifI saw the knight at once."
So saying, the Constable hastened away, leaving his squire still tornwith conflicting emotions of hope and fear--hope that his ownstainless character and deeds of bravery would wipe out theundeserved blot that threatened to mar his prospects, and fear thatthe formidable barrier of social custom and royal etiquette would forever debar him from the road to success.
In less than an hour Sir John returned, a broad smile of satisfactionoverspreading his grim features. "Thy uncle will bear us company, ay,and another knight, if I mistake not, will interest himself on thybehalf. Now, bear thyself cheerfully, for I perceive that things willturn out aright. Waste no more time in gloomy meditations, but makethyself fit to appear in the King's presence, for the hour ofaudience is at hand."
"And the style of mine attire?"
"In full harness, Raymond, for the King will doubtless think fit toreward thee for bravery on the field, and on that score I have nodoubt. 'Tis meet that thou shouldst appear in the garb of a soldierrather than in the dress of a common suppliant. And, moreover, ourKing delights in the wearing of harness, and looks with favour onthose who doff their armour but rarely when they come to the wars. Soagain I tell thee, hasten!"
The squire repaired to his own tent and put on his complete suit ofarmour--the same that his father had given him years ago on the eveof the sack of Hamble--and well the dented and tarnished steelbefitted his tall and erect figure. Then girding on his scabbard,wherein was thrust the remaining part of the broken blade, andgrasping the fragment of the shield that had diverted the murderoussweep of the Frenchman's two-handed sword, Raymond repaired to hismaster's tent.
The Constable surveyed him with appreciation. "Eh, lad, thou dostwell to bear the silent testimony of thy courage on thine arm. In anycase but the present, when thy future is at stake, 'twould have beena braggart's ruse. But the King doth know full well that thou art noboaster, seeing that it was in thy power to accept honour at hishands, and thou didst shrink from it. But come, the hour of noon isnear. Let us make for the royal pavilion."
Between the long lines of tents, where crowds of soldiers gathered,in silent wonder, to see the man who had so strangely withstood hissovereign, the knight and the squire walked side by side, and with afresh wave of doubt and fear sweeping over him, Raymond found himselfin the anteroom of the royal tent.
The Winning of the Golden Spurs Page 22
