CHAPTER XXIV

THE FALCON REVISITED

It was the evening of Saturday, the 10th of October, 1346, when the sun was just setting, as I, having crossed the Channel, and travelled from Dover to London, and escaped all perils by sea and land, again found myself safe and sound in that part of the capital of England known as Gracechurch.

I alighted, not without the air of a stripling of consequence, at the sign of the Falcon, and, as I did so, and parted from my horse, I could not but remember how brief was the period that had elapsed since first I set foot in that hostelry, and yet how much in the interval I had seen and experienced. I was certainly a little more advanced in years, and looked, perhaps, less boyish, because taller and stronger, than when I accompanied my grandsire to see London lighted up on Midsummer Eve, and to try my skill at the quintain on the day of St. John the Baptist. But half of the dreams in which I then was in the habit of indulging had been realised. I had seen countless knights, with their plumes, and swords, and prancing steeds, and I had witnessed much of the pomp and pageantry, and something, also, of the horrors, of war. Moreover, I had played a part which flattered my vanity. I had figured in court and camp--had passed through perilous adventures--had stood, sword in hand, as the champion of noble demoiselles--had footed the walls of besieged towns, and had participated in a great victory, the tidings of which set bells ringing and bonfires blazing all over England.

What wonder if, in such circumstances, my young heart swelled with pride, and if I already saw myself, in imagination, with the crest, and plume, and golden spurs of knighthood, leading bands of fighting men to battle, and rushing on to victory in the name of God and St. George?

Musing thus--for I had my full share of ambition as well as vanity--I, with a firm step, entered the hostelry of the Falcon; and, having seated myself at a table, and summoned the drawer to furnish a stoup of wine, I looked around on the company with the air of superiority which is soon learned among men taking part in military enterprises that are crowned with success.

Many of the ordinary frequenters of the Falcon were there, indulging, as of old, in gossip about the events of the day, and discussing the news with a degree of excitement which convinced me that there was something of great importance in the wind. My attention, however, was attracted to three persons who sat in silence apart from the group of citizens, and separate from each other. One was evidently a yeoman of Kent; the second was a young priest, with a restless eye and a wild manner; and the third, whose dress indicated that he ranked as a squire, was a tall, strong man of forty or thereabouts, with fair hair and a grey eye, whose glance told plainly as words could have done that he was deficient neither in satire nor sagacity. He called for a quart of ale just as I entered, and proceeded to discuss the liquor with evident relish.

I was on the point of putting a question to this worthy gentleman as to the latest news from Calais, and had just prepared myself to open the conversation by drinking deep of the wine which the drawer had brought me, when Thomelin of Winchester entered. I smiled in recognition, and mine host, observing me, stared as if he had seen a ghost.

"What!--eh!--Arthur, my lad!" exclaimed he, recovering himself, "can this possibly be you, and in the body?"

"None other than myself, good Thomelin," answered I laughingly, "and flesh, and blood, and bone to boot; you may take my word for it. But now tell me, for I long to learn, how fares my grandsire, and how fares my mother?"

"By St. Thomas!" replied he gravely, "not so well as they are wont to do, for they have heard that you had fallen in the wars, and are sadly grieved to think of it."

"And yet," said I half-laughing, "here you see me with a whole skin, and hardly a scar to bear witness to the perils I have passed."

"And you have come home, young man," interrupted the squire, speaking with a burr which sufficiently indicated his Northumbrian birth, and possibly his Danish origin--"you have come home at a time when so many are flocking to Calais to join the king and fight for his honour?"

"Even so, worthy squire," replied I, not without a spice of temper in my voice. "It is the fortune of war, and, certes, it is with no good will of mine own that I am in London and not before Calais. As ill-luck would have it, I was taken prisoner on the evening of the day of Cressy, and I only regained my liberty on condition of forthwith returning to England, and not again drawing my sword against Philip of Valois for a year and a day. What could I do?"

"Nothing but make the best of a bad bargain," answered the Northumbrian. "But assuredly you have reached England at a good time for a stripling who is afraid of his sword rusting in the scabbard; for seldom has England had greater need of stout hearts and strong hands than now."

"What mean you?" asked I, my curiosity as to the news of the day reviving.

"What!" exclaimed Thomelin, excitedly grasping my arm, "have you not heard that David Bruce, whom the Scots call king, has come over the Border with all his men of war and wild Galwegians, and that he is ravaging the West Marches with fire and sword?"

"Not a word of it," replied I, much amazed.

"It's not the less true, however, as I'm likely to know to my cost," observed the Northumbrian gravely.

"May the saints, and especially St. George and St. Edward, defend us!" exclaimed I, after a moment's pause; "and that this invasion of the Scots should happen when the king and so many of his nobles are beyond the seas, might provoke every English saint in the calendar. But let us hope for the best, seeing that the Lords Neville and Percy are at home in command of the Northern counties; and fame belies them if they are not the men to give the Scots a warm reception."

"I doubt it not, Arthur, my lad!--I doubt it not!" cried Thomelin with enthusiasm. "Shame be upon the Neville and the Percy if they did less than their very best at such a time, and in King Edward's absence, especially since Queen Philippa has left for York, to show them her countenance and aid them with her counsel. And, if they do not, methinks it will be the duty of every Englishman, no matter how humble a body he may be, to gird on his father's sword, and go northward to fight for his king's honour and his country's safety."

"Mine host," interrupted the young priest, breaking silence for the first time, "thou speakest of what thou knowest naught, and canst not comprehend. Why should the poor and the oppressed gird on their swords to defend a land where kings and nobles do as they list, and where men who are not kings or nobles are compelled to draw the water and hew the wood for others, and used worse than beasts of burden?"

"Beshrew me," said Thomelin, half in jest, half in earnest, "if it does not seem to me dangerous for a man to speak of kings and nobles in such a strain, even when he has a frock and cowl to protect him."

"Besides," urged I quietly, "I believe it is said in Holy Writ--I have heard, at least, that it is--'Curse not the king, no, not in thy thought; and curse not the rich in thy bed-chamber; for a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.'"

"What sayest thou to it, good friend?" asked Thomelin of the Kentish yeoman.

"For my part," answered the yeoman, speaking with great caution, "nothing have I to say against the king, who, doubtless, is a good king, and one likely to add much to the country's pride; and, for riches, let me say bluntly that I am not so poor as to deem the possession of riches a crime. But answer me this, Master Thomelin, how are men to live, if the king's purveyors continue, as now, to oppress and plunder at their pleasure? Answer me that."

"Well, yeoman, I'm sure I know not," replied Thomelin prudently. "But this I do know, that my kinsman, Adam of Greenmead, declared that when Edward I. reigned, and Eleanor of Castile was queen, the country people were not harassed by royal purveyors."

"No," cried the yeoman triumphantly, "not in my grandfather's time. That is what I tell my neighbours. But now a man trembles when a horn is heard, lest it should be that of the king's harbinger. One of them comes, and he cries he must have oats, and he must have hay, and he must have litter for the king's horses; and scarcely is he gone when a second comes, and he must have hens, and geese, and a variety of things; and a third comes at the heels of the second, and he must have bread and meat, and what not."

"My good friends," said the priest, springing to his feet, and speaking in a loud voice, and with eccentric gestures, "all this is vain talk. I tell ye that you must lay the axe to the root of the tree; for things cannot go on well in England, or ever will, until everything shall be in common, and the lords no more masters than ourselves. How ill they have used us, ye know; but for what reason they hold us in bondage they cannot tell. Are we not all descended from the same parents, namely, from Adam and Eve? And what can they show, or what reasons can they give, why they should be more masters than we? I tell you that things never will be well in England till there shall be neither vassal nor lord, and all distinctions levelled."

"Body o' me, father!" exclaimed Thomelin, interrupting, "curb your tongue, I pray thee, or you'll get me and my house into trouble. We will take the rest for granted. I know," added he mockingly, and then half chanted, half repeated, the rhyme which has since agitated the country to its centre, and shaken the throne to its foundation--

"'When Adam delved, and Eve span, Who was then the gentleman?'"

"On my faith," said the Northumbrian, with a grim smile, "I cannot but be strongly of opinion that, as affairs now are, it is mighty well for England that we have learned to do something more to the purpose than delve and spin. Now that the Scots are on this side of the Border, I trow it will require something more than spades and spindles to drive them back again; and of this I am well assured, that they would never go for a few fine words about Adam and Eve."

"Well answered," exclaimed Thomelin admiringly, and the company having generally expressed their concurrence in Thomelin's opinion, the Northumbrian gave a slight indication of the satisfaction he felt with himself by calling for another quart of ale, and drinking it off, perhaps to his own health.

"Who is that mad demagogue?" I asked of Thomelin in a whisper.

"Oh," replied mine host, "it's only the crazy priest who is called Jack Ball. Nobody values his words more than they do a sough of wind."

"And who," asked I, "is the stalwart Northman?"

"John Copeland, an esquire of Northumberland and, I believe, a doughty man-at-arms as ever faced a foe. He has been at Westminster on affairs of state connected with the irruption of the Scots; and he turns his face homeward to-morrow to take part in the war."

The name of Copeland was not new to me. In fact, I had often heard it mentioned with honour: for the Northern esquire had figured in a prominent manner, ten years earlier, in the operations before the castle of Dunbar, when Cospatrick's stronghold was being besieged by the Earl of Salisbury, and defended by Black Agnes, Earl Patrick's famous countess; and he had, on a memorable occasion, by his instinctive sagacity, saved Salisbury from being taken prisoner. Remembering these things I looked at him with curiosity and interest; moreover, having learned that the queen had set out for York, and perceiving the necessity of following with the letters intrusted to my care, I felt that I could hardly do better than beg the Northumbrian to permit me to bear him company on the road.

"And so," said I, opening the business forthwith, "it seems the queen has set out for York?"

"Assuredly," answered Copeland, "Queen Philippa, like a courageous dame and a good wife as she is, has gone northward to the war, to make sure that, in the absence of her lord the king, neither his honour nor his interest suffers."

"Ay, ay," echoed Thomelin--"a courageous dame and a good wife, in thought, word, and deed."

"Craving your pardon," said I, again addressing myself boldly to the great Northern warrior, "I am a stranger to you, and, perhaps on account of my youth, my name, unlike your own, is unknown to fame. But I am in the service of my lord the Prince of Wales, and have fought for the King of England; and I am charged with a message to the queen which I am in duty bound to deliver without delay. May I crave permission to ride northward under your protection?"

"Surely, surely, youth," answered Copeland cheerily. "Blithe will I be of your company. You can beguile the way, which is long, with stories of what you have seen and done in the wars of France, and, maybe, strike a good blow in case of any enemies turning up as an obstacle in our path."

"Well," said I, with a smile, "it would ill become one whose name is unknown to boast in the presence of a warrior so distinguished as yourself; but this much, at least, I will say in my own praise, that I fought, without flinching, at the gates of Caen, and on the field of Cressy, not to mention the ford of Blanch-taque; and I have yet to learn that I have lost courage since that day when Englishmen won a battle that will be recorded by chroniclers, and performed exploits that will be celebrated by minstrels."

"Enough," said Copeland, smiling at my youthful enthusiasm. "We will take the road northward on the morrow, and, where we are going, you'll find foes enough on whom to exercise your valour, and foes, too, who are worthy of a brave man's steel, be he knight, or squire, or page; for credit me, who have long known them, and who love them not, that--be the Scots good or bad in other respects--they fight bravely and well."

"Ho, ho!" exclaimed I, "that is something I have learned by meeting you. Methought that, at Halidon, they fled from our king and his men as deer before the hunters."

"So they did," replied the squire; "but it's not their wont; and, let me tell you, they fight not the worse from being away from their own country, and having some plunder to fight for. They are little inconvenienced by long marches. In fact, when they make irruptions into England, they march from twenty to four-and-twenty leagues, without halting, as well by night as by day."

"By St. George!" exclaimed I in amazement, "surely the archers and spearmen must lag behind and tail off as they go?"

"Ah," replied the Northumbrian, shaking his head wisely, "they are all mounted--the knights and esquires on large bay horses, the common people on little galloways; and they bring no carriages with them on account of the mountains they have to pass."

"Wonder upon wonders! But, then, how do they carry their provisions?"

"Oh, what provisions want they?--not bread and wine, I trow. Such are their habits of sobriety, in time of war, that they will live for a long time on flesh half sodden, without bread, and drink the river water without wine. Nor have they any occasion for pots or pans; for they dress the flesh of cattle in the skins, after they have taken them off; and, being certain of finding plenty of provisions in the country invaded, they bring none with them."

"Proceed."

"Well, every man carries a broad plate of metal under the flap of his saddle, and a little bag of oatmeal behind his saddle, and when they have eaten too much sodden flesh they put the plate over a fire, mix their oatmeal with water, and make a cake like a biscuit, which they eat to warm their stomachs; and such is their way of living while the war lasts."

"Well, sir squire," said I, "I am beholden to you for the information you have given me. I am a very young warrior, albeit I have seen sieges and a foughten field, and am curious about such matters. And beshrew me if it will not mortify me much if fortune does not favour me with an opportunity of crossing swords with some of these Scots, whose customs sound so barbarous; for I should like to prove what mettle there is in men who live on sodden flesh, and oatmeal, and river water."

"Fear not, youth," replied the squire, with a smile of encouragement; "when you mount, and take the north road in my company, you will be in a fair way of having your wish."