Part 1

Produced by Al Haines.

*[Illustration: "ROLAND WAS SAVAGELY ATTACKING HIM IN HIS TURN" (missing from book)]*

*Edgar the Ready*

A Tale of the Third Edward's Reign

BY

W. P. SHERVILL

_Illustrated by Charles M. Sheldon_

BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY 1914

*Contents*

CHAP.

I. A Gallant Sacrifice II. An Ordeal of the Night III. The Castle of Wolsingham IV. The Winning of Peter V. The Fracas VI. Sir John's Esquire VII. To Guienne VIII. The Lists of Bordeaux IX. The Encounter with Sir Gervaise X. News of Sir John XI. In Pursuit XII. Castle Ruthenes XIII. Prisoners XIV. A Desperate Venture XV. Ill News at Bordeaux XVI. A New Quest XVII. The Opening of the Attack XVIII. The Plight of Beatrice XIX. The Assault XX. The Last Hope XXI. Through the Darkness XXII. The Last of Ruthenes XXIII. Sir John's Choice

*Illustrations*

"Roland was savagely attacking him in his turn" (missing from book) . . . _Frontispiece_

"Sir Gervaise sprang towards his adversary, thirsting to retrieve his fallen fortunes"

"A torch was thrust close to Edgar's face"

"The torch fell upon the bottom steps, revealing the three crouching figures" (missing from book)

"'Bah! These walls laugh thee and thy rabble to scorn!'"

"'Come, Beatrice, I will strive yet to save thee'" (missing from book)

*EDGAR THE READY*

*CHAPTER I*

*A Gallant Sacrifice*

"Now, lad, I will tell thee how it cometh that Sir John Chartris hath sent me down into Devon to seek thee and to bring thee back to his castle of Wolsingham. The road seemeth less rough and wild, and I can tell thee all that befell with the more comfort. I would, though, that I could have brought a spare horse. To have thee riding behind my saddle smacks of a farmer and his dame rather than of man-at-arms and fledgeling warrior."

"No matter, Matthew," replied the soldier's companion, a lad of some fourteen or fifteen summers, "our road will take us along the borders of Exmoor, and I have hopes that we may be able to snare or capture one of the ponies that run wild thereabouts."

"Perchance. Now, as thou hast already heard, 'twas at Sluys that thy father met his death--and a right gallant one it was--but of the fashion of it only rumours have reached thee.

"I must start at the beginning, and thou wilt then understand the more thoroughly. Know, then, that the French fleet mustered two hundred sail and more, many of their ships being of a size unheard of before, while we could gather little more than half their number. Our ships were scraped together from the Five Ports and anywhere along the coast where a stray trader could be found. But I'll warrant thee the sailors of the Five Ports were little loath to lend their ships for the venture, for their rivalry with the mariners of the Norman coast is most exceeding bitter. When all that could be collected had been mustered in array, our good King Edward III filled them with his men-at-arms and archers, and we set sail.

"Not a man of the whole company was more eager to get to grips with the enemy than Edward; and when we spied, over an intervening neck of land, a forest of masts clustering in the harbour of Sluys, he was overjoyed. However, for all his eagerness, he decided to anchor at sea for the night, and 'twas in the afternoon of the following day--the anniversary of Bannockburn, mark ye--that we stood in to fight the foe.

"When they sighted us, the French sailed out a mile or so to meet us, and then anchored in four great lines across the bay and lashed their ships firmly together. We found it was a fourfold floating rampart that we had to assault, but--bah!--little enough shipman or soldier recked of that!

"Full speed we bore down on the foremost line of ships and ground into them, our archers sending a storm of shafts in advance that raked them through and through. Many of their big ships had platforms high up filled with Genoese crossbowmen, and loaded with stones to fling down upon us; but our archers poured in a fire so fierce and fast that those who survived were glad to escape to deck as best they could. Then came the turn of knights and men-at-arms, and like a mountain torrent we poured upon the decks of the Frenchmen's ships. The fighting was hard and fierce--the struggle of men who had long ached to spring at one another's throats.

"But our martial King's gallant example, and the knightly zest of his nobles, gave an eagerness to our men that soon forced the French, though they fought right well, to give back, and presently we had mastered the first line and began to burst through upon the next. 'Twas then that---- Ah! What have we here?"

At the sudden exclamation, and the equally sudden reining in of the steed, the boy, who had been entirely absorbed in his companion's narrative, glanced quickly ahead to see the cause of the interruption.

Two men, followed more leisurely by three others, had sprung into the roadway from behind a pile of rocks where they had been in hiding. They were men of wild and savage appearance, and bore weapons, which added not a little to their threatening looks. One man, whose head seemed a sheer mass of bristling red hair and beard, out of which his eyes gleamed like live coals, carried a heavy club studded with iron spikes, and this he swung to and fro as he awaited the coming of the wayfarers.

"'Tis Red of Ordish!" whispered the lad. "He is known and dreaded for leagues around. Fly for thy life, Matthew--delay not!"

The soldier glanced eagerly to right and left. His face fell: rocks piled in rough confusion, half-hidden by bushes, lined every inch of the way on either side. It was difficult country to traverse on foot, but for horsemen it was quite impossible. There was still, however, the way they had come, and half-turning his horse, the man-at-arms glanced back along the road. Alas, for his hopes! Another group of men had emerged into the roadway a few hundred yards behind, and were moving forward to take the travellers as in a trap!

"Ha, ha, soldier," cried Red, with a hideous laugh, "thou seest thou art outwitted! Fling down thy purse and we harm thee not. 'Tis the lord of the manor, Red of Ordish to wit, who bids thee pay his toll."

"Give me thy purse, Matthew," cried the boy aloud. He then went on in an urgent whisper: "Be quick, and I will jump down and hand it to the robbers whilst thou dost ride slowly past them. They may seek more than thy purse an they find little in it. I like not their looks or the tales I have heard of them."

Slowly and unwillingly the soldier complied, and the lad flung his leg over the saddle to dismount. As he did so, however, with a quick movement he slid the contents of the purse into his hand. His movements were half-hidden by the soldier's back, and that there should be no chink of money to betray him, he held the purse closely while he secured the contents. Then he transferred the coins to his wallet, dropped to the ground, and advanced towards the red robber, purse in hand.

"We are poor wayfarers," he said in a pleading tone, as he fumbled in the purse; "will ye not take toll of two silver pennies and let us hie on our journey?"

"I will take four silver pennies, my young springald," cried Red of Ordish, striding forward and reaching out his great hand for the purse.

The lad retreated as though frightened, and again fumbled as though unable to find the coins he sought.

"Yield me the purse," cried the robber, snatching savagely at it. "Yield it me, boy, or I will clash out thy brains with this club."

Springing lightly out of the angry ruffian's reach, the boy pretended to be quite scared, dropping the purse and running after the soldier as though in a sudden access of terror.

Ignoring the boy, the leader of the robbers and one or two of his men made a mad rush for the purse. Red was first, and snatched it eagerly up; tore it open--and saw that it was empty! With a snarl like a wild beast, he sprang after the fugitive, shouting madly with inarticulate rage.

Abandoning all disguise, the lad now ran with all his speed after the soldier, who had profited by the preoccupation of the robbers and had made his way safely past them.

"On, Matthew, on!" he cried breathlessly as he sprang into the saddle behind him, and with a shout of angry defiance, Matthew put spurs to his horse and galloped furiously away.

The convulsed face and savage cries of Red of Ordish, and the tumultuous shouts of his men as they pursued madly after, flinging stones, knives, and clubs in despairing endeavour to injure the youth who had so neatly tricked them, receded gradually into the distance until a turn of the road shut them altogether out of sight and hearing.

"Why did I listen to thee, lad?" cried Matthew presently in a tone of resentment and vexation. "Why did I not ride at them and try to cut a way through? Why didst press me to yield up my purse without a fight? Hast so soon forgotten that thou art destined to become an esquire and an aspirant to knighthood? 'Tis a bad start to a warrior's career to counsel giving way without a fight to the first coward cut-throat we meet. Coward that I was to listen----"

"Stay, Matthew," interposed the lad; "run not on so, but examine this wallet. Perchance the fledgeling esquire is not quite so base as thou thinkest."

"What?" cried Matthew, taking the wallet and thrusting in his hand. "Did ye--why, yes, 'tis all here--truly thou art quick and bold. 'Twas well done, and I none the wiser. Thou art indeed Sir Richard Wintour's cub, and I can say nae better."

"There was little enough in it, Matthew," returned the lad. "I hope that we may have many such adventures to while away the long journey to my new home. They will keep our wits from getting rusty."

"They will indeed, lad, and I hope that Matthew the man-at-arms may show to better advantage at our next encounter. Now I will continue the story of our struggle at Sluys which the robbers interrupted in so ugly a fashion. We English, then, had overcome all resistance in the first line of the French ships and were attacking the next, when the adventure befell that touches thee so closely. The ships commanded by Sir John Chartris had again closed in and grappled, and once more we were hard at work hacking and thrusting upon the enemy's decks. Sir John had gained a footing upon the poop of the ship he had boarded, and was hewing away with right good will when, of a sudden, a gigantic Genoese dropped down upon his shoulders from the rigging. Sir John was borne to the deck, and would have been rapidly dispatched there had not thy father, Sir Richard Wintour, called upon one or two of us near by and hurried to his rescue. Our attack diverted the attention of those surrounding Sir John, and he was able to struggle to his feet.

"The Genoese still clung to his back, however, and Sir John was unable to use his sword. To our horror, after a few moments' tottering upon the edge, both men, still clinging desperately to one another, pitched headlong over the side of the ship down into the sea in the space betwixt the prows of the grinding ships. Seeing what was coming, and knowing only too well that Sir John, clad in full armour, would sink like a stone, thy father snatched at a rope, and without a moment's hesitation sprang after him. So instant was he that he did not even stay to see that the other end of the rope was secured, and he must have left the ship before ever Sir John had touched the water. 'Twas a rash act, a gallant act, and it all but failed, for the end of the rope was free, and was just disappearing over the side when I pounced upon it.

"The strain upon it was so heavy that I almost followed. Thomelin the archer, however, also seized hold of the rope, and we two pulled and tugged. In a moment or two the strain eased somewhat, and we guessed that the big Genoese had been compelled to leave go. Then we began to draw in hand over hand until two heads appeared above the surface. They belonged to Sir John and thy father.

"Now came the heartrending part of the whole affair. A slight swell was gently heaving, and ever and anon the ships ground and clashed together. Knowing this, and fearing that we might not draw up the knights before one or other of the ships heaved inwards irresistibly, we pulled with all our might and shouted aloud for others to come to our aid. But the rush of fighting men had passed onwards, and the noise was so prodigious that we were unheard or unheeded. So we bent to the work, and soon had Sir John, who was uppermost, on a level with the decks. We had pulled him safe aboard, and were about to draw up Sir Richard, when--lad, it makes me sick to think of it--one of our own ships, falling on the swell, moved inwards and caught him by the legs against the ship on which we stood. He gave a gasp and let go his hold, but we seized him, and, the swell passing onwards, drew him aboard.

"One glance was sufficient to tell us that his hours were numbered. Notwithstanding his armour, his legs and the lower part of his body were badly crushed. He was still conscious, however, and we laid him on the deck of the enemy's ship, now all but won, and Sir John knelt over him.

"'Goodbye, Sir John!' he said faintly. 'I am gone. Leave me and renew the fight.'

"'Nay, Richard, I cannot leave thee thus,' cried Sir John, weeping. 'Dear comrade, thou hast sacrificed thy life for mine. I will stay and do what little I still may towards that debt. The battle is won without another stroke from me.'

"'I rejoice that all goes well. If thou wilt do aught for me, look to my boy Edgar. His mother died a year agone, and he is alone save for me. Place him with thy esquires, if I ask not too much.'

"'Richard, it is done. Right gladly will I.'

"'He will be landless, like his father, as thou know'st, and he must carve his way with his sword. Let him know this. Spoil him not. I think he will do well, though his mother has had his upbringing and not I.'

"'If he is half as gallant as his father he will need little help from me,' responded Sir John. 'Is there naught else I can do? Here is water Matthew hath brought.'

"Sir Richard revived a little when he had drunk, but very soon sank into a stupor from which he never regained consciousness. He seemed quite easy in his mind concerning thee, after Sir John had told him he would send me down into Devon to fetch thee as soon as an opportunity offered. He beckoned me to him and sent thee his dear love, and bade me conjure thee to strive thy hardest to be a true knight, brave in battle and chivalrous towards the weak and helpless. More he said, though his voice grew so faint at last that I could not catch all his words; but he meant thee to give all thy mind to the work of thy squirehood, to learn right well how to bear thyself knightly, and how to live a godly life. Thy father, lad, thou mayest well be proud of."

"I know, Matthew," said Edgar in a low voice. "And I know, too, that if earnest striving of mine can compass it, his memory will not be disgraced by me. It shall be my aim to live as nobly and to die as gallantly."

"Ye say well, lad. I hope thou wilt be as good as thy word. Now I will finish the story.

"Very soon we had broken through the second line of the French ships, and as at that moment more ships arrived under Sir Robert Morley, a great panic fell upon the third line, and many of their men threw themselves into the sea and there perished miserably. The fourth line, however, still remained unbroken, and fought us right gallantly until nightfall, when those that were still able to set sail made good their escape.

"Our losses were trifling; the losses of the French were tremendous. We had only two ships destroyed, while out of all the mighty French fleet but a few stragglers escaped. Their loss in men, too, they say, was no less than thirty thousand slain. 'Twill be years and years, lad, I warrant thee, before the French will again dare to oppose us on the ocean. We are now masters of the sea, and our ships can come and go as they please. Hurrah for our martial King Edward!"

"Hurrah, indeed!" cried Edgar, catching something of his enthusiasm. "But how came our men to gain so great a victory over the French? Did they not fight well?"

"Aye, they fought well enough, but they were outgeneralled. They had two leaders while we had one. And more--though I am a man-at-arms, and think most of my sort, yet can I give a meed of praise where 'tis due--'twas our archers did much to win the day. Aye, our bowmen gave the French a rude awakening--one, too, that will be repeated as roughly yet many a day. Our men shot so hard and fast that the air was streaked with shafts, and Frenchmen and Genoese fell dead on every hand. Even the knights were hard put to it to face so pitiless a hail. I mind me old Thomelin of Pontefract, one of the most famous of our marksmen, said to me as we passed a ship in the first line, where the battle still raged: 'See yon knight in golden armour, Matthew?'

"'Aye,' said I.

"'Watch him well.'

"He drew his bow to the feather and held it motionless for a moment or two. The knight was opposing a party of English who were pouring along the deck of his ship. He swung his axe back and up, and Thomelin's bow twanged. The knight's nearest armpit sprouted feathers, his axe fell with a clang, and he rattled down after it. 'Twas thus that our archers taught even knights in full armour to fear them."

"But are not crossbowmen equally to be feared?" cried Edgar. "I have heard that their heavy bolts can crash through the armour itself."

"Mayhap; but when they have English bowmen to fight against they have little chance to show their powers. Ere ever they can loose a bolt a cloth-yard shaft hath laid them low. Our archers laugh at crossbowmen--and with good reason."

"What befell after the battle, Matthew?"

"We landed, and Edward led us to the city of Tournay. He drew his allies to his standard, and it was with a hundred thousand men that he commenced the siege. All goeth well so far, but Sir John sent me after thee before we had long encamped before its walls. And here I am, Master Edgar."

"Aye, good Matthew," replied Edgar, who appeared to be slightly ill at ease, and had turned in his saddle two or three times during the latter part of the soldier's narrative. "Now, wilt thou rein in thy steed for a moment so that we may listen? Several times I have fancied I heard the sound of horses' hoofs dully in the distance."

"What of that, lad? Red of Ordish and his band had nae horses."

"None that we could see. But in some of the tales I have heard both Red and his band were mounted. Hearken now!"

Dim and distant, but unmistakable, sounded the thud of horses' hoofs.

"Quick, Matthew, we must leave the road and hide. Our horse, carrying a double burden, must soon be overtaken. Dismount and lead thy steed in amongst those rocks and bushes and, if thou canst, compel it to lie down."

Without demur Matthew obeyed his young charge's orders, possibly because he could think of no better line of action. In a minute or two horse and riders were well hidden behind a tangle of rocks and bushes a dozen yards from the edge of the roadway. The clatter of horses' hoofs was now very close, and in a few moments a body of wild-looking horsemen burst into view round a turn of the road.

"'Tis Red," muttered the lad at his first glimpse of the foremost man, as he shrank back yet more closely under cover.

The horsemen clattered noisily by and vanished as quickly as they had come. For the time, at any rate, the fugitives were safe.

"What now, lad?" grumbled Matthew, as he began to realize their sorry plight. "We cannot take to the road again, I trow."

"Nay; we must, I fear, clamber on as best we can across these rocks. See yon hill? The country there is clearer, so mayhap if we struggle on a little we shall find it open out before us."

For an hour the soldier and his companion scrambled along among the rocks, leading the horse between them. Then the way began to get easier until, at the end of some hours, they found themselves in fairly open country. The travelling had been very exhausting, and, well pleased to be quit of it, they mounted again and cantered gaily off until they reached cultivated land, and could see in the distance the lights of a dwelling. On a closer inspection this proved to be a large and straggling farmhouse.

"Darkness falls," quoth Matthew; "I think we will rest the night here if the good man is not unwilling."

Edgar gladly consented, and in a minute or two they were knocking at the farmhouse door. After a considerable delay and some parleying the door was opened, and they were conducted into the farmer's kitchen. Here they were served with plenty of rough but wholesome food, and were soon doing full justice to the viands. Under the influence of the good cheer, and more especially of the good man's home-brewed ale, Matthew waxed communicative, and related to the farmer with great gusto the incidents of their encounter with and escape from the redoubtable Red of Ordish.

The recital seemed to disturb the farmer greatly. He grew pale and nervous, and presently left the room, muttering that if robbers were about it would be well for him to see that his barns and stables were well secured. The action seemed so natural an one that neither Edgar nor Matthew took any notice, although the man had not returned when, an hour or two later, his wife hinted that it was time to retire for the night. Readily enough they agreed, and the woman led them up a flight of crazy stairs to a low room lighted by a single small curtain-screened window which peeped out of the thickness of the thatch. The room contained a rough bed and plenty of skin rugs, and in a very few minutes the two wayfarers had flung themselves down and had fallen into a sound sleep.

*CHAPTER II*

*An Ordeal of the Night*

It must have been well after midnight when Edgar awoke. What had awakened him he knew not, but he felt somehow a sense of uneasiness for which he vainly tried to account. All was as still as death within the house, save only for the regular breathing of his companion, who lay close by his side.

For some moments Edgar lay without a movement, listening intently and wondering what it could be that made him feel so uneasy and even--he could not disguise it from himself--even fearful. He could hear absolutely nothing, but yet he felt a conviction steal over him that Matthew and he were not alone in the room. Who would dare to enter their room so stealthily at dead of night? And what might be their purpose?

Softly Edgar pressed his companion in the side. He stirred ever so slightly, and Edgar pressed again as meaningly as he could. He felt the soldier start and stiffen himself as though on the alert.

Waiting for no more, Edgar, who was light of touch and supple as an eel, stole softly from the bed and made for the corner of the room away from the window. He dreaded unspeakably that he might come into contact with something--he knew not what--on the way; but he reached his coign of vantage without mishap. Then he waited motionless for events to develop. Though he still heard no sound, he felt even more convinced than before that the room was occupied by other than themselves--and, by the strange feeling of fear that he could not thrust away from himself, thoroughly as he despised it, occupied by something grim and terrible.

Presently he heard a slight rustling, as though Matthew were leaving his bed, and a moment later the curtain was jerked back, admitting into the room a stream of moonlight.