Part 4

Several times the rivalry between him and one or two of his comrades had led perilously near to an open quarrel; but Edgar so far had, by the exercise of tact and a certain amount of forbearance, generally managed to keep the peace. Twice, however, he had had high words with Aymery and Roland over the rough manner in which they had treated Peter when sending him on their errands. Even this had blown over, though it remained an understood thing that if anyone wanted to annoy Edgar it was a safe and sure plan to bully the cripple lad.

A few weeks after Sir John's return home, it leaked out that it was likely that he would take part in an expedition which was being dispatched to Guienne under the leadership of the Earl of Derby. Much was hoped for from this expedition, and it seemed certain that those fortunate ones who took part in it would be in a fair way towards winning much renown. It happened also that the greater part of the lands to which Sir John's ward, Beatrice d'Alencon, was heiress, lay not far from the probable scene of the expedition, and presently the further news transpired that Sir John contemplated taking her with him, accompanied by his elder daughter, Gertrude, with the object of seizing an early opportunity of looking into the condition of her estates.

As has already been explained, both Aymery and Roland had for years past proudly worn the gage of Beatrice, with or without her permission, and not unnaturally this news sent them nearly wild with the desire to follow Sir John as his esquire. To take part in a famous campaign beneath her very eyes would, they felt certain, be a sure means towards gaining her admiration.

From the moment this news leaked out their rivalry was fanned to boiling-point, and the quarrels between them became constant. Only Edgar's tact and self-control kept him from embroilment also; for though they knew he was no rival so far as Beatrice was concerned, for he openly scoffed at all such notions, they both feared his swordsmanship, which might defeat their ambitions to follow Sir John to the wars. All indeed that was needed to drag him within the circle of their strife was something which would rouse his antagonism to the pitch at which theirs normally stood. An explosion would then be inevitable. Unfortunately this spark was presently supplied, and the unhappy cause of the mishap was Peter, the armourer's lad.

It happened that one day Aymery had set Peter to work to burnish up his armour, which he had carelessly left exposed to the rain after he had been going over it and fondly trying it on on the walls of the keep. Peter went to work willingly enough, but the havoc was so great that by the time he should have returned to the armourer it was only half done. Hastily completing it, in a rough-and-ready fashion, he put it back in the esquires' chamber and went on his way to the forge, intending to finish the work as soon as he was again free. Presently two or three of the pages entered the chamber, and Aymery's armour spread out on the table was the first object to attract their attention. Not knowing or caring to whom it belonged, and ripe for any sort of mischief, they proceeded to amuse themselves by kicking and throwing the pieces about the room.

Tiring of the fun, the armour was left lying where it had fallen, and remained there until Aymery and several of the esquires entered.

"He refuses, Aymery," Roland was saying as they entered. "He saith that the responsibility of looking after one esquire is enough for him, and that the others must seek other opportunity of winning their spurs--at the tourney, I think he meant."

"Didst press thy claims to accompany him?" enquired Aymery sourly.

"They need no pressing," responded Roland haughtily. "And 'tis not _thy_ claims I fear."

Aymery was about to make an angry retort when he noticed the pieces of armour he so highly prized lying about the floor in all parts of the room.

"Who hath flung my armour here?" he cried, with a sudden burst of wrath. "I will trounce him finely--upon my sword, I swear it--whoever the varlet may be. Was't any of ye?" he ended fiercely, as he glared at the shamefaced pages.

The boys looked at one another uneasily, and then one more brazen than the rest replied coolly:

"Why dost not look after thy property, Aymery? Where didst leave it? Not with any of us, I'll warrant."

"Ah, I recollect! 'Twas with the armourer's boy I left it. Doubtless he still thinketh 'tis only Edgar's bidding he must do. It seemeth I must teach him another well-merited lesson. Bid him come to me at once, Maurice--be off with thee!"

The page sped off upon his errand, and the others waited, eyeing Aymery expectantly, for they felt that something more than the chastisement of an unruly youth was in the wind. At any moment Edgar Wintour might come in, for it was nigh upon his time, and none thought that he would see Aymery flog Peter without interfering. The angry esquire spent the minute or two which elapsed before the boy's arrival in examining the pieces of armour strewn about the floor, and the inspection apparently did nothing to improve his temper.

Peter had evidently been told what was afoot, for he went straight up to Aymery immediately he entered.

"You want me, sir," he said quietly.

"Aye, varlet," cried Aymery, grasping him roughly by the collar, "dost see my armour strewn about the floor? What dost mean by it? I will break every bone in thy body, dog that thou art!" and he gave emphasis to his savage words by shaking Peter with all his strength.

"I placed them not there," cried Peter, twisting himself free. "I know nothing of it."

"Know nothing of it!" cried Aymery, still more incensed. "The work is only half done--dost know nothing of that? Knave, get thee to work at once and do it over again, or I will beat thee so thou canst not stand."

Peter hesitated a moment, for the armourer was busy, and was, he knew, awaiting his return with some impatience. Misunderstanding his reluctance to do his behest, Aymery's wrath boiled up and over, and, seizing the boy by the shoulders, he flung him across the table.

"Come, Roland, aid me administer a sound thrashing to this obstinate varlet. He thinketh 'tis only Wintour's bidding he must do, and hangeth back when we command."

Roland was only too ready, and grasped and held Peter while Aymery snatched up a couple of armour buckles and belaboured him with all his strength. There could be no doubt that Aymery was almost beside himself with rage, for the buckles tore away Peter's clothing until they reached and began to score deeply into the bare flesh--and still he went on.

At first the lad bore the beating in silence, but as the buckles began to cut into his back he commenced to scream with ever-increasing intensity.

It was in the midst of this that Edgar suddenly entered. The screams and the sight of Peter, face downwards on the table and covered with blood, smote him as a blow, and his face blanched in a way that none had ever seen before.

"Get thee gone, Wintour," cried Aymery recklessly. "This is well-merited punishment, and interfere thou shalt not."

For answer, Edgar sprang at the speaker, seized him round the waist, and flung him heavily against the wall. Then he turned fiercely upon Roland; but that worthy shrank back before his pale face and flashing eyes, and, letting go Peter, fled to the wall and tore down a sword.

Finding himself free, Peter crawled from the table and dragged himself into the inner room, the door of which Edgar flung open while he faced and kept watch upon his furious comrades. He, too, had snatched a sword from the wall, and he now placed himself squarely in the doorway and waited. The moment Aymery had recovered his balance, he felt at his side and grasped the hilt of his sword. But Duplessis laid firm hand upon his arm and whispered an urgent warning, and Aymery was not so mad but that he was able to realize the dangerous folly of attacking Edgar with sharpened and pointed weapon. Abandoning his first impulse, he followed Roland's example, and, possessing himself of one of the blunted, pointless weapons used in their practices, instantly attacked the figure standing in the doorway of the room in which the cripple lad had taken refuge, standing with ready poise as though prepared to dispute with all present their right to pass unchallenged.

The encounter that ensued was so reckless and desperate that none present had seen the like before. Aymery at first seemed too angry to trouble about defending, and hacked at his adversary with a fierce rapidity that gave Edgar little time for other than parrying. In a minute or two, however, he managed to give Aymery so strong a thrust with his pointless weapon against his unjerkined chest that he was compelled to cease pressing in to close quarters and to pay some attention to defence.

"Smite home, Aymery," cried Roland, thinking his friend was giving back. "Smite home, or let me have my fling at the braggart!"

Stung into more reckless activity, Aymery sprang again to the attack, leaving his head for the moment unguarded. Before his own blow had fallen, the flat of Edgar's weapon caught him heavily upon the side of the head, and he fell back against the table, sick and half-fainting. Edgar had scarcely stepped back into position before Roland was savagely attacking him in his turn, secure in the possession of headpiece and jerkin, which he had cautiously donned whilst the fight with Aymery was proceeding.

"Once thou didst gibe at me for fearing the weight of my comrades' blows," laughed Edgar, as their blades ground together. "Why then this jerkin? Why then this headpiece? Methinks 'tis another that most fears the shock of blows upon skull and body."

"Bah!" cried Roland, "if thou thinkest I care for thy blows I will tear them off."

"The result will be the same," retorted Edgar. "I care neither way. Look to thy guard, or I vow thy headpiece will help thee little."

Though fighting keenly, Edgar kept an eye upon the room as well as upon his adversary. Aymery, he could see, was recovering from the blow he had received, and in a moment might be expected to renew the fight with temper little improved by the sharpness of his punishment. Others of his comrades were whispering together, and he fancied they meditated an attack to overcome his resistance and put an end to the conflict.

Thinking it time to rid himself of Roland, for Aymery had given himself a shake and grasped his sword anew, Edgar put into effect a trick he had learned of Gaspard some years before. As their swords grated together he locked his blade in the hilt of his opponent's sword, and, with a sharp wrench, tore the weapon from his grasp. With a shout of pain, for his wrist had been severely twisted, Roland jumped swiftly back out of reach; then, recovering from his surprise, he seized another weapon from the wall and sprang to the attack once more. Aymery was now also attacking, and the two made such an onslaught that Edgar was compelled to fence as he had never fenced before.

Suddenly the door opened and Geoffrey Fletcher entered, followed by a couple of men-at-arms.

"Hold!" he cried. "Hold! Cease this brawling, or ye shall cool your heels in the guardroom."

But neither Aymery nor Roland paid any heed to his words; they were too intent upon beating down Edgar's resistance. Roland had already inflicted a severe blow upon his unprotected head, and, dizzy from the effects, Edgar had retired a pace or two into the doorway, where the two blades could play upon him less easily.

"Men-at-arms, arrest these brawlers!" cried Geoffrey sternly, and striding forward, followed by the two men, he seized Roland roughly by the shoulder and struck down his sword with his own weapon. One of the men-at-arms seized Aymery, and the other approached Edgar, who immediately flung his sword upon the floor, and, folding his arms, looked the man in the face.

"There, Matthew!" he said, as quietly as his heaving chest would allow, "take it--it has done its work so far. Then come with me and help me to take poor Peter to his bed. He is the innocent cause of all this unhappy mischief."

Matthew picked up the weapon and went and looked at Peter, who was supporting himself, half-fainting, against the wall. Then, recalled by the stern voice of Geoffrey, he whispered: "I will return and see to him, or send someone in my place."

"Men-at-arms, march the prisoners to the guard-room, and keep them close till Sir John's pleasure is known," commanded Geoffrey; and the esquires, sobered by the recollection of their folly now that the heat of the conflict was evaporating, marched unresistingly out of the chamber down the stairs to the guardroom adjoining the castle gates.

*CHAPTER VI*

*Sir John's Esquire*

The three esquires were kept closely confined the rest of the day and all night in a cell leading out of the guardroom, watched over by a man-at-arms, to see that there was no renewal of hostilities. The interval gave them time for quiet reflection, and doubtless the first conclusion they came to was that such a fracas was hardly likely to commend any one of them to Sir John Chartris as being a suitable candidate for the position of his personal esquire, especially at a time when he was about to start for Guienne and Gascony accompanied by a portion of his household. It was obvious that he would wish for an esquire who possessed prudence as well as fighting capacity, when at any time it might be necessary to leave him in sole charge of his affairs.

To Edgar, at any rate, the thought was torture. Though he could scarcely see how he could have acted otherwise--for the rescue of Peter he never for a moment regretted--he yet felt angry with himself that he had not somehow avoided a collision at a time so critical in his career. However his comrades may have got on, he himself scarcely slept a wink all night.

It was nearly midday when a summons came to the prisoners that they were to prepare themselves for an interview with Sir John. Half an hour later Geoffrey appeared, again accompanied by a guard of men-at-arms, and the three esquires were marched across the courtyard to the council chamber of Sir John, high up in the walls of the keep. Curious eyes watched them pass by, for the news that there had been a serious fracas in the esquires' quarters had spread like wildfire through the castle. Some commiseration was expressed at their ill luck in the affair happening whilst Sir John was at the castle, and, consequently, in their having to appear before him, for he was known to be something of a martinet.

As they approached the door of Sir John's chamber it opened, and a youth stepped out. It was Peter, the armourer's assistant. Aymery and Roland looked at one another gloomily. His presence hardly augured well for them.

The first thing the three young men noticed as they were ushered into the room was that Sir Percy Standish as well as Sir John Chartris was present. Both knights were seated at a table fronting the doorway, and Geoffrey ranged the three esquires facing them, with a man-at-arms on either flank. He then took a seat at Sir Percy's side.

"What am I to think of my esquires," began Sir John in a stern, upbraiding voice, as he fixed his steel-grey eyes upon each of the young men in turn, "what am I to think of the example they set to my men-at-arms and retainers when they brawl thus amongst themselves? How can I entrust to them the command of soldiers when they have no command over themselves and less knowledge of discipline?"

"But, Sir John----" began Aymery hotly.

"Cease, boy!--I will hear no excuses. There can be no excuse for the men I command to fight amongst themselves. Had this breach of discipline occurred in face of the enemy I would surely have sent ye back to your homes--disgraced esquires. Now ye shall spend the rest of the day and night in the guard chamber, to meditate upon my words and your own folly; and for two weeks more the sentinel at the gate will have orders to refuse you exit. Dost understand?"

The three esquires murmured assent.

"Then, Geoffrey, remove the prisoners, and see that my commands are obeyed."

The three esquires were marched back to their cell, gloomy and cast down. Sir John's words and the sentence had sounded the death knell of all their hopes of becoming Sir John's esquire and accompanying him to the wars, and Aymery and Roland, at least, felt with bitter certainty that it was their own cruelty and overbearing conduct they had to thank for it. In their distress of mind a truce was patched up between the three esquires, and though Edgar could not yet forget the others' cruelty to poor Peter, and they could not so soon forget their heavy defeat, they tacitly agreed to let the matter rest and to be as friendly as they could.

At the end of the fortnight of confinement within the precincts of the castle Sir John sent for Edgar. Wondering what the summons might mean, coming so close upon his disgrace, Edgar made speed to obey.

"This quarrel of thine," began Sir John abruptly, though in a not unkindly tone; "I have made enquiries, and I am not disposed to make too much of thy mischance. Perhaps, even, I may think that thou didst not altogether ill to break my rules and to defend the lad. Geoffrey hath told me how it came about that thou didst save the lad at peril of thine own life, and doubtless 'twould be too hard to expect thee to hold thy peace when thy comrades were mishandling him."

Sir John paused for a moment and looked at him thoughtfully, and Edgar, thinking something required of him, murmured: "Thank you, Sir John."

"But how didst come to learn that trick with the sword that hath set thy comrades wondering?" went on the knight in a brisker tone. "I mean that catch of thy weapon that tore Roland's from his grasp?"

"'Twas learned at Gaspard's, Sir John."

"Gaspard's? And who is Gaspard?"

"He is the founder of a school of arms in London town to which I have been going twice in every week. I thought perhaps Geoffrey had told thee that it was on the return from one of my visits to Gaspard's that I rescued Peter."

"Ha, yes! He did mention it, but I paid no heed. Didst not then feel satisfied with Sir Percy's teaching?"

"Yes, sir; but after a time I thought that I might learn more, and might obtain a knowledge of more varied forms of attack and defence, did I seek other practices."

"Thou wert right. 'Tis well not to move in too narrow a circle. I found that out, overlate, in my first battle, and for the lack I paid heavily in blood and pain. However, I learned my lessons in time. But how dost fare at Gaspard's? Art put quite in the shade?"

"He tells me," replied Edgar slowly, and flushing slightly, "that I am his most promising pupil. Oftentimes he asks me to have a bout with visitors who have heard of his school and who would try how far his instruction extends."

"Ha! That sounds vastly to thy credit. And dost win these bouts or dost lose?"

"I lose sometimes," replied Edgar evasively, wishing the knight would not press the point so far.

"I must see this Gaspard," said Sir John reflectively. "My sword hath been idle of late, and 'twould not come amiss to practise on his pupils ere I join our forces in Guienne; but, ha! at any rate I can practise on his most promising pupil. Get thy sword, Edgar, and I will test thy prowess for myself."

"Nay, sir, I beg thou wilt not; 'twere scarce seemly for esquire----"

"Ho! ho! Thou fearest to beat me?--or dost fear to be put to the test? Nay, 'tis not the latter; I wrong thee there, I am sure. Well, never mind, lad, I have other matters to think of for the moment. I purpose to make thee my esquire. What dost think of it?"

Edgar gave a start for sheer joy.

"Think of it, Sir John? It is all I could desire in all the world. I will serve thee--I do not say well, but as well as it is in my power to do."

"There are other things than fighting and riding to be done, Edgar. Thou mayst have to stay behind when I go campaigning, to look after the ladies and to see to my interests. For this I need a cool head and a devoted heart. Canst fulfil these conditions?"

"I will try so to do, Sir John."

"Very well. I appoint thee my esquire. Every morning thou wilt come to me for thy instructions. In three weeks, if the weather favours our projects, we set sail for Guienne, and in those three weeks we must have furbished up our arms, selected the men-at-arms and archers who are to accompany us, and hied us to the coast."

Edgar's joy was so great that he could scarcely collect his thoughts, but at last he managed to stammer out his thanks.

"Say no more, Edgar. Now go, and see thou keep'st the peace with thy comrades. They will be sorely disappointed, but thou hast earned thy reward and they have not. I am glad 'tis thee, Edgar Wintour, who wilt accompany me, for thy father's sake as well as for thine own. Thou know'st what he did for me? Well, he desired that thou shouldst make thy way by thine own efforts, without help from me, and so far thou hast done so indeed. Now go, and bear thyself generously towards thy less fortunate comrades."

The next two weeks were weeks of delight to Edgar. In all that appertained to the expedition to Guienne he became Sir John's lieutenant; and when, some three days before the time came to march for the coast, Sir John was called away to London to consult with the Earl of Derby, Edgar was left in sole charge of the contingent of twenty men and the ladies of the household who were to accompany them.

On the day on which it had been arranged for the march to the coast to commence Sir John had not returned. Word soon arrived, however, that he had been detained, and would make the journey direct in the train of the Earl of Derby. Edgar was to set out at once with the Wolsingham men-at-arms and ladies, and was to meet him at Dover.

Gaily the company mustered. The men-at-arms were all picked men, well armed, and in the best of spirits at the prospect of the stirring times before them. The ladies were wild with delight at the change from the dull round of their life, spent mainly behind the walls of the castle. The glitter of weapons and the gleam of armour, the bright dresses of the ladies and the glossy coats of the horses, made a pretty picture against the sombre, massive walls of the castle, and Edgar, as he slowly convinced himself that he really was, for the time at any rate, to command this little force, was dazzled at his wonderful good fortune. Looking as unconcerned as he could, however, he bade his comrades and Geoffrey a most cordial farewell, and then gave the word to march. With deafening fanfare of trumpets the cavalcade wound round the courtyard, under the frowning portcullis, and across the drawbridge to the sunny countryside. All seemed to smile in happiness to Edgar as he rode in the rear, his heart bounding with gladness and hope. Could he have looked forward a few months and become aware of the strange vicissitudes and heart-shaking adventures he would have to face in the sunny south of France, it may be that he would have been less glad and a little more thoughtful.

*CHAPTER VII*

*To Guienne*

"What wouldst do, Sir Edgar?" enquired Beatrice d'Alencon in a tone of formality, but with a lurking air of mock respect, as Edgar, in riding towards the front of the column, passed by the steeds of the two ladies. "What wouldst do an we were to disobey thy commands? Oh, I know thou art said to be wonderful with thy sword, but though that may impress the men-at-arms, it is naught to us."

Edgar smiled and made as though to pass on without speaking.

"Answer me, sir, for I have a mind to go my own way now that we are free from Sir John and that odious Geoffrey."

"Thou wilt not disobey," replied Edgar quietly.