Golden Horseshoes. A tale of chivalry for young and old

Preface

. My dear Readers, If you go to Oakham, the chief town of the smallest county in England, you will find a hall hung with gold and silver horseshoes. If you go to Leicester, and know where to look for it you will find a guild chapel with windows containing little panes with a chalice and host represented in each. If you go to the Welsh border you will find many traditions of murderous raids, sudden incursions, massacres, and revengeful proceedings. It is the privilege of an old story-teller to go from place to place collecting curious things ; he is not bound to let his readers know where his materials are gathered, but the above few instances are mentioned for fear you should say such things could never have existed. So many quaint local customs existed in mediæval times, so many extraordinary events occurred in that adventurous age, that we may almost say, little was improbable, nothing was impossible.

CONTENTS, CHAPTER PAGE I. Waking up i II. The Oath 17 III. Glittering Spears 34 IV. The Cross in the Forest 46 V. The Wishing Well 59 VI. The Favoured Guest 74 VII. A Song in the Wood 89 VIII. S. Mary's Abbey 101 IX. A Doleful Ditty 119 X. Huntley Hall 134 XI. The Poor Fool 150 XII. The Battle of Love 167 XIII. A Magnificent Suitor 182 XIV. Hidden Treasure 197 XV. Hunting a Serf 212 XVI. A Rush to the Rescue 225 XVII. Going to the Jews 240 XVIII. Death in the Forest 257 XIX. The Jewelled Horseshoe . . . . .270 XX. The Shepherd's Valley 286 XXI. The Light in the Tower ._• . . .303 XXII. Long live the King GOLDEN HORSESHOES. & ©ale of Œljtbalrg.

Chapter I. Waking Up

T N the olden days, the days of chivalry as they are called, that is to say, the days of knighthood, for thus we interpret the word ' chevalerie,' the grey towers of Belmont Castle rose above the long Forest of Netherwood. The trees, just beginning to put forth that bright fresh green colour so dear to those who long to welcome the opening spring, clothed the foot of the hill upon which the small stronghold stood. But green trees were not allowed to grow close to the walls of ancient fortresses, and the crest of the fortified hill was left bare up to the bastions, though now both it and the ruins are hidden in tangled forest. It was a cold evening in early spring, and the great log fire in the hall of the castle was still lit every day, for the beams of the sun shone faintly through the narrow long slits which admitted the light of heaven to the inhabitants of the some what lonely dwelling.

The winter had been long and dreary. E GOIDEN HORSESHOES. 2 True, the salt provisions, the goodly fat deer, the tender geese, the lean mutton, and the somewhat poorly fed beef had all held out better than the lady of the castle had hoped, but there was something more required than abundant provisions to make the short dark days, the long cold nights, slip cheerily away in the somewhat sad castle of Belmont It was twilight ; and the fire and the last rays of departing day strove for the mastery, producing that mysterious gloaming which is so welcome to the idle, so restful to the busy. Three figures stood near the fire ; a youth approach ing manhood, a fine looking lad, and a bright little girl. The two last gazed with wondering eyes upon their brother who ever and anon impatiently kicked the wood with his heel, sending out sparks of fire into the darkness of the hall.

The young man was tall and well made, he was clad in a close-fitting dress of Lincoln green, and girt with a leather belt ; his fair hair hung down over his shoulders, and his complexion was bright and clear, but his eyebrows were dark in colour, and his eyes of that peculiar sapphire blue so seldom seen with a fair complexion. He was a noble youth, but appeared pensive and unhappy, and the bright boy who stood beside him looked on him wonderingly, and pressed his little sister's hand, as if he would have said, had he dared, " How cross Alfred is to-night ; how I wish we could keep out of his way !" After a few more minutes of moody silence Alfred spoke, " Throw another log on the fire, Oswy, it is chilly to-night." "Chilly, brother?" said Oswy, as he threw the smallest he could find upon the glittering shimmering heap, " why, one would think that thy blood must be the blood of an old man.

May-day will soon be here, and the cuckoo's note will cheer us all up. Cuckoo ! cuckoo !" and he ran merrily about the hall, never heeding the gloom upon his brother's brow. " Cuckoo ! cuckoo !" cried cherry-cheeked Maud, imitating her brother, " soon we shall dance round the May-pole, and make garlands of flowers, soon we shall have fresh trout from the river, and eat no more nasty salt meat. Art thou not glad, dear brother ?" " Poor little fools !" said Alfred contemptuously, " gar lands and trout, fresh meat and dicky-birds, behold your enjoyments !" "And what then are thine, dear brother? What are the things thou lovest ?" said Oswy, looking up to him with the veneration due to a superior being. " Knightly spurs and escutcheons, the clang of arms and deeds of glory, the crash of battle, the death of one's enemy."

"And when thou hast killed him, dear brother, what wilt thou do with him ? What good will he be to thee then ?" " Do to play with," chirped Maud, " bury him, bury him under the green grass like my birdie that died. We had a grand funeral, had we not? and Oswy mumbled the Latin finely ; oh, it was a rare funeral, when we shut Jackie up in a box, and dug a grave six inches deep ; but I did cry, oh, how I did cry !" and the little thing thrust her fists into her eyes, and set up a doleful howl for " poor Jackie, poor little Jackie !" " Sing her a song, Alfred, sing her a song," said Oswy, who could not bear to see his little sister weep. The young man took a lute into his hand, and tossing back his hair he swept the strings with his long fingers, and after one or two preliminary chords, sang a song, in ancient English of course, but with something of this manner : " Red deer come forth with joyful tread, To drink at bubbling springs, Black rooks caw merrily overhead, Shall I not spread my wings ?

One love sings out 'Away ! away !' The other whispers, ' No' — Shall I heed the love that bids me stay Or the love that bids me go ? "The violet peeps above the moss, The white dove builds her nest, The primrose wreathes the old stone cross, The soft wind sighs ' To rest !' One love sings out 'Away ! away !' The other whispers, ' No ;' Shall I heed the love that bids me stay, Or the love that bids me go ? " I think of all I leave behind, My tears fall down Hke rain ; The trumpet sound is on the wind, My heart grows strong again. Farewell ! ye voices soft and low, The Red Cross gleams — Away ! I will heed the love that bids me go, Not the love that bids me stay !" Alfred spoke the words distinctly, but the accompaniment was nothing : merely a chord or two now and then, just to keep his voice steady, and to give his hands something to do.

Little Maud stopped crying, and taking one of his hands, stroked it, and said, " Clever brother !" Oswy looked disappointed. " What a doleful ditty !" he exclaimed. " Did you make it up yourself, brother?" "Yes, in good sooth. I made it when I was leaning against an oaktree in the forest this morning, and thinking how all things were coming to life except ourselves and our own stupid, listless existence." " Clever Alfred ! I shall like it better now that I know it is thine own song ; but one love and the other love, what does it mean ? and why dost thou sing of two loves ?" " O, stupid Oswy ! canst thou not see that it is but one and the same love, only it calls different ways at different times ?" " No," said Oswy, " I do not see. And if thou meanest it, why canst thou not say so ? One love calling one way, and another calling another way : why, Alfred, this is not comely, and our mother would not like it !"

" Pshaw ! It is of no use explaining anything to thee. Thou hast not a spark of imagination ; little Maud here has ten times as much. How now, little Maud, what does the song mean ?" " The red deer said, Come here, and the black rook said, Go away," said Maud, smiling, thinking she had found the key to the whole mystery. Alfred gave another kick to the smouldering log, whilst Oswy asked impatiently, " But what about the two loves, who are they, Maud ?" "The red deer and the black rook," was the contented and decided reply. " Oh, what nonsense," said Oswy, who was of a matter-of fact turn of mind, and inclined to hammer at everything until it came right, or at any rate was proved to his satisfaction. " You can't be in love with a red deer and a black rook, it would not be worth the trouble."

" Our mother told me once," said Maud quite gravely, " that there was nothing worth the trouble but the love of God." " And yet my mother loved my father exceedingly," said Alfred. Maud shook her head, as if this were a question far beyond her understanding, but Oswy chimed in : — " O yes, I know she did ; she has never cared for any thing since, and old John of the stable, and old Madge of the kitchen, have told me over and over again of that dread ful night ten years ago, when our father was brought home dead. It was an autumn night, and the wind howled through the forest, and the dead leaves were flying about, and even coming through the windows and finding a resting place upon the hall floor." " They couldn't," said Maud, " because there are no trees near enough." " Well, never mind, Madge said so."

" And if Madge said so, I suppose it must be true," said Alfred, with something of a sneer. "Yes, of course," said Oswy, carelessly, "but how you interrupt me, brother. Well, they heard a horn outside, but it was not the noise my father made, his blast was loud and shrill, and this was uncertain and trembling — Madge some times tries to blow like it through her hand to show me how —and then — and then — " " What next ?" said Maud, never tired of the oft-told tale. " They opened the door, and let down the drawbridge, and they found Richard the falconer, and Hal of the forest, and a score more, and our father's dead body brought home. Oh, Madge said there was a great bruise on his temple, but nobody ever knew who did it. They had found him lying in a copse down by the Shepherd's Valley." " I remember it well," said Alfred, laying his hand on his young brother's shoulder, " and when I think of that night I marvel that I can ever sing song or hunt deer again ; but the world cannot stand still because men must die, and the warm blood rushes fast in my veins, and tells me that revenge is better than mourning.

I wish, oh, how I could kill him !" "Kill him? whom?" said Maud. " Why the man who killed our father, of course." " Is he your enemy then that you wanted to kill ? If you do kill him, dear Alfred, do not forget you are to bring him home for me to bury." " By the side of poor Jackie ? I will try to remember. But you two may talk as lightly as you please, I cannot think of it lightly. I can remember," — and Alfred shuddered as he thought of that night when his mother made him kneel down by her at the side of his father's corpse. " I cannot remember, I was not born," said Maud. " I cannot remember, I was only two years old," said Oswy. " Ought I to have remembered, brother ; was it very wicked of me not to remember ?" " Oh, no ! I have heard our mother say that three years old is the earliest time we can remember, but I was ten years old when it happened, and I remember it all as if it were yesterday.

Poor father ! how grand and beautiful he looked ! He used to promise to take me to the wars with him ; now I go nowhere ; I might as well be a swineherd !" " O, brother, dear ! Are you not the chief in the castle next to our mother? Are you not the guardian of the family and the defender of the mother and Maud ? Oh, I think it must be a grand thing to be the eldest," and Oswy stretched himself out, trying to make himself look as tall as his elder brother. "A much finer thing to be the youngest, I warrant thee, and to be allowed a horse, and a suit of armour, and a purse of gold pieces, and to be allowed to seek one's fortune, and live the life the son of a soldier should. But why should I talk to a boy like thee ? When thou comest to my age, perchance thou wilt feel the same." " I should like the purse of gold pieces now," said Oswy, with the delight of one to whom such a treasure was rare indeed.

" I should like the purse of gold pieces now, but I would go down to Huntley, and spend my money in the town. O what a rare thing to swagger through the town, and hear the market folk cry out, ' What d'ye lack ? what d'ye lack ?' and then to say in a high and mighty manner, ' Good fellow, I lack everything, and will buy the whole of thy merchandise !' and to see them cap to one, good brother, it makes me laugh to think of it !" " And it would make them laugh, depend upon it ; it is fortunate, Master Madcap, that thou hast no money to spend upon gewgaws and trifles." " Gewgaws and trifles ! I should buy a new green kirtle for Maud, and a gold chain for our mother, and a bright yellow kerchief for Madge, and a silver-mounted whip for John of the stable, and for thee, what should I buy 7" " Ah, what indeed ?" asked Alfred, rather bitterly.

" A new sword, brother, a new sword. I know that thou lovest cutting and hacking." " Better get me leave to use mine own. I mean my father's. There it hangs uselessly, and there it may hang and rust itself all to pieces. I wish the old fairy tales could come true, and I would e'en turn myself into a watch-dog ; for that is what my mother thinks me fittest for." " A great big Bow-wow !" said Maud. " What a good name for thee, and methinks, brother, thou art rather like one to-night. What has made thee such a grumbler ?" "Why, when I was out to-day, trying to catch some of those speckled trout in the river, a whole army of gallant men went by, and one of them called out, ' Hollo ! Alfred the Brave, once king of the Anglo-Saxons, art thou fishing in tame waters, when all true soldiers are setting out for France ?

Fie on thee !' I turned and saw Edgar of Red wick ; he is a jeering Welshman, for all he beareth a Saxon name, and I nearly knocked him off his horse. There was a noble array of fighting men, and he looked so brave with the golden lion shining on his helmet, and his soldiers trotting by with the light flashing on their glittering spears, I could have sunk into the earth for shame." " And wherefore ?" said Oswy philosophically, though he knew not what philosopher meant. " Thou wert not a bit worse than before Edgar of Redwick went by. His passing thee made no difference." " No, but listen ; thou hast not heard all. I asked him where he was riding so fast, and he said, ' Where but to the south to join King Edward's army for France.' And then he continued, ' I marvel at thee, I marvel at thy father's son staying quietly at home when there is work to be done that would make thy father rise out of his grave ;' and then, worst of all, he said, ' if I had no men-at-arms to bring out to the king, I might take service under his banner, and he would give me free quarters, and good wages.' Service under his banner ?

Faugh ! Blood cannot wash out the insult ! And there was I amongst all his armed men utterly defenceless whilst they laughed !" " Didst thou not take thy purse out of thy girdle, and fling it in his face 7" said Oswy, colouring as red as fire. " I would have done so, but by my troth, the purse was empty, not even a groat in it, Oswy, and they would have laughed me to scorn utterly." " Are we, then, so very poor ?" asked the young brother, thoughtfully. " As poor as it is possible to be ; but I must ask our mother how things stand with us, and take some steps to retrieve our shattered fortunes. She will know how it is to be done." " Brother, there is plenty to eat ; I know it, for I peeped down the steep steps into the store-cellars. There are yet two fat bucks salted down, two sides of bacon, and a number of salted wild fowl ; we shall not starve for a long time, and we should not want even were May-day to put itself off till next October."

This was Maud's contribution to the general stock of information. Alfred laughed. He well knew that poverty to those of gentle blood means something far worse than hunger. It means inability to keep their proper place in the race of life, it means the impossibility of doing as their fathers did. " Alfred," said Oswy, " I would that thou wert really King Alfred, and had to fight those wretched Danes, thou wouldst do it well. When that great name was given thee, depend upon it our father and mother expected great things of thee ; it is a glorious name, good brother." " It is, and I am proud of it ; but what is the use of a name if one is not allowed to do anything for it?" And Alfred D'Arcy gazed down again into the fire. The young people would have talked on until next morning, but the red curtain which hid a small arched doorway at the upper end of the hall shook, and Oswy put his finger to his lips, and whispered, " Mother !"

An awestruck silence fell upon the three ; the red curtain was drawn aside, and down the three stone steps which led into the hall walked a somewhat remarkable figure. The tall pointed head-dress of the time made Matilda D'Arcy, the lady of the castle, look taller than she really was, but her height and figure were majestic, and as she looked round the hall with somewhat of a frown, she seemed to question the right of any human being to interrupt her sadness. True, she had left off her widow's dress some time, but her train and bodice were of black, her petticoat and facings of what was then called " sadde colour," her face was calm, and seemed as though it had not known a smile for years. As she came into the hall her sons and daughter rose, and placed a chair for her near the smouldering embers.

" Thanks, Alfred, thanks, gentle Oswy," she said, with a calm, silvery voice, " and little Maud, too, thanks, my dar ling," and she put her arm round the cherished daughter's neck, but the arm was cold, and Maud withdrew from its embrace. " 'Tis time for thee and Oswy to go to rest, but before thou goest, forget not to say Our Father and Hail Mary and the Creed. Farewell, my little ones, I heard your merry voices, and thought the hour had come to say good-night." In the quaint and edifying manner of that day, the children knelt for their mother's blessing. She gave it them, and the young brother and sister bounded up the narrow winding stone stair, and then along a narrow stone passage till they came to two little rooms, one within the other, where old Madge was already busy with her por ridge for the children.

Meantime, the mother and Alfred were left together. There were no troops of retainers to spoil the privacy of their hall ; for the D'Arcys of Belmont were no longer able to afford such state. Earlier in the evening the meal had been set upon the board (how much smaller than the board of Alfred's father's time !) and quickly eaten, and the remains of the modest supper given to the dogs, and board and trestles taken away again, and then Lady D'Arcy had retired to the quiet of her own small turret-room, and left the young ones to their talk and their diversions, until the time came to wish them good-night. Too glad to get away from what she deemed to be " the strife of tongues," she little knew the joy her presence would have given, nor the influence she missed by living so much within herself, but the shadow of a great grief is an awful and mysterious thing — and there were those who said that Lady D'Arcy had never been quite the same since Sir John was brought home dead that dark, sad autumn night.

" Mother ! are we so very poor ?" asked Alfred, rushing into his difficulties, and afraid of losing his opportunity if he made not great haste, for his mother was feeling for the gold rosary that hung by her side, and he knew that if those fair long white fingers once strayed amongst its beads there was little hope of audience for any worldly matter. " Who says so, Alfred ? Who has been filling thy mind with discontent ? Have we not all we want ? Is not the store-room full of salted meat, the cellar stocked with wine 7" " Yes, mother, thanks to thy kind care, thy watchful pur veying ;" and he took her hand, and kept it prisoner, so that it could not feel for the rosary. " My son, I would that thou wert more attentive to thy religious duties," said Matilda D'Arcy ; " this afternoon only the servants and myself were in the chapel at vespers, besides good Father Dunstan ; it was not seemly, it was not right."

" I crave pardon, dear mother," said Alfred. " The young ones were playing games about the slippery bank, trying who could roll down the quickest towards the outer gateway, and Maud was so dirty when the game was finished, that I warned her to run up to her own bower and get her kirtle changed ; whilst Oswy brushed the mud from off his hose. I know thou canst not bear dirt and disorder." " Right, my son, but there is a disorder of mind that brooks not times and seasons, and this disorder of mind is far worse than any disorder of apparel. And thou, Alfred, where wast thou i" The young man blushed. " I was reading," he answered, "and knew not how the time went. I did not hear the signal. Another time I will come and lead thee to the chapel." " Yes, do, my son, remember thy name, Alfred I named thee according to thy father's wish, out of reverence for our glorious Saxon king, and he was as steadfast to his devotions as to his learning and his fighting.

What doth the old Chronicle say ? Eight hours to business and to government, eight hours to sleep and recreation, eight hours to study and to prayer." " Mother, there may have been some little exaggeration as to facts. Remember, he could not count the time, and then he made candles to do so, and then the candles flared and became unsteady, and perhaps the time became unsteady too." "What are thy studies, Alfred? Something grave and good, I hope, something that thy father and our good chap lain would approve." She took the book from his hand. It was a handsome volume, bound in parchment, with thick clasps : it was beautifully written, and ornamented with little miniature paintings done in gold and colours. In those days it was difficult to get a book, and when such a treasure had been secured, there was no limit to the care bestowed on it.

" A romance ?" said Lady D'Arcy. Alfred felt very much like a modern youth who has been caught reading "Jack Sheppard," when his fond parents suppose him to be absorbed in study. She unclasped the book, and read, " The Romance of the Nightingale, with alle the fayre things whiche he sang to the Rose, set forth in seventy-seven gentle ditties of seventy seven verses each." A beautiful book to look at, but very dull we should think it now ; however, in Lady D'Arcy's eyes it was the extreme of dissipated literature. " My son, my son, there is something better for thee to do than to toy with these trifles. Give it to me, and thou shalt have the Life of S. Etheldreda instead ; I have it in two thick volumes, with all the miracles in an appendix. This stuff will do thee no good." " Thanks, gentle mother, but I heard the chaplain dis course thereon last S. Etheldreda's Day ; I would rather play with Rollo than read so much, as I have not King Alfred's head."

Lady D'Arcy opened the book, and read. "O lovely Rose, cradled amid sharp thorns, Tears in thine eyes, sweet balm within thy heart, Living alone, soft eves and golden morns, Art thou not weary ? Speak, before we part !" " What nonsense ! as if it could ! I wonder, Alfred, thou canst waste time over such stuff. Is this what the night ingale said to the rose?" " O yes, mother, but there is a deal more, and much better than that. The nightingale finds the rose all alone in the wood — " " That is nonsense, too, then, for there were sure to be other flowers on the same bush." "Yes, there were; but they did not understand it." " Give me the book, Alfred ; I will give thee another for it." " I cannot, mother, it was borrowed." " From whom ?" The young man blushed more than ever. " From Oke over Castle."

" Then return it, my son." " I will in a day or two, I cannot until I have finished it." The mother sighed. She saw that the heart of the young man was waking up, and that there would be little peace after this. The days of happy childhood had gone for ever. " I would ask leave to read thee some of it," said Alfred, " but I fear it would not be to thy taste. Perchance Maud and Oswy will love it more." " I pray thee do not begin to read them such trifling things ; graver studies befit their years, and for recreation time there is many a nursery tale will do them more good than this." She need not have been afraid ; the exceeding dulness of the old romance made it very safe reading to all except to those whose hearts were waking up. " Mother," said Alfred, changing the subject suddenly, "why are we so poor?"

He thought that now there might be more chance of an answer, for he had received his reprimand. " Ask Sir James d'Egville of White Rocks," said Matilda D'Arcy ; and the eyes which had looked so calm and peaceful now flashed with the sudden light of anger. " Ask him whose hatred pursues us, whose lands join ours, who sued the king for the wardship of the widow and the heir, and would have got it had it not been for the interference of the mitred Abbot of S. Mary's. Then balked in his wishes, he began to filch this piece of land and that, this field and that field, this farm and the one beyond, and there was no one to lead the retainers forth to fight him ; what could I do with a young boy, and two infants, and not a man belonging to the family who could help us ? He represented his claims to King Edward, he protested that thy father had robbed him, and that he had prior claims to the land, and worst of all he lent money to the king for his wars, and they say that however just King Edward may be, the man who lends him money for his wars is sure to get his cause."