A boy's ride

Front matter

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Chapter I

I T was the last of May in the north of England, in the year 1209. A very different England from what any boy of to-day has seen. A chilly east wind was blowing. The trees of the vast forests were all in leaf but the ash trees, and they were unfolding their buds. And along a bridle-path a few miles southwest of York a lad of fourteen was riding, while behind him followed a handsome deerhound. A boy of fourteen, at that age of the world, was an older and more important personage than he is to-day. If he were well-born he had, generally, by this time, served his time as a page and was become an esquire in the train of some noble lord. That this lad had not done so was because his uncle, a prior in whose charge he had been reared since the early death of his parents, had designed him for a priest. Priest, however, he had declined to be, and his uncle had now permitted him to go forth unattended to attach himself as page to some lord, if he could.

To-day he seemed very much at home in the great wood as he glanced about him fearlessly, but so he would have been anywhere. Apparently he was unprotected from assault save by the bow he carried. In reality he wore a shirt of chain mail beneath his doublet, a precaution which he the more willingly took because of his good hope one day to be a knight, when not only the shirt of mail, but the helmet, shield, sword, and lance would be his as well.

It was not far from noon when he came to the great open place cleared of all timber and undergrowth which announced the presence of a castle. And looking up, he saw the flag of the De Aldithelys flying from its turrets.

There was a rustle in the thicket, horse and deerhound pricked up their ears, and then ran pursued by flying arrows. And now ride! ride, my brave boy, and seek shelter within the walls! For till thou reach them, thy shirt of mail must be thy salvation.

The drawbridge was yet down, for a small party of men-at-arms had just been admitted, and across it rushed boy, and horse, and dog before the warder had time to wind his horn: the horse and rider unharmed, but the deerhound wounded.

The warder stared upon the strange boy, and the boy stared back at him. And then the warder crossed himself. “ ’T is some witchcraft,” he muttered. “ Here cometh the young lord, and all the time I know that the young lord is safe within the walls.”

The grooms also crossed themselves before they drew up the bridge. But the boy, unconcerned, rode on across the outer court and passed into the inner one followed by the wounded dog. Here the men-at-arms were dismounting, horses were neighing, and grooms running about. The boy, too, dismounted, and bent anxiously over his dog.

Presently a young voice demanded, “ Whence comest thou? ”

The boy looked up to see his counterpart, the son of the lord of the castle, standing imperiously before him.

“ From York,” answered the stranger, briefly. “ Hast thou a leech that can care for my dog? See how he bleeds.”

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“ Oh, ay,” was the answer. “ But how came he wounded? He hath been deer-stealing, perchance, and the ranger hath discovered him.”

“ Nay,” replied the strange lad, in tones the echo of his questioner’s. “ Thou doest Fleetfoot wrong. We were but pursuing our way when from yonder thicket to the north and adjoining the open, a flight of arrows came. I had been sped myself but for my shirt of mail.”

The leech had now advanced and was caring skilfully for the dog while the strange lad looked on, now and then laying a caressing hand on the hound’s head.

Meanwhile the men-at-arms conferred together and exchanged wise looks while a stout and clumsy Saxon serving-man of about forty shook his head. “ I did dream of an earthquake no longer ago than night before last,” he said, “ which is a dream that doth ever warn the dreamer and all concerned with him to be cautious and careful. Here cometh riding the twin of our young lord: and the Evil One only knoweth how this stranger hath the nose, the eyes, the mouth, the complexion, the gait, the size, and the voice of our young lord, Josceline De Aldi-

thely. Thinkest thou not, William Lorimer, it were cautious and careful to put him and his hound outside the walls, to say nothing of his horse? ” William Lorimer, the captain of the men-at-arms, smiled in derision. A great belief in dreams and omens was abroad in the land: and nowhere had it a more devoted adherent than in Humphrey, the Saxon serving-man, and nowhere a greater scoffer than in William Lorimer.

“ I see thou scoff est, William Lorimer,” pursued Humphrey. “But were he put out, then might those minions of the king shoot at him once more, and spare to shoot at our young lord. I will away to our lady, and see what she ordereth.”

There had always been times in England when no man who stood in the way of another was safe, but these were the times when women and children were not safe. For perhaps the wickedest king who ever sat upon the English throne occupied it now, and his name was John.

This king had tried to snatch the kingdom from his brother, Richard Coeur de Lion, and had failed. When Richard was dead, and John was made king in his stead, there was still another claimant to the throne, — his nephew Arthur, — and him the king in 1204 had murdered, so report said, with his own hand. This was the deed that lost him Normandy and all his other French possessions, and shut him up to rule in England alone. And the English soon had enough of him. He was now in a conflict with the Pope, who had commanded him to receive Stephen Langton as Archbishop of Canterbury. This John had refused to do. Now, the kingdom, on account of the king’s disobedience, was under the papal interdict, and the king was threatened with excommunication.

England had at this time many, many churches, and their bells, before this unfortunate situation, had seemed to be ringing all day long. They rang to call the people to the ordinary church services; they rang to call them to work, and to bid them cease from work. They rang when a baby was born, and when there was a death. And for many other things they rang. Now, under the interdict, no bell rang. There were no usual church services, and everywhere was fasting. A strange England it seemed.

The king had never gotten on well with his barons,

and they hated him. Nevertheless they would have

stood by him if he had been at all just to them.

And surely he needed them to stand by him, for all the world was against him. The French were eager to fight him, and the Church was arrayed against him. But all these things only made the king harder and more unjust to the barons because just now they were the only ones in his power, and his wicked heart was full of rage. He had hit upon one means of punishing them which they all could feel, — he struck them through their wives and children. Some of the barons were obliged to flee from England for their lives. Many were obliged to give the king their sons as pledges of their loyalty. In every man’s knowledge was the sad case of one baron who had been obliged to flee with his wife and son into hiding. The king, through his officers, had pursued them, ferreted them out of their hiding-place, taken the wife and son captive, shut them up in prison, and starved them to death. Lord De Aldithely himself had been obliged to flee, but his son would never be delivered up peaceably to the king’s messengers, for De Aldithely castle was strong and well defended.

This was the meaning of the arrows shot at

the strange boy. The king’s messengers, who

were constantly spying on the castle from the wood in the hope of gaining possession of the person of the young lord by stratagem, had taken him for Josceline, the young heir of the De Aldithelys.

And now came a summons for both lads to come to the ladies’ bower, for Humphrey had not been idle.

“ My change of raiment? ” said the strange lad, inquiringly.

“ Shall be in thy chamber presently,” answered Josceline.

“ I would that Fleet foot also might be conveyed thither,” said the stranger, with an engaging smile.

“ It shall be done,” promised Josceline.

He gave the necessary commands to two grooms, and the lads, each the counterpart of the other, waited a few moments and then started toward the tower stairway, followed by the grooms bearing the huge dog between them on a stretcher. The stair was steep, narrow, and winding, and built of stone. Josceline went first, and was followed by the stranger, who every now and then glanced back to speak a reassuring word to his dog. At

the entrance to the ladies’ bower Josceline paused.

“ Thou mayest, if thou like, lay the dog for a while on a skin by my mother’s fire,” he said, and looked inquiringly at his guest.

“ That would I be glad to do,” was the grateful reply. “See how he shivers from the loss of blood and the chill air.”

For answer Josceline waved his hand toward his mother’s parlor, and the grooms, conveying the dog, obediently entered. For all but Humphrey, the Saxon serving-man, were accustomed to obey the young heir unquestioningly. But Humphrey obeyed no one without question. It was often necessary to convince his rather slow reason and his active and many superstitions before his obedience could be secured. No one else in the castle w T ould have dared to take his course, but Humphrey was thus favored and trusted because he was born a servant in Lord De Aldithely’s father’s house, and was ten years older than the mistress of the castle, whose master was now gone. He had already told Lady De Aldithely all that he knew of the strange lad, and had advised her, with his accustomed frankness, to put lad, horse, and hound at once without the castle walls. Lady De

Aldithely had listened, and when he had finished, 2 [ 17 ]

without any comment, she had commanded him to send the two lads to her.

For a moment Humphrey had seemed disappointed. Then recovering himself he had made answer, “ Oh, ay. It will no doubt be best to see for yourself first, and there is no denying that the three can then be put outside the walls.”

Receiving no reply, he had withdrawn and delivered his message.

Lady De Aldithely was standing evidently in

deep thought when the little group entered. The

strange lad looked at her curiously. He saw a

slight figure clad in a green robe, and as she turned

he caught the gleam of a jewel in the golden fillet

that bound her wimple on the forehead. Her eyes

were blue, and her look one of high courage

shadow r ed somewhat by an expression of anxiety.

One could well believe that, however anxious and

worried she might be, she would still dare to do

what seemed to her best. She now diligently and

eagerly compared the two lads, glancing quickly

from one to the other, and their exceeding great

likeness to each other seemed to strike her with

astonishment. At last she smiled and spoke to

the stranger. “ Thou art welcome, my lad,” she said kindly. “ But whence comest thou? and what is thy name? ”

44 I am to-day from York, and I am called Hugo Aungerville,” was the frank reply with an answering smile.

4 4 To-day,” repeated Lady De Aldithely. 44 That argueth that thy residence is not there, as doth also thy name, which is strange to me.”

44 Thou art right,” replied Hugo. 44 I come from beyond Durham, from the priory of St. Wilfrid, the prior whereof is my uncle, I having no other kin so near as he.”

44 And whither dost thou journey? ” asked Lady De Aldithely.

44 South,” was the answer. 44 My uncle, the prior, would have had me bred a priest, but I would be a knight. Therefore he hath at last given me his blessing and bid me fare forth to attach myself to the train of some nobleman.”

44 Why did he not secure thee a place himself? ” asked Lady De Aldithely in surprise.

44 Because he hath too great caution,” was the answer. 44 These be troublous times. Few be true to the king, and no man knoweth who those few be. Should he choose for me a place and use his influence to secure it, perchance the next week the noble lord might be fleeing, and all in his service, under the hatred of the king. And there might be those who would say, ‘ Here is Hugo Aungerville, the page to my lord, and the nephew of the prior of St. Wilfrid.’ And then might the king pull down the priory about my uncle’s ears, — that

is, I mean he would set my uncle packing. For the priory is fat, and with the prior gone — why, the king is so much the richer. Thou knowest the king.”

“ Too well,” rejoined Lady De Aldithely, with a sigh. 44 The Archbishop of York is 4 gone packing,’ as thou sayest, and the king is all the richer therefor. And this is thy dog that hath the arrow wound,” she continued, as she advanced a few steps and laid her hand on the hound’s head. 44 I have here a medicament of wonderful power.” She turned to a little casket on a table and unlocked

it. Then taking out a small flask, she opened it

and, stooping over the dog, poured a few drops

on the bandage of his wound. 44 He is now as

good as well,” she said smilingly. 44 That is,

with our good leech’s care, which he shall have.

Nay, thou needst not speak thy thanks. They are written in thy face. I see thou lovest thy dog.”

“ Yea, my lady, right well. I have naught else to love.”

“ Except thine uncle, the prior,” said Lady De Aldithely.

“ Except my uncle,” agreed Hugo.

All this time Josceline had waited with impatience and he now spoke. “ He is not to be put outside the walls, mother, is he?”

“ Nay, my son. That were poor hospitality. He may bide here so long as he likes.”

Chapter II

L ife was rather monotonous at the castle, as Hugo found. Occasionally the men-at-arms sallied out, but there were no guests, for Lady De Aldithely was determined to keep her son, if possible, and would trust few strangers. It was a mystery to Humphrey why she had trusted Hugo.

“ I may have dreams of earthquakes,” he grumbled, “and what doth it count? Naught. Here cometh a lad, most like sent by the Evil One, and he is taken in, and housed and fed, and his hound leeched; and he goeth often to my lady’s bower to chat with her; and often into the tilt-yard to practise with our young lord Josceline; and often lieth on the rushes in the great hall at the evening time before the fire with the men-at-arms; and he goeth to the gates with the w r arder and the grooms; and on the walls with William Lorimer; and Robert Sadler followeth him about to have

speech with him and to hear what he will say; and he is as good as if he were My Lord Hugo with everybody, when he is but Hugo, a strange lad, and no lord at all.”

It was as Humphrey had said. Hugo was a favorite with all in the castle. His company was a great solace to Lady De Aldithely in particular. She was drawn to trust him, and every day confided more and more to him concerning her painful and perilous situation. “ I am convinced,” she said one day when two weeks had passed, “ that there is mischief brewing. I fear that I shall lose my boy, and it will break his father’s heart.”

Hugo looked sympathetic.

“ Thou knowest that fathers’ hearts can break,” she said. “ Our first King Henry fell senseless when his son was lost.”

“What fearest thou, Lady De Aldithely?” asked Hugo.

“ Treachery,” was the answer. “ There is some one within the castle walls who will ere long betray us.”

Hugo was silent a while. He was old for his years, very daring, and fond of adventure. And he loved Lady De Aldithely not only for her kindness to him, but for the attention she had given to Fleetfoot. At last he spoke. “ I have a plan. But, perchance, thou mistakest and there is no

traitor within the walls.”

Lady De Aldithely looked at him quickly. “ Nay, I am not mistaken,” she said.

“ Then this is my plan,” announced Hugo. “ Josceline and I be alike. I will personate him. In a week Fleetfoot will be quite recovered. We will go forth. They who watch will think they see Josceline and pursue me. I will lead them a merry chase, I warrant thee.”

“But, my boy!” cried Lady De Aldithely. “ What wild plan is this ? Thou lead such evil men a merry chase? Speak rather of the dove leading the hawk a merry chase.”

“ Even so I will lead them,” declared Hugo. “If they catch me, they shall do well.”

Lady De Aldithely smiled at the boyish presumption. “My poor lad!” she said. “How if they catch thee with an arrow as they caught Fleetfoot? Thou mightest find no castle then to give thee shelter, no leech to salve thy wound.”

“For thee, because of thy kindness, I will risk that,” declared Hugo, after a pause.

Lady De Aldithely put up her hand. “ Hush! ”

she said. “ Speak no more at present to me, and nothing on the subject at any time to any but me. I hear footsteps.”

The footsteps, bounding and light, drew nearer, and presently Josceline looked in at the door. “ Come, Hugo! ” he cried. “ Let us away to the tilt-yard and do our exercise.”

Josceline was already an esquire, and very diligent in the exercises required of an esquire as a part of his training for knighthood. But not more diligent than Hugo had been during his stay at the castle. For Hugo felt himself at a disadvantage on account of having been bred up at the priory, and was eager to make up for his shortcomings. In all their practice Robert Sadler, one of the men-at-arms, was present. And both hoys liked him very well. He was not a young man, being some sixty years old, and gray and withered. He was of Irish parentage, and short in stature; and he had a tongue to which falsehood was not so much a stranger as the truth. He was also as inquisitive as a magpie, and ready to put his own ignorant construction on all that he saw and heard. The two boys, however, had never stopped to think of his character. He was always praisin g their performances in the tilt-yard, and always deferring to them, so that they regarded him very favorably and were quite ready to abide by his judgment. To-day he was waiting for them with a tall horse which he held bv the bridle. “ I would fain see both of you vault over him,” he said.

Josceline advanced, put one hand on the saddlebow and the other on the horse’s neck, and vaulted over fairly well. After him came Hugo, whose performance was about equal to Josceline’s.

“ It was the cousin to the king that could not do so well as that,” commented Robert Sadler.

“ And how knowest thou that? ” asked Josceline, complacently. “ Didst thou see him? ”

“ See him! ” exclaimed Robert Sadler. “ I have seen him more times than thou art years old. And never did he do so well as thou and Hugo.”

With hearts full of pride the two went from vaulting over the horse to striking heavy blows with a battle axe.

“ All! ” cried Robert Sadler. “ Could the cousin

to the king see the strokes that ye make, he were

fit to die from shame. He can strike not much

better than a baby. I could wish that all mine enemies might strike me no more heavily than the cousin to the king.”

“ This cousin to the king must be worthless,” observed Josceline, his face red from the exertion of striking.

“ Worthless! ” exclaimed Robert Sadler. “ It were not well that the king heard that word, but a true word it is. Worthless he is.”

“ I knew not that the king had a cousin,” observed Hugo, with uplifted axe.

“ There was never a man born,” declared Robert Sadler, recklessly, “ who had not a cousin. And would the king that hath everything else be lacking in a common thing like a cousin? Thy speech is well nigh treasonable. But strike thou on. I will not stay to see thee put the king’s cousin to shame, and then hear thee deny there is such a one.” And he stalked off to the stables leading the horse.

“ I fear thou hast angered him,” said Josceline. “ But no matter. He will not harbor anger long.” And so it proved. For before the two had finished striking he had returned to the tilt-yard apparently full of good humor.

Two days went by. Then Lady De Aldithely spoke again to Hugo of his project. “ Hast abandoned thy plan? ” she asked.

“Nay, my lady,” he replied. “ How should I abandon it? Is it not a good one? ”

“ Good for my son,” admitted Lady De Aldithely, “ but bad for thee.”

“ Thou wilt find it will be bad for neither,” said Hugo, stoutly. “ I am resolved.”

Lady De Aldithely sighed in relief. “ Come nearer,” she said. “ I would confide in thee, and none but thou must hear. I have discovered the traitor within our walls. For a sum of money he will deliver my son to the king. Ask me not how. I have discovered it.”

Hugo looked at her and his eyes flashed indignation. “Deliver Josceline, he shall not!” he cried.

“ He could but for thee, for we are powerless.”

“ Then again I say, he shall not.”

“ Come nearer still,” said Lady De Aldithely. “ I would tell thee the man’s name. What sayest thou to Robert Sadler? ”

Hugo stared. “ Robert Sadler! ” he repeated. “ Why, ’t is he of all the men-at-arms, save William Lorimer, who is kindest to Josceline and me.

He will be ever with us; in the tilt-yard, in the stables, in the hall, everywhere.”

“ To watch you,” said Lady De Aldithely. “ To mark what you say. To catch your plans.”

He shall catch no more plans from me! ” cried Hugo, indignantly. 44 I will speak no more with him, nor be with him.”

44 Ah, but thou must,” counselled Lady De Aldithely. 44 Wert thou to turn from him, as thou sayest, he would know at once thou hadst been warned against him, and would hasten his own plans. What said he to thee yesterday? ”

44 He did ask me when I should leave the castle.”

Lady De Aldithely’s face clouded with anxiety. 44 And what didst thou answer?” she asked.

44 1 said it might be one day and it might be another. For thou didst forbid me to speak of my plan.”

44 1 marvel at thy prudence,” smiled Lady De Aldithely. 44 Where didst thou learn it? ”

44 From my uncle, the prior. He never telleth aught to any man. And no one can wring from him ay or nay by a question.”

44 A blessing upon him!” breathed Lady De Aldithely.

The boy’s eyes brightened. “ He is a good man, my uncle, the prior,” he said. “ And ever he saith to me, ‘ In troublous times a prudent tongue is worth ten lances and shields.’ ”

Lady De Aldithely smiled. “ May he keep his priory in peace,” she said. “ ’T were a pity that he should lose it.”

Hugo looked at her gratefully. Not every one so leniently regarded the prior’s prudence. In more than one quarter his reticence was severely blamed. By some it was called cowardice, by others self-seeking.

“ And now thou knowest the worst,” said Lady De Aldithely. “ Within three days I will contrive to send Robert Sadler hence on an errand. When he is gone thou shalt go forth in the daylight, and that same night my son and I will flee into Scotland. There, if no one tracks our steps, we may be safe. Were I to drive Robert Sadler forth as a traitor, I know full well that some other would arise in his place to practise treachery against us. And so we flee.”

And now Hugo drew himself proudly up. He felt that he was trusted and that he was doing a knight s part in rescuing a lady in distress.

though he had not, as yet, taken his knightly vow, and was not even an esquire.

Lady De Aldithely saw it and smiled. “ Thou must put off that high look, dear lad,” she said. “ It might beget wonderment in the brain of Robert Sadler, and so lead him to seek its cause. Look and act as thou hast in the past. Call to mind thine uncle, the prior, and guard not only thy tongue, but the glance of thine eye, and the carriage of thy body.”

Hugo blushed. “ I fear I am like to mar all without thy counsel,” he said humbly.

“ Thou art but a lad,” replied Lady De Aldithely, kindly, “ and my counsel thou shalt freely have. And now I must tell thee that thou art to take our good Humphrey with thee on thy journey.”

Hugo started and looked disappointed. But all he said was, “ Dost not think him very like an old crone, with his dreams and his omens and his charms? ”

“ I may not criticise Humphrey thus,” said Lady De Aldithely, gravely, “ because I know his great faithfulness to me and mine. And thou knowest there is much superstition abroad in the land — too much to make it just to single out Humphrey for dislike because he is tainted with it. I send him with thee because I have the highest regard for thy safety. Thou wilt consent to take him to attend thee? ”

“ If thou require it,” answered Hugo, reluctantly.

“ I do require it,” said Lady De Aldithely, “ and I thank thee for yielding. Now go. Come not again to me until Robert Sadler be well sped on his journey. Had I but known that he was treacherous and greedy of gold, no matter how gained, he had never been admitted to these walls.”

Obediently Hugo left the apartment and slowly descended the winding stair. And almost at the small door of the stairway tower he found Robert Sadler waiting for him. The traitor was growing impatient and was now resolved to proceed more boldly. “ Thou stayest long with her ladyship,” he began. I had thought the sun would set or ever thou came down the stair.”

Hugo did not meet his glance. He was trying hard to conceal the sudden aversion he had to the man-at-arms, the sudden desire he felt to look him scornfully in the face, and then turn on his heel and leave him. And he knew he must succeed in his effort or Josceline was lost.

Meanwhile the man-at-arms stole questioning* glances at him. He could see that the boy was not his usual self, but he did not guess the cause of his changed manner. With his usual prying way he began:

“ Thou hast been here now a fortnight and more. Perchance her ladyship will be rid of thee. Was ’t of that she spake to thee? ”

And now Hugo had sufficiently conquered himself so that he dared to lift his eyes. Innocently he looked into the traitor’s face. “ We spake of my uncle, the prior,” he said.

For a moment Robert Sadler was silent. “ That is it,” he thought. “ She will send him packing back to his uncle. The lad wishes not to go. Therefore he looks down. Now is the time to ask him about the postern key. When one is angered a little then is when he telleth what he hath discovered.”

Fie cast a searching look at Flugo, but by it he learned nothing. The boy now began to take his way toward the tilt-yard, and Robert Sadler kept close at his side, talking as he went.

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“ Women be by nature suspicious, you will find,” he began. 4 4 They be ever thinking some one will be breaking in; and ever for having some one on guard. Her ladyship now — surely thou knowest she keepeth the postern key herself, and will trust no one with it. The grooms and the warder at the great gate she will trust, but it is the postern she feareth, because she thinketh an enemy might be secretly admitted there. Knowest thou where she keepeth the key? I would but know in case my lord returneth suddenly, and, perchance, pursued,, since the king will have his head or ever he cometh to his home, he hath such an enmity against him. And all because my lord spake freely on the murder of Arthur and other like matters. He might be sped to his death awaiting the opening of the postern while her ladyship was coming with the key.”