It was on a sunny noontide, in fair October, some six months after we had driven the hounds of Carleton from our castle of Mountjoy, that I was riding in the forest, three leagues and more from home, on the way to see my cousins of Leicester at their manor by the edge of Pelham Wood, and mayhap to share with them one of those goodly pasties of venison which their table never lacks.

My bonny white mare, Clothilde, did amble along the woodland path with dainty and springing steps, as though ’twere joy enough to be abroad and lightly burdened on such a day; and it seemed to me I felt my youth and growing bones and sinews as ne’er before. As I passed the Tarleton Water which was rippling most sweetly under the sun glints, I was minded of a fair dream that had come to me on that night we halted the second assault of the Carletons, and after old Marvin had bathed and dressed the wound I had from a cross-bow bolt. Here was the sparkling water, just as I had seen it then, and the glimmering of the light on the oak leaves of red and brown and gold; and here was I astride the goodly mare that I had raised and broken from a colt, and on an errand far enough removed from the grim business of that dark and dangerous time.

By my side was the gold-hilted sword from Damascus which had been mine since the return of my father, Lord Mountjoy, from the Scottish war; and I bore no other arms nor thought of any need for them. My sixteenth birthday would not now be long in coming; and already my mark on the lintel post was within a handsbreadth of my father’s own. My voice had grown more settled of late; and, in the lonely reaches of the forest, I was practicing for my own delight a sweet ballad which I had often heard him sing, and which he had from the minstrels of Provence who had journeyed with the armies to the Holy Land.

Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I marked the movement of a bush in a little glade two hundred yards to the right of my path. The swing it made was none such as are caused by the wind; and indeed at the time all the air about was still and warm with the quietness of the summer of St. Martin’s. Rather was the movement I had scarcely seen the twitch of the leafy top of a sapling when its stem is roughly seized or when some heavy thing hath fallen against it. To me it told, plainly and well, that either was a deer grazing in that thicket or that some man, mayhap with good reason for not wishing to be seen, was hiding there.

In a moment I had turned Clothilde’s head from the path and was riding through the light underbrush with my eyes fixed on the ferny glade. Soon I broke through the bushes that screened it and saw a youth in the Lincoln green of a forester, stripping the hide from a fine antlered buck. There had been, in the troublous times of the past year and more, while most of the knights and gentlemen of the countryside were with the King’s banner in Scotland, far too much of lawless slaying of deer by poaching villains and forest hiding thieves. Twice had I, in the thick of the woods, come on the half-flayed and mangled carcasses which had been left to waste or to feed the wolves after tenderloins and haunches had been cut away. Now my choler quickly rose within me, and I called out, full rough and loud:

“How now! Thou deer-stealing varlet! I have thee red-handed. By my faith, thou shalt smart well for this.”

The poacher sprang up and faced me; and I saw that he was a youth of not more than my own time, though perhaps a thought broader of the shoulders and hips. He seemed not like a forest lurker either, for he had a good and open English face with the wide blue eyes that low-hearted knaves but seldom have. Now, however, he answered my threatening looks with a stare as bold as that of Robin Hood, and flung back at me in snarling tones:

“I steal no deer. I am the son of Elbert the forester of Pelham. My lord of Pelham allows us four good deer in each twelve-month; and this is but the third we have taken.”

“Thou liest, scurvy knave,” I shouted, drawing my sword and making it whistle through the air about my head, “leave that carcass and walk before me to Pelham Manor; and we shall see what Lord Pelham says to this pretty tale of thine.”

For answer the forester leaned forward and seized his cross-bow which was leaning, ready drawn and with bolt in groove, against the bole of a sapling near at hand. Leveling the piece at my throat, he growled, full surlily:

“Now, Sir Dickon of Mountjoy, turn thy horse and betake thee from here as fast as may be. I have spoken truth, as you may learn full easily if you ride to Pelham; but never will I, who go about my lawful business, consent to walk as your prisoner like a stealer of sheep. Get thee gone now, for truly my finger itches at the trigger.”

His blue eyes blazed at me with a menace not to be gainsaid. Here was no crouching knave who might receive a buffet for his insolence, but one full capable of making good his word. I was looking straight down the cross-bow groove at the steel bolt which another threat from me would send flying into my face. The knave was well beyond the reach of my sword, and could kill me as easily as he had the great buck that lay at his feet. I wheeled the mare and rode away out of the thicket, throwing over my shoulder the while a string of threats of the punishment his acts should bring down on his head when I had but spoken with his master of Pelham. To all these the young forester answered never a word, but stood with leveled weapon till I had passed from sight and hearing.

In the midst of my wrath at being thus balked I could not but admit that he bore himself well and truly. And I thought of a saying of my father’s that the greatness of England in battle was not the work of her armored horsemen or even of her stout men-at-arms, but of these same yeomen of the field and forest, who on many a hard-fought field had stood in leathern coats or homespun smocks like the oaks of their native woods and rained their arrows on the faces of the enemy spearmen till the lines wavered and broke and made way for the charge of the mail-clad knights.

I soon regained the pathway, and was riding slowly while I meditated the things I should say to Pelham of the insolence of his forester,—if indeed the churl were the son of Elbert as he claimed. And so were my thoughts disturbed that I saw no more the beauty of the day in the greenwood nor heard the trills and twitterings of the birds overhead. Thus engaged, and with my eyes fixed on the track in front, it was with surprise that I heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs and looked up to see approaching me, and but a hundred yards away, a tall young man, dressed in the style more affected at the court than in our rough Western land. It needed but a second glance for me to name him as Lionel, the twenty-years old son of the old Lord of Carleton, and the bitterest enemy of our house.

Early in the summer the Old Wolf of Carleton, as he was known to the countryside, had died of a wound given him two months before by our old Marvin with his good cross-bow when the Carletons were carrying forward their traitorous assault on the Castle of Mountjoy, the while my father with the best part of his men were with the King’s banner in Scotland.

For five years Lionel had been absent from Teramore, and one of a group of high-born youths who, at the great London house of the Duke of Cumberland, were being trained as squires-at-arms whilst they awaited the day for receiving the order of knighthood. At the news of his father’s death he hurried to Teramore to join his mother and take charge of the great estate.

Often had we heard since then of the dire threats that he breathed against the House of Mountjoy and all its people; but the King himself had declared our quarrel just and affirmed our rights to the lands of Mountjoy; and we gave little heed to the mouthings of one who had yet his spurs to win and his name to make ’mongst fighting men. But now the thought came over me of a sudden that I was but half a league from Teramore Castle, mounted on a gentle palfrey and with no weapon save the good sword at my side. If the threats of Lionel of Carleton were aught but empty air, he would scarce let slip such an opportunity.

These thoughts were but too well founded. Carleton was gazing fiercely at me as he came forward; and as his horse came opposite, pulled him up with a wrench on the bridle rein so violent that the mettlesome steed all but cast himself on his haunches.

“Ha! Well met, young Dickon of Mountjoy!” he snarled. “By my troth, my good fairy must have guided my bridle to-day to give me this chance to say my say to this young whelp of a race of dogs! Now shalt thou learn what it is to have the Carleton for an enemy.”

Carleton was taller and longer-limbed than I. He wore a stout broadsword and, stuck in his belt on the other side, a poniard of most wicked design. He had the better of me in respect to four years and more of practice of arms; and I knew full well that, were their quarrels right or wrong, the Carletons were no weaklings. But already I smarted with the affront given me by the poaching varlet; and now this insult to the honorable name of Mountjoy was not to be borne. I threw his words back in his teeth.

“Thou Wolf-pup from a race of thieves unhung!” I shouted. “Get thee down from yon tall war-horse, and draw that sword if thou darest. Thou’lt make good thy mighty words or verily thou shalt eat them here and now.”

So saying I swung to the ground and drew my weapon. Carleton lost no time in doing likewise, and came at me with a fury which I had scarce expected. I met his thrust with the parry which my father had well taught me years agone; and had my enemy not sprung aside with the quickness of a cat, my sword in return had pierced his neck.

“Ha!” growled Carleton between his gritting teeth, “so the Mountjoy whelp hath already a trick or two of fence. ’Twill make the game the more worth the playing. Hast stomach for cold steel? Look now!”

He danced about me, thrusting and slashing wickedly with his heavy sword, and displayed not ill the training he had had in the halls of Cumberland. But since the day I could raise a foil, it had been my dearest plaything; and whenever my father had been at home, he had made my teaching his special care. Since his return from Scotland there had been scarce a day when we had not spent a brace of hours with the foils or with broadswords and bucklers. Some men are born for sword-play, as others, like Old Marvin, for the cross-bow; but Lionel of Carleton was not of these. A minute had not passed, as we circled and danced about one another, with our weapons striking fire in the shadow of the wood, before I knew that Carleton, with all his added years and training, was no more than a match for me, if indeed as much. He panted and cursed as each trick of thrust was met by its proper parry, and slipped most dangerously on the oak leaves underfoot as I stepped aside from his bull-like rushes. Presently my sword nicked him fairly on the arm, drawing a spurt of blood and a stream of oaths. He lunged wildly forward. I parried his thrust and drove my sword straight at his breast bone.

The force of my blow drove him backward, but my weapon pierced him not. Then at once I realized that which made my blood turn cold. He was wearing beneath his doublet a shirt of linked mail; and I, without defense of any sort, was fighting an armored enemy.

“Ho!” I cried, “so thou gard’st thy coward heart with mail, lest peradventure one might fight with thee on even terms.”

The wicked look he gave me in reply reminded me, even in that moment of peril, of that on the face of the Gray Wolf of Carleton when he answered my mother’s challenge as to his errand at the gates of Mountjoy. But he spent no breath in reply, and fought on with fury, bent on pressing his unknightly vantage to the utmost. Twice I narrowly escaped his blade; then once mine grazed his neck, for that was now my mark; and again blood spurted from the gash.

At this he lost all caution and rushed upon me as a bear upon his foe, getting within my guard by some ill chance, and seizing me about the neck and arms. Both our swords were dropped in the struggle; and we wrestled and fought, not like knights and gentlemen, but like drunken lackeys who have fallen out over their games of dice. Now, indeed, did Carleton’s weight and strength befriend him. I strove for my life to topple him beneath me, but all to no purpose. In an instant I was whirled through the air, and came down with a crash on my back, with Carleton’s knee firmly planted on my breast bone.

At once he drew his poniard and pressed the point against my throat.

“Now yield thee, Whelp of Mountjoy,” he panted, “quick, ere thou diest.”

“Thou hast won,” I answered, “but, fighting thus, ’twere more to thy honor to have been overcome.”

“None of thy insolence,” he snarled, “yield thee now as my prisoner and vassal, and say that thou’lt ever yield obedience to the Carleton as thy liege lord.”

At this my gorge rose and the world turned black about me. “Never,” I groaned, “better far to die than suffer such disgrace.”

“Die then,” he shouted, hideously, and drew back his poniard for the thrust.

I closed my eyes, yet blood-red figures swam across my vision. In an instant the steel would pierce my throat. Then of a sudden the grip of my enemy relaxed, and his body rolled heavily from me.

I started up, and saw the Carleton lying face up on the oak leaves, his forehead pierced by a cross-bolt. Running toward me through the undergrowth was a figure in Lincoln green which my staring eyes soon told me was the young forester who had defied me in the glen but half an hour gone. His cross-bow was in his hand, and he panted for breath as he approached and called:

“Art thou hurt, Master? Has he stabbed thee?”

“Not a whit,” I answered dazedly, examining my limbs and body the while, “I have to thank thee then for my life. Thou camest in the nick of time.”

“The Saints be thanked,” he answered joyfully. “The Carleton there has what he well deserves. I heard the sword-play from the glen yonder, and soon knew the voice of that black caitiff. I was coming softly through the woods, wishing but to see close at hand a gallant passage at arms, when he overthrew thee and would have foully murdered thee, his prisoner. ’Twas well my bolt already lay in groove.”

“Son of Elbert,” I answered, offering him my right hand, “thou’rt a ready man and a true, and willing I am to call thee friend. But what other name hast thou?”

He took my hand in a mighty grip and smiled most winsomely. “Cedric,” he replied, “a goodly Saxon name, borne by my grandfather before me.”

“Well then, Cedric, we must bethink us what shall be done in this juncture. Yonder horse of the Carleton’s is ours by lawful spoil. Mount therefore, and let us betake ourselves from here as soon as may be.” I took up my sword and my cap from the oak leaves.

He turned toward the horse, and in so doing his glance carried far down the pathway which there for a quarter mile was straight beneath the oak-trees. Then he turned back to me with a cry of alarm.

“Mount and quickly. There be a half dozen of the Carleton men-at-arms. An they catch us here by the body of their master, they will have our blood. Come! For our lives!”

With one bound he vaulted to the saddle of the war horse. Scarcely knowing what I did, I found myself on the mare’s back and spurring away up the forest path. Cedric had no spurs, but he quickly urged his mount to a gallop by blows of his heels; and we raced away at full speed. The Carletonians raised a shout as they caught sight of us, and spurred their horses in pursuit. Over our shoulders we saw them pause for a moment by the body of Lionel; then resume the chase with a fury that boded ill for us. I knew full well the fate in store should they overtake us; and pressed the little mare for all the speed she had. Cedric, on the tall war horse, quickly drew ahead, then, seeing me losing ground, drew rein till I overtook him. Our pursuers were well mounted, and were spurring and lashing their horses without mercy. The thunder of hoofs along the forest road was like that at a tourney or a great race-course.

If I had had but a better mount, we could soon have drawn away from them, for the tall steed which Cedric bestrode was the best of the Carleton stables, and our horses were more lightly burdened than those of our pursuers. As it was, we had gone scarce half a mile when ’twas plainly to be seen that my little mare was no match for the long-limbed steeds of the Carletons. Yard by yard we lost ground; and now we could hear the clashing of stirrups and scabbards as our enemies panted close upon our trail.

We were going up a slope where the path ran between groups of boulders and great rocks. Suddenly Cedric drew rein and turned aside behind a sheltering ledge. Clothilde was panting hard, and I gladly followed him, though knowing naught of what he intended.

Throwing himself from the saddle, the forester quickly braced his cross-bow and placed a bolt in groove. Resting the weapon on the corner of the rock, he took quick aim, and let drive at the leading horseman. Instantly the rider fell headlong to the ground, and his companions drew rein in confusion. With a wondrous deftness, my companion loaded again and let fly. This time one of the horses, struck in the breast by the bolt, reared up and threw his rider.

Like a flash Cedric leaped again on his horse’s back, and signaling me to follow rode straight away into the forest. The branches were so low and the undergrowth so thick that it would seem that no rider could make his way; but we were riding for our lives, and knew that the limbs would hold back our enemies even more than ourselves. For five minutes we tore wildly through the woods, half the time with our faces hidden in our horses’ manes to save our eyes from being plucked out by the branches. We could hear shouts and curses behind us; but these momently grew fainter, and then could be heard no more.

Soon we came to the bank of a shallow brook. Into this, without stop or parley, plunged Cedric, but instead of riding straight across as I had thought, he turned his horse’s head up-stream and urged him at a trot along its bed. For a quarter of a mile we rode thus, then coming to a ford and a half-blind pathway, turned aside in the direction away from Teramore, and again laying our heads on the necks of our mounts, sped through the woods at a ringing gallop. When we had covered a mile in this way, the path merged into a wider one; and I recognized a little vale to which my father and I had once come a-hunting, and which was scarce five miles from Mountjoy.

Here for a moment we paused, and Cedric threw himself down and placed his ear to the ground. Then he rose with a glad smile and shook his head.

“Dost hear nothing of hoof-beats?” I questioned.

“Not a stroke,” he answered. “I had bethought me of a cave hard by here where we might be hidden if the hounds were close upon us. There, with the cross-bow, we could have stood off a hundred if need be, but we must have turned the horses loose, with the chance of their being taken.”

“Nay,” said I, “we’ve shaken them off full well. In half an hour or less we can be crossing the drawbridge at Mountjoy. That noble steed thou ridest is too fine a prize to be left to the Carleton wolves.”

Just then something whirred viciously through the air between us, and a steel cross-bow bolt half buried itself in a tree-trunk close at hand.

Wheeling about toward the place whence came the arrow, I saw the steel cap and the ugly face of a Carleton man-at-arms over the top of a rock a hundred yards away which concealed and sheltered the rest of him. Cedric, with a twist of the bridle rein and some vicious blows with his heels, urged his horse behind the tree which had received the bolt; and I mayhap would have shown more wisdom had I done likewise. But I saw but the single enemy before me; and for the instant his arrow groove was empty. Cedric had already taken toll of two of our enemies, while I, the heir of our house whose quarrel he had espoused, had done naught but fly before their pursuit. With a yell, “A Mountjoy, A Mountjoy,” which is the battle cry of our people, I set spurs to my horse, and, sword in hand, charged straight toward the rock.

The Carleton man was striving sore to draw his bow and place another bolt; and had he been but half so deft with that goodly weapon as Cedric had twice shown himself that day, he might have stopped me in full career with an arrow in the breast or face. But he fumbled sadly with the string, and ere he could reach another bolt from his pouch I was almost upon him. In this strait he dropped the bow and, standing erect, whisked a broadsword from his belt. The scoundrel was tall and long of arm; and now I saw that he wore a quilted and steel-braced jacket which none but the heaviest blow might pierce. I had already repented me of my folly in rushing, for the second time that day, into combat so unequal, and was bethinking me what trick of fence might serve my turn with this brawny and ill-visaged swordsman, when once again the skilled and ready hand of my friend of the Lincoln green saved me from dire peril. Even as our blades clashed, and I felt in his sword-play the firm, sure wrist of my enemy, a bolt whizzed past me and pierced his neck, just where the quilted jacket lay open at the throat. Without a cry, he fell forward on his face.

I looked wildly about, in effort to espy more of the men-at-arms, if so be they were awaiting us in ambush. But I could see no one; and no more arrows came from hidden foes. The woods were as quiet and serene, and the westering sun sent its beams as sweetly into the bonny glade as though men had never killed one another for gain or vengeance. Cedric, on the Carleton war-horse, came forward at a canter, with his bow made ready for another shot if need were.

“Are there more of the hounds?” he called, “if so be, we must take shelter.”

“I see none,” I answered, “though yonder, midst the little birches, is the horse which this one rode. Mayhap his comrades have ridden by other roads to cut us off.”

“’Tis truth,” said Cedric, “yon Jackboots, that lieth now so still, did come about by Wareham Road at breakneck pace while we made but slow riding through the tangle. ’Twas well he had not the skill of a yeoman with the cross-bow, else one or both of us would ne’er again have seen Mountjoy. But come! Can thy little mare hold full stride through the glen and over yonder hill? An if she can, we may soon be where no Carletons will dare pursue.”

For answer I set spurs to the mare’s sides and led the way down the path to the brook at the bottom of the valley. In a cloud of spray we forded the stream, then drove on without mercy up the long slope of Rowan Hill. Soon we were in sight of the towers of Mountjoy, and while the sun had yet an hour’s height, went safely o’er the drawbridge.