As Cedric of Pelham Wood rode with me into the courtyard, we met my father, the Lord of Mountjoy, coming from the stables. His favorite steed, a fine black stallion, CÆsar by name, did suffer from a sprain he had come by at the tournament at Winchester; and my father was much in fear would never again be fit to bear him in the lists or to the wars. We came forward but slowly; and Lord Mountjoy had ample time to note the mud-stained and foam-flecked sides of our mounts, the rents in my garments and the bloody scratches which the forest boughs had made on our faces. Truly, I fear I made but a sorry picture; and ’tis little wonder that a frown was on my father’s brow and a roughness in his voice as he called to me:

“How now, Sir Dickon! Hast thou ridden thy little mare through the Devil’s Brake and foundered her once for all? And who is this fellow in rags and shreds of Lincoln green that rides at thy side like a comrade? Methinks ’twere better if he kept his place, an ell or two behind.”

Cedric’s face grew red with wrath at these words; but I hastened to answer before he could make utterance.

“Hold, Father. This is Cedric, a forester of Pelham Wood, and our good and true friend. Twice or thrice this day hath he with his good cross-bow (of which he hath a skill like that of Old Marvin himself) saved me from death at the hands of the Carletons.”

“By my faith! Say’st thou so, my boy?” exclaimed Father, with a wondrous change of countenance. Then, turning to Cedric,

“Any who fights the Carleton wolves is a friend to all true Mountjoys. Come my lad, thy hand! And thy pardon if I did speak a thought rough, not knowing thy deserts. Wert thou sore beset? And did thy bolts make good men and quiet of some of those restless knaves?”

“Some of them, my lord, will ne’er again rob an honest farmer of his stores or burn a woodman’s cottage,” said Cedric with a smile.

“By’r Lady! Thou’rt a man, and shall be a Mountjoy, if guerdon can keep thee,” cried my father. “But hold! Give thy mounts to the grooms, and come to the hall. ’Tis ill talking with an empty stomach and a dry throttle. And I’ll warrant you’re famished, both. There’s a hot pasty and somewhat else to be found, I’ll be bound. You shall tell me of this day’s work by the board and the fire.”

In the hall we were greeted by my lady mother, who had heard somewhat of that which passed in the courtyard. Cedric doffed his cap when I presented him to her ladyship, and bowed with a grace I looked not for. And she did ask most eagerly if aught of harm had come to either of us. Being assured that we were yet whole of skin save for the woodland boughs, she brought with her own hands a bench before the fire, and bade Cedric sit as she might have bidden any knight or courtier who visited the hall of Mountjoy. Then she hurried out and bade the maids bring meat and drink of the best for our refreshment.

My father and mother sat down by either side of us as we ate; and when our hunger had been something dulled, and the maid had been despatched for a jar of the Mountjoy honey which my mother so closely guards against the coming of noble guests, I began the tale of the fortunes of the day.

“Thou knowest, Father, that young Lionel of Carleton hath often sworn to have the lives of you and me for the check the Carletons had in their foray on Mountjoy in the spring and for the bolt which came from Marvin’s bow which laid low his father, the Old Wolf of Carleton.”

“Full well I know it,” growled my father, “an if he were aught but a beardless youth, I would long ago have challenged him to the combat. When he hath won his spurs, if he be still of the same mind, I’ll meet him with whatever weapons he chooses, and trust to put an end to his mouthings.”

“That thou’lt never do, Father,” I cried, “for Cedric here hath come before thee. This day, but half a league from Teramore, young Lionel did meet me as I went my way alone through the forest; and did curse and revile me and all my house, saying that we of Mountjoy were a race of dogs. This being more than e’en a Mountjoy could bear, I did challenge him to mortal fight, and we did meet with swords, on foot there in the path. I quickly found that he wore, beneath his garment, a coat of linked mail which shielded him from all my thrusts. All his strokes I made shift to parry, and at last, when he found he could not reach me with his sword, he rushed within my guard, seized me with a wrestling hold and flung me on my back. Then, kneeling on my chest, he placed a poniard at my throat and sought to make me swear allegiance to the Carleton, acknowledging him as lord and suzerain. This I would never do; and truly I thought my last hour had come, for he had drawn back his dagger for the thrust, when this brave youth, coming through the woods with cross-bow drawn, did see the Carleton’s murderous aim, and let fly a bolt which struck him through the forehead.”

While I spoke my mother had grown pale as death and my father red, with blazing eyes and angry clinching hands. When I paused my mother cried:

“Oh, Dickon! And had’st thou no wound at all?”

“Not a nick,” I answered, “though ’twas close enough, in faith. But we had more to do in no time at all, for no sooner had the Carleton breathed his last than there came a-riding towards us six stout men-at-arms of the Carleton livery. We took horse and rode for our lives, Cedric here on the Carleton’s great war-horse. But my little Clothilde being no match for their long-limbed steeds, we should have been overhauled and slain had not Cedric twice turned on them with his cross-bow, each time landing a bolt that sent one of the robber hounds to earth. With that, and with hard riding through the woods where no paths were, we at last got safe away.”

“Ah!” cried my father, joyfully, rising and offering his hand again to Cedric, “’twas sweetly done, i’faith. Three of the Carleton hounds in one brief day! Whose son art thou, my friend? And where did’st thou learn such deadly handling of thy weapon?”

“Elbert’s son am I,” answered Cedric, steadily, “he is forester to my lord of Pelham; and last year did carry away the prize for archery at the Shrewsbury tourney. Since I could carry bow, I have shot as he did teach me.”

“What years hast thou?”

“Sixteen, come Candlemas.”

“The very age of Dickon here,” cried my mother. “Cedric, lad, does thy mother live?”

“Nay, my lady,” quoth he, sadly, “two years agone we buried her.”

“Then thou shalt come to live at Mountjoy,” she went on with bonny, flushing cheeks and bright and eager eyes. “Hast thou learned thy letters? Canst thou read prayer book or ballad?”

“Nay, my lady,” he said again, with a blush. “We of the forest know little of letters.”

“Then I will teach thee. Thou’rt a mannered lad and well spoken for one who knows not court or town. Thou shalt be a clerk an thou wishest.”

“No clerk shall he be,” I cried. “Saving thy pardon, good Mother, he shall be my squire-at-arms. A man that fights as he shall be no shaven-pate. He shall teach me his craft with the bow, and of him I will make a bonny swordsman. What say’st thou, Father? Have I not the right of it?”

My father did smile somewhat to see me so hot and eager in my plans. And truly, I bethought me then that this lad whom I was choosing for my comrade-in-arms was one whom but three hours gone I had never seen, and that now I knew naught of him save that he fought well and truly and with a wondrous skill of his weapon. Yet, looking at his clear, blue eyes and his way of holding up his head as a freeman of England, I repented me not of my words.

Cedric was gazing at Lord Mountjoy, and quietly awaiting his word, while my lady mother glanced quickly from one to another of us. When my father began to speak it was slowly and soberly enough.

“Not quite so fast, Sir Dickon. There’s many a thought to be taken yet anent thy knightly training. But now it comes to me that Cedric here e’en must remain at Mountjoy for some months at least, if he would guard his life and limb. After this day’s work, should any of the Carleton men come upon him at a vantage, his shrift would be short and no prayers said.”

So was it settled that Cedric should remain with us of Mountjoy. The next day a messenger was despatched to Elbert, the forester, with the news of his son’s brave deeds and his present safety. I lost no time in beginning his training for sword-play; and he showed himself the best of learners. Within a week, moreover, he had shown to me some tricks of the cross-bow of which I had never heard, and fairly ’mazed our men with the marks he struck at a hundred paces distance. Already we planned a match ’twixt Cedric and Old Marvin which should be a fÊte-day for all the friends of Mountjoy.

Then came a messenger from Shrewsbury, where for the time the King made his seat, bearing a scroll addressed to my father and sealed with the sign royal. Father read it slowly to himself as he stood with his back to the fire in the hall and the King’s messenger was quaffing a cup of wine in the courtyard. My mother and I waited eagerly to hear its contents. Cedric sat in a farther corner, saying over to himself the names of the great letters which my mother had made for him on a sheet of parchment.

’Twas plain to see that the message was not to my father’s liking, for he scowled fearsomely as he conned the words. Suddenly he began reading it in a loud and wrathful voice; and Cedric dropped his parchment to listen.

“To Robert, Lord of Mountjoy and Knight of the Holy Sepulcher, from Henry, King of England, Duke of Normandy and Lord of Anjou, Acquitaine, and Gascony, Greeting.

“Know thou that there hath appeared before our Court at Shrewsbury, Elizabeth, Lady of Carleton and Teramore, and relict of Geoffrey, Lord of Carleton, deceased, who hath, on oath, made complaint against thee, thy minor son, Richard and a certain yeoman of Pelham Forest, Cedric, son of Elbert, and now harbored by thee at Mountjoy, as follows:

“That, on Saturday, of October the twenty-second day, thy son Richard did ride in the forests of Teramore without lawful right and leave from the holders thereof; that Lionel of Carleton, son of Geoffrey and Elizabeth of Carleton aforesaid, did meet with him and order him to leave those lands and return not; that thy son Richard did then and there attack Lionel of Carleton; and while they did fight, the yeoman, Cedric, being a servitor and confederate of Richard of Mountjoy did most foully slay Lionel of Carleton by a mortal weapon, to wit, a cross-bow bolt discharged from a point of hiding; that the servitors of Carleton did pursue and endeavor to arrest Richard of Mountjoy and the yeoman, Cedric, the which they did resist with force and arms, and that the aforesaid Cedric did again from hiding strike down and kill two of the Carleton retainers, so that he and thy son, Richard, did make their way to the Castle of Mountjoy where thou hast since harbored and protected them.

“Now therefore, know that it is my will that thou repair to our Court at Shrewsbury, bringing with thee thy son Richard and the yeoman, Cedric, and with not more than ten of thy retainers or men-at-arms, that fair trial of this cause may be had before our presence, on Thursday, of November the second day, at ten of the clock.

“And be thou here solemnly charged and commanded to desist from all violence and quarrel against the family of Elizabeth of Carleton or any of her servants and retainers, and to cause all thy family, thy servants and retainers to likewise refrain.

“Given under our hand and seal, this thirty-first day of October.

“Henry (Rex).”

When the reading was finished we were silent for a space, my father pacing back and forth with roughened brow, and Mother gazing anxiously upon him. At last he turned and said:

“We must to Shrewsbury. ’Tis the King’s command; and the Mountjoys have ever been loyal vassals, as none know better than the King himself. What say’st thou, Richard? Canst thou tell in open court the tale of that day’s work even as we heard it here?”

“That I can, Father,” I replied, “’tis the truth, and I care not who hears it.”

“And thou, Cedric,” he said, turning to face the forester who had now advanced to my side, “darest thou to face thy enemies and ours thus? Remember, ’twill go hard with thee if we fail to bring the King to see the truth o’t. He might order thy hanging easily as the whipping of a thief. Shall not I rather mount thee on the good horse thou didst win from the Carleton, with thy cross-bow on thy back and a bag of gold pieces beneath thy coat, and send thee to my cousin of Yorkshire, there to bide till this ill wind hath overblown?”

“My lord,” answered Cedric, proudly, “that were to save myself at thy cost. The King hath commanded thee to bring me before his court; and if thou fail, he will visit his wrath upon thee. I will not fly. Rather will I ride the good steed thou speakest of to Shrewsbury in thy good company.”

“Well said and bravely,” said my father, with a note in his speaking which I had heard but once, and that when an old comrade-in-arms, whom he had thought dead in the Holy Land, came in illness and want to our castle door. Now he gazed for a moment full keenly at the face of Cedric, then turned and hurried to the courtyard to give orders for the morrow’s journey.

The King’s Court was held in the great hall at Shrewsbury, with such a brave array of lords and knights and men-at-arms, not to speak of clerks and counsellors with their mighty gowns and wigs, as was but seldom seen in our Western country. As I gazed at the King in his robes of state, seated on the dais in the midst, and noted his cold, gray eye and the hard lines about his mouth, my heart did somewhat misgive me, for all my repeating over and over to myself that none could gainsay the justice of our quarrel.

A word overheard as we entered the hall had set me thinking deeply; and though I feared not for myself, I began to wish that Cedric who now sat so uprightly by my side had thought fit to take the hint my father gave when first the summons reached us. ’Twas said that the King, in his youth, more than thirty years agone, had known Elizabeth of Winchester, before she was the bride of the Lord of Carleton, that she had then been one of the fairest and proudest maidens in the kingdom, and Prince Henry had felt for her more than a passing fancy. However this had been, and whatever its bearing on the day’s fortunes, it was now too late to do aught but await the event. The herald was announcing the cause against Richard of Mountjoy and Cedric, son of Elbert.

Two of the Carleton men-at-arms were sworn as witnesses, and told the tale of the killing of Lionel much as it had been set forth in the complaint of Elizabeth, their mistress. They declared that when they first came in sight of us, the Carleton and I were fighting with swords and hand to hand, and that I, seeming to have the worse of the fray, did shrilly call to some one hidden in the tangle behind, whereat a cross-bow bolt came from this ambush and slew their master. From that time on, their tales of the day’s doings kept near the line of truth; and they did assert full stoutly their honesty in all this business when the King questioned them, making, ’twas plain to see, no little impress on his mind. Indeed, ’twas possible they believed the tale themselves, it being to them most likely from the things that they had seen.

Then was I called upon for my account; and I did set forth all the doings of that day from the time the Carleton met me in the path, forgetting not the foul insults with which Lionel began our quarrel nor the hidden coat of mail with which he thought to shield him. Cedric, with head held high and wide blue eyes gazing straight at the King, next told the tale; and his telling was closely like to mine.

When we both had done, the King sat with his eyes on the ground before him; and the hall was very still till Elizabeth of Carleton, tall, white-haired and queenly, in silken robes of black, rose in her place, and, stretching forth her hands, addressed the King:

“Henry of Anjou,” she cried, “Elizabeth of Winchester, in her old age and sorrow, calls to you for vengeance for her murdered son.”

More she would have spoken, but bitter tears streamed down her face, and her voice was choked with sobs.

The King gazed steadily at the weeping lady, and made as though to speak when my father started from his seat and shouted:

“There was no murder done, my Lord. The Carleton brought his death upon himself.”

The King turned upon him a stern and heavy look.

“Mountjoy,” he said, “wast thou there in the forest when Carleton was slain?”

“Nay, my lord.”

“Then knowest thou aught save what thy son tells thee of this fray with thy enemies?”

“Nay, my lord; but ’tis enough. The Mountjoys fight their enemies and do not lie about them.”

With a wave of his hand the King bade my father be seated. Then he sat motionless and thoughtful for long, while none ventured to disturb him. His brow was drawn as with pain and he rested his head on his hand, the while we of Mountjoy, our enemies of Carleton all the members of that brilliant company awaited his verdict.

At last he slowly lifted his head and began to speak:

“I find the prisoners guilty of the charge that lies against them. To Richard, son of Robert, Lord of Mountjoy, I extend my clemency in view of the loyal and valiant service rendered by his father to our house, commanding only that he desist from bearing arms till he receive our permission.

“As for yonder varlet, called Cedric, he shall hang, to-morrow at dawn; and his body shall swing from Shrewsbury gate as an example to like evil-doers.”

Some of the clerks and constables strove to raise the shout—“Long live the King”; but all became utterly silent when my father sprang from his bench, and with a face of fury addressed his sovereign:

“Not so, my lord! Not so! By the Holy Sepulcher, it shall not be.”

The King sprang to his feet, and his right hand went to his sword hilt.

“Mountjoy,” he shouted, “thou forget’st thyself. Beware lest thou bring down on thy head a wrath more terrible than that of any Carleton.”

“By Heaven, my lord!” returned the Lord of Mountjoy in tones that matched the King’s, “that brave youth shall never hang for having done a deed that should bring him praise instead. I stand on my rights as a freeman of England, and demand the trial by battle. There lies my glove.”

Tearing from his hand his leathern gauntlet, he dashed it on the floor at the feet of the King.

All the assembled knights and soldiers drew a deep breath, as one man. There was a low murmur of applause, for the Mountjoys have many friends. The King’s hand left his sword, and his face relaxed.

“Thou hast the right, Mountjoy,” he said. Then, turning to the Carleton benches, went on: “Is there any among you who will take up this challenge?”

At this there started forth from a group of knights who had been standing a little behind the Lady of Carleton, a man of middle age, short of stature and of wide-mouthed, ill-favored face, but broad of shoulder and with arms so long that his hands reached nearly to his knees like those of a great ape I had seen in the train of the Cardinal.

“I, Philip, Knight of Latiere in Gascony, am cousin of Elizabeth, Lady of Carleton,” he shouted. “I take up this glove as her protector and champion.”

Then, seizing the glove, he tossed it high in air; and while it soared aloft, drew a long and slender blade from its scabbard, and as the glove fell, pierced it with a flashing thrust so that he held it high where all might see it impaled on the point of his sword.

“So let it be,” said the King. “This cause shall be tried by wager of battle, here and now. Sir Philip De Latiere, the conditions are at your will, so they be fair and equal.”

“Let him take a sword like unto this,” said De Latiere, carelessly, “and if he chooses one a handsbreadth longer, I care not. Then let him lay aside all other weapons, as I do; and I trust, with the favor of Heaven, to be the means of affirming the righteousness of thy judgment.”

With this speech, he made a low bow to the King and another to the assembled knights, and, loosening his sword-belt, handed it with his scabbard and his outer cloak to a squire.

Then I found voice for a thought that had been boiling within me.

“’Twere well, my lord,” I said to the King, “to have this champion searched for hidden armor. I have grievous knowledge that the Carletons scruple not to gain that vantage.”

Some of the friends of Mountjoy raised a shout:

“Ay! Well spoken! Let him be searched.”

The King quelled the tumult with a royal gesture.

“Sir Hugh of Leicester,” he said to an aged knight of his train, “make search of both these champions, and tell us whether they wear other arms or armor than the terms permit.”

In the meantime my father had thrown aside his cloak and belt; and his sword being far heavier than De Latiere’s, had received the loan of a lighter weapon from one of the King’s attendants. Sir Hugh approached and lightly struck the shoulders and breast and waist of both the combatants, and announced to the King that neither carried other weapons of offense or defense than the swords in their hands.

Thereupon a space some twelve paces across was cleared in the center of the hall, and Sir Philip and Lord Mountjoy stood facing one another, awaiting the word.

On a signal from the King, the herald shouted, and instantly the blades struck fire, and the champions whirled about one another in mortal combat. The Frenchman danced and dodged with a quickness that minded me, even then, of the beast he so resembled. My father had much ado to continue facing him; and soon ’twas plain to see that the Carleton champion was such a master of fence as would find few to equal him in all England. His blade so flashed in thrust and parry that the eye could not follow its motions; and my father, of whom always I had thought as the finest of swordsmen, soon had all he could do, and more, in defending his breast from the assault, and had no instant’s leisure to threaten his enemy.

Half a minute had not passed ere the Frenchman’s slashing blade drew blood from the Mountjoy’s arm, then from his shoulder; and for one black instant methought the blow was mortal. But for minute after minute, my father fought on, with lips tight closed and eyes that ever followed the hand of his enemy. Then I wondered if De Latiere, with all his leaps and runs, would not tire himself at the last, and slowing in his thrusts, give my father’s slower spent strength its chance for victory. But again I saw how fast the Mountjoy bled from the two wounds he already had; and this hope flitted.

Then truly, in bitterness of spirit, did I perceive how false and cruel is our vaunted trial by wager of battle. Here was my father, a good man and true, fighting to defend the life of an innocent youth; and this dancing Frenchman, to whom the sword was as the wand of a juggler, would soon kill him before our eyes. That Cedric, the forester, was guiltless of the treacherous deed with which he stood charged altered not a whit the devilish skill of the champion who fought to see him hang. And if De Latiere overcame my father at the last, and left him dead at the feet of the King, the tale that I had told would be no whit less true for such an outcome. Verily at that moment my eyes were opened, and thoughts came to me that shall remain while yet I live.

Now the end fast approached. Blood streamed from my father’s wounds, and he breathed fast and thickly. He scarce moved from his tracks save ever to turn and face his ape-like enemy, whose blade flashed as swiftly as ever, and in whose eyes gleamed a look of deadly purpose.

My eyes could never follow the stroke which brought to a close this desperate, unequal combat. What I saw was that the Frenchman’s blade had pierced my father’s breast. Then—all the Saints be thanked!—one last fierce blow from the Champion of Mountjoy.

This instant was the first since the duel began when De Latiere’s matchless guarding had not fenced his body from my father’s thrust. As quick as the light’s rebound when it strikes the surface of still water was the Mountjoy’s return of the stroke he had received. The next moment both the champions lay on the floor; and King and knights and lords rushed forward to their succor.

De Latiere was thrust clean through the body; and he never moved nor spoke. But my father’s wound, though grievous, it now appeared was far from mortal, his enemy’s blade not having deeply pierced him. Now he raised himself on his arm and claimed the victory for Mountjoy and the right.

Ten days thereafter, we bore home the Champion of Mountjoy in a sumptuous litter, which had been the gift of the King himself. Near the gentle palfrey which bore its van, I rode on my faithful little mare, for now we had no fear of lurking enemies. By the open side of the litter, and oft in gay and heartening speech with him who lay on the silken pillows within, rode Cedric of Pelham Wood, on the captured war-horse of Carleton and wearing, full well and bravely, a new-made suit of the Mountjoy purple and gold.