Young Cedric, the forester, who was now my constant companion, was walking with me on the path that led by the Millfield. There, since the raising of the siege of Castle Mountjoy, Old Marvin, the archer, and his gray-haired dame had had their cottage and half dozen acres of mowing and tillage. ’Twas on a fair December morning, when yet no snow had come. The hoar frost still covered all the western slopes, and the wood-smoke that came down from a clearing in the forest above did sweeten the air more to my liking than all the scents and powders that the traders bring from Araby.

We had had an hour at the foils, wherein I was master, and another with the cross-bow. And at this good sport Cedric did show such skill that once more I spoke my wonder at the magic of it. He had no more than my own sixteen years; and when ’mongst men and soldiers, he but seldom lifted his voice; but his handling of this weapon would honor any man of middle life who had spent more years with the bow in his hands than Cedric could count, all told.

“Cedric,” I cried, “methinks Old Marvin himself could not best thee; and for thirty years he of all the Mountjoy archers hath borne the palm.”

Cedric smiled, but shook his head.

“Mayhap Old Marvin knoweth a many things anent the placing of his bolt that have not yet come to me. My father, Elbert of Pelham Wood, who taught me what I know, hath often told me that with the long-bow one man and one only in all of England could best him,—and that one no other than Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest; but with the cross-bow, Marvin of Mountjoy could ever lesson him. And did not thou tell me that ’twas Old Marvin who laid low the Gray Wolf of Carleton, at the siege? ’Tis one thing to strike a fair bull’s-eye on target, in broad daylight and quiet air, and another far to strike the throat of one’s enemy in battle and by torchlight.”

“Aye, and ’twas thou, Cedric, who struck down young Lionel of Carleton and two of his robber hounds of men-at-arms, in our fray in the woods but six weeks gone. Thy bolts did not then fly by guess or by luck, I trow.”

Cedric smiled again, but had no words for this; and I went quickly on:

“I tell thee that when thou’rt my squire indeed, and I a knight in truth, and not by courtesy only, I’ll have thee ever ride beside me with thy bow upon thy back, though thou shalt wear garments of velvet instead of Lincoln green and a good broadsword shall swing by thy side. Then can we strike down any caitiff from afar, if need be. And many a night when we make bivouac in the forest or on the moorlands we shall sup right royally on the hares or moorfowl which thy skill will provide, and snap our fingers at the inns and all the houses of the towns.”

“’Tis a fair thought,” sighed Cedric. “An oak-leaf bed in a glade, by a goodly stream, is ever more to my liking than any made in a dwelling, save in the wet or bitter weather. But, for Old Marvin now—Methinks ’twould please me well to shoot against him at archer match. Were I bested by such as he, ’twould be no honor lost.”

“By my faith!” I shouted, “such a match we will have. ’Twill be a fair sight indeed to see two archers such as thou and Marvin at the marks. We’ll have a festival for all the friends of Mountjoy, noble and simple, and roast an ox for their regalement. Since the Shrewsbury court and the battle trial that freed thee and me from all charges of foul play in the matter of Lionel of Carleton, and now that my father is nearly well of his wounds, the Mountjoys have reason enough to rejoice. We’ll have a day to be remembered.”

Just then Old Marvin, who did chop for firewood a fallen yew in the field near by, caught sight of us, and, dropping his ax, came forward to greet us.

“A fine morning for the woods, Sir Dickon,” he said, doffing his headgear to me and nodding to Cedric. “Could not one get the leeward of a buck on such a day?”

“Aye,” I answered, full the while of my new thought, “and if either thou or Cedric here did come within a hundred paces, we should eat on the morrow of a fair pasty of venison. But what say’st thou, Marvin to an archer match with Cedric? Thou knowest he is newly in our service, but that he hath an eye for the homing of his bolt. Of all the Mountjoy men he alone is worthy to shoot against thee.”

“Aye,” cried Marvin, eagerly. “I have heard much of his skill. ’Tis said that for such a youth he shoots most wondrous well. For twenty years no Mountjoy hath striven with me at tourney; and a fair day at the marks would like me well. Will there be a prize, think’st thou?”

“Aye, that there will be,” I returned full gaily, for now methought the day promised such sport as we had not had for years; and I was fair lifted up with the picture of it that filled my mind. “I’ll make my father give to him who wins the day the best milch cow in all the Mountjoy barns. How likest thou that, Marvin? Could’st thou use such a beast on thy little farm?”

“Marry! Well could I,” answered Marvin, his eyes shining as brightly as a youth’s. “My dame did tell me yesterday ’tis what we most do lack.”

“And I,” put in Cedric, “should any wondrous luck or chance bring the prize to me, could give her to my father. He hath a little meadow by his cottage in Pelham Wood where a cow could find sweet pasture, and, in the cot, three little ones who’d thrive on the milk. Marvin, be sure I’ll take the prize from thee if ever I can.”

“An thou winnest it, thou’lt shoot well, Cedric lad,” answered Old Marvin with a grin. “’Tis now full many years since I found any man to best me.”

But now I caught sight of my father, Lord Mountjoy, astride the palfrey he rode in those days of recovering from the hurts he had at Shrewsbury, and riding toward the clearing on the hill where the woodmen piled the logs for our fireplace burning. I waved and beckoned to him till he paused and turned his horse’s head toward us. In a moment we three stood about him and told of our plans for the archery match. Most of the words were mine, but Cedric and Old Marvin himself were not a whit less eager. Soon I had drawn from Lord Mountjoy the promise that we should have our will, and that the archer festival should be held in the Mountjoy lands in three days’ time.

But, hot and eager as I was, I noted even then a backwardness in my father’s answers that puzzled me. ’Twas not like him to care for the gift of a cow or a colt to any of his faithful retainers; and I knew he loved a fair match at the targets as well as any. After we had said “good day” to Marvin, and as Cedric and I walked down the road toward the wood on either side of his horse, Father gave utterance to his worrying thought.

“Dickon, ’tis but natural at thy years to be eager and headlong in thy thinking; but has the thought not come to thee at all that this match that thou dost plan so joyously may end in sorrow to thy old instructor in arms?”

“How so?” I questioned,—but even in the saying, I saw a glimmer of his meaning.

“For thirty years and more Old Marvin hath been leading archer of Mountjoy. He nears three score and ten; and may the saints bespeak him many years of peace after all the toils and perils he hath undergone for our house. Mayhap his eye is as clear and his hand as true as ever; but I have seen somewhat of the shooting of Cedric here; and it may be that he’ll best Old Marvin at the thing which is his dearest pride. Should that happen, canst thou warrant Marvin will not carry home a bitter heart from thy festival?”

“Oh, Father! Surely thou dost jest. Marvin is no child to grieve at being beaten in fair play, should that chance befall him. I warrant we’ll see never a sign of it.”

“’Tis true enough,” said my father slowly, “we’ll never see a sign of it; but the bitterness may be there ne’ertheless. But I bethink me now,—get John o’ the Wallfield or some other Mountjoy archer to make a third. Then Marvin can be but second at worst, and ’twill make a fairer show for all these friends we are to bid come to our fÊte. John is ever a hopeful youth, and will shoot as though his life depended on it.”

Saying thus, he set spurs to his horse, and, with a nod and smile at Cedric, rode away up the forest path.

That afternoon messengers went out from the castle, to bid to the festival the tenantry and all the friends of Mountjoy for ten miles ’round; and an ox was slain for the roasting.

Three days later, on another perfect morn without cloud or breath of wind, there assembled in Yew Hedge Meadow, a furlong from the Mountjoy gate, a concourse which might have graced a tournament. The Pelhams were there and the Leicesters and even a half dozen of the Montmorencys, my mother’s kin from Coventry. The yeomanry of the Mountjoy lands had come, e’en to the last man and maid and child, and nigh two hundred of the neighbor folk from Pelham Manor, Leicester and Mannerley. The gentry were gathered on some rows of benches, covered with gay-colored robes, which had been placed on a little hillock at the left; and the commoners stood or walked about on the good brown sward, having many a gay crack and jest between them, and enjoying, methought, a better view of the archery than their betters on the higher ground.

Many of the Mountjoy men had brought their cross-bows; and were now taking random shots at the white-centered target, a hundred paces down the meadow. Others had long-bows and the cloth-yard shafts that the forester loves. When Cedric’s father, Elbert of Pelham Wood, came on the ground with his long-bow in his hand a cry went up for a match with that noble weapon to come before the prize shooting of the cross-bow men.

My father came and full warmly greeted the Pelham forester, and gave his word for the long-bow trials. Two of our Mountjoy lads shot each five shafts at the three-inch bull’s-eye; and of these Rob of the Rowan Grange was in high delight at thrice fairly striking it. Then Elbert, with a merry grin that showed his toothless jaws, did come to the mark and sent five arrows toward the target, suffering none to touch them till the last was sped. When he had finished there was a shout from all the people, with Rob o’ the Rowan’s voice among the loudest, for every arrow point had pierced the white.

Now came Marvin, bonnet in hand, before Lord Mountjoy; and began to speak with a quickness and a shortness of breath that I had ne’er before noted.

“My lord, methinks ’twould better the match for those that come to see our archery if we had, besides yonder target, a moving mark. What think’st thou of the rolling ball such as I used a score of years agone, and with which thyself did have much good sport?”

“Marry! Well bethought, good Marvin!” cried Father. “Have the lads bring planks from the courtyard and set up the trough as thou bid’st them. We have bowling balls enough. Truly, ’twill make the match a gayer sight. There are many here that never have seen thy skill so displayed.”

Marvin turned away full eagerly to give orders for the making of the slanting trough of planks down which the bowling ball should roll; and as I saw the light in his eyes my heart did warm toward our faithful and stout-hearted old follower that he should devise this play to save his archer fame. For plain it was to me that my father had been well pleased at this thought of Marvin’s, believing that in this game which was his very own, and practiced by none beyond the lands of Mountjoy, he would display such mastery as would far outweigh any vantage that young Cedric might gain at the bull’s-eye shooting.

Many hands made light work of the making ready. Soon a trough of planks went up to one side of the arrow course, and eighty yards from the mark at which the archers stood. One end was raised four yards from the earth on a scaffolding on which a lad might climb to place the bowling balls in groove. When, at the word, he rolled one from him, it dashed down the slope and rolled and bounded o’er the sod for thirty paces, full like a hare started from his covert by the hunters. To strike this ball in full career with cross-bow bolt was no child’s play. To this could I well swear, for never yet had I succeeded in doing so, when, two years agone, Old Marvin had sought to teach me. As I recalled my many bootless trials, I laughed to think of Cedric and the game Old Marvin now had played on him.

Now came the cross-bow men to the mark for the target shooting. Old Marvin began, and in high confidence. But verily, Fortune frowned on him, for the wind that had been but a breath before, sprung up just as he laid finger to trigger; and his first two bolts missed the white by half an inch. Then came three well within the circle; but the old archer’s face bore a piteous frown as he made way for Cedric, for he had thought to equal the long-bow shooting of his old gossip of Pelham Wood.

Cedric quickly sent three bolts to the bull’s-eye. Then his hand seemed to tremble; and methought he suffered from the eyes of such a crowd of witnesses. His fourth bolt struck just outside the black, and the fifth went two inches wide.

“What ails thee, lad?” questioned his father, full sharply. “Marvin had the wind to fight; but the air was quiet for thee. Methinks the fare of Mountjoy hall too rich for a plain forester. Thou handled thy weapon better on rye bread and pease porridge.”

“Mayhap thou’rt right, Father,” returned Cedric with a laugh. “Or mayhap I grow soft with sleeping on so fair a couch of wool. To-day I cannot shoot, it seems. Another day may better it.”

John o’ the Wallfield was now making careful sight at the bull’s-eye; and all the assembly watched him close, for it had been whispered that but the day before he had made five bull’s-eye strokes with ne’er a break, and at the same distance as now. He had many friends among the younger men and maids; and these now called to him words of cheer and bade him show his mettle. Thus besought, he showed a skill that surprised us all and filled me with a worry I could scarce suppress. Four of his bolts landed fair within the white, and the fifth but barely missed it. At the target he was winner; and, a few years back, he had been the best of all the Mountjoy archers, save only Marvin himself, at striking the rolling ball. It began to seem that John o’ the Wallfield who had been brought into the match to make a third in the scoring, might end by leading off the prize.

Next Marvin came to the mark to shoot at the rolling ball. All the yeomanry crowded round for a nearer view; and the knights and ladies left their benches and came forward that they might miss nothing of this strange test of archery. Now indeed did Marvin display something of the craft that had made him for so many years the leading archer of Mountjoy. Four of his bolts struck the swiftly running mark full squarely; and the fifth was wondrous close. When he had finished all the older yeomen and men-at-arms raised the shout of “Marvin! Marvin!” and some did already talk of bearing him aloft as winner of the day. For never in his life had the old marksman bettered the record he had just made at the rolling ball; and it was not believed an archer lived who could equal it.

’Twas Cedric’s turn to shoot next at this strange target. As he came forward he seemed to be more wrought upon than ever; and I bethought me that he bore but ill the fortunes of the day. He drew his bowstring to charge his weapon with a most unseemly twitch; and then exclaimed in wrath at a broken cord.

“Ho!” he called, “I must lay me a new string, it seems. This one was sadly frayed, and now is gone. But let me not delay the match. Let John go on in my turn while I knot and stretch a stouter one.”

Nothing loath, John stepped forward to the mark. My father gave the signal, and the ball rolled down the incline to the sward. Before it had bounded a half dozen paces it was pierced by John’s bolt; and there rose a great cry from all the younger men. Next came a miss; then another stroke; and the hubbub rose again. For the fourth and fifth shots, John aimed full carefully along the course the ball should go and before the word was given; but all his care availed him not, for both the bolts missed clean.

Now again the meadow echoed with the cries of “Marvin! Marvin!” Some too did call out a cheer for Cedric as he came up with bolt in groove; for the young forester was well bethought at Mountjoy, and to-day he had not shamed the old-time leader as some had thought he might. As soon as the first ball touched the sward he pressed trigger; and in a moment ’twas seen that his bolt had nicked its edge. Then twice he missed it fairly; and twice more his bolts struck home. With but one more stroke he would have equaled Marvin’s score. As it was, his points were six, even as those of John o’ the Wallfield, while Marvin had thrice struck the bull’s-eye and four times the rolling ball.

When Lord Mountjoy announced the prize was Marvin’s, the elder Mountjoy men broke out afresh with cheers; and in these all the company, led by my father himself, speedily joined. Two of the stoutest yeomen hoisted Marvin to their shoulders; and with them in the lead, we made a procession through the fields and toward the hall, all the men and maidens shouting and dancing and making a most merry and heartening din.

The tables were spread in the courtyard, and already were laden with bounteous platters of the roasted beef with bread and cakes and ale and goodly Yorkshire pudding. The yeomanry here sat them down while my father did lead his guests of gentle blood to the tables spread in the castle hall. For an hour we feasted sumptuously, and many a tale was told of archery and of the deer hunting of olden days, when, as I learned from the talk of my elders, men were taller and stronger and of keener eye than now, and such craft of the bow as Elbert and Old Marvin had that day displayed was the boast of many archers in any goodly company.

In all this talk Cedric, the forester, had no part; though he listened full courteously to any who would address him. I had been rejoiced at Marvin’s victory; but now I bethought me that Cedric might be feeling bitterness at his own poor showing. That he should strike the rolling ball but thrice in the first five trials seemed not strange; but he had done no better at the bull’s-eye target; and his father’s words might well have cut more deeply than he chose to show. I found a place beside him, and, speaking softly so that no other might hear, did say:

“’Twas not thy day to-day, Cedric; but mind thee not. There’ll be many another match whence thou’lt carry off the prize.”

Cedric turned to me and smiled, methought a bit grimly, and I went on:

“’Twas hardly fair to thee to make thee shoot at the rolling ball at a match and for the first time. ’Tis Marvin’s own game; and at it he hath always excelled all others.”

“Sir Dickon,” said Cedric, speaking as softly as I, “canst thou keep a secret?”

“Of a certainty,” I answered. “What now hast thou to reveal?”

“I will show thee something which I would fain have thee know, if thou wilt promise me to tell no soul whatever nor to give any hint of it.”

“’Tis well,” I answered, “I promise it.”

“Listen!” he whispered, “I go now to the Yew Hedge Meadow. After some minutes do thou follow me, and speak not to any one.”

Speaking thus, he rose and quickly left the tables. I was full of a desire to learn his meaning; and did wait but the shortest space before following him. I found him, with his cross-bow ready drawn, at the archers’ mark in the meadow.

“Do thou climb upon yon scaffolding,” said Cedric, “and roll me a ball that I may try my hand once more at this strange game of Marvin’s.”

I did as he did ask; and his bolt struck it fairly in mid career.

“Well shot!” I cried, “thou’lt yet be Marvin’s match at this game too.”

“Prithee, another ball,” called the forester.

Again I rolled the ball and again ’twas fairly struck. A third and fourth and fifth and sixth went down the trough; and I grew fairly ’mazed, for Cedric met each with a bolt as surely and as easily as if they stood stock still. I leaped down from my perch on the scaffolding and ran to him.

“Cedric!” I cried, “what means this? Thou passest Marvin’s self. Did thy hand tremble to-day from the gaze of so many onlookers?”

Cedric laughed again; and now he wore such a gay, light-hearted look as I bethought me had not been on his face for three days past.

“Hush!” he said, “tell it not so loud lest some may hear thee. But was it not the will of my Lord Mountjoy, who risked his life for me at Shrewsbury, that Old Marvin should win this one last archer match? It cost me but a broken bowstring and some little work of the head when John o’ the Wallfield seemed like to win the day. He needs must shoot before me that I might know how to guide my bolts. Had he struck the rolling ball with but one more bolt, he would have equaled Marvin’s score; and I must have done likewise that we three might shoot again. If with two more, he would have bested Marvin, and I must take the prize from him. But with only two strokes in the five, ’twas easy quite; and now Marvin hath the prize that it were shame to keep from him.”

Then indeed I understood; and I wrung Cedric’s hand in gladness.

“My father shall know of this,” I cried; “and he’ll give thee a prize also. Another cow, second only to the one that Marvin chooses, shall go to thy father’s cottage.”

But Cedric’s face, which had been merry, now quickly altered; and he shook his head.

“Sir Dickon,” he said steadily, “dost thou not recall that thou didst promise not to reveal what I did show thee?”

“Why! But of that word thou’lt release me, Cedric. ’Twas but a notion of thine. Truly, Lord Mountjoy should know of this.”

But Cedric still shook his head.

“I told thee not in order that I might gain a prize. And for my shooting this day no prize will I take. I somehow could not bear that thou should’st think me so poor an archer as this day’s work did show; but now I hold thee to thy knightly word, well and freely given.”

I could think of no word more to say nor any way of moving him from his resolve. So we walked slowly back to the hall, and in silence, for Cedric was ever of few words, and I was thinking deeply on his obstinacy.

In the courtyard and in the hall we found the feast was yet in progress. Truly, if our men of England do work and fight as valiantly as they eat and drink, ’tis no wonder that our land grows in power and holds up its head among nations. I left Cedric at his former seat, and walked straight across the hall to my father. Cedric’s eyes followed me, for it was plain that he yet feared I might tell Lord Mountjoy how our archery meet had been guided. And I cast back at Cedric, as I went, a sly and crafty look which did nothing [to] reassure him.

Soon I gained the ear of my father; and for half a minute did speak to him full earnestly. To which he straightway made answer in his strong and goodly tones which Cedric and many others might well hear above the hum of voices and the clatter of the serving-men:

“Marry! Well bethought, Dickon. It were indeed a shame to let such archery at our festival go unrewarded. ’Twill pleasure Cedric also; and, truly, he hath borne himself well this day.”

Rising, he addressed the company:

“Ho! good friends all! Fair ladies and most worshipful knights and gentlemen: I go to the courtyard to say to our yeomanry assembled there some words that you may also wish to hear.”

Then he passed out of the hall, and all the lords and ladies rose to follow him. Cedric and I were last. As we waited for the crowd to pass through the doorway, he whispered, sharply:

“Hast thou then told Lord Mountjoy after all?”

I smiled in answer.

“Contain thyself, good Cedric, and hear what thou shalt hear.”

He would have questioned further, but at that moment my father’s voice was heard in the courtyard.

“Friends and Well Wishers of the House of Mountjoy: I know full well, ’twill pleasure you to hear that the prize that our good Marvin hath so truly won this day is not the sole prize of our festival. The cross-bow is a noble weapon, but the long-bow of Merry England is no less; and we have seen some archery to-day that must not go without a guerdon. Therefore to Elbert, Forester of Pelham and father of Cedric, now of our house, I give his choice of any cow in the Mountjoy herds, saving only that which Marvin chooses. To John o’ the Wallfield also I make gift of a good steel cross-bow of the sort which Marvin tells me he much desires, and with which he may better even the archery he hath bravely shown to-day.

“Now here’s a health to Merry England and long life to her honest yeomanry! So long as they guide bolt and shaft as now they’ll confusion bring to all of England’s enemies.”

So it befell that in the dusk of that fair day Elbert, the forester, did lead home to Pelham Wood a goodly, milk-white heifer. A proud man was he of this prize of his archery; but, had he known the full tale of the day’s doings, he might have been, without vainglory, prouder still.