sounds of the pursuit, scattering abroad, indeed, in all
directions, but yet fainting already in the distance.
"An I had but kept a reserve of them together," Dick cried,
bitterly, "I could have turned the tables yet! Well, we live and
learn; next time it shall go better, by the rood."
"Nay, Dick," said Joanna, "what matters it? Here we are together
once again."
He looked at her, and there she was - John Matcham, as of yore, in
hose and doublet. But now he knew her; now, even in that ungainly
dress, she smiled upon him, bright with love; and his heart was
transported with joy.
"Sweetheart," he said, "if ye forgive this blunderer, what care I?
Make we direct for Holywood; there lieth your good guardian and my
better friend, Lord Foxham. There shall we be wed; and whether
poor or wealthy, famous or unknown, what, matters it? This day,
dear love, I won my spurs; I was commended by great men for my
valour; I thought myself the goodliest man of war in all broad
England. Then, first, I fell out of my favour with the great; and
now have I been well thrashed, and clean lost my soldiers. There
was a downfall for conceit! But, dear, I care not - dear, if ye
still love me and will wed, I would have my knighthood done away,
and mind it not a jot."
"My Dick!" she cried. "And did they knight you?"
"Ay, dear, ye are my lady now," he answered, fondly; "or ye shall,
ere noon to-morrow - will ye not?"
"That will I, Dick, with a glad heart," she answered.
"Ay, sir? Methought ye were to be a monk!" said a voice in their
ears.
"Alicia!" cried Joanna.
"Even so," replied the young lady, coming forward. "Alicia, whom
ye left for dead, and whom your lion-driver found, and brought to
life again, and, by my sooth, made love to, if ye want to know!"
"I'll not believe it," cried Joanna. "Dick!"
"Dick!" mimicked Alicia. "Dick, indeed! Ay, fair sir, and ye
desert poor damsels in distress," she continued, turning to the
young knight. "Ye leave them planted behind oaks. But they say
true - the age of chivalry is dead."
"Madam," cried Dick, in despair, "upon my soul I had forgotten you
outright. Madam, ye must try to pardon me. Ye see, I had new
found Joanna!"
"I did not suppose that ye had done it o' purpose," she retorted.
"But I will be cruelly avenged. I will tell a secret to my Lady
Shelton - she that is to be," she added, curtseying. "Joanna," she
continued, "I believe, upon my soul, your sweetheart is a bold
fellow in a fight, but he is, let me tell you plainly, the softest-
hearted simpleton in England. Go to - ye may do your pleasure with
him! And now, fool children, first kiss me, either one of you, for
luck and kindness; and then kiss each other just one minute by the
glass, and not one second longer; and then let us all three set
forth for Holywood as fast as we can stir; for these woods,
methinks, are full of peril and exceeding cold."
"But did my Dick make love to you?" asked Joanna, clinging to her
sweetheart's side.
"Nay, fool girl," returned Alicia; "it was I made love to him. I
offered to marry him, indeed; but he bade me go marry with my
likes. These were his words. Nay, that I will say: he is more
plain than pleasant. But now, children, for the sake of sense, set
forward. Shall we go once more over the dingle, or push straight
for Holywood?"
"Why," said Dick, "I would like dearly to get upon a horse; for I
have been sore mauled and beaten, one way and another, these last
days, and my poor body is one bruise. But how think ye? If the
men, upon the alarm of the fighting, had fled away, we should have
gone about for nothing. 'Tis but some three short miles to
Holywood direct; the bell hath not beat nine; the snow is pretty
firm to walk upon, the moon clear; how if we went even as we are?"
"Agreed," cried Alicia; but Joanna only pressed upon Dick's arm.
Forth, then, they went, through open leafless groves and down snow-
clad alleys, under the white face of the winter moon; Dick and
Joanna walking hand in hand and in a heaven of pleasure; and their
light-minded companion, her own bereavements heartily forgotten,
followed a pace or two behind, now rallying them upon their
silence, and now drawing happy pictures of their future and united
lives.
Still, indeed, in the distance of the wood, the riders of Tunstall
might be heard urging their pursuit; and from time to time cries or
the clash of steel announced the shock of enemies. But in these
young folk, bred among the alarms of war, and fresh from such a
multiplicity of dangers, neither fear nor pity could be lightly
wakened. Content to find the sounds still drawing farther and
farther away, they gave up their hearts to the enjoyment of the
hour, walking already, as Alicia put it, in a wedding procession;
and neither the rude solitude of the forest, nor the cold of the
freezing night, had any force to shadow or distract their
happiness.
At length, from a rising hill, they looked below them on the dell
of Holywood. The great windows of the forest abbey shone with
torch and candle; its high pinnacles and spires arose very clear
and silent, and the gold rood upon the topmost summit glittered
brightly in the moon. All about it, in the open glade, camp-fires
were burning, and the ground was thick with huts; and across the
midst of the picture the frozen river curved.
"By the mass," said Richard, "there are Lord Foxham's fellows still
encamped. The messenger hath certainly miscarried. Well, then, so
better. We have power at hand to face Sir Daniel."
But if Lord Foxham's men still lay encamped in the long holm at
Holywood, it was from a different reason from the one supposed by
Dick. They had marched, indeed, for Shoreby; but ere they were
half way thither, a second messenger met them, and bade them return
to their morning's camp, to bar the road against Lancastrian
fugitives, and to be so much nearer to the main army of York. For
Richard of Gloucester, having finished the battle and stamped out
his foes in that district, was already on the march to rejoin his
brother; and not long after the return of my Lord Foxham's
retainers, Crookback himself drew rein before the abbey door. It
was in honour of this august visitor that the windows shone with
lights; and at the hour of Dick's arrival with his sweetheart and
her friend, the whole ducal party was being entertained in the
refectory with the splendour of that powerful and luxurious
monastery.
Dick, not quite with his good will, was brought before them.
Gloucester, sick with fatigue, sat leaning upon one hand his white
and terrifying countenance; Lord Foxham, half recovered from his
wound, was in a place of honour on his left.
"How, sir?" asked Richard. "Have ye brought me Sir Daniel's head?"
"My lord duke," replied Dick, stoutly enough, but with a qualm at
heart, "I have not even the good fortune to return with my command.
I have been, so please your grace, well beaten."
Gloucester looked upon him with a formidable frown.
"I gave you fifty lances, {3} sir," he said.
"My lord duke, I had but fifty men-at-arms," replied the young
knight.
"How is this?" said Gloucester. "He did ask me fifty lances."
"May it please your grace," replied Catesby, smoothly, "for a
pursuit we gave him but the horsemen."
"It is well," replied Richard, adding, "Shelton, ye may go."
"Stay!" said Lord Foxham. "This young man likewise had a charge
from me. It may be he hath better sped. Say, Master Shelton, have
ye found the maid?"
"I praise the saints, my lord," said Dick, "she is in this house."
"Is it even so? Well, then, my lord the duke," resumed Lord
Foxham, "with your good will, to-morrow, before the army march, I
do propose a marriage. This young squire - "
"Young knight," interrupted Catesby.
"Say ye so, Sir William?" cried Lord Foxham.
"I did myself, and for good service, dub him knight," said
Gloucester. "He hath twice manfully served me. It is not valour
of hands, it is a man's mind of iron, that he lacks. He will not
rise, Lord Foxham. 'Tis a fellow that will fight indeed bravely in
a mellay, but hath a capon's heart. Howbeit, if he is to marry,
marry him in the name of Mary, and be done!"
"Nay, he is a brave lad - I know it," said Lord Foxham. "Content
ye, then, Sir Richard. I have compounded this affair with Master
Hamley, and to-morrow ye shall wed."
Whereupon Dick judged it prudent to withdraw; but he was not yet
clear of the refectory, when a man, but newly alighted at the gate,
came running four stairs at a bound, and, brushing through the
abbey servants, threw himself on one knee before the duke.
"Victory, my lord," he cried.
And before Dick had got to the chamber set apart for him as Lord
Foxham's guest, the troops in the holm were cheering around their
fires; for upon that same day, not twenty miles away, a second
crushing blow had been dealt to the power of Lancaster.
CHAPTER VII - DICK'S REVENGE
The next morning Dick was afoot before the sun, and having dressed
himself to the best advantage with the aid of the Lord Foxham's
baggage, and got good reports of Joan, he set forth on foot to walk
away his impatience.
For some while he made rounds among the soldiery, who were getting
to arms in the wintry twilight of the dawn and by the red glow of
torches; but gradually he strolled further afield, and at length
passed clean beyond the outposts, and walked alone in the frozen
forest, waiting for the sun.
His thoughts were both quiet and happy. His brief favour with the
Duke he could not find it in his heart to mourn; with Joan to wife,
and my Lord Foxham for a faithful patron, he looked most happily
upon the future; and in the past he found but little to regret.
As he thus strolled and pondered, the solemn light of the morning
grew more clear, the east was already coloured by the sun, and a
little scathing wind blew up the frozen snow. He turned to go
home; but even as he turned, his eye lit upon a figure behind, a
tree.
"Stand!" he cried. "Who goes?"
The figure stepped forth and waved its hand like a dumb person. It
was arrayed like a pilgrim, the hood lowered over the face, but
Dick, in an instant, recognised Sir Daniel.
He strode up to him, drawing his sword; and the knight, putting his
hand in his bosom, as if to seize a hidden weapon, steadfastly
awaited his approach.
"Well, Dickon," said Sir Daniel, "how is it to be? Do ye make war
upon the fallen?"
"I made no war upon your life," replied the lad; "I was your true
friend until ye sought for mine; but ye have sought for it
greedily."
"Nay - self-defence," replied the knight. "And now, boy, the news
of this battle, and the presence of yon crooked devil here in mine
own wood, have broken me beyond all help. I go to Holywood for
sanctuary; thence overseas, with what I can carry, and to begin
life again in Burgundy or France."
"Ye may not go to Holywood," said Dick.
"How! May not?" asked the knight.
"Look ye, Sir Daniel, this is my marriage morn," said Dick; "and
yon sun that is to rise will make the brightest day that ever shone
for me. Your life is forfeit - doubly forfeit, for my father's
death and your own practices to meward. But I myself have done
amiss; I have brought about men's deaths; and upon this glad day I
will be neither judge nor hangman. An ye were the devil, I would
not lay a hand on you. An ye were the devil, ye might go where ye
will for me. Seek God's forgiveness; mine ye have freely. But to
go on to Holywood is different. I carry arms for York, and I will
suffer no spy within their lines. Hold it, then, for certain, if
ye set one foot before another, I will uplift my voice and call the
nearest post to seize you."
"Ye mock me," said Sir Daniel. "I have no safety out of Holywood."
"I care no more," returned Richard. "I let you go east, west, or
south; north I will not. Holywood is shut against you. Go, and
seek not to return. For, once ye are gone, I will warn every post
about this army, and there will be so shrewd a watch upon all
pilgrims that, once again, were ye the very devil, ye would find it
ruin to make the essay."
"Ye doom me," said Sir Daniel, gloomily.
"I doom you not," returned Richard. "If it so please you to set
your valour against mine, come on; and though I fear it be disloyal
to my party, I will take the challenge openly and fully, fight you
with mine own single strength, and call for none to help me. So
shall I avenge my father, with a perfect conscience."
"Ay," said Sir Daniel, "y' have a long sword against my dagger."
"I rely upon Heaven only," answered Dick, casting his sword some
way behind him on the snow. "Now, if your ill-fate bids you, come;
and, under the pleasure of the Almighty, I make myself bold to feed
your bones to foxes."
"I did but try you, Dickon," returned the knight, with an uneasy
semblance of a laugh. "I would not spill your blood."
"Go, then, ere it be too late," replied Shelton. "In five minutes
I will call the post. I do perceive that I am too long-suffering.
Had but our places been reversed, I should have been bound hand and
foot some minutes past."
"Well, Dickon, I will go," replied Sir Daniel. "When we next meet,
it shall repent you that ye were so harsh."
And with these words, the knight turned and began to move off under
the trees. Dick watched him with strangely-mingled feelings, as he
went, swiftly and warily, and ever and again turning a wicked eye
upon the lad who had spared him, and whom he still suspected.
There was upon one side of where he went a thicket, strongly matted
with green ivy, and, even in its winter state, impervious to the
eye. Herein, all of a sudden, a bow sounded like a note of music.
An arrow flew, and with a great, choked cry of agony and anger, the
Knight of Tunstall threw up his hands and fell forward in the snow.
Dick bounded to his side and raised him. His face desperately
worked; his whole body was shaken by contorting spasms.
"Is the arrow black?" he gasped.
"It is black," replied Dick, gravely.
And then, before he could add one word, a desperate seizure of pain
shook the wounded man from head to foot, so that his body leaped in
Dick's supporting arms, and with the extremity of that pang his
spirit fled in silence.
The young man laid him back gently on the snow and prayed for that
unprepared and guilty spirit, and as he prayed the sun came up at a
bound, and the robins began chirping in the ivy.
When he rose to his feet, he found another man upon his knees but a
few steps behind him, and, still with uncovered head, he waited
until that prayer also should be over. It took long; the man, with
his head bowed and his face covered with his hands, prayed like one
in a great disorder or distress of mind; and by the bow that lay
beside him, Dick judged that he was no other than the archer who
had laid Sir Daniel low.
At length he, also, rose, and showed the countenance of Ellis
Duckworth.
"Richard," he said, very gravely, "I heard you. Ye took the better
part and pardoned; I took the worse, and there lies the clay of
mine enemy. Pray for me."
And he wrung him by the hand.
"Sir," said Richard, "I will pray for you, indeed; though how I may
prevail I wot not. But if ye have so long pursued revenge, and
find it now of such a sorry flavour, bethink ye, were it not well
to pardon others? Hatch - he is dead, poor shrew! I would have
spared a better; and for Sir Daniel, here lies his body. But for
the priest, if I might anywise prevail, I would have you let him
go."
A flash came into the eyes of Ellis Duckworth.
"Nay," he said, "the devil is still strong within me. But be at
rest; the Black Arrow flieth nevermore - the fellowship is broken.
They that still live shall come to their quiet and ripe end, in
Heaven's good time, for me; and for yourself, go where your better
fortune calls you, and think no more of Ellis."
CHAPTER VIII - CONCLUSION
About nine in the morning, Lord Foxham was leading his ward, once
more dressed as befitted her sex, and followed by Alicia Risingham,
to the church of Holywood, when Richard Crookback, his brow already
heavy with cares, crossed their path and paused.
"Is this the maid?" he asked; and when Lord Foxham had replied in
the affirmative, "Minion," he added, "hold up your face until I see
its favour."
He looked upon her sourly for a little.
"Ye are fair," he said at last, "and, as they tell me, dowered.
How if I offered you a brave marriage, as became your face and
parentage?"
"My lord duke," replied Joanna, "may it please your grace, I had
rather wed with Sir Richard."
"How so?" he asked, harshly. "Marry but the man I name to you, and
he shall be my lord, and you my lady, before night. For Sir
Richard, let me tell you plainly, he will die Sir Richard."
"I ask no more of Heaven, my lord, than but to die Sir Richard's
wife," returned Joanna.
"Look ye at that, my lord," said Gloucester, turning to Lord
Foxham. "Here be a pair for you. The lad, when for good services
I gave him his choice of my favour, chose but the grace of an old,
drunken shipman. I did warn him freely, but he was stout in his
besottedness. 'Here dieth your favour,' said I; and he, my lord,
with a most assured impertinence, 'Mine be the loss,' quoth he. It
shall be so, by the rood!"
"Said he so?" cried Alicia. "Then well said, lion-driver!"
"Who is this?" asked the duke.
"A prisoner of Sir Richard's," answered Lord Foxham; "Mistress
Alicia Risingham."
"See that she be married to a sure man," said the duke.
"I had thought of my kinsman, Hamley, an it like your grace,"
returned Lord Foxham. "He hath well served the cause."
"It likes me well," said Richard. "Let them be wedded speedily.
Say, fair maid, will you wed?"
"My lord duke," said Alicia, "so as the man is straight" - And
there, in a perfect consternation, the voice died on her tongue.
"He is straight, my mistress," replied Richard, calmly. "I am the
only crookback of my party; we are else passably well shapen.
Ladies, and you, my lord," he added, with a sudden change to grave
courtesy, "judge me not too churlish if I leave you. A captain, in
the time of war, hath not the ordering of his hours."
And with a very handsome salutation he passed on, followed by his
officers.
"Alack," cried Alicia, "I am shent!"
"Ye know him not," replied Lord Foxham. "It is but a trifle; he
hath already clean forgot your words."
"He is, then, the very flower of knighthood," said Alicia.
"Nay, he but mindeth other things," returned Lord Foxham. "Tarry
we no more."
In the chancel they found Dick waiting, attended by a few young
men; and there were he and Joan united. When they came forth
again, happy and yet serious, into the frosty air and sunlight, the
long files of the army were already winding forward up the road;
already the Duke of Gloucester's banner was unfolded and began to
move from before the abbey in a clump of spears; and behind it,
girt by steel-clad knights, the bold, black-hearted, and ambitious
hunchback moved on towards his brief kingdom and his lasting
infamy. But the wedding party turned upon the other side, and sat
down, with sober merriment, to breakfast. The father cellarer
attended on their wants, and sat with them at table. Hamley, all
jealousy forgotten, began to ply the nowise loth Alicia with
courtship. And there, amid the sounding of tuckets and the clash
of armoured soldiery and horses continually moving forth, Dick and
Joan sat side by side, tenderly held hands, and looked, with ever
growing affection, in each other's eyes.
Thenceforth the dust and blood of that unruly epoch passed them by.
They dwelt apart from alarms in the green forest where their love
began.
Two old men in the meanwhile enjoyed pensions in great prosperity
and peace, and with perhaps a superfluity of ale and wine, in
Tunstall hamlet. One had been all his life a shipman, and
continued to the last to lament his man Tom. The other, who had
been a bit of everything, turned in the end towards piety, and made
a most religious death under the name of Brother Honestus in the
neighbouring abbey. So Lawless had his will, and died a friar.
Footnotes:
{1} At the date of this story, Richard Crookback could not have
been created Duke of Gloucester; but for clearness, with the
reader's leave, he shall so be called.
{2} Richard Crookback would have been really far younger at this
date.
{3} Technically, the term "lance" included a not quite certain
number of foot soldiers attached to the man-at-arms.