CHAPTER I.
THE KING'S DEER.
There came a sudden sound, breaking the shadowy silence of Longwoodforest.
Crash followed crash, at short intervals, with the snapping of dry twigsand bush branches, and then came ringing, clear and sweet, three notesof a hunting horn.
Out into an open glade, where the sunlight fell upon the long, greengrass of midsummer, there bounded a splendid stag--a stag royal, a stagof ten--fit to be the antlered monarch of the king's deer in Longwood.
Three leaps, and then the beautiful animal stood still; but as heturned, panting, and lowered his horns, it could be seen that he waswounded. The feather of an arrow in his flank told how deeply the shaftwas driven.
He was at bay now, and splendid was his courage as he stood to battlewith his pursuers.
Again, and nearer, nearer, sounded the horn; for the hunters werecoming.
Out through the leafy barrier of the bushes at the edge of the gladebounded three eager deerhounds, one after another. Large dogs they were,brown-haired, lop-eared. Their baying had chimed in with the music ofthe horn. Better for them it were if one of the huntsmen had been thereto hold them from their haste; for there is danger for any who rushrashly in upon a stag at bay.
Loud voices and the thud of galloping hoofs told that the hunters wereclose at hand; but they were too late in arriving. The foremost hounddashed fiercely on, his white teeth showing, and his eyes flashing withgreen light; but the ten-tined antlers passed under him and were liftedswiftly.
Away the hound was hurled, pierced fatally, and then a sudden sidestroke disabled the second of the four-footed assailants. The thirdpaused, lifting a forefoot doubtfully as he glanced from one to theother of his unlucky companions. A whizzing shaft passed over his head,and a cloth-yard arrow sped to its mark, inside the shoulder of thedeer. The spreading antlers plowed the sod for a moment, and then allwas over. A tall, powerful-looking man, who came riding up, sprang fromhis horse, and stood by the wounded dogs, exclaiming:
"These short-legged galloways have cost us two hounds! We had betterstalk a deer than run him, unless we have swifter steeds."
"Stalking must serve our turn, now the dogs are gone," growled a shorterman who had come up and now stood beside him. "I would the legs of ournags had been longer!"
They were rough-looking men, and they spoke in the burred Saxon-Englishof Warwickshire five hundred years ago. It was another tongue from anynow spoken in England.
The galloways, of whose legs they had complained, were the undersizedand shaggy-maned horses they had ridden in that hunt. Such wereplentiful then, but none other could be had save by those who could paylarge prices.
"Fools are we," remarked another man. "And mayhap the horn blast hasgone to the wrong ears with token of our doings. That was thy blowing,Guy the Bow."
"And what care we?" responded the tall hunter. "'Tis long since therehath been a royal keeper in any wood of Arden Forest. Earl Warwickhimself never hunteth as far to the north as this. There's no harm in ahorn, and I like well the sound, and the baying o' the dogs. We'll notagain hear either very soon."
Others had now come up, but they said little. They lifted their game tothe back of one of the galloways. The arrows were carefully extracted,cleaned, and restored to the quivers of their owners. The men were allstalwart fellows, and the bows they carried were tremendous weapons.When unstrung, such a bow would rest upon a man's foot and touch hisnose, and only a strong and practiced arm could bend one. Besides thebows, they carried short, two-edged swords hanging at their belts, inwhich were also stuck broad-bladed knives or daggers. They wore no armorexcept light headpieces of steel, and their garments appeared to be madeof leather. The body coats were like leather blouses, soiled and worn.They wore leggings of deerskin, but several were barefooted.
A brave-looking dozen were these hunters of Longwood. Their faces werenot evil, and their talk was that of kindly men fond of adventure and ofsport, but caring little whose deer they were taking.
The carcass of the stag had been bound to one of the horses, and thehunters were mounting, when a loud shout came from under the nearestoaks:
"Ho, there! Halt! What do ye, killing the king's deer?"
"Stand for your lives, men!" exclaimed Guy the Bow. "I'll not be taken!"
"Nor I!" roared a burly hunter at his side; "but--it's young Neville ofWartmont. I could not strike him."
Only five men came riding out from under the trees, but they were allwell mounted, and were better armed than were the hunters. Every man ofthem wore linked mail, with shield and lance and sword, while at everysaddlebow hung a mace or battleaxe. Their helmets were open in front,and the face of the foremost rider was that of a beardless boy. It was avery resolute face, however, and he raised his hand as he againdemanded:
"In the king's name, what do ye?"
"We be free men," said Guy sturdily. "Little reason hath thy father'sson to question our acts."
"Why not?" came back. "Yonder stag is a death-warrant for every man ofyou!"
"Not so," exclaimed the burly hunter. "I am Ben o' Coventry, and we allstand by Guy the Bow. Will thy mail shirt keep out a cloth-yard shaft,Richard Neville of Wartmont?"
An arrow was on every bowstring at that moment; but Guy the Bow spokeagain.
"Thou art a boy, Richard Neville," he said. "I will tell thee somewhatthou shouldst know. Thou hast only the ruins of thy tower to dwell in;but when Earl Mortimer claimed thy father's barony, and sent his men toput his seneschal in holding, the yeomen of Wartmont and Longwood, andmore from further on in Arden, stood by the Neville. The Mortimer raidedour holdings, burning house and barn. He lost his head years on, and thyuncle is Earl of Warwick; but the bowmen of these parts had become usedto taking Earl Mortimer's deer."
"They are the king's deer now," said Richard. "Ye know that well."
"They bear no mark," grumbled Ben, lowering his bow. "We'll call thatstag for Mortimer, this day, in spite of the Neville. Take us not. Goback to your tower."
"My young lord," was spoken in a low voice from among the men in mailbehind him, "let them alone. They are thine own men. It's only a deermore or less. There are foes enough. Hark to Ben once more."
"I heard thee, sir," said Ben gratefully. "He might do well to heed thysaying; but let him now hear what Guy may tell him."
"My young Lord of Wartmont," said Gay, "I had verily thought to go andsee thee this day. Knowest thou not that Clod of Lee, the Club of Devon,hath been heard from this side the Avon? He was one of Mortimer's men,and he hateth thee and thine. He is a wolf's head, by all law. He andhis outlaws would find at Wartmont much that such as they would seek. Goin haste and hold thy tower against them, if thou canst, and bother notthyself with a free hunt and a nag-load of venison."
"Thou art no king's forester," added Ben of Coventry. "These are timeswhen a man may let well enough alone."
"He speaketh truly," whispered Richard's mailed adviser. "Ride we to thecastle as fast as we may. Thy mother----"
"Not a dozen swordsmen are at the Mount!" exclaimed Richard. "My motheris unprotected! Guy the Bow, I thank thee for thy warning. What care Ifor a few deer? Only, watch thou and thy men; for the earl sendeth soonto put this part of the shire under close forest law. None may escape ifwork like this go on then."
"Thou art right, my young lord," responded Guy; "but the yeomen ofLongwood have no fellowship with the wolves of Devon and Cornwall. It issaid, too, that there be savage Welsh among these outlaws that spareneither woman nor child. Ride thou with speed, and God be with thee!Well for thee that they are not bowmen, like thy neighbors."
"Haste, my lord!" cried another of Richard's men. "There are many womenand there are children at the tower."
"On! on!" shouted Richard; but his face was white, as he wheeled hishorse southward.
Very terrible was the name which had been won by some of the robberbands of England. They had been more numerous during the reign of Edwardthe Second. His son, Edward the Third, was only four
teen years of agewhen he was crowned, and it was several years more before he reallybecame king. Ever since then he had striven with only moderate successto restore order throughout his realm. Several notable bodies of savagemarauders were still to be heard from only too frequently, while in manydistricts the yeomen paid as little attention to the forest laws as ifthey had been Robin Hood's merry men of Sherwood. This was not the caseupon the lands of the great barons, but only where there was no armedforce at hand to protect the game. The poachers were all the safereverywhere because of the strong popular feeling in their favor, andbecause any informer who should give the life of a man for that of adeer might thenceforth be careful how he ventured far into the woods. Hewas a mark for an arrow from a bush, and not many cared to risk thevengeance of the woodsmen.
On rode the young Neville and his four men-at-arms; but hardly had theydisappeared among the forest glades before Ben of Coventry turned uponhis galloway to ask:
"Guy the Bow, what thinkest thou? The Wartmont boy spoke not unkindly.There be kith and kin of the forest men at the tower. What if the Clubof Lee should reach the moat and find the gate open? 'Tis a carelesstime."
"Hang up the stag and follow!" at once commanded Guy, captain of thehunt. "We have taken three the day. There will be venison at everyhearth. If only for his father's sake----"
"We are not robbers, Guy the Bow," interrupted another of his followers."We are true men. 'Twill be a wolf hunt instead of a deer hunt. I likeit well."
They strung up the stag to a bough of a tree, and then wheeled with ashout and galloped away as merrily as if they had started another hartroyal.
Three long miles away, easterly from the glade where the stag hadfallen, the forest ended; and beyond the scattered dignities of itsmighty oaks lay a wide reach of farm land. The fields were small, exceptsome that seemed set aside for pastures and meadows. There werewell-grown but not very well-kept hedges. There were a few farmhouses,with barns and ricks. Nearly in the center rose a craggy hill, and atthe foot of this clustered a small hamlet. It was a sign of the troublesthat Edward the Third had striven to quell that all along the outerborder of the hamlet ran the tattered remnants of what once had been astrong line of palisades and a deep ditch.
The hill was the Wart Mount, and on its crest were massive walls with ahigh, square tower at one corner. Viewed from a distance, they seemed tobe a baronial stronghold. On a nearer approach, however, it could beseen that the beauty and strength of Wartmont had been marred by fire,and that much of it needed rebuilding. Some repairs had been made on thetower itself. Its gateway, with moat and bridge, was in fair conditionfor defense. More than one road led across the open country toward thecastle; but the highway was from the east, and travelers thereon werehidden from sight by the hill.
There was a great stir in the village, for a man came riding at fullspeed from one of the farmhouses, shouting loudly as he passed the oldpalisades:
"To the hill! To the castle! The wolves of Devon are nigh! They havewasted Black Tom's place, and have slain every soul!"
The warning had already traveled fast and far, and from each of thefarmhouses loaded wains, droves of cattle, horses, sheep, were hurryingtoward the hill. Women, with their children, came first, weeping andpraying.
Far away, on the southerly horizon, arose a black cloud of smoke to tellof the end of Black Tom's wheatstacks and haystacks.
"Aye! aye!" mourned an old woman. "It's gone wi' fire! Alas! And thegood king is in Flanders the day, and his people are harried as if theyhad no king."
"It's like the old time," said another, "when all the land was wasted. Imind the telling o' what the Scots did for the north counties till theking drave them across the border."
Well kept were the legends that were told from one generation to anotherin the days when there were no books or newspapers; and they were nowrehearsed rapidly, while the affrighted farm people fled from theirthreatened homes, as their ancestors had many a time been compelled todo. Still they all seemed to have great faith in the castle, and tobelieve that when once there they would be safe.
The rider who brought the news did not pause in the village, but rodeon, and dismounted at the bridge over the moat. Not stopping to hitchhis panting horse, he strode into the open portal, sending his loudmessage of evil omen through the corridor beyond. Voice after voice tookup the cry and carried it up through the tower and out into the castleyard, till it seemed to find weird echoes among the half-ruined walls.At no place were these altogether broken down. There was no breach inthem. Large parts of the old structures were still roofed over, andalong the battlements there quickly appeared the forms of old andyoung, peering out eagerly to see whatever there might be to see uponthe lowland.
There were very few men, apparently; but in the lower rooms of the towerthere were quickly clanking sounds, as shields and weapons and armorwere taken down from their places.
A large open area was included within the outer walls, and there wasroom for quadrupeds as well as for human beings. Still there was apromise of close crowding, if all the fugitives on the roads were to beprovided for.
Gathered now in the village street was a motley crowd of men. They wereby no means badly armed, but they seemed to have no commander, and theirhurried councils were of all sorts. Most seemed to favor a generalretreat to the castle, but against this course was urged the fact thatthe marauders had not yet arrived, nor had all the people from thefarms.
"Men!" exclaimed a portly woman with a scythe in her strong hands,"could ye not meet them at the palisades? Bar the gap with a wain. Thereare bows and crossbows among ye. Fight them there!"
"We could never hold them back," came doubtfully from one of the men."They'd find gaps enough. It's only a stone wall can stop them."
"They'll plunder the village," the woman said.
"Better that than the blood of us all," responded the man. "We are few.Would the young lord were here with his men-at-arms!"
"He rode to the north the morn," she was told. "Only four were with him.The rest are far away with the earl. A summons came, telling that theScots were over the border."
"Could not the north counties care for themselves, without calling onthe midlands?" grumbled the woman.
At that moment there came a terrified shriek from the road-gap in thepalisades. The last of several wains was passing in, and all the streetwas thronged with cattle.
"They come! They come!" screamed the women by that wain. "Oh, that theygat so nigh, and none to see! It's over with us the day! Yon is theClub, and his men are many!"
Partly mounted, but some of them on foot, a wild-looking throng of mencame pouring across a stubble-field from the southward. It seemed as ifthey might be over a hundred strong. No marching order was observed.There was no uniformity in their arms. At the head of them strode ahuge, black-haired, shaggy-bearded brute who bore a tremendous club ofoak, bound at its heavier end with a thick ring of iron. He laughed andshouted as he came, as if with a savage pleasure over the wild deeds hehad done and the prospect before him.
"Short work!" he roared to those behind him. "Burn all ye can not take.And then for the hills o' Wales! But we'll harry as we go!"
Other things he said that sounded as if he had an especial grudgeagainst the king and against all who, like the Nevilles, had been hisstrong personal adherents.
The castle gateway was thronged, so that getting in was slow, but theyard was already filling fast. So were the rooms of the tower, and suchas remained of the ruined buildings. Everywhere were distress andterror, except upon one face just inside the portal.
Tall and stately was Maud Neville, the widowed lady of Wartmont Castle.Her hair was white, but she was as erect as a pine, and all who lookedinto her resolute face might well have taken courage. Some seemed to doso, and around her gathered a score of stalwart retainers, with shields,axes, and swords. Some who had bows were bidden to man the loopholes onthe second floor, and bide their time. Here, at least, if not in thevillage, there was a captain, and she was obeyed.
"Men," she said, "you know well what wolves these are. If they forcetheir way into the keep, not one of us will be left to tell the tale."
A chorus of loyal voices answered her, and the men gripped theirweapons.
So was it on that side of the hill; but on the other, toward the east,the highway presented another picture. Whether they were friends orfoemen, there was none to tell; but they were a warlike band ofhorsemen. They were not mounted upon low-built galloways, but uponsteeds of size and strength. The horsemen themselves wore mail andcarried lances, and several of them had vizored helmets. They were tenin number, riding two abreast, and one of the foremost pair carried akind of standard--a flag upon a long, slender staff. It was a broad,square piece of blue silk bunting, embroidered with heraldic devicesthat required a skilled reader to interpret them.
Strangely enough, according to the ideas and customs of the times, therabble that followed Clod the Club had also a banner. It was a somewhattattered affair; but it must once have been handsome. Its field wasbroad and white, and any eyes could see that its dimmed, worn blazon hadbeen intended for three dragons. Perhaps the robber chief had reasons ofhis own for marching with a flag which must have been found in Wales. Itmay have aided him in keeping at his command some men who retained theold fierce hatred of the Welsh for the kings of England.
He and his savages had now reached the palisades. The village menretreated slowly up the street, while the remainder of those who couldnot fight passed across the drawbridge and entered the castle gate.More than one sturdy woman, however, had picked up a pike or an axe or afork, and stood among her kindred and her neighbors.
Not all the cattle nor all the wains could be cared for; and a shoutfrom the portal summoned the villagers to make more haste, that the gatemight be closed behind them. Part of them had been too brave and parttoo irresolute, and there was no soldiership in their manner of obeying.They were, indeed, almost afraid to turn their backs, for arrows wereflying now.
Well it was for them that there seemed to be so few good archers amongthe outlaws; for down went man after man, in spite of shields or of sucharmor as they had. Better shooting was done by the men of Wartmontthemselves, and the archers in the tower were also plying their bows. Itwas this that made the Club of Devon shout to his wolves to charge, forthe shafts were doing deadly work.
With loud yells, on they rushed; and further retreat was impossible. Theforemost fighters on each side closed in a desperate strife, and theWartmont farmers showed both skill and strength. Half of them carriedbattle-axes or poleaxes, and they plied them for their lives. Had it notbeen for Clod himself, the rush might even have been checked; butnothing could stand before him. He fought like a wild beast, strikingdown foemen right and left, and making a pathway for his followers.
Victory for the outlaws would have been shortly gained but for the helpthat came to the villagers.
"Onward, my men!" shouted Lady Maud, as she sprang across the narrowbridge. "Follow me! Save your kith and kin!"
"We will die with you!" cried out her retainers as they pushed forward,while the archers in the tower hurried down to join them.
Still they were too few; and the white head of the brave woman wasquickly the center of a surging mass, her entire force being almostsurrounded by the horde of robbers.
No shout came up the road. There was no sound but the rapid thud ofhorses' feet; but suddenly five good lances charged furiously in amongthe wolves. The foremost horseman went clean through them, but his horsesank, groaning, as a Welsh pike stabbed him, and his rider barely gainedhis feet as the horse went down. Sword in hand, then, he turned to facehis foes, but he spoke not to them.
"Mother!" he shouted, "I am here!"
"Thank God for thee, my son!" responded the brave woman. "Thou art butjust in time!"
Dire had been her peril, at that moment, but Richard's presence gavecourage to the defenders, while his charge had staggered the outlaws.He was more than a match, with three of his dismounted men-at-arms athis side, for the foes immediately in front of them. His fourth followerlay several yards away, with his steel cap beaten in by a blow of theterrible club.
"Hah! hah! hah!" yelled Clod as he turned from that victim to press hisway toward young Neville. "Down with him! Out of my path! Give theyoungster to me!"
"Face him, my son!" said Lady Maud, "and Heaven's aid be with thee! Oh,for some o' the good king's men!"
"I have thee!" roared Clod, swinging high his club and preparing for adeadly blow.
Firm as a rock stood the young warrior, raising his shield to parry.
Down came the club, but forward flashed the sword with an under-thrust.
"O my son!" burst from the lips of the Lady of Wartmont. "My son hathfallen! Stand firm, men!"
Fallen, indeed, but so had Clod the Club, pierced through by thesword-thrust; and a fierce yell burst from his followers as they sprangforward to avenge him. They had been faring badly, but they were manyand they were desperate. They might even yet have broken through the menof the tower who had stepped in front of Richard while his mother kneltto lift him, but for another turn in the strange fortunes of the day.
There was no warning, and all were too intent on the fray to note thearrival of newcomers; but now there came a sudden dropping of the outermen of the throng of robbers. Shaft after shaft, unerring, stronglydriven, pierced them from back to breast.
"Shoot close!" shouted a voice. "Miss not. Steady, men! O RichardNeville of Wartmont, we are the killers of the king's deer!"
"Aye!" added Ben of Coventry. "We are with Guy the Bow, and 'tis awolf-hunt!"
They were not many, but their archery was terrible. Fast twanged thebows, and fast the outlaws fell.
"Closer, men! Spare not any!" commanded Guy the Bow, and the line ofgalloways wheeled nearer.
It was too much. The remaining robbers would have fled if they could,but they were between two fires.
"O Richard!" murmured Lady Maud. "Thou art not dead?"
His fine dark eyes opened, just then, and a smile came faintly upon hislips as he replied:
"Only stunned, mother. The caitiff's club banged my shield down upon myhead, but my steel cap bore it well, else my neck were broken. Did hego down?"
"He lieth among the ruck," she said. "But oh, thank God! The archers ofLongwood have come! The fight is won!"
It was won, indeed; for neither the archers nor the Wartmont men wereshowing any mercy to the staggering, bewildered remnants of the outlawband which had been such a terror to the Welsh border, and was to othercounties almost as far inland as was Warwick itself. Never more wouldany peaceful hamlet or lonely tower be left in ruins to tell of theruthless barbarity of the wolves of Devon.
Why they were so called, none knew; but it might be because that faircounty had at one time suffered most from their marauding, or becausefierce Clod the Club and some of his wild followers came from Lee on theDevon shore.
"Bloody work, my young Lord of Wartmont! Bloody work, my lady!"
"Thank God for thee, Guy the Bow!" she responded. "Alas, my neighbors!But who cometh there? My son, yonder is the flag of Cornwall, and nonemay carry it but the prince himself. All ye stand fast, but those whocare for the hurt ones."
These, indeed, were many, for the women and children were pouring downfrom the castle. With weeping and with wailing they were searching fortheir own among the dead and the wounded. But even the mourners stoodalmost still for a moment, as a knightly cavalcade came thundering upthe street.
The foremost horseman drew rein in front of Lady Maud and her son, andthe taller of them demanded:
"O Lady Neville of Wartmont, what is this? The prince rideth towardWarwick. I am Walter de Maunay."
"His highness is most welcome," she said, with calm dignity. "So artthou, Sir Walter. Around thee are the dead wolves of Devon. Some of ourown people have fallen. Would thou wert here an hour the sooner. Godsave the king!"
Rapid were the questions and the answers, but the Black Prince himself
,as he was called, left all the talking to Sir Walter, while hedismounted to study the meaning of the fray.
He had singularly keen, dark eyes, and they flashed swiftly hither andthither, as if they were seeking to know exactly how this small battlehad been fought and won.
"And this is the famous Clod the Club?" he said. "By whose hand was thisthrust?"
"'Twas young Lord Richard," answered Guy the Bow. "Both went down, butthe Neville was little hurt. 'Twas bravely done!"
"Richard Neville," exclaimed the prince, "thou hast won honor in this!I would that I had slain him. Thou art a good sword. The king hath needof thee."
"He shall go with me," added Sir Walter admiringly, as he gazed downupon the massive form of the slain robber. "Madame, give the king thyson."
"Yea, and amen," she said. "He is the king's man. I would have him go.And I will bide at Warwick Castle until he cometh again. Speak thou,Richard!"
"I am the king's man," replied Richard, his face flushing. "O my mother,bid me go with the prince. I would be a knight, as was my father, andwin my spurs before the king; but I fain would ask one favor of hisgrace."
"Ask on," said the prince. "'Twere hard to refuse thee after thisgallant deed of arms."
"This work is less mine," said Richard, "than of Guy the Bow and my goodforestmen. But I trow that some of them have found unlawful marks forother of their arrows. I ask for them the grace and pardon of the king."
"They have sinned against the king's deer," loudly laughed Sir Walter deMaunay. "There needeth no promise. Thou hast not heard of his royalproclamation. Free pardon hath he proclaimed to all such men as thine,if they will march with him against the King of France. 'Tis fair payto every man, and the fortune of war beyond sea."
No voice responded for a moment as the archers studied one another'sfaces.
"Richard," said his mother, "speak thou to them. They wait for thee."
"O Guy the Bow," said Richard, "wilt thou come with me--thou and thymen?"
There was speech from man to man behind Guy; but it was Ben of Coventrywho said:
"Tell thy prince, Guy the Bow, that two score and more of bows likethine will follow Richard Neville to fight for our good king."
To address the prince directly was more than Guy could do; but he spokeout right sturdily:
"My master of Wartmont, thou hearest the speech of Ben. 'Tis mine also.We take the pardon, and we will take the pay; and we will go as oneband, with thee for our captain."
"Aye," said another archer, "with the young Neville and Guy the Bow."
"Ye shall be the Neville's own company," responded the prince. "I likeit well. So will they do best service."
"Aye, 'tis the king's way also," added Sir Walter de Maunay; and thenthe Lady of Wartmont led the way into the castle.
Richard went not forthwith, but conferred with his archers. He had carealso for the injured and the dead, and to learn the harm done in thevillage and among the farms.
In a few minutes more, however, the banner of the prince was floatinggayly from a corner of the tower, to tell to all who saw that the heirof the throne of England was under the Wartmont roof.