A March on London: being a story of Wat Tyler's insurrection

“Thank you very much, Mynheer; I knew but little of the matter before, and I am glad to be so thoroughly informed in it. I see it is the same there as it was in London when the rioters came thither; the better class were overborne by the baser. Had it not been for the death of Wat the Tyler, and the dispersal of his rabble, it is likely that every trader's house in London would have been pillaged and all the better class murdered, as were the Flemings.”

As soon as the vessel drew alongside the wharf at Sluys, a Flemish trader came on board. He was a correspondent of Van Voorden's, and to him the merchant had written, asking him to secure lodgings for him and his party for a day or two. Van Voorden was well known to him, for the merchant had occasion to cross to Flanders three or four times every year, and his correspondent often came over to London. After greeting the merchant, his wife and daughter, he said:

“I was in much fear for you, Van Voorden, when I heard the reports of the wild doings of the rabble in London, and how they specially directed their fury against our people, and killed very many worthy merchants. You have said in your letters to me that you had been in some danger, but that, as you would see me shortly, you would not write at length.”

“I will tell you of it anon, Rochter. First, how about the lodging?”

“As to that, there is no difficulty. It would be strange indeed were you to go elsewhere than to my house, which you have always used hitherto when you passed through.”

“Yes: when I was alone. Now I have my wife and daughter, and these two young English knights, to say nothing of the maids and the men-at-arms.”

“We can take them all without difficulty. As you know, the house is a large one, and there are but my wife and myself and my daughter Marie. There is the room you always occupy for yourself and madame, a bed has been put up in Marie's room for your daughter, the large room over it will be allotted to these gentlemen, your maids can sleep with ours, and there is a large room in the attic for your servants and the knights' men.”

“So be it,” Van Voorden said, “and it will be far more pleasant to be with you and your good wife than in a strange place. How about the horses, of which we have six?”

“The accommodation I have for them is small, but I have arranged with a friend for the disposal of the horses in his stables, which are commodious, and of which he makes but little use.”

The house of Mynheer Rochter surprised the young knights by its size. It was massively and strongly built, and apparently there was no pressure for room, as was the case in the busy streets of London. The hall was of great size, panelled with a dark wood, and with a flooring so smooth and polished that both knights narrowly escaped falling, on stepping on it for the first time. A great staircase led to the family apartments upstairs. The main room would have held four of either those of Van Voorden or Sir Robert Gaiton in London, and the rest of the house was on the same scale. All was dark, massive, and rich, with an air of great comfort. The furniture and floors were polished until they reflected the light from the casements, and heavy rugs and carpets were stretched in front of the fire- places and windows, and at other points where the family were accustomed to sit.

There were heavy curtains to the windows, and others before the doors, so that all draught should be cut off. Although not so handsome as the rooms of the two merchants in London, everything was so substantial, well kept, and comfortable, that the two friends were greatly struck by it. It was now October, and great wood fires blazed in the hall below and in all the upstairs rooms, and these quite dispelled any air of gloom that might otherwise have been caused by the darkness of the furniture.

“Truly, Edgar,” Albert said, in a low tone, while the ladies were talking together, “I think that I shall change my vocation once again, abandon the cutting of throats, and establish myself as a Flemish merchant.”

“It would be years before you could acquire the necessary knowledge,” Edgar laughed, “to say nothing of the capital required for the business; but truly the comfort of this house is wonderful, and it is clear to me that, although we Englishmen have learned to fight, we are mightily behind others in the art of making our lives comfortable.”

Before the meal was served the friends went upstairs to their room, took off the rough clothes in which they had travelled, and apparelled themselves in the plainest of their two suits. When dinner was announced they went into a room leading from that in which they had before been. As the numbers were equal, the four gentlemen each offered his hand to a lady, and led her to the table. It was almost dark now, and the room was lighted with many wax candles, which were novelties to the young knights. Tallow candles had indeed come into partial use at the beginning of the century, but they had never seen wax used, save on occasions of great ceremony in the churches. It was now for the first time that Frau Rochter obtained a fair view of the faces of her guests.

“You are young indeed, gentlemen, are you not, to have attained the rank of knighthood?” she said; “but I believe that in England 'tis a title that goes with the land.”

“It is so,” Van Voorden said, before either of the young knights could reply; “but in this case it has been won by distinguished bravery, for which King Richard himself bestowed knighthood upon them. No one can testify to their bravery more strongly than ourselves, for it was thanks alone to them that my life certainly, and probably those of my wife and daughter, were preserved on that evil day in London,” and as the meal proceeded he gave a full narrative of the manner in which they had defended his house while his wife was removed from her sick-bed and carried down to the hiding-place below. “It was not only for this single act of bravery that they received knighthood. Young though they are, they saved the life of a worshipful London citizen—who has since himself become a knight—when he had fallen into the hands of a party of robbers. When the Tower was in the hands of the rioters, they, without assistance, killed seven men who had entered the ladies' chamber; and, lastly, they rode, with two knights and fifty men-at-arms, at a mob consisting of some two thousand of the worst of the rebels, and entirely defeated them with the loss of five hundred, and it was for this last act that they were knighted.”

“Mynheer Van Voorden omits to say,” Edgar added, “that it was largely to his own good offices that we owe the honour.”

“I said nothing to the king but what was true and just,” the merchant replied; “and he told me that he had already determined to promote you on the first opportunity; indeed, even had I not spoken I believe that he would have done so before we left London.”

“I am sure that they deserved it if it had only been for what they did for us,” his daughter said, warmly. “Several times, while you were getting mother down the stairs, I ran out to the landing and looked down at the fight. It was terrible to see all the fierce faces, and the blows that were struck with pole-axe and halbert, and a marvel that two young men should so firmly hold their ground against such odds.”

“We all owe them our lives assuredly,” Madame Van Voorden said. “Had it not been for them, undoubtedly I should have died that day. I was very near to death as it was, and had I seen my husband slaughtered before my eyes, it would have needed no blow of knife to have finished me.”

CHAPTER XIII.

A STARVING TOWN

Many of the leading citizens, hearing of Van Voorden's arrival, called in the course of the evening. The conversation, of course, turned upon the state of public affairs in Flanders; and Van Voorden inquired particularly as to the feeling in Bruges, and the sides taken by leading citizens there.

“That is difficult to say,” one of the merchants replied. “Bruges has always been a rival to Ghent, and there has been little good-will between the cities. The lower class are undoubtedly in favour of Ghent; but among the traders and principal families the feeling is the other way. Were Ghent in a position to head a national movement with a fair chance of success, no doubt Bruges would go with her, for she would fear that, should it be successful, she would suffer from the domination of Ghent. At present, however, the latter is in a strait, the rivers are blockaded by the earl's ships, and the town is sorely pressed by famine. After the vengeance taken by the earl on the places that, at the commencement of the trouble, threw in their lot with Ghent, she can expect no aid until she shows herself capable of again defeating the prince's army.”

“Of course, at present I know but little how matters stand,” Van Voorden said. “I have been so long settled in England that I have hardly kept myself informed of affairs here. I am thinking now of making Flanders my home again, but I would not do so if the land is like to be torn by civil war; I shall, therefore, make it my business to sojourn for a time in many of the large towns, and so to learn the general feeling throughout the country towards the earl, and to find out what prospect there is of the present trouble coming to a speedy end. France, Burgundy, or even England may interfere in the matter if they see a prospect of gain by it, and in that case the fighting might become general.”

“Is the feeling of England in favour of Ghent?” one of the burghers asked, anxiously.

“So far I have heard but little on the matter. The English have had troubles of their own, and have had but little time to cast their eyes abroad. Nevertheless, if the struggle continues, they may remember that a Van Artevelde was their stout ally, and that Ghent, after his murder, again submitted itself to them. There is, too, the bond of sympathy that Flanders accepts the same pope as England, and that in aiding her they aid the pope's cause, and strike a blow at France, with whom they are always at daggers drawn. Therefore, methinks more unlikely things have happened than that; if France gives aid to the earl, the English may strike in for Ghent.”

“I trust not,” one of the burghers said, earnestly, “for Sluys might well be the landing point for an English expedition, and then the first brunt of the war would fall upon us.”

“I say not that there is much chance of such a thing,” Van Voorden said; “I was but mentioning the complication that might arise if Ghent is able to prolong the struggle.”

On the following morning the party started from Sluys. They made a good show, for Van Voorden had the evening before engaged two mounted men, well-armed, to ride with the young knights as men-at-arms. Behind the merchant and his party came the two maids and the four retainers who had accompanied them from England. These carried swords and daggers, but no defensive armour. Behind were the two English men-at-arms and the two freshly taken on, all wearing breast-and back-pieces and steel caps. They tarried but a day or two at Bruges, Van Voorden finding that among the burgesses the trade animosity against Ghent overpowered any feeling of patriotism, and moreover it was felt that the success of that town would give such encouragement to the democracy elsewhere that every city would become the scene of riot and civil strife.

They learnt that, unless they fell in with one of the parties that was stationed to prevent strong forces of foragers issuing from Ghent to drive in cattle, they would find no difficulty in entering the town, for the citizens had shown themselves such stout fighters, that the earl, believing that the city must fall by famine, had drawn off the greater portion of his army. Travelling by easy stages, the party approached the town on the second evening. Soon after they started that morning they came upon a body of the troops of the Earl of Flanders. The officer in command rode up to the merchant and asked him for his name and his object in going to Ghent, and also who were the two knights with him. As soon as Van Voorden mentioned his name, and said that he had for many years been established in London, the officer at once recognized it.

“I am well acquainted with your name as one of the foremost among our countrymen at King Richard's Court, and that you have several times acted as our representative when complaints have been made of injury to Flemish traders by English adventurers, but I must still ask, what do you propose doing at Ghent?”

“I am over here for a time with my wife and daughter, and am paying visits to friends and business correspondents in the various towns, and it may be that if these troubles come to an end I may retire from business altogether and settle down here. These knights have done me a signal service, having saved the lives of myself and daughter during the riots in London; therefore I have asked of them the courtesy to ride with me through Flanders. Having a desire to visit foreign countries, they accepted my invitation.”

“Adieu, then, Master Van Voorden. I know that you are a man of influence among the merchants, and trust that you will do your best to persuade the stiff-necked burghers of Ghent to submit themselves to their lord.”

“Methinks, from what I hear,” the merchant replied, “that if it depended upon the burgesses and traders there would be a speedy end to these troubles, but they are overborne by the demagogues of the craftsmen.”

“That is true enough,” the officer replied. “Numbers of the richer burgesses have long since left Ghent, and many have established themselves in trade in other cities where there was better chance of doing their business in peace and quiet.”

The party now rode on, and without further interruption arrived at Ghent. They put up for the night at a hostelry, but in the morning the merchant had no difficulty in hiring the use of a house for a month, for many of the better class houses were standing empty. Then he called on several of the leading burgesses, some of whom were known to him personally, and had long and earnest talk with them upon the situation.

Late in the afternoon he sent a letter to Philip Van Artevelde, saying that he had just arrived from England, and would be glad to have a private parley with him. An answer was received from Van Artevelde saying that he would call that evening upon him, as it would be more easy to have quiet speech together there than if he visited him at his official residence. At eight o'clock Van Artevelde arrived. He was wrapped in a cloak, and gave no name, simply saying to the retainer who opened the door that he was there by appointment with his master. Van Voorden received him alone. They had met on two or three occasions previously, and saluted each other cordially.

“I think it best that we should meet quietly,” the merchant said, as they shook hands. “I know the Ghentois, how greedily they swallow every rumour, how they magnify the smallest things, and how they rage if their desires are not gratified, and give themselves wholly up to the demagogues. 'Tis for that reason that I think it well that you have come to see me privately.

“I have no official mission to you, but I am charged by King Richard, or rather by his council—when they heard that I was coming over here on my private affairs—to find out in the first place how things really stand here; and secondly, to learn your own opinion and thoughts on the matters in hand.”

By this time they had seated themselves by the fire.

“The position is grievous enough in that we are straitened for food,” was the reply; “indeed, although we have of late been fortunate in obtaining supplies, the pressure cannot be borne. Of one thing you may be sure, Ghent will not tamely be starved out. If we cannot obtain fair terms, every man will arm himself and sally out, and, it need be, we will sweep the whole country clear of its flocks and herds, and bring in such stores as we want from all quarters, carrying our arms to the gates of Brussels and Malines in one direction, to Lisle in another, and to Ypres and Dixmuide south of the Lys. Earl though he be, Louis cannot bar every road to us, nor forever keep up a force sufficient to withstand us. Already the feudal lords have kept their levies under arms far beyond the time they have a right to require them, but this cannot go on. War costs us no more than peace, and whenever we will we can march with 20,000 men in any direction that may please us. As to defending ourselves against assault, I have no fear whatever. Thus, then, so long as Ghent chooses she can maintain the war.” He put an emphasis on the last words.

“That means, I take it,” the merchant said, “as long as the people are willing to go on fasting.”

“That is so. There is a sore pinch; food is distributed gratuitously; for, as all trade is stopped, there is little work to be had. So long as they could live in idleness, obtain enough food, and a small sum paid daily, there were no signs of discontent; and there is still plenty of money in the coffers, for the goods and estates of many who have fled, and who are known to be favourable to the earl, have been confiscated, but money cannot provide food. Thus, it seems to me that, save for the lack of food, matters could go on as at present. But if fair terms cannot be obtained, the people will demand to be led against their enemy. We shall lead them, but what will come after that I cannot say.

“As you doubtless know, I am here by no choice of my own. I had naught to do with the rising of Ghent, or what has been done hitherto, but when Lyon died and the leaders who succeeded him were killed, they sent to me to be their governor. For a time I refused, but I was overborne. I was living quietly and peaceably on my estates, with no love for strife; but it was pointed out that I alone could unite the factions, that many of the better classes of citizens, who held aloof from the demagogues of the streets, would feel confidence in me, that my name would carry weight, and that other cities might make alliance with me when they would have naught to say to butchers and skinners and such like, and that possibly the earl would be more likely to grant terms to me than to those whom he considers as the rabble. I took up the position reluctantly, but, having taken it up, I shall not lay it down. Like enough it will cost me my life, as it cost the life of Jacob Van Artevelde before me, but it may be that aid will come from some unexpected quarter.”

“That is the next point. Do you look for aid from France?”

“France is never to be relied upon,” Artevelde replied, gloomily. “The Valois has, of course, made us vague promises, but all he cares for is that the war should go on, so that, if he and Burgundy come to blows, Flanders can give no aid to the duke. I have no hope in that quarter. Of late, however, Burgundy and Berry have prevailed in his councils, and we hear that he has decided to join the duke against us. We have sent, as doubtless you know, to the King of England, to ask him to ally himself with us.”

“'Tis concerning that matter he has charged me. It was known when I left England that Burgundy had promised his aid to the earl, but naught was known of France joining in. The king is well disposed towards you, but his council hold that, so long as Ghent stands alone, England can make no alliance with her, for she would have to fight, not only Burgundy and France, but the rest of Flanders. But if Ghent makes herself master of Flanders, England will gladly ally herself with you, and will send troops and money.”

“'Tis reasonable,” Artevelde said, “and we will bestir ourselves. I myself have done all that is possible to obtain peace, and in three days I am going, with twelve of the principal citizens, to Bruges, where the earl arrived yesterday. We shall offer to submit ourselves to his mercy if he will have pity on the city. If he demands the entire mastership we shall fight in earnest. If he will content himself with taking our lives, we are ready to give them for the sake of the city. We know that we have a strong body of friends in every town, and should it come to blows, methinks it is not improbable that all Flanders will join, and if we are supported by England, we may well hope to withstand both France and Burgundy.”

“I have two young English knights with me, Van Artevelde; they are young, but have already shown themselves capable of deeds of the greatest bravery. During the late riots in London they defended my house against a mob many hundreds strong, and so gave time for myself, my wife, and daughter to gain a place of hiding; they did many other brave feats, and so distinguished themselves that, though very young, the king has knighted them. I invited them to accompany me hither, in order that they might see service, and I would fain commend them greatly to you. The fact that they are English knights would be of advantage to you, seeing that it will, in the eyes of the people, be taken as a proof that the sympathy of England is with us, and should there be fighting, or any occasion for the use of brave men, you can rely upon them to do their utmost.”

“I will gladly accept their services, Van Voorden, and, as you say, the people will certainly draw a good augury from their presence.”

The merchant left the room, and returned in a minute with the two young knights.

“These are the gentlemen of whom I have spoken to you, Van Artevelde,” he said, “Sir Edgar Ormskirk and Sir Albert De Courcy, both very valiant gentlemen, and high in the esteem of King Richard.”

“I greet you gladly, sir knights,” Van Artevelde said, “both for your own sakes and for that of Mynheer Van Voorden, my worthy friend, who has presented you, and right glad shall I be if you will aid us in this sore strait into which we have fallen.”

“I fear that our aid will not be of much avail to you, sir,” Edgar said, “but such service as we can render we will right willingly give. I shall be glad to see service for the first time under one bearing the name of the great man who lost his life because he was so firm an ally of England.”

“At present, gentlemen, things have not come to a crisis here, and for a few days I must ask your patience; by that time we shall know how matters are to go. If it be war, gladly, indeed, will I have you ride with me in the field.”

Two days later Philip Van Artevelde rode away with the twelve citizens, who, like himself, went to offer their lives for the sake of the city. The scene was an affecting one, and crowds of haggard men and half-starved women filled the streets. Most of them were in tears, and all prayed aloud that Heaven would soften the earl's heart and suffer them to come back unharmed to the city. Three days later they returned. As they rode through the streets all could see that their news was bad, and that they had returned because the earl had refused to accept them as sacrifices for the rest. An enormous crowd gathered in front of the town-hall, and in a few minutes Van Artevelde and his companions appeared on the balcony.

There was a dead hush among the multitude. They felt that life or death hung on his words. He told them that the count had refused altogether to accept twelve lives as ransom for the city, and that he would give no terms save that he would become its master and would execute all such as were found to have taken part in the rebellion against him.

A despairing moan rose from the square below.

“Fellow citizens,” Van Artevelde went on, “there is now but one of two things for us to do. The one is to shut our gates, retire to our houses, and there die either by famine or by such other means as each may choose. The other way is, that every man capable of bearing arms shall muster, that we shall march to Bruges, and there either perish under the lances of his knights, or conquer and drive him headlong from the land. Which choose ye, my friends?”

A mighty shout arose: “We will fight!”

“You have chosen well,” Van Artevelde said. “Have we not before now defeated forces of men-at-arms superior in numbers to ourselves? Are we less brave than our fathers? Shall we not fight as stoutly when we know that we leave famishing wives and children behind who look to us to bring them back food? Return to your homes! A double ration of bread shall be served out from the magazines to all. Two hours before daybreak we will muster in our companies, and an hour later start for Bruges.”

Among those who shouted loudest, “We will fight!” were the two young knights. They had, as soon as it was known that Van Artevelde and his party had entered the town, gone with Van Voorden to the house of a friend of his in the great square. They heard with indignation the refusal of the Earl of Flanders to accept the noble sacrifice offered by the twelve burgesses, who had followed the example of the Governor of Calais and its leading citizens in offering their lives as a sacrifice for the rest. They had met, however, with a less generous foe, whose terms would, if accepted, have placed the life and property of every citizen of Ghent at his mercy. What that was likely to be had been shown at Ypres. Now the young knights felt indeed that the cause was a righteous one, and that they could draw their swords for Ghent with the conviction that by so doing they were fighting to save its people from massacre.

“By heavens!” Van Voorden exclaimed, “were I but younger I too would go out with the Ghentois to battle. I care but little myself as to the rights of the quarrel, though methinks that Ghent is right in resisting the oppressive taxes which, contrary to their franchise, the earl has laid on the city. But that is nothing. One has but to look upon the faces of the crowd to feel one's blood boil at the strait to which their lord, instead of fighting them boldly, has, like a coward, reduced them by famine. But now when I hear that he has refused the prayer for mercy, refused to stay his vengeance, or to content himself with the heads of the noblest of the citizens offered to him, but instead would deluge the streets with blood, I would march with them as to a crusade. I will presently see Van Artevelde if but for a moment, tell him that you will ride with him, and ask where you shall take your station.”

Late that evening Van Voorden returned. “I have been present at the council,” he said. “The gates will not be open to-morrow, but on Thursday five thousand men will set out early.”

“But five thousand is a small number,” Edgar said, “to march against Bruges, a city as large as this, and having there the earl, and no doubt a strong body of his own troops.”

“That is true; but most of the men are so weakened that it is thought that it will be best to take but a small number of the strongest and most capable. They will carry with them the three hundred hand guns. What little provision there is must be divided; half will go with those who march, the other half will be kept for those here to sustain life until news comes how matters have fared in the field.”

“But with only five thousand men, without machines for the siege, they can never hope to storm the walls of Bruges. It would be a feat that as many veteran soldiers might well hesitate to undertake.”

“They have no thought of doing so. It has been agreed that this would be impossible, but the force will camp near the city, and seeing the smallness of their number, the people of Bruges will surely sally out and attack them. Then they will do their best for victory, and if they beat the enemy our men will follow on their rear hotly and enter the city.”

“'Tis a bold plan,” Edgar said; “but at least there seems some hope of success, which no other plan, methinks, could give. At any rate we two will do our best, and being well fed and well armed may hope to be able to cut our way out of the melee if all should be lost. We fight for honour and from good-will. But this is not a case in which we would die rather than turn bridle, as it would be were we fighting under the banner of England and the command of the king.”

“Quite so, Edgar; I agree with you entirely,” the merchant said. “You have not come to this country to die in the defence of Ghent. You came hither to do, if occasion offers, some knightly deeds, and feeling pity for the starving people here you offer them knightly aid, and will fight for them as long as there is a chance that fighting may avail them, but beyond that it would be folly indeed to go; and when you see the day hopelessly lost, you and your men-at-arms may well try to make your way out of the crowd of combatants, and to ride whither you will. I say not to return here, for that would indeed be an act of folly, since Ghent will have to surrender at once, and without conditions, as soon as the news comes that the battle is lost. Therefore your best plan would be to ride for Sluys, and there take ship again. As for me, I shall wait until news comes and then ride for Liege, and remain there with friends quietly until we see what the upshot of the affair is likely to be.”

During the day preparations were made for the expedition. Five thousand of those best able to carry arms were chosen, but the store of provisions was so small that there were but five cartloads of biscuit and two tuns of wine for those who went, and a like quantity for the sustenance of those who stayed. The young knights were to ride in the train of Van Artevelde himself. In the morning the merchant had asked them what colours they would wear, for, so far, they had not provided themselves with scarves.

“You should have scarves, and knightly plumes also,” he said, “and, if you carry lances, pennons; but as you say that you shall fight with sword, that matter can stand over. Tell me what colours you choose, and I will see that you have them.”

Albert answered that he should carry his father's colours, namely, a red sash, and red and blue plumes. Edgar replied that he had never thought about it, but that he would choose white and red plumes, and a scarf of the same colour. These the merchant purchased in the afternoon, and his wife and daughter fastened the plumes in their helmets. At the appointed hour in the morning they clad themselves in full armour, and when they went down they found the merchant's wife and daughter were already afoot, and these fastened the scarves over their shoulders. On going down to the courtyard they found, to their surprise, that their two horses both carried armour on the chest, body, and head.

“It is right that you should go to battle in knightly fashion,” the merchant said, “and I have provided you with what is necessary. Indeed, that is no more than is due. I brought you out here, and involved you in this business, and 'tis but right that I should see that you are protected as far as may be from harm.”

The reins were supplemented by steel chains, so that the riders should not be left powerless were the leather cut by a sweeping blow. When they mounted, the merchant himself went with them to the spot where Van Artevelde's following were to assemble. The two men-at-arms, in high spirits at the thought of a fight, rode behind them, together with the two Van Voorden had engaged at Sluys, both of whom were able to speak a certain amount of English.

“If you are unhorsed, comrade,” one of them said to Hal Carter, “and in an extremity, remember that the cry for mercy is 'Misericorde.'“

“By my faith,” Hal replied, “'tis little likely that they will get that cry from me; as long as I can fight I will fight, when I can fight no longer they can slay me. Still, it is as well that I should know the word, as I should not like to kill any poor wretch who asks for quarter.”

They found Van Artevelde already at the place of assembly. He greeted the young knights most cordially.

“Your presence here,” he said, “will be invaluable to me. The word will soon go round to our host that you are English knights, and it will be held as a token that England is with us.”

They waited half an hour, and then Van Voorden bade them adieu, as the cavalcade moved forward. Already the greater part of the armed men had moved out from the city, each band having assembled in its own quarter, and moved through the gates as soon as its number was complete. The instructions had been that each company, as it issued from the gates, was to follow the road to Bruges, and as soon as the sun rose it was to halt, when they were all to form up and move in order. Van Artevelde introduced the young knights to many of those who rode with him, as having lately arrived from England, and as being willing to take part in a battle for so good a cause.

The road was broad and wide, but the cavalcade rode in single file, so as to pass without difficulty the masses of marching men. Just as the sun rose they reached the head of the column. A halt was called; the country was flat, and the companies were now formed on a front half a mile wide, so that they could march at once faster and in an orderly body, as it was possible that some spy might have sent the news of their coming to Bruges, and they might be attacked on their way. There were no horses, save those of Van Artevelde and his immediate followers, the seven carts being dragged by men. As the march proceeded, Edgar and Albert requested Van Artevelde to give them leave to ride with their four men across the country, and to take with them a score of the most active foot-men.

“It will be hard,” they said, “if we cannot come across a few cattle, sheep, or horses, or some sacks of flour, which would mightily help us. If we keep ahead of the main body we may, too, come by surprise on some of the farm-houses, and shall be able to send back news to you should there be any armed force approaching.”

“By all means do so, and thanks for the offer.”

Artevelde gave orders at once that twenty men of the company next to him should proceed as rapidly as they could ahead with the English knights, and should hold themselves under their command.

“We will go on, good fellows,” Edgar said to them; “if we meet with a force too strong for us we shall ride back, but if we can capture aught in the way of food we will wait until you come up and leave it in your charge to hold until the others arrive.”

Riding on fast the friends were soon two miles ahead of the main body. The villages on the road were found to be completely deserted, the people having removed weeks before; for lying, as they did, between the rival cities, they were likely to suffer at the hands of both. The party soon turned off and made across the country. Here and there a few animals could be seen over the flat expanse. Presently they came upon a mill; the water of the canal that turned its wheel was running to waste, and the place was evidently deserted.

“Hew down the door, Hal,” Edgar said to his follower.

“That will I right willingly, my lord, for, in truth, I begin to feel well-nigh as hungry as those of Ghent. We have had good lodgings, and the beasts have fared well on hay, but had it not been for the food we brought from the last halting-place, verily I believe that we should not have had a bite from the time we entered the place five days ago to now.”

“We have been in almost as bad a plight, Hal. It was well indeed that we filled up our panniers, in the knowledge that there was little to be obtained in Ghent; though in truth we knew not that the pressure of want was so great.”

A few strokes with the heavy axe Hal carried at his saddlebow stove in the door, and they entered.

The interior of the mill was in great confusion, and by the manner in which things were thrown about, it was evident that it had been deserted in great haste, and probably some months before, when the fighting was going on hotly. “Look round, lads!” Edgar exclaimed. “They may well have left something behind when they fled so suddenly.”

A shout was raised when the men-at-arms entered the next chamber. In one corner stood ten sacks of flour, and the bin, into which the flour ran from the stones, was half full, and contained enough to fill five or six others. One of the Flemish men-at-arms was at once ordered to ride back at full speed to the road to intercept the twenty foot-men. These were to be directed to come at once to take charge of the mill, and the messenger was then to ride on till he met Van Artevelde, and to beg him to send forward as many bakers as there might be among his following, and to inform him that there was flour enough to furnish a loaf for every man in the force. As soon as the foot-men arrived, Edgar and Albert set them to work. The three men had already collected a quantity of wood and lighted the fire in a great oven that they had found, and from which it was evident that the miller was also a baker, and supplied the villagers round them. The two knights, with their followers, again started on horseback, and after four hours' riding, returned with twelve cattle, four horses, and a score of sheep they had found grazing masterless over the country. By this time fifty bakers were at work, and five hundred men were sitting down round the mill waiting to carry the loaves, when baked, to the army. The animals were given over to the charge of ten of these men, who were ordered to drive them after the army until this halted. The young knights and their men-at-arms then rode away.

CHAPTER XIV.

CIVIL WAR

Edgar and Albert came up with the force after an hour-and-a-half's riding, and found it halted some four miles from Bruges. The news that the English knights had discovered a store of flour had passed quickly through the ranks, and they were loudly cheered as they rode in.

“Truly you have rendered us a vast service,” Van Artevelde said, as they joined him, “for it will not be needful to break in this evening upon our scanty store, and this is of vital importance, since we must perforce wait until the earl and the men of Bruges come out to attack us. Your men said that it was some fifteen sacks of flour that you had found?”

“About that, sir. There were ten full, and under the millstones was a great bin holding, I should say, half as much more. Moreover, we have ridden far over the country, and have gathered up twelve head of cattle, four horses, and a score of sheep. These are following us, and will give meat enough for a good meal to-day all round, and maybe something to spare, and to-morrow I trust that we may bring in some more.”

A murmur of satisfaction broke from the four or five burghers with Van Artevelde.

“This is a good beginning, indeed, of our adventure,” the latter said, “and greatly are we beholden to these knights. They have dispelled the apprehension I had that if the people of Bruges deferred their attack for a couple of days they might find us so weakened with hunger as to be unable to show any front against them.”

Two hours later the animals arrived, and were handed over to the company of the butchers' guild, who proceeded at once to cut them up. They were then distributed among the various companies, with orders that but half was to be eaten that night and the rest kept for the morrow. In the meantime men had been sent on to some of the deserted villages, and had returned with doors, shutters, broken furniture, and beams, and fires were speedily lighted. Before the meat was ready half of those who had remained at the mill arrived laden with bread, and said that the rest would be up in two hours. For the first time for weeks the Ghentois enjoyed a hearty meal, and as Van Artevelde, with the young knights and burghers with him, went round on foot among the men, they were greeted with loud cheers and shouts of satisfaction.

The next day the force remained where it had halted. The two knights and the men-at-arms scoured the country again for some miles round, and drove in before them twenty-two head of cattle, and these sufficed, with what had remained over, to furnish food for the day and to leave enough for the troops to break their fast in the morning.

So deserted was the country that it was not until the next morning early that the news reached the earl that the men of Ghent had come out against him. Rejoicing that they should thus have placed themselves in his power, he sent out three knights to reconnoitre their position and bring an account of their numbers. After breakfast Philip Van Artevelde had moved his followers a short distance away from their halting-ground and taken up a position near to a small hill, where he addressed them.

Some friars and clergy who were with the force celebrated mass at various points, and then confessed the troops and exhorted them to keep up their courage, telling them that small forces had, with the help of God, frequently defeated large ones, and as all had been done that was possible to obtain peace but without avail, He would surely help them against these enemies who sought to destroy them utterly. Then they prepared for battle. Each man carried with him a long and sharp stake, as was their custom, in the same fashion as did the English archers, and they gathered in a square and set a hedge of these stakes round them. The enemy's knights had ridden near them without being interfered with, for the Ghentois wished nothing better than that the smallness of their numbers should be clearly seen.

After they had ridden off, Van Artevelde, confident that their report would suffice to bring out the earl with his people, now ordered that the wine and bread brought out with them, which had hitherto been untouched, should be served out. The men then sat down and quietly awaited the attack. As Van Artevelde had hoped, the message taken back by the knights as to his strength and position was sufficient to induce the earl to give battle at once, as he feared that they might change their mind and retreat. The alarm-bells called all the citizens to arms. They fell in with their companies, and marched out forty thousand strong, including the knights and men-at-arms of the earl. The citizens of Bruges, delighted at the thought that the opportunity for levelling their haughty rival to the dust had now arrived, marched on, until they reached the edge of a pond in front of the position of the Ghentois.

Van Artevelde had placed the whole of the men with guns in the front rank, with the strictest orders that no shot was to be fired until the order was given. Waiting until the enemy had gathered in great masses, Van Artevelde gave the word, and the three hundred guns, many of these being wall- pieces, were fired at once, doing great destruction. The sun was behind the Ghentois, and its direct rays, and those reflected from the pond, rendered it difficult for the men of Bruges to see what their foes were doing, and observing the great confusion from the effect of the volley, the men of Ghent, with a mighty cheer, pulled up their stakes, and rushing round the ends of the pond, fell upon their enemies with fury.

The men of Bruges, who had anticipated no resistance, and had marched out in the full belief that the Ghentois would lay down their arms and crave for mercy as soon as they appeared, were seized with a panic. The two young knights, with their four men-at-arms, had placed themselves at the head of the foot-men, and, dashing among the citizens, hewed their way through them, followed closely by the shouting Ghentois. Numbers of the men of Bruges were slain with sword, axe, and pike. The others threw away their arms and fled, hotly pursued by their foes. Louis of Flanders, who, by a charge with his knights and men-at-arms, might well have remedied the matter, now showed that he was as cowardly as he was cruel, drew off with them, and, without striking a single blow, he himself and some forty men galloped to Bruges. The rest of his knights and followers scattered in all directions.

Great numbers of the flying citizens were killed in the pursuit. It was now dark; the earl on arriving had ordered the gate by which he entered to be closed, and had set twenty men there. Thus the retreat of the citizens into the town was prevented, and many were slaughtered. In consequence, the rest fled to other gates, where they were admitted, but with them rushed in their pursuers. Philip Van Artevelde begged the two English knights to each take a strong party, and to proceed round the walls in different directions, seizing all the gates, and setting a strong guard on them, that none should enter or leave; and then, with the main body of his following, he marched without opposition to the market-place.

The earl, when he found that the town was lost and the gates closed, disguised himself, and found shelter for the night in a loft in the house of a poor woman. Van Artevelde had issued the strictest orders that he was on no account to be injured, but was, when found, to be brought at once to him, so that he might be taken to Ghent, and there obliged to make a peace that would assure to the city all its privileges, and give rest and tranquillity to the country. In spite, however, of the most rigid search, the earl was not found; but the forty knights and men-at-arms who had entered with him were all captured and killed. No harm whatever was done to any of the inhabitants of Bruges, or to any foreign merchants or others residing there.

[Illustration: THE TWO YOUNG KNIGHTS CHARGE DOWN UPON THE PANIC-STRICKEN CROWD.]

On the following night the Earl of Flanders managed to effect his escape in disguise. That day being Sunday the men of Ghent repaired to the cathedral, where they had solemn mass celebrated, and a thanksgiving for their victory and for their relief from their sore strait. The young knights were not present, for as soon as the city was captured, Van Artevelde said to them:

“Brave knights, to you it is chiefly due that we are masters here to-day, instead of being men exhausted, without hope, and at the mercy of our enemies. It was you who found and brought us food, and so enabled us to hold out for two days, and to meet the enemy strong and in good heart. Then, too, I marked how you clove a way for our men to follow you through the ranks of the foe, spreading death and dismay among them. Sirs, to you, then, I give the honour of bearing the news to Ghent. I have ordered that fresh horses shall be brought you from the prince's stable. Councillor Moens will ride with you to act as spokesman; but before starting, take, I pray you, a goblet of wine and some bread. It were well that you took your men-at-arms with you, for you might be beset on the road by some of the people who did not succeed in entering the gates, or by some of the cowardly knights who stood by and saw the citizens being defeated without laying lance in rest to aid them. Fresh horses shall be prepared for your men also, and they shall sup before they start. There is no lack of food here.”

Much gratified at the mission intrusted to them, the young knights at once ordered their men-at-arms to prepare for the ride.

“When you have supped,” Albert said, “see that you stuff your saddle-bags and ours with food for Van Voorden's household first, and then for those who most need it.”

The meals were soon eaten. As they were about to mount Van Artevelde said to them:

“There will be no lack of provisions to-morrow, for in two hours a great train of waggons, loaded with provisions, will start under a strong guard, and to-morrow at daybreak herds of cattle will be brought in and driven there; you may be sure also that the rivers will be open as soon as the news is known, for none will now venture to interfere with those bringing food into Ghent.”

The councillor was ready, and in a few minutes they had passed out of the city, and were galloping along the road to Ghent, just as the bell of the cathedral tolled the hour often. Two hours later, without having once checked the speed of their horses, they heard the bells ringing midnight in Ghent. In ten minutes they approached the gate, and were challenged from the walls.

“I am the Councillor Moens,” the knights' companion shouted. “I come from Philip Van Artevelde with good news. We have defeated the enemy and captured Bruges.”

There was a shout of delight from the walls, and in a minute the drawbridge was lowered and the great gate opened. The councillor rode straight to the town-hall. The doors were open, and numbers of the citizens were still gathered there. Moens did not wait to speak to them, but, running into the belfry, ordered the men there to ring their most joyous peal. The poor fellows had been lying about, trying to deaden their hunger by sleep, but at the order they leapt to their feet, seized the ropes, and Ghent was electrified by hearing the triumphal peal bursting out in the stillness of the night.

In the meantime those in the hall had crowded round the young knights and their followers, but these, beyond saying that the news was good, waited until Moens' return. It was but a minute, and he at once shouted:

“The enemy have been beaten! We have taken Bruges! By the morning food will be here!”

Now from every belfry in the city the notes from the town-hall had been taken up, the clanging of the bells roused every sleeper, and the whole town poured into the street shouting wildly, for though they knew not yet what had happened, it was clear that some great news had arrived. All the councillors and the principal citizens had made for the town-hall, which was speedily thronged. Moens took his place with the two young knights upon the raised platform at the end, and lifted his hand for silence. The excited multitude were instantly still, and those near the doors closed them, to keep out the sound of the bells. Then Moens, speaking at the top of his voice that all might hear him, said: “I am now but the mouthpiece of these English knights, to whom Van Artevelde has given the honour of bearing the news to you, but since they are ignorant of our language I have come with them as interpreter. First, then, we have met the army of Bruges and the earl, forty thousand strong; we have defeated them with great slaughter, and with but small loss to ourselves.”

A mighty shout rose from the crowd, and it was some minutes before the speaker could continue.

“Following on the heels of our flying foes, we entered the city, and Bruges is ours.”

Another shout, as enthusiastic as the first, again interrupted him.

“A great train of waggons filled with wine and provisions was to start at midnight, and will be here to-morrow morning at daybreak. Herds will be driven in, and dispatched at once. By to-morrow night, therefore, the famine will be at an end, and every man, woman, and child in Ghent will be able to eat their fill.”

Those at the door shouted the glad news to the multitude in the square, and a roar like that of the sea answered, and echoed the shouts in the hall.

“Tell us more, tell us more!” the men cried, when the uproar ceased. “We have seven or eight hours to wait for food; tell us all about it.”

“I will tell you first, citizens, why I am speaking to you in the name of these English knights, and why they have been chosen to have the honour of bringing these good tidings hither.”

He then told them how, the force being without horsemen, and bound to keep straight along by the road, the two knights had volunteered to ride out to see if any hostile force was approaching, and also to endeavour to find provisions.

“The latter seemed hopeless,” the councillor went on. “Every village had long since been deserted, and no living soul met the eye on the plain. They had been gone but three hours when one of their men-at-arms rode in, asking that all the bakers should be sent forward at once, for that, in a mill less than two miles from the road, they had discovered fifteen sacks of flour left behind. The bakers started at once with five hundred men to bring on the bread as fast as it was baked to the spot where we were to halt.

“This was not all, for, later on, the knights with some of the men joined us at the camp with sufficient cattle, sheep, and horses, that the knights had found straying, to give every man a meal that night, and one the following morning. The next day they drove in a few more, and so it was not until to-day that we touched the store we took with us. It was the food that saved us. Had we been forced to eat our scanty supply that first night, we should have been fasting for well-nigh forty-eight hours, and when the earl, with his knights and men-at-arms and the townsmen of Bruges, in all forty thousand men, marched out to meet us, what chance would five thousand famished men have had against them? As it was, the food we got did wonders for us; and every man seemed to have regained his full strength and courage. When they came nigh to us we poured in one volley with all our guns, which put them into confusion. The sun was in their eyes, and almost before they knew that we had moved, we were upon them.

“These two knights and their four men-at-arms flung themselves into the crowd and opened the way for our footmen, and in five minutes the fight was over. It may be that many of the craftsmen of Bruges were there unwillingly, and that these were among the first to throw down their arms and fly. However it was, in five minutes the whole force was in full flight. The earl's knights and their men-at-arms struck not a single blow, but seeming panic-struck, scattered and fled in all directions, the earl and forty men alone gaining Bruges. There they closed the gate against the fugitives, but these fled to other gates, and so hotly did we pursue them that we entered mixed up with them.

“Van Artevelde committed to the two English knights the task of seizing all the gates, and of setting a guard to prevent any man from leaving, while the rest of us under him pushed forward to the market-place. There was no resistance. Thousands of the men had fallen in the battle and flight. Thousands had failed to enter the gates. All who did so were utterly panic-stricken and terrified. Thus the five thousand men you sent out have defeated forty thousand, and have captured Bruges, and I verily believe that not more than a score have fallen. Methinks, my friends, you will all agree with me that your governor has done well to give these knights the honour of carrying the good news to Ghent.”

A mighty shout answered the question. The crowd rushed upon the two young knights, each anxious to speak to them, and praise them. With difficulty the councillor, aided by some of his colleagues, surrounded them, and made a way to a small door at the end of the platform. Once beyond the building, they hurried along by-streets to Van Voorden's house, to where, on entering the hall, they had charged the men-at-arms at once to take the horses, to hand over as much of the provisions as were needed for the immediate wants of the household, and then to carry the rest to the nuns of a convent hard by—for these were, they knew, reduced to the direst straits before the expedition started.

“Welcome back, welcome back!” the Fleming exclaimed, as they entered, and the words were repeated by wife and daughter. “Your men-at-arms told my wife what had happened, and I myself heard it from the lower end of the town-hall, where I arrived just as Moens began to speak. I saw you escape from the platform, and hurried off, but have only this instant arrived. The crush was so great in the square that it was difficult to make my way through it, but forgive us if we say nothing further until we have eaten that food upon the table, for indeed we have had but one regular meal since you left the town. Tell me first, though, for all were too excited to ask Moens the question—has the earl been captured?”

“He had not, up to the moment when we left. The strictest search is being made for him. It is known that he must be somewhere in the town, for he and a party, not knowing that Van Artevelde was in the market-place, well- nigh fell into his hands, and he certainly could not have got through any of the gates before we had closed them and had placed a strong guard over them. Van Artevelde has given strict orders that he is to be taken uninjured, and he purposes to bring him here, and to make him sign a peace with us.”

“I trust that he will be caught,” Van Voorden said; “but as for the peace, I should have no faith in it, for be sure that as soon as he is once free again he would repudiate it, and would at once set to work to gather, with the aid of Burgundy, a force with which he could renew the war, wipe out the disgrace that has befallen him, and take revenge upon the city that inflicted it. Now, let us to supper.”

“We will but look on,” Albert said, with a smile. “We supped at Bruges at half-past nine, but it will be a pleasure indeed to see you eat it.”

“We must not eat much,” the merchant said to his wife and daughter. “Let us take a little now, and to-morrow we can do better. It might injure us to give rein to our appetite after well-nigh starving for the last two days.”

As soon as the meal was eaten all sallied out into the streets, the young knights first laying aside their armour, as they did not wish to attract attention. The bells were still ringing out with joyous clamour; at every house flags, carpets, and curtains had been hung out; torches were fixed to every balcony, and great bonfires had been lighted in the middle of the streets, and in the open spaces and markets. The people were well-nigh delirious with joy; strangers shook hands and embraced in the streets; men and women forgot their weakness and hunger, though many were so feeble but an hour before that they could scarcely drag themselves along. The cathedral and churches were all lighted up and crowded with worshippers, thanking God for having preserved them in their hour of greatest need.

“Then, in truth, Sir Edgar,” the Fleming said, as they went along, “the people of Bruges showed themselves to be but a cowardly rabble, and the fighting was poor indeed.”

“It could scarce be called fighting at all,” Edgar said. “A few blows from halbert and bill, and a few thrusts of the pike struck my armour as I charged among them, but after that, it was but a matter of cutting down fugitives. The rabble down in Kent fought with far greater courage, for we had to charge through and through them several times before they broke. I doubt not that very many were outside Bruges against their wills; they had not dared disobey the summons to arms. It was a panic, and a strange one. They had doubtless made up their minds that when we saw their multitude, we should surrender without a blow being struck. The sudden discharge of the guns shook them, and at our first charge they bolted away panic- struck. The strangest part of the affair was that the earl, who had a strong following of knights and men-at-arms, made no effort to retrieve the battle. Had they but charged down upon our flank when we had become disordered in the pursuit, they could have overthrown us without difficulty.

“How it came about that they did not do so is more than I can say. It is clear that the earl showed himself to be a great coward, and his disgrace this day is far greater than that of the burghers of Bruges, since he and his party fled without the loss of a single drop of blood, while thousands of the citizens have lost their lives.”

“'Tis good that he so behaved,” Van Voorden said. “The story that he so deserted the men of Bruges, who went to fight in his quarrel, will speedily be known throughout Flanders, and that, with the news of our great victory, will bring many cities to our side. I trust that Van Artevelde will treat Bruges with leniency.”

“He has already issued a proclamation that none of the small craftsmen of Bruges shall be injured, but exception is made in the case of the four guilds that have always been foremost against Ghent; members of which are to be killed when found.”

“'Tis a pity, but one can scarce blame him. And now, my friends, that we have seen Ghent on this wonderful night, it will be well that we get home to bed. My wife and daughter are still weak from fasting, and I myself feel the strain. As to you, you have done a heavy day's work indeed, especially having to carry the weight of your armour.”

The young knights were indeed glad to throw themselves upon their pallets. They slept soundly until awakened by a fresh outburst of the bells. They sat up; daylight was beginning to break.

“'Tis the train of provisions,” Edgar said. “We may as well go out and see the sight, and give such aid as we can to the council, for the famishing people may well be too eager to await the proper division of the food.”

In a few days there was an abundance of everything in Ghent, for Damme and Sluys opened their gates at once. In the former there were vast cellars of wine, of which 6,000 tuns were sent by ships and carts to Ghent, while at Sluys there was a vast quantity of corn and meal in the ships and storehouses of foreign merchants. All this was bought and paid for at fair prices and sent to the city. Besides food and wine, Ghent received much valuable spoil. All the gold and silver vessels of the earl were captured at Bruges, with much treasure, and a great store of gold and jewels was taken at his palace at Male, near Bruges.

Philip Van Artevelde at once sent messages to all the towns of Flanders summoning them to send the keys of their gates to Ghent, and to acknowledge her supremacy. The news of the victory had caused great exultation in most of these cities, and with the exception of Oudenarde, all sent deputations at once to Ghent to congratulate her, and to promise to support her in all things. In the meantime the gates and a portion of the wall of Bruges had been beaten down, and five hundred of the burgesses were taken to Ghent as hostages. The young knights remained quietly there until Philip Van Artevelde returned. He was received with frantic enthusiasm. He had assumed the title of Regent of Flanders, and now assumed a state and pomp far greater than that which the earl himself had held. He had an immense income, for not only were his private estates large, but a sort of tribute was paid by all the towns of Flanders, and Ghent for a time presented a scene of gaiety and splendour equal to that of any capital in Europe.

Siege was presently laid to Oudenarde, where the garrison had been strongly reinforced by a large party of men-at-arms and cross-bowmen, sent by the earl. Every city in Flanders sent a contingent of fighting men to join those of Ghent, and no less than a hundred thousand men were assembled outside Oudenarde. Thither went the two young friends as soon as the siege began. They had come out to see fighting and not feasting, and they had lost the society of Van Voorden, he having been requested by Van Artevelde to return to England, to conclude a treaty between her and Ghent. Flanders was indeed master of itself, for the earl was a fugitive at the Court of his son-in-law, the Duke of Burgundy, who was endeavouring to induce France to join him against Flanders.

For a time he failed, for the king was much better disposed to the Flemings than he was to the earl, but when, some time later, Charles died, and Burgundy became all-powerful with the young king, his successor, France also prepared to take the field against Flanders. Thus a close alliance between the latter and England became of great importance to both, and had it not been for the extreme unpopularity of the Duke of Lancaster and his brother Gloucester, the course of events might have been changed. For war with France was always popular in England, and the necessary supplies would at once have been voted by parliament had it not been thought that when an army was raised Lancaster would, instead of warring with France, use it for furthering his own claims in Spain. Many English knights, however, came over on their own account to aid the Flemings, and no less than two hundred archers at Calais quietly left the town, with the acquiescence, if not with the encouragement, of the authorities, to take service with Van Artevelde.

One day, the two friends returned to camp after being away for some time watching what was going on. On entering their tent, Albert, who was the first to enter, gave a shout of surprise and pleasure. Edgar pushed in to see what could have thus excited his friend, and so moved him from his usual quiet manner. He, too, was equally surprised, and almost equally pleased, when he saw Albert standing with his hand clasped in that of his father.

“I thought that I should surprise you,” Sir Ralph said, “by coming over both to see this great gathering, and also to have a look at you. We heard of your doings from Van Voorden. He was good enough, after his first interview with the king and council, to ride down to tell us how it fared with you, and it gave us no small pleasure, as you may well suppose, to hear that you had already gained so much credit, and that you both were well in health, I went back to town with him, and stayed three weeks there. There was much talk in the council. All were well content that there should be an alliance with the Flemings, but it seems to me there is not much chance of an English army taking the field to help them at present.

“The king is altogether taken up with his marriage, and is thinking much more of fetes and pageants than of war. Then 'tis doubtful whether the commons would grant the large sum required. The present is a bad time; the rebellion has cost much money, and what with the destruction of property, with the fields standing untilled, and the expenses of the Court, which are very heavy, in truth the people have reasonable cause for grumbling thereat. Then, again, if an army were sent to Flanders, Lancaster would most surely have the command, and you know how much he is hated, and, I may say, feared. Naught will persuade men that he has not designs upon the crown. For this I can see no warrant, but assuredly he loves power, and he and Gloucester overshadow the king.

“Then, again, his wishes are, certainly, to lead a great army into Spain, and he would oppose money being spent on operations in Flanders. Thus, I fear, our alliance is like to be but of little use to Ghent or Flanders. Were but the Black Prince or his father upon the throne things would be different indeed, and we should have a stout army here before many weeks are over. We of the old time feel it hard indeed to see England playing so poor a part. There is another reason, moreover, why our barons do not press matters on. In the first place, they are jealous of the influence that the king's favourites have with him, and that those who, by rank and age, should be his councillors meet with but a poor reception when they come to Court.

“But methinks that even these things hinder much less than the conduct of the people of Ghent. Since Bruges was captured there have been, as you know, parties going through the land as far as the frontiers of France, plundering and destroying all the houses and castles of the knights and nobles, under the complaint that they were favourable to the earl, but in truth chiefly because these knaves hate those of gentle blood and are greedy of plunder. Our nobles deem it—and methinks that they have some reason for doing so—to be a business something like that which we have had in England, save that with us it was the country people, while here it is those of the towns who would fain pull down and destroy all those above them in station. Certainly, their acts are not like to win the friendship and assistance of our English nobles and knights.”

“Indeed, I see that, Sir Ralph,” Edgar said. “At first we were greatly in favour of Ghent, seeing that they were in a desperate strait and that all reasonable terms were refused them, but of late we have not been so warm in their cause. Van Artevelde himself is assuredly honest and desirous of doing what is right, but methinks he does wrong in keeping up the state of a king and bearing himself towards all those of the other cities of Flanders as if Ghent were their conqueror, and laying heavy taxes upon them, while he himself is swayed by the councils of the most violent of the demagogues of Ghent.”

“But now tell me—how goes on the siege?”

“It goes not on at all. Oudenarde is a strong place; it is defended by many broad ditches, and has a garrison of knights and men-at-arms of the earl, who, as we know, take upon themselves all the defence, knowing that there are men in the town who would fain surrender, and fearing that these would throw open the gates to us, or give us such aid as they could, were there a chance. Still more, the siege goes on but slowly, or rather we may say goes on not at all, for want of a leader. Van Artevelde himself knows nothing whatever of the business of war, nor do any of those about him.

“The men of the towns will all fight bravely in a pitched field, as they have often shown, but as to laying a siege, they know naught of it, and it seems to us that the matter might go on for a year and yet be no nearer its end. They are far more occupied in making ordinances and collecting contributions, and in doing all they can for the honour and glory of Ghent, than in thinking of taking Oudenarde, which, indeed, when captured, would be of no great consequence to them.”

Sir Ralph nodded. “Methinks you are right, Edgar. I arrived here just as you went out this morning, and hearing from your men that you were not like to return till midday, I have ridden round to see what was being done, and to my surprise saw that, in the three months since this great host sat down before Oudenarde, naught of any use whatever has been accomplished. With such an army, if Flanders wishes to maintain her freedom, she should have summoned Burgundy to abstain from giving aid to the earl, and on his refusal should have marched with her whole force against him, captured some of his great towns, and met his host in a fair field. Methinks you two are doing no good to yourselves here, and that it will be just as well for you both to go back to England for a time, until you see how matters shape themselves.”

CHAPTER XV.

A CRUSHING DEFEAT

The two young knights were both pleased to hear Sir Ralph's counsel, for they themselves had several times talked the matter over together, and agreed that there was little prospect of aught being done for many months. They felt that they were but wasting their time remaining before Oudenarde, where they were frequently offended by the overbearing manner of the Ghentois, who, on the strength of their defeat of the people of Bruges, considered themselves to be invincible. They had, during the four months that they had been in Flanders, learned enough of the language to make themselves easily understood. They had paid visits to Brussels and other places of importance, and were likely to learn nothing from the events of the siege, which, they could already see, was not going to be attended with success.

It was their first absence from home, and in the lack of all adventure and excitement, they would be glad to be back again. Therefore, after remaining three days, which only confirmed Sir Ralph in his view, they took leave of Van Artevelde, saying that they hoped to rejoin him as soon as there was any prospect of active service, and, riding to Sluys, took ship with their followers. At Sir Ralph's suggestion they retained in their train the two Flemings, whom they had found stout and useful fellows.

“Are you glad to go home again, Hal?” Sir Edgar said.

“Well, master, I should not be glad were there aught doing here, though now that they have granted a pardon to all concerned in Wat the Tyler's business, I can show my face without fear. But it has been a dull time. Except just for a score of blows in that business with the Bruges people there has been naught to do since we came over, except to groom the horses and polish the armour. One might as well have been driving a cart at St. Alwyth as moping about this camp.”

“Perhaps there will be more stirring times when we come back again, Hal. Burgundy is arming, and it is like enough that France may join him, and in that case there will be fighting enough even to satisfy you; but we may have a few months at home before that is likely to take place.”

The knights were landed at Gravesend, and their road lay together as far as St. Alwyth. It was late in the afternoon, and Sir Ralph and Albert rode straight home, telling Edgar that they should expect to see him in the morning. Edgar found his father going on just as usual. He received his son with pleasure, but without surprise, as Sir Ralph had called before he left, and had said that if he found that naught was doing at Oudenarde, he would recommend his own son and Edgar to return home for a while.

“Well, sir knight,” Mr. Ormskirk said, smiling, “I have not yet congratulated you on your honour, but, believe me, I was right glad when I heard the news. You have had but little fighting, I hear.”

“None at all, father, for the affair near Bruges could scarcely be called fighting. It was as naught to the fight we had down here before we went away; save for that, I have not drawn sword. I have returned home somewhat richer, for Van Artevelde gave Albert and myself rich presents as our share of the spoil taken there.”

“You have grown nigh two inches,” Mr. Ormskirk said, as Edgar laid aside his armour.

“I have done little else but eat and sleep, ride for an hour or two every day, and practise arms other two hours with Albert, for indeed there were few among the Flemings who knew aught of the matter save to strike a downright blow. They are sturdy fellows and strong, and can doubtless fight well side by side in a pitched battle, but they can scarce be called men-at-arms, seeing that they but takedown their weapons when these are required, and hang them up again until there is fresh occasion for their use. So that I have doubtless grown a bit, having nothing else to do.”

“And for how long are you home, Edgar?”

“That I know not, father. Sir Ralph will go up with us to London next week. He says that it will be well we should present ourselves at Court, but after that we shall do nothing until affairs change in Flanders, or till a force goes from here to their aid.”

Edgar rode over to the De Courcys' place the next morning, and received a warm welcome.

Four days later they rode to town with Sir Ralph. The king received them with much favour.

“Philip Van Artevelde sent me by Master Van Voorden a most favourable report of you,” he said, “and told me that he was mightily beholden to you for his victory over the men of Bruges, for that had it not been for your collecting supplies for his men, they would have been too famished to have given battle, and that you led the charge into the midst of their ranks. I was pleased to find that my knights had borne themselves so well. And how goes on the siege of Oudenarde?”

“It can scarcely be called a siege, your Majesty,” Edgar said; “there are a few skirmishes, but beyond that naught is done. If your Majesty would but send them out a good knight with skill in such matters they might take Oudenarde in ten days. As it is, 'tis like to extend to the length of the siege of Troy, unless the Burgundians come to its relief.”

“I could send them a good knight, for I have plenty of them, but would they obey him?”

“Methinks not, sire,” Edgar replied, frankly. “Just at present they are so content with themselves that they would assuredly accept no foreign leader, and have indeed but small respect for their own.”

The king laughed. “What thought you of them, Sir Ralph?”

“'Tis what might be looked for, your Majesty. It is an army of bourgeois and craftsmen, stout fellows who could doubtless defend their walls against an attack, or might fight stoutly shoulder to shoulder, but they have an over-weening conceit in themselves, and deem that all that is necessary in war is to carry a pike or a pole-axe and use it stoutly. A party of children would do as well, or better, were they set to besiege a town. Leadership there is none. Parties go out to skirmish with the garrison; a few lives are lost, and then they return, well content with themselves. 'Tis a mockery of war!”

The king asked them many questions about the state of things in Flanders, to which they replied frankly that Flanders was united at present, and that they thought that—with five thousand English archers and as many men-at-arms under a commander of such station as would give him authority not only over his own troops but over the Flemings—they might be able to resist the attacks of Burgundy, or even of Burgundy allied with France; but that by themselves, without military leaders, they feared that matters would go ill with the Flemings.

The king bade the two friends come to the Court that evening; and when they did so he presented them to the young queen, speaking of them in very high terms.

“They were,” he said, “the only men who did their duty on that day when the rioters invaded the Tower during our absence, killing with their own hands seven men who invaded the apartment of Lady De Courcy, and carrying her and her daughter safely through the crowd. Had all done their duty but a tenth part as well, the disgrace this rabble brought upon us would never have occurred, and the lives of my trusty councillors would have been saved.”

“The king has already told me of your exploit here, and of other deeds as notable done by you; and Mynheer Van Voorden also spoke to me of the service you rendered him,” the queen said, graciously, “but I had scarcely looked to see the heroes of these stories such young knights.”

She spoke to them for some time, while the king's favourites looked on, somewhat ill-pleased at such graciousness being shown to the new-comers. The haughty De Vere, who had just been created Duke of Dublin, and who was about to start to undertake the governorship of Ireland, spoke in a sneering tone to a young noble standing next to him. Sir Ralph happened to overhear him, and touched him on the shoulder.

“My lord duke,” he said, “methinks you need not grudge the honour that has fallen to those two young knights; you yourself have achieved far greater honour, and that without, so far as I know, ever having drawn your sword. But it were best that, if you have aught to say against them, you should say it in their hearing, when, I warrant me, either of them would gladly give you an opportunity of proving your valour. Your skill, indeed, would be needed, since I would wager either of them to spit you like a fly within five minutes; or should you consider them too young for so great a noble to cross swords with, I myself would gladly take up their quarrel.”

The favourite flushed hotly, and for a moment hesitated. “I have no quarrel with them, Sir Ralph De Courcy,” he said, after a short hesitation. “My words were addressed to a friend here.”

“You spoke loud enough for me to hear, my lord duke, and should know that such words so spoken are an insult.”

“They were not meant as such, Sir Ralph.”

“Then, sir, I will give you my advice to hold your tongue more under government. Those young knights have earned royal favour not by soft words or mincing ways, but by their swords; and it were best in future that any remarks you may wish to make concerning them, should be either in strict privacy or openly and in their hearing.”

So saying, he turned his back on the disconcerted young courtier, who shortly afterwards left the royal presence overcome by chagrin and confusion, for the knight's words had been heard by several standing round, and more than one malicious smile had been exchanged among his rivals for Court favour.

De Vere had a fair share of bravery, but the reports of the singular feats of swordsmanship by the young knights convinced him that he would have but small chance with either of them in a duel. Even if he came well out of it there would be but small credit indeed to him in overcoming a young knight who had not yet reached manhood, while, if worsted, it would be a fatal blow to his reputation. That evening he had a private interview with the king, and requested leave to start the next day to take up his new governorship. Sir Ralph related the incident to the lads as they returned to the hostelry where they had taken up their lodging.

“It was a heavy blow for his pride,” he said. “I think not that he is a coward. The De Veres come of a good stock, but he saw that such a duel would do him great harm. The king himself, if he learned its cause, as he must have done, would have been greatly displeased, and the queen equally so, and there would have been no credit to him had he wounded you; while if he had been wounded, it would have been deemed a disgrace that he, the Duke of Dublin and Governor of Ireland, should have been worsted by so young a knight; therefore, I blame him not for refusing to accept the challenge I offered him, and it will make him soberer and more careful of his speech in future. It was a lesson he needly greatly, for I have often heard him among his companions using insolent remarks concerning men who were in every respect his superiors, save that they stood not so high in the favour of the king.”

They remained a week in London, attending the Court regularly and improving their acquaintance with many whom they had met there in the troubled times. There was scarce a day that they did not spend some time at the house of Sir Robert Gaiton, Albert especially being always ready with some pretext for a visit there. Van Voorden had left London, sailing thence on the very day before they had arrived at Gravesend.

The summer passed quietly. Oudenarde still held out, and indeed no serious attack had been made upon it. Van Artevelde had sent a messenger to the King of France, begging him to mediate between the Flemings and the Duke of Burgundy, but the king had thrown the messenger into prison without returning answer, and in the autumn had summoned his levies to aid the duke in the invasion of Flanders. Seeing that fighting in earnest was likely to commence shortly, the knights took ship with their followers early in October, and after a fair voyage landed at Sluys and rode to Oudenarde. A formal alliance had by this time been made between the two countries, but no steps had been taken towards gathering an army in England. The two knights were, however, very cordially received by Van Artevelde.

“You have arrived just in time to ride with me to-morrow,” he said. “I am going to see that all has been done to prevent the French from crossing the river. All the bridges have been broken save those at Comines and Warneton, and Peter De Bois is appointed to hold the one, and Peter De Winter the other.”

The following morning some twenty horsemen started with Van Artevelde and rode to Ghent, and thence followed the bank of the Lys. Most of the bridges had been completely destroyed, and those at Comines and Warneton had both been so broken up that a handful of men at either could keep it against an army.

“We may feel safe, I think, sir knights,” Van Artevelde said to his friends when they brought their tour of inspection to an end on the second day after starting.

“Assuredly we are safe against the French crossing by the bridges,” Edgar said, “but should they find boats they may cross where they please.”

“I have ordered every boat to be brought over to this side of the river, Sir Edgar, and a number of men have, by my orders, been engaged in doing so.”

“Doubtless, sir. I have kept a look-out the whole distance and have not seen one boat on the other side of the stream; but there are numerous channels and canals by which the country folk bring down their produce; and however sharp the search may be, some boats may have escaped notice. Even a sunken one, that might seem wholly useless, could be raised and roughly repaired, and in a few trips could bring a number of men across under shadow of night. So far as I have read, it is rarely that an army has failed to find means of some kind for crossing a river.”

But Philip Van Artevelde was not now, as he had been a year before, ready to take hints from others, and he simply replied, carelessly, “I have no doubt that my orders have been strictly carried out, sir knight,” and rode forward again.

“I don't think things will go well with us, Albert,” Edgar said. “With a general who knows nothing whatever of warfare, an army without officers, and tradesmen against men-at-arms, the look-out is not good. Van Artevelde ought to have had horsemen scattered over on the other side of the river, who would have brought us exact news as to the point against which the main body of the French is marching. They ought to have a man posted every two hundred yards along the river bank for fifteen miles above and below that point, then I should have four bodies of five thousand men each posted at equal distances three miles behind the river, so that one of these could march with all haste to the spot where they learned that the French were attempting to cross, and could arrive there long before enough of the enemy had made a passage, to withstand their onslaught.

“I will wager that the Lys will not arrest the passage of the French for twenty-four hours. Were Peter De Bois a reasonable man, I would ask leave of Van Artevelde to ride and take up our post with him, but he is an arrogant and ignorant fellow with whom I should quarrel before I had been in his camp an hour.”

Two days passed quietly at Oudenarde, then the news came that the enemy had passed the Lys at Comines. Seeing that the bridge could not be crossed, the French army had halted. Some of the knights went down to the river, and after a search discovered some boats, in which they passed over with four hundred men-at-arms before nightfall, unperceived by the Flemings. They then marched towards Comines, hoping that the Flemings would leave their strong position near the head of the bridge to give battle, in which case they doubted not that the constable would find means so far to repair the bridge that the passage could begin.

Peter De Bois, however, was not to be tempted to leave his position, and the French had to remain all night on the marshy ground without food for themselves or their horses. In the morning, however, the Fleming, fearing that others might cross and reinforce the party, marched out against them. The knights and men-at-arms met them so stoutly that in a very short time the Flemings took to flight. The French at once set to work to repair the bridge, and by nightfall a great portion of the army had crossed. The weather was very wet and stormy, and the French army had suffered much.

There were besides Edgar and Albert some other English knights in the camp, and these gathered together as soon as the news came, and talked over what in their opinion had best be done.

“I think,” said Sir James Pinder, a knight who had seen much service on many stricken fields, “it would be best to remain where we are, and to throw up fortifications behind which we can fight to better advantage, while the French cavalry would be able to do but little against us. The French troops must be worn out with marching, and with the terrible weather; they will find it difficult to procure food, and might even abstain altogether from coming against us, while, from what I see of this rabble, they may fight bravely, but they will never be able to withstand the shock of the French knights and men-at-arms. 'Tis like the French will be three or four days before they come hither, and by that time, with fifty thousand men to work at them, we should have works so strong and high that we could fearlessly meet them. Moreover, the threescore English archers who still remain would be able to gall them as they pressed forward, whereas in a pitched battle they would not be numerous enough to avail anything.”

The other six knights all agreed with Sir James, who then said, “I hear that Van Artevelde has summoned his leaders to consult them as to the best course. I will go across and tell them what in our opinion had better be done.”

He returned in half an hour. “'Tis hopeless,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “These Flemings are as obstinate as they are ignorant; not one of those present agreed with my proposal. Many, indeed, broke into rude laughter, and so I left them.”

After crossing the Lys the French came to Ypres, and on the same day the Flemings broke up their camp before Oudenarde and marched, fifty thousand strong, to Courtray. On the following day they moved forward to ground which Van Artevelde and his counsellors deemed good for fighting. Behind them was a hill, a dyke was on one wing, and a grove of wood was on the other. The French were camped at Rosbecque, some four miles away. That evening Van Artevelde invited all the principal men and officers to sup with him, and gave them instructions for the morrow. He said that he was not sorry that no large force of Englishmen had come to their aid, for had they done so they would assuredly have had the credit of the victory. He also gave orders that no prisoners should be taken save the king himself, whom they would bring to Ghent and instruct in the Flemish language.

A false alarm roused the camp at midnight, and although it proved to be ill-founded, the Flemings were so uneasy at the thought that they might be attacked unawares, that great fires were lighted and meat cooked and wine drunk until an hour before daylight, when they arranged themselves in order of battle and also occupied a heath beyond the wood. A large dyke ran across in front of them, and behind them the ground was covered by small bushes. Philip Van Artevelde was in the centre with 9,000 picked men of Ghent, whom he always kept near his person, as he had but little faith in the goodwill of those from other towns.

Beyond these were the contingents of Alost and Grammont, of Courtray and Bruges, Damme and Sluys. All were armed with maces, steel caps, breast- pieces, and gauntlets of steel. Each carried a staff tipped with iron; each company and craft had its own livery, and colours and standards with the arms of their town. The morning was misty, and no sign could be seen of the French. After a time the Flemings became impatient, and determined to sally out to meet the enemy.

“It is just madness,” Sir James said to the English knights, who, with their followers, had gathered round him. “I had great hopes that, with the dyke in their front to check the onrush of the French, they might withstand all attacks and come out victors; now they are throwing away their advantage, and going like sheep to the shearers. By my faith, friends, 'tis well that our horses have rested of late, for we shall need all their speed if we are to make our escape from this business.”

As they moved forward in the mist they caught sight of some French knights, who moved backwards and forwards along their front and then rode away, doubtless to inform their countrymen that the Flemings were advancing against them. In the French army were all the best knights and leaders of France, and as soon as they heard that the Flemings were advancing they divided into three bodies, the one carrying the royal banner, which was to attack the Flemings in front; the two others were to move on either side and fall upon their flanks. This arranged, they moved forward with full confidence of victory.

The central division fell first upon the Flemings, but it was received so roughly that it recoiled a little, and several good knights fell. In a few minutes, however, the other two divisions attacked the Flemings' flanks. The English knights, who were stationed on the right, seeing what was coming, had in vain tried to get the companies on this side to face round so as to oppose a front to the attack. The consequence was that the weight of the attack fell entirely upon the extreme end of the line, doubling it up and driving it in upon the centre, while the same took place on the right. Thus in a very few minutes the Flemings were driven into a helpless mass, inclosed on three sides, and so pressed in, that those in front could scarce use their arms, many falling stifled without having struck a blow.

The centre fought well, but their rough armour could not resist the better tempered swords of the French knights, which cleft through the iron caps as if they had been but leather, while the steel points of the lances pierced breast-and back-piece. But chiefly the knights fought with axes and heavy maces, beating the Flemings to the ground, while their own armour protected them effectually from any blows in return. The noise was tremendous. The shouts of the leaders were unheard in the din of the blows of sword and mace on helm and steel cap. Specially fierce was the French assault against the point where Van Artevelde's banner flew. He himself had dismounted, and was fighting in the front rank, and in the terrible melee was, erelong, struck down and trampled to death; and indeed to every man that fell by the French weapons many were suffocated by the press, and on the French side many valiant knights, after fighting their way into the thick of the battle, met with a similar fate.

When the French division bore down on the right flank the seven English knights with their men-at-arms had fallen back. Single-handed it would have been madness had they attempted to charge against the solid line of the French.

“Keep well back!” Sir James Pinder cried, “If we get mixed up with the foot-men we shall be powerless. Let us bide our time, and deliver a stroke where we see an opportunity.”

They continued, therefore, to rein back, as the Flemings were doubled up, powerless to give any aid, or to press forward towards the front line.

“Didst ever see so fearful a sight?” Sir James said. “Sure never before was so dense a mass. 'Tis like a sea raging round the edge of a black rock, and eating it away piecemeal. Were there but five thousand Flemings, they might do better; for now their very numbers prevent them from using their arms. Ah, here is a party with whom we may deal,” and he pointed to a small body of French knights who were about to fall on the rear of the Flemings. “Now, gentlemen, St. George, St. George! “

Putting spurs to their horses, the seven knights and their followers dashed at the French. The latter were also mounted, unlike the majority of their companions, who before attacking had dismounted, and handed their horses to their pages. The party were fully double the strength of the English, but the impetus of the charge broke their line, and in a moment a fierce melee began. Edgar and Albert fought side by side. The former, as no missiles were flying, had thrown up his vizor, the better to be able to see what was passing round him. He was fighting with a battle-axe, for a sword was a comparatively poor weapon against knightly armour. His three first opponents fell headlong, their helmets crushed in under the tremendous blows he dealt them. Then warding off a blow dealt at him, he turned swiftly and drove his horse at a French knight who was on the point of striking at Albert with a mace while the latter was engaged with another opponent.

The sudden shock rolled rider and horse over. He heard Hal Carter shout, “Look out, Sir Edgar!” and forcing his horse to leap aside, he struck off the head of a lance that would have caught him in the gorget, and an instant later swept a French knight from his saddle. He looked round. Three of his companions were already down, and although many more of the French had fallen, the position was well-nigh desperate.

“We must cut our way through,” he shouted, “or we shall be lost. Let all keep close together—forward!” and he and Albert, spurring their horses, fell furiously upon the French opposed to them.

Their splendid armour now proved invaluable; sword blows fell harmless on it, and lances glanced from its polished face. As he put spurs to his horse Edgar had dropped his vizor down again, for he wanted to strike now, and not to have to defend himself. With crushing blows he hewed his way through his opponents. The other two English knights kept close, and the men-at-arms fought as stoutly as their masters, until the party emerged from among their assailants. As they did so the knight next to Edgar reeled in his saddle. Edgar threw his arm round him, and supported him until they had ridden a short distance. Then, as they halted, he sprung from his horse and lowered him to the ground.

“Thanks,” the knight murmured, as he opened his vizor. “But I am hurt to death. Leave me here to die quietly, and look to yourselves. All is lost.”

Edgar saw that indeed his case was hopeless. A lance had pierced his body, and had broken short off; a minute later he had breathed his last. Edgar sprung upon his horse again, and looked round. Of the whole of their retainers but four remained, and all of these were wounded.

“Art hurt, Albert?” he asked.

“Naught to speak of, but I am sorely bruised, and my head rings with the blows I have had on my helmet.”

“And you, Sir Eustace? I fear that you have fared less well.”

“Wounded sorely,” the English knight said. “But I can sit my horse, and methinks that it were best to ride off at once, seeing the Flemings are flying. We can assuredly do no good by remaining.”

Edgar agreed. “Methinks that we had best ride for Sluys, and get there before the news of the defeat.”

As they rode off they looked back. Behind them were a host of flying men, and many of them were throwing away their steel caps and armour to run the more quickly. The battle had lasted only half an hour, but by that time nine thousand Flemings had fallen, of whom more than half had been suffocated by the press. The flight, however, was far more fatal than the battle, for the French, as soon as the fight was won, mounted their horses, and chased the Flemings so hotly that twenty-five thousand were killed. The body of Van Artevelde was found after the battle. It was without a wound, but was so trampled on as to be almost unrecognizable. His body was taken and hung on a tree.

As they galloped off Edgar reined back to Hal Carter, who was one of the survivors.

“I see that you are badly hurt, Hal. As soon as we get fairly away we will halt, and I will bandage your wounds.”

“They are of no great account, Sir Edgar. It was worth coming over from England to take part in such a fray; the worst part of it was that it did not last long enough.”

“It lasted too long for many of us, Hal. You saved my life by that warning shout you gave, for, most assuredly, I must have been borne from my saddle had the blow struck me, unawares.”

“It was a cowardly trick to charge a man when he was otherwise engaged,” Hal said. “But you paid him well for it, master; you fairly crushed his helmet in.”

Three miles on they halted in a wood to give the horses breathing time, when those unhurt bandaged the wounds of the others. It was found that Sir Eustace was so severely wounded that he could not go much farther, and that two of the men-at-arms were in as bad a case; the third was a Fleming.

“It were best to leave us here,” Sir Eustace said. “We cannot ride much farther.”

“That we will not do,” Edgar said. “Torhut is but four miles away. We can ride at an easy pace, for the Flemings will make for Courtray and Ghent, and the French will pursue in that direction. 'Tis not likely that any will ride so far south as this.”

“I have friends in Torhut,” the Fleming said. “I come from that neighbourhood, and I can bestow Sir Eustace, my master, in a place of safety, and will look after him and these two who can go no farther.”

“That will be well, indeed. Is it in the town itself?” Edgar asked.

“I have friends there, but an uncle of mine resides in a farm-house three quarters of a mile from the town. We can get help and shelter there.”

“That would be safer, good fellow,” Sir Eustace said. “I should not care to enter a town now, for some who saw us come in might be willing to gain favour with the French by saying where we were hidden. Moreover, we should be detained and questioned as to the battle. I have money wherewith to pay your uncle well for the pains to which he will be put. Well, let us forward; the sooner we are in shelter the better.”

They rode slowly now until they saw the steeple of Torhut, and then turned off the road, and in half an hour came to a farm-house. The Fleming had ridden on a short distance ahead.

“My uncle will take them in,” he said. “He has a loft in the top of his house, and can bestow them there safely, for none would be likely to suspect its existence, even if they searched the house. My uncle is a true Fleming, and would have taken them in without payment, but I say not that he will refuse what my master may be willing to pay.”

Ten minutes later, Edgar and Albert continued their way, followed now by Hal Carter alone. The latter had washed the blood from his face and armour, and had thrown a short cloak over his shoulders, so that they could pass without its being suspected that they had taken part in a desperate fray. After riding for some hours they stopped at a wayside inn, and, avoiding Bruges, rode the next day into Sluys, where they found a vessel sailing that evening for England. No rumour of the disastrous battle of Rosebeque had, as yet, reached Sluys; but the two young knights, calling upon the merchant who had entertained them at their first landing, informed him of what had happened.

“'Tis well that it is so,” he said, “for, in truth, the domination of the craftsmen of Ghent and the other great cities would have been far harder to bear than that of the earl, or of France, or of Burgundy. Already the taxes and imposts are four times as heavy as those laid upon us by the earl, and had they gained a victory these people would soon have come to exercise a tyranny altogether beyond bearing. 'Tis ever thus when the lower class gain dominion over the upper.”

CHAPTER XVI.

A WAR OF THE CHURCH

“You have been but a short time absent this voyage,” Sir Ralph said as his son and Edgar rode up to the castle.

“Truly we have been but a short time, father,” Albert said, “but we have seen much. Of course the news has not yet reached you, but the army of Flanders has been utterly broken by the French. Whether Van Artevelde was killed we know not, but of the fifty thousand men who marched to battle, we doubt whether half ever returned to their homes.”

“That was indeed a terrible defeat. And how bore you yourselves in the battle?”

“It was rough work, though short, father. Five other English knights were with us; four of these were killed, and one we left behind at a farm, grievously wounded. Each of us had two men-at-arms, and of the fourteen two were left behind wounded sorely, one remained in charge of his master and them, and Edgar's man here is the only one who rode to Sluys with us; the rest are dead. So, too, might we have been but for the strength and temper of our armour.”

“Did not the Flemings fight sturdily, then?”

“They fought sturdily for a time, but altogether without leader or order. They took up a strong position, but impatient of an hour's delay, marched from it to give battle, and being attacked on both flanks, as well as in front, were driven into a close mass, so that few could use their arms, and, were it only to find breathing space, they had to fly.”

“'Tis bad news, indeed. Had they prevailed, their alliance with us would have brought about great things, for Artevelde would have put Flanders under English protection, and between us we could have withstood all the attacks of France and Burgundy.”

“Think yon that Ghent will be taken, Edgar?”

“That I cannot say, Sir Ralph. However great their loss may be, the Ghentois are like to make an obstinate defence, judging from the way in which they withstood their earl with all Flanders at his back. They will know that they have no mercy to expect if they yield, and I believe that so long as there is a man left to wield arms the city will hold out. As to the other towns of Flanders, they are as fickle as the wind, and will all open their gates to the King of France, who, seeing that it is by his power alone that Flanders has been taken, will assuredly hold it as his own in the future.”

“Now that you have returned, it would be well, Edgar, that you and my son should practise with the lance. 'Tis a knightly weapon, and a knight should at least know how to use it well. There is a piece of ground but a quarter of a mile away that I have been looking at, and find that it will make a good tilting-ground, and I will teach you all that I know in the matter.”

Edgar thankfully embraced the offer and, after going into the castle to pay his respects to the dame and her daughter, went home with Hal Carter, whose wounds were still sore.

The news that came from Flanders to England from time to time was bad. It was first heard how terrible had been the slaughter of the Flemings after the victory, and that in all thirty-four thousand had been killed. Then the news came that Courtray, although it opened its gates without resistance, had been first pillaged and then burnt, and that Bruges had surrendered, but had been only spared from pillage by the payment of a great sum of money. None of the other towns had offered any resistance, but Ghent had shut her gates, and the French, deeming that the operations of the siege would be too severe to be undertaken in winter, had marched away, their return being hastened by the news of an insurrection in France.

The king, however, had declared Flanders to be a portion of France, and the Earl of Flanders had done homage to him as his liege lord. The news of the merciless slaughter of the Flemings, and of the cruel treatment of Courtray, aroused great indignation in England, which was increased when it was heard that all the rich English merchants in Bruges had been obliged to fly for their lives, and that all other Englishmen found in the towns had been seized by the Earl of Flanders, and thrown into prison, and their goods confiscated.

The young knights practised at tilting daily under the eye of Sir Ralph, and at the end of three months could carry off rings skilfully, and could couch their lances truly, whether at breast-piece or helm. It was nigh two years since they had first ridden to London, and both had grown tall and greatly widened. Edgar was still by far the taller and stronger, and was now an exceptionally powerful young man. Albert was of a fair strength and stature, and from his constant practice with Edgar, had attained almost as great a skill with his weapons. When they jousted they always used lighter spears than when they practised at the ring, for in a charge, Edgar's weight and strength would have carried Albert out of his saddle, and that with such force as might have caused him serious injury; the lances therefore were made so slight as to shiver at the shock.

“You are like to be employing your weapons to better advantage soon,” Sir Ralph said one day on his return from London. “You know of the rivalry between the two popes, and that we hold for Urban while France champions Clement.”

“Yes, sir,” Edgar said; “but how is that likely to give occasion for us to betake ourselves to arms again?”

“Urban is going to use us as his instrument against France and Spain. A bull was received yesterday, of which copies have also been sent to all the bishops, calling upon Richard to engage in a sort of Holy War to this end. He has ordered that all church property throughout England shall be taxed, and that the bishops shall exhort all persons to give as much as they can afford for the same purpose. To all those who take part in the war he gives absolution from all sins, and the same to those who, staying at home, contribute to the Church's need.

“The sum of money thus raised, which, I doubt not, will be great, is to be devoted partly to an expedition against France, and partly to one under Lancaster against Spain. As it is a church war, the expedition to France is to be led by a churchman, and Urban has chosen Sir Henry Spencer, Bishop of Norwich, who, if you will remember, bore himself so stoutly against the insurgents in his diocese, as the nominal leader. The king has taken the matter up heartily, and many of the knights whom I met at Court are also well content, seeing that the war is to be conducted at the expense of the Church and not of themselves; and I doubt not that a large number of knights and gentlemen will take part in the expedition, which is of the nature of a crusade.

“More than that, I met an old friend, Sir Hugh Calverley, with whom I have fought side by side a score of times, and whose name is, of course, well known to you. He is minded also to go, partly because he hates the French, and partly because of the pope's blessing and absolution. Seeing that, I said to him, 'As you are going, Sir Hugh, I pray you to do me a favour.'

“'There is no one I would more willingly oblige, old friend,' he said.

“'My son,' I went on, 'and a friend of his whom I regard almost as a son, were knighted more than a year since, as you may have heard, for their valiant conduct in the time of the troubles here.'

“'I have heard the story,' he said. 'It is well known to all at Court.'

“'Since then, Sir Hugh, they have been over in Flanders, where they gained the approbation of Van Artevelde by their conduct, and fought stoutly at the grievous battle of Rosbecque. But hitherto they have had no knightly leader. They have gained such experience as they could by themselves, but I would that they should campaign in the train of a valiant and well-known knight like yourself, under whose eyes they could gain distinction as well as a knowledge of military affairs.'

“'I will take them with me gladly,' he said. 'They must be young knights of rare mettle, and even apart from my regard for you I should be right glad to have them ride with me.'“

Both the young knights gave exclamations of pleasure. It was hard for a knight unattached to the train of some well-known leader to rise to distinction, and there was no English knight living who bore a higher reputation than Sir Hugh Calverley, so that to ride under him would be an honour indeed. But some months passed before the preparations were complete. Throughout England the bishops and priests preached and incited the people to what they considered a Holy War. The promises of absolution of past and future sins were in proportion to the money given. In the diocese of London alone, a tun full of gold and silver was gathered, and by Lent the total amounted to what at that time was the fabulous sum of 2,500,000 francs. Thomas, Bishop of London, and brother to the Earl of Devonshire, was appointed by Urban to go with the Duke of Lancaster to Spain, as chief captain, with two thousand spears and four thousand archers, and half the money gathered was to be spent on this expedition, and the other half on that of the Bishop of Norwich.

The expeditions were to set out together, but one progressed far more rapidly than the other. The Bishop of Norwich was very popular. He was of ancient lineage, had personally shown great bravery, and was highly esteemed. Upon the other hand, the Duke of Lancaster was hated. Thus great numbers of knights and others enlisted eagerly under the bishop, while very few were willing to take service under the duke. Five hundred spearmen, and fifteen hundred men-at-arms and archers were soon enrolled under the bishop's banner. A great number of priests, too, followed the example of the bishop, threw aside the cassock and clad themselves in armour to go to the war in the spirit of crusaders.

Great numbers passed over from Dover and Sandwich in parties to wait at Calais for the arrival of their leaders. At Easter, the bishop, Sir Hugh Calverley, and two of the principal knights attended the king and his council, and swore to do their best to bring to an end the matter on which they were engaged, and to war only against the supporters of Clement. The king begged them to wait for a month at Calais, promising that he would send them over many men-at-arms and archers, and Sir William Beauchamp as marshal to the army. The bishop promised the king to do this, and he and his party sailed from Dover and arrived at Calais on April 23, 1383.

The young knights had gone up to town a month before by invitation of Sir Robert Gaiton, and had stayed with him for a week. At the end of that time he presented each of them with a superb suit of Milan steel, richly inlaid with gold, and two fine war-horses.

“It is a gift that I have long promised you,” he said. “I gave orders to my agents in Italy a year since to spare neither time nor trouble to obtain the best that the armourers of Milan could turn out. The horses are of Yorkshire breed, and are warranted sound at every point.”

“It is a princely present, Sir Robert,” Edgar said, “and, indeed, a most timely one, for truly we have well-nigh grown out of the other suits, although when we got them it seemed to us that we should never be able to fill them properly; but of late we have been forced to ease the straps, and to leave spaces between the pieces, by which lance or arrow might well find entrance.”

Sir Ralph had gone up with them and introduced them to Sir Hugh, who promised to give them two days' warning when they were to join him at Sandwich or Dover. During this week Edgar for the most part went about alone, Albert, at first to his surprise, and then to his amusement, always making some pretext or other for not accompanying him, but passing, as he found on his return, the greater portion of the time in the house, in discourse, as he said, with Dame Gaiton, but as Edgar shrewdly guessed, chiefly with Ursula, who, he found, obligingly kept his friend company while the dame was engaged in her household duties. It seemed to him, too, that on the ride back to St. Alwyth Albert was unusually silent and depressed in spirits.

Edgar himself, however, experienced something of the same feeling when he took his last farewell from the De Courcys before starting for Dover. On this occasion each took with him four men-at-arms, stout fellows, Albert's being picked men from among the De Courcy retainers, while Hal Carter had selected his three mates from among the villagers, and had, during the last three months, trained them assiduously in the use of their arms.

“How long do you think that you are likely to be away, Edgar?” his father asked, the evening before the party started.

“I cannot tell you, father, but I do not think that it will be long. If the expedition had started six months ago, it would have arrived in Flanders in time to have helped the Flemings, and with their aid the French might have been driven flying over the frontier; but I cannot see what two or three thousand men can do. We cannot fight the whole strength of France by ourselves.”

“It seems to me a hare-brained affair altogether,” Mr. Ormskirk said; “almost as mad, only in a different way, as the crusade of Peter the Hermit. The Church has surely trouble enough in these days, what with men like Wickliffe, who denounce her errors, and point out how far she has fallen back from the simple ways of old times, what with the impatience or indifference of no small part of the people, the pomp and wasteful confusion of the prelates, and the laziness of the monks—she has plenty of matters to look after without meddling in military affairs.

“What would she say if a score of nobles were to take upon themselves to tell her to set her house in order, to adopt reforms, and to throw aside sloth and luxury; and yet the Church is stirring up a war, and raising and paying an army of fighting men—and for what? To settle which of two men shall be pope. The simple thing would be to hold a high tournament, and to let Urban and Clement don armour and decide between themselves, in fair fight, who should be pope. They might as well do that as set other men to fight for them. I see not what good can come of it, Edgar.”

“Albert and myself are of the same opinion, father. Certainly with two or three thousand men we can hardly expect to march to Paris and force the King of France to declare for our pope. Still, we shall march in good company, and shall both be proud to do so under the banner of so distinguished a knight as Sir Hugh Calverley.”

“I say naught against that, Edgar; but I would rather see you start with him as knights-errant, willing at all times to couch a lance for damsels in distress. The day has passed for crusades. Surely we have had experience enough to see that solid advantages are not to be won by religious enthusiasm. Men may be so inspired to deeds of wondrous valour, but there is no instance of permanent good arising out of such expeditions. As for this in which you are going to embark, it seems to me to be the height of folly.”

The next day the two young knights rode to Canterbury, and thence to Dover. The following evening the Bishop of Norwich, with his train, Sir Hugh Calverley, and other knights, arrived, and the next morning embarked with their following and horses on board three ships, and sailed to Calais. Those who had preceded them were already impatient to take the field. The news that there was to be a further delay of a month until Sir William Beauchamp with reinforcements should arrive, caused much disappointment and vexation.

“'Tis unfortunate,” Sir Hugh said, one evening a few days later to the knights of his party, “that there are not more men here accustomed to war, and who have learned that patience and obedience are as needful as strong arms, if a campaign is to be carried out successfully. The Bishop of Norwich is young and fiery, and he hath many like himself round him, so that he frets openly at this delay. Moreover, Sir Thomas Trivet and Sir William Helmon are too full of ardour to act with discretion, and are ready enough to back up the bishop in his hot desire to be doing something. I regret that this army is not, like the army which fought at Crecy and Poictiers, composed of men well inured to war, with a great number of good archers and led by experienced warriors, instead of a hasty gathering of men, who have been fired by the exhortations of the priests and the promises of the pope.

“We are but a small gathering. We may take some castles, and defeat the forces that the nobles here gather against us, but more than that we cannot do unless England arms in earnest. I foresaw this, and spoke to the council when they prayed me to go with the bishop; but when they pointed out that what I said made it all the more needful that one of grave experience and years should go with him, and prayed me to accept the office, I consented.”

On the 4th of May the Bishop of Norwich took advantage of Sir Hugh's absence—he having gone for two days to see a cousin who was commander of Guines—to call the other leaders together, and said that it was time they did some deed of arms, and rightly employed the money with which the Church had furnished them. All agreed with him, and the bishop then proposed that instead of entering France they should march to Flanders, which was now a portion of France. To this Sir Thomas Trivet and Sir William Helmon cordially agreed.

When Sir Hugh returned another council was called, and the matter was laid before him. Sir Hugh opposed it altogether. In the first place, they had given their word to the king to wait for a month for the promised reinforcements; in the second place, they had not come over as Englishmen to fight the French, but as followers of Pope Urban to fight those of Clement, and the men of Flanders were, like themselves, followers of Urban. The bishop answered him very hotly, and as the other knights and all present agreed with the bishop, Sir Hugh reluctantly gave way, and said that if they were determined upon going to Flanders he would ride with them. Accordingly notice was given through the town that the force would march the next morning. All assembled at the order to the number of three thousand, and marched from Calais to Gravelines.

No preparations for defence had been made there, for there was no war between England and Flanders. However, the burghers defended the place for a short time, and then withdrew, with their wives and families, to the cathedral, which was a place of strength. Here they defended themselves for two days. The church was then stormed, and all its defenders put to the sword. The news excited the greatest surprise and indignation in Flanders, and the earl at once sent two English knights who were with him to Gravelines to protest, and with orders to obtain from the bishop a safe-conduct to go to England to lay the matter before the English king and his council.

When they arrived at Gravelines the bishop refused their request for a safe-conduct, but told them to tell the earl that he was not warring against Flanders, nor was his army an army of England, but of Pope Urban, and that, although the greater portion of Flanders was Urbanist, the Lord of Bar—in whose dominion Gravelines stood—was for Clement, and so were his people. If he and they would acknowledge Pope Urban, he would march away without doing damage and paying for all he took, but unless they did so he would force them to submit. The people of Artois, however, who were French rather than Flemings, took the matter in their own hands, and twelve thousand men, under some knights from Nieuport and other towns, marched to Dunkirk and then to Mardyck, a large village not far from Gravelines.

Edgar and Albert had taken no part in the attack upon the cathedral, but remained with Sir Hugh Calverley in the house that he occupied as soon as resistance of the entry to the town had ended.

“On the field I will fight with the rest,” he said, “but I will have no hand in this matter. There has been no defiance sent to the Earl of Flanders nor received from him, and 'tis not my habit to fight burghers against whom we have no complaint, and who are but defending their homes against us.”

The two young knights were well pleased with this decision. It was an age when quarter was but seldom given, and wholesale slaughters followed battles, so that they had, naturally, the ideas common to the time. Still, they both felt that this attack was wholly unprovoked and altogether beyond the scope of the expedition, and were well pleased that their leader would have naught to do with it. It was, however, a different matter when they heard that an army twelve thousand strong was coming out against them, and they were quite ready to take their share in the fight.

While waiting at Gravelines several other knights had joined the army, among them Sir Nicholas Clifton and Sir Hugh's cousin, the commander of Guines, Sir Hugh Spencer, nephew of the bishop, and others.

The force consisted of six hundred mounted men, sixteen hundred archers, and the rest foot-men. They found that the Flemings had fallen back to Dunkirk, and had taken up a position in front of that town. The bishop, on approaching them, sent forward a herald, to ask them whether they were for Pope Urban or Clement, and that if they were for Urban he had no quarrel with them. As soon, however, as the herald approached, the Flemings fell upon him and killed him. This excited the most lively indignation among the English, for among all civilized people the person of a herald was held to be sacred.

The bishop and knights at once drew up the force in order of battle. The men on foot were formed into a wedge. The archers were placed on the two flanks of the unmounted men-at-arms, while the cavalry prepared to charge as soon as opportunity offered. The army was preceded by the standard of the Church. The trumpets on both sides sounded, and as they came within range the English archers poured flights of arrows among the Flemings. These advanced boldly to the attack of the foot-men. Again and again the horsemen charged down upon them, but were unable to break their solid lines, and for a time the battle was doubtful, but the English archers decided the fate of the day. The Flemings, although they resisted firmly the charge of the men-at-arms, were unable to sustain the terrible and continuous rain of arrows, and their front line fell back.

As soon as they did so the second line wavered and broke. Then the bishop with his knights and men-at-arms charged furiously down upon them, and the battle was over. The Flemings broke and fled in wild disorder, but the English pursued them so hotly that they entered Dunkirk with them. Here again and again they attempted to make a stand, but speedily gave way before the onslaught of the English. No one distinguished themselves in the battle more than did the priests and monks who were fighting on the side of the bishop, and it was said among the others that these must have mistaken their vocation, and that had they entered the army instead of the Church they would have made right valiant knights.

The English loss was four hundred, that of the Flemings was very much heavier. There died, however, among them no knights or persons of quality, for the rising was one of the people themselves, and as yet the Earl of Flanders was waiting for the King of England's reply to the message he had sent by the two knights from Sluys. The English, however, considered that the absence of any horsemen or knights was due to the fact that these remembered what terrible havoc had been made among the chivalry of France at Crecy and Poictiers, and cared not to expose themselves to that risk.

CHAPTER XVII.

PRISONERS

After the capture of Dunkirk all the seaports as far as Sluys were taken by the English, who then marched to Ypres, to which town they at once laid siege, and were joined by twenty thousand men from Ghent. Their own number had swollen considerably by the arrival from England of many knights and men-at-arms, besides numbers of foot-men, attracted as much by the news of the great spoil that had been captured in the Flemish towns as by the exhortations and promises of the clergy.

Ypres had a numerous garrison, commanded by several knights of experience. The works were very strong, and every assault was repulsed with heavy loss. One of these was led by Sir Hugh Calverley. The force crossed the ditches by throwing in great bundles of wood with which each of the foot- men had been provided, and having reached the wall, in spite of a hail of cross-bow bolts and arrows, ladders were planted, and the leaders endeavoured to gain the ramparts. Sir Hugh Calverley succeeded in obtaining a footing, but for a time he stood almost alone. Two or three other knights, however, sprang up. Just as they did so one of the ladders broke with the weight upon it, throwing all heavily to the ground.

Edgar and Albert were with a party of archers who were keeping up a rain of arrows. Seeing that the situation was bad they now ran forward, followed by four of their men-at-arms, the others having charge of the horses in the camp. A few more men-at-arms had gained the ramparts by the time they arrived at the foot of the ladders, where numbers waited to take their turns to ascend.

“There is not much broken off this one, Sir Edgar,” Hal Carter said; “not above three feet, I should say. We might make a shift to get up with that.”

“Pick it up, Hal, and bring it along a short distance. Possibly we may be able to mount unobserved, for the fight is hot above, and the attention of the enemy will be fixed there.”

Followed by their own men-at-arms, and by a few others who saw what their intentions were, they kept along at the foot of the wall until they reached an angle some thirty yards away. Searching about they found several stones that had been dislodged from the battlements during the siege. With these they built up a platform, and raising the ladder on this, they found that it reached to within a foot of the top.

“Now,” Edgar said, “follow us as quickly as you can, but do not try the ladder too heavily; it has broken once, so the wood cannot be over-strong.”

Then, followed closely by Albert and the men-at-arms, he ascended the walls. So intent were the defenders upon the strife going on round Sir Hugh Calverley that Edgar was not noticed until, putting his hands upon the wall, he vaulted over it. He held his sword between his teeth, and betaking himself to this fell so fiercely and suddenly upon the enemy, that several were cut down and the rest recoiled so far that Albert and the four men-at-arms were able to join him before the enemy rallied. Every moment added to the strength of the party, and as soon as some twenty had gathered behind him, Edgar flung himself upon the enemy with a shout of “St. George! St. George!” and, in spite of the opposition of the defenders, fought his way along the wall until he joined Sir Hugh and the little group who were defending themselves against tremendous odds.

Sir Hugh himself was seriously wounded. Two or three of his knights lay dead beside him, and had it not been for the arrival of the reinforcement the fight would speedily have terminated, for the English were so penned up against the wall that there was no footing for more to join them. The suddenness of the attack drove the enemy back some little distance, and this enabled a score of those upon the ladders to make their way onto the rampart.

“Bravely done!” Sir Hugh Calverley said, as he leant against the wall, utterly exhausted by his efforts and loss of blood. A moment later he would have fallen had not Albert sprung to his side.

“We must save Sir Hugh at all risks,” he said to two of the knight's companions, who were also wounded. “Will you, sir knights, aid in lowering him down the ladder, and see that he is carried off? You have done your share. It is our turn now, and we can at least hold the rampart until he is in safety.”

Leaning over, he shouted to the men on one of the ladders to descend and leave the ladder clear, as Sir Hugh was to be lowered down.

“Methinks I can carry him, Sir Albert,” Hal Carter said. “I have carried two sacks of wheat on my shoulder before now, and methinks that I can carry one knight and his armour.”

He took his place on the ladder, and Sir Hugh was lowered to him, and laying him on his shoulder Hal carried him safely down. The two wounded knights followed, and then Hal sprang up the ladder again. While this was being done Edgar and his party had been holding the enemy at bay. Hal was followed by some of the men-at-arms, and others poured up by the other ladders. Edgar saw that they were now strong enough to take the offensive, and as the English numbered nearly a hundred, he fell upon the enemy to the right, while Albert led another party to the left.

For some time the fury with which the English fought drove the enemy before them on either hand. Every moment they were joined by fresh men, who were now able to pour in a steady stream up the ladders. The enemy, too, were harassed by the English archers, who, advancing to the edge of the ditch, sent their shafts thick and fast among them. The town bells were clanging fiercely, drums beating, and horns sounding as the alarm spread that the besiegers had gained a footing on the walls, and great numbers of the garrison could be seen pouring along the streets leading to the threatened point.

Had there been more ladders, so that reinforcements could have arrived more rapidly, the place might have been won. As it was, it was evident that success was impossible. Edgar's party still gained ground slowly, but he saw that Albert was being pressed backwards.

“Fall back, men!” he shouted, “slowly, and keeping your face to the enemy. The odds are too heavy for us.”

Foot by foot, fighting silently and obstinately, the English fell back until their party joined that of Albert, at the spot where the wall had been won. Their exulting foes pressed hotly upon them, but Edgar's sword and the heavy long-handled mace wielded by Hal Carter did such terrible execution that the rest were able to retreat in good order.

“Jump down, my men!” Edgar shouted. “You will break the ladders if you try to go by them. The ground is but soft, and the wall of no great height. Do not hurry. We will cover you and then follow.”

Gradually the number of the party on the walls was lessened, as by threes and fours they leapt down; while many, getting onto the ladders, slipped rapidly to the ground. When there were but half a dozen left, Hal suddenly exclaimed: “Sir Albert has fallen—wounded!”

Edgar freed himself from his opponent of the moment by a sweeping blow, and then with a spring placed himself astride of his friend. Hal Carter joined him. The rest of their followers remaining on the wall either jumped over or were cut down. Fortunately Albert had fallen close to the parapet, and his two defenders could not be attacked from behind. For some minutes the fight continued, and then for a moment the enemy drew back astonished at the manner in which two men kept them at bay; then one of the assailants lowered his sword.

“Sir knight,” he said, “you have done enough for honour. Never have I seen a stouter fighter. I pray you, then, to surrender, on promise of good treatment and fair terms of ransom to you, to the knight at your feet, and to this stout man-at-arms. I am Sir Robert De Beaulieu.”

“Then I yield to you,” Edgar said. “I am Sir Edgar Ormskirk, and this knight is my brother-in-arms, Sir Albert De Courcy. I yield in his name and my own, and am glad that, as fortune has declared against us, it should be to so good a knight as Sir Robert De Beaulieu that I surrender my sword.”

“Keep it, Sir Edgar, for never have I seen one better wielded. No small damage, indeed, has it done us.”

“The stout man-at-arms is my own retainer, and I prythee, sir knight, suffer him to remain with us.”

[Illustration: SIR EDGAR AT LAST SURRENDERS TO SIR ROBERT DE BEAULIEU.]

“Assuredly he shall do so.”

As soon as the parley began Hal Carter laid down his weapon, and kneeling beside Albert, unlaced his helmet.

“He lives, Sir Edgar!” he said; “he is but stunned, methinks, with the blow of a mace, which has deeply dinted his casque, though, indeed, he has other wounds.”

By Sir Robert De Beaulieu's orders, four men now formed a litter with their spears. Albert was laid on it, and Sir Robert, Edgar, and Hal Carter walking in front, and half a score of men-at-arms accompanying them, they made their way to a large house where the knight lodged. Sir Robert had sent on for a leech to be in attendance, and he was there when they arrived. Hal at once took off Albert's armour.

“'Tis well for him that this armour was good,” Sir Robert said. “Had it not been, it would have gone hard with him. It must be steel of proof indeed, for I saw the blow struck, and there are but few helmets that would not have been crushed by it.”

“He has a deep gash near the neck,” the leech said. “The lacings and straps of the helmet and gorget must have been cut by a sharp sword, and another blow has fallen on the same spot. Methinks he has dropped as much from loss of blood as from the blow on the head.”

Edgar had by this time taken off his own helmet. As soon as he did so, Sir Robert De Beaulieu, who was somewhat grizzled with age, said:

“In truth, sir knight, you and your companion are young indeed to have fought so doughtily as you have done to-day; you are young to be knights, and yet you have shown a courage and a skill such as no knight could have surpassed. We had thought the affair finished when that stout knight, Sir Hugh Calverley, was down with two others, and but three or four remained on their feet. Then suddenly your party burst upon us, coming from we knew not where, and had you but been reinforced more rapidly the town would have been lost.”

Edgar made no reply, for at the moment Hal Carter leant heavily against him.

“I can do no more, Sir Edgar,” he murmured; “I am spent.”

Edgar caught the brave fellow in his arms and supported him, while two men-at-arms, who had assisted to carry Albert in, unstrapped Hal's armour and gently laid him down on a couch. He was bleeding from half a dozen wounds, and his face was pale and bloodless. Edgar knelt by his side and raised his head.

“I will see to him, sir knight,” the surgeon said. “I have bandaged your comrade's injuries, and methinks that he will soon come round.”

Then he examined Hal's wounds.

“He will do,” he said. “Assuredly there are none of them that are mortal; 'tis but loss of blood that ails him. I will but bandage them hastily now, for there are many other cases waiting for me, and methinks, sir, that you yourself need looking to.”

“I am unhurt,” Edgar said, in surprise.

“Your doublet is stained with blood from the shoulder to the wrist,” Sir Robert said. “A spear-head has penetrated at the shoulder-joint and torn a gash well-nigh to the neck. 'Tis well that it is not worse.”

Two of his men-at-arms had by this time taken off Sir Robert's armour also.

“You have ruined my helmet, Sir Edgar, and cut so deep a notch in it that I know not how my head escaped. You have gashed a hole in my gorget and dinted the armour in half a dozen places, and I failed to make a single mark on yours. Never was I engaged with so good a swordsman. I could scarcely believe my eyes when you lifted your vizor, for it seemed to me that you must be in the prime of your manhood, and possessed of strength altogether out of the common.”

“I have practised a good deal,” Edgar said, quietly, “having indeed little else to do, so it is not surprising that my muscles are hard.”

At the knight's order a servant now brought in two goblets of wine. Sir Robert and Edgar then drank to each other, both draining the cups to the bottom.

Albert was not long before he opened his eyes. He looked round in wonder, and smiled faintly when he saw Edgar, who hastened to his side.

“We are out of luck this time, Albert; we are both prisoners. Still, things might have been worse. You were struck down with a mace, but the leech says that the wound on your head is of no great consequence, and that you fainted rather from loss of blood from other gashes than from the blow on the head. I have got off with a scratch on the shoulder. Hal Carter, who fought like a tiger over your body, has come off worst, having fully half a dozen wounds, but it was not before he had killed at least twice as many of his assailants with that terrible mace of his.”

So far Edgar had spoken in English. He went on in French:

“This is the good knight, Sir Robert De Beaulieu, who is our captor, and will hold us on ransom.”

“You may congratulate yourself, Sir Albert,” the knight said, courteously, “that you had such stout defenders as your comrade here and his man-at- arms, because for fully five minutes they held the whole of us at bay, and so stoutly did they fight that we were all glad when Sir Edgar yielded himself to me. Truly, between you, you have done us ill service, for not only have you and your party killed a large number of our men, but you have enabled Sir Hugh Calverley to be carried off, and for so famous a captain we should have claimed a goodly ransom, and it would have been an honour and glory to have taken so fearless a knight. As it is, with the exception of yourselves, no single prisoner has fallen into our hands, and methinks that in all there were not more than ten or twelve in the storming party killed, while we must have lost nigh a hundred. 'Tis the first time I have fought against the English, and in truth you are doughty foemen. It was well that you came into the land but some four or five thousand strong, for had you brought an army you might have marched to Paris. Now, Sir Edgar, I will show you your room.”

He led the way along a broad corridor to a large room, the men-at-arms carrying the couch on which Albert was lying.

“I should like to have my man-at-arms brought here also, Sir Robert,” Edgar said. “He is a faithful fellow, and I have known him for years. He speaks but little of any language but English, and will, methinks, do better with my nursing than with any other.”

In a fortnight Albert was quite convalescent, and Hal was rapidly gaining strength. Three days after they had been taken prisoner Sir Robert had said to Edgar:

“It will be best, Sir Edgar, that you should not go abroad in the streets. The townsmen here, as in other towns in Flanders, are rough fellows. They are, of course, suffering somewhat from the siege, and they murmur that any prisoners should have been taken. They say that your people showed no mercy at Gravelines and Dunkirk, which, methinks, is true enough, and that none should be given here. Yesterday some of their leaders came to the house where I was sitting in council with other knights, and represented that all English prisoners should be put to the sword at once. I pointed out to them that, for their own sakes, as many prisoners should be taken as possible. We hope to defend the town until succour comes, but were the English to capture it, and to find that prisoners who had surrendered had been killed, no mercy would be shown, but every man within the walls would be slain and the city laid in ashes.

“To this they had no answer ready, and retired grumbling. But, in any case, it were better that you did not show yourself in the street, for a tumult might arise, and your life might be sacrificed before any of us could come to your assistance.”

“I thank you, Sir Robert, and will gladly take your advice. I have seen somewhat of the townsmen of Ghent and Bruges, and know that, when the fit seizes them, they are not to be restrained.”

After that time Sir Robert De Beaulieu seldom left the house, and Edgar found that the doors were kept closed, and that the knight's followers and men-at-arms were also kept in the house. Several times he heard shouts in the street of “Death to the English!”

He took his meals with the knight, while Albert and Hal were served in their room. At the end of the week, however, Albert was able to join the two knights, and a fortnight later Hal was again up and about.

“I fear, Sir Robert, that our presence here is a source of trouble to you,” Edgar said one day. “If it could be managed, we would gladly give you our knightly word to send you our ransom at the first opportunity, and not to serve in arms again until it is paid, if you would let us go free.”

“I would do so gladly, Sir Edgar, but I fear that it would be difficult to manage. Both before and behind the house there are evidently men on the watch to see that no one passes out. My own men-at-arms have been stopped and questioned, and were you to issue out methinks that there would, on the instant, be an uproar, for so great a crowd would gather in a few minutes that even had you a strong guard you might be torn from them. You see, though some eight of us knights and three hundred men-at-arms were placed here to aid in the defence, we could do naught without the assistance of the townsmen, who have on all occasions fought stoutly. Were there to be a fray now, the safety of the town would be compromised, for the craftsmen of all these towns are as fickle as the wind. The men of Ypres fought by the side of those at Ghent at one time, and when the Count of Flanders came here, great numbers of the townspeople were executed. At present, why, I know not, they are fighting stoutly for the count, while the men of Ghent are with the besiegers; but were there to be troubles between them and us, they might tomorrow open their gates to the English.”

“That I can quite believe, Sir Robert. I can only say that we are in your hands, and are ready to pursue any course that you may think best, either to stay here quietly and take the risk of what may come of it or endeavour to escape in disguise if so it could be managed.”

“I would that it could be managed, for the matter is causing us grave anxiety. My comrades are, of course, all with me, and hold, that even if it comes to a struggle with the mob, the lives of prisoners who have surrendered on ransom must be defended. I suggested that we should hold counsel here, that two should remain, and that you should sally out with the others, but our faces are all so well known in the town that there would be little chance indeed of your passing undetected.”

“Think you, Sir Robert, that we could pass along the roofs, enter a casement a few houses along, and then make our way out in disguise?”

“It would be well-nigh impossible. The roofs are all so sloping that no one could maintain a footing upon them.”

“When it gets dusk I will, with your permission, Sir Robert, go up to one of the attics and take a look out.”

“By all means do so. Escape in that manner would certainly be the best way out of the dilemma, though I much fear that it cannot be done.”

When it became so dark that while he could take a view round, his figure could not be recognized at a short distance, Edgar, with Albert and Hal, went up to the top of the house, and the former got out of the highest of the dormer windows, and, standing on the sill, looked out. The roof was indeed so steep that it would be impossible to obtain a footing upon it. Its ridge was some twenty feet above the window. The houses were of varying heights, some being as much as thirty feet lower than others. Still it seemed to Edgar that it would not be very difficult to make their way along if they were provided with ropes. Descending, he told Sir Robert the result of their investigations.

“It would,” he said, “be very desirable, if possible, to come down into some house which was either uninhabited, or where the people were friendly. Still that would not be absolutely necessary, as we might hope to make our way down to the door unperceived.”

“There is one house which is empty,” Sir Robert said, “for the owner left the town with his family before the siege began, he having another place of business at Liege, He was an old man, and was therefore permitted to leave; for he could have been no good for the defence, and there would, with his family and servants, have been ten mouths more to feed had he remained. It is the sixth house along, I think, but I will see when I go out. Once in the street and away from here, there would be no difficulty. I would meet you a short distance away, and go with you to the walls, from which you could lower yourself down. One or two of my comrades would give their aid, for, naturally, all would be pleased that you should escape, and so put an end to this cause of feud between us and the townsmen. You would, of course, require some rope; that I can easily procure for you.”

“We shall want several lengths, Sir Robert, and two or three stout grapnels. We shall also want a strong chisel for forcing open a casement.”

“All these you shall have; one of my men shall fetch them to-morrow.”

On the following day the ropes and grapnels were brought in, and Sir Robert, who had been out, ascertained that he had been correct, and that the empty house was indeed the sixth from that he occupied. “I have been speaking with two of my comrades,” he said, “and they will be with me at ten o'clock to-night at the end of the street that faces the house through which you will descend. I shall accompany you to the foot of the walls. The citizens are on guard there at night, and if they ask questions, as they may well do, my comrades will say that you are bearers of a message to the King of France to pray him to hasten to our aid. I shall not myself go up on to the walls, for were I to do so suspicion might fall upon me. Should you be interrupted as you go along the street to meet us, give a call and we will run to your assistance.”

“And now as to our ransom, Sir Robert?” Edgar went on.

“Trouble not yourselves about it,” he replied; “you are but young knights, and 'tis a pleasure to me to have been of service to two such valiant young gentlemen. Moreover, I consider that I have no right to a ransom, since, instead of letting you go free to obtain it, or holding you in honourable captivity until it is sent to you, you are obliged to risk your lives, as you assuredly will do, by climbing along those roofs to obtain your liberty; therefore, we will say nothing about it. It may be that some day you will be able to treat leniently some young Flemish or French knight whom you may make captive. As to your armour, I see not how you can carry it away with you, for you will have to swim the ditches; but the first time that there is a flag of truce exchanged I will send it out to you, or should there be no such opportunity, I will, when the siege is over, forward it by the hands of some merchant trading with England, to any address that you may give me there.”

The two young knights thanked Sir Robert De Beaulieu most cordially for his kindness to them, and at his request gave him their word not to serve again during the campaign. This, indeed, they were by no means sorry to do, for they had keenly felt the slight paid to Sir Hugh Calverley by the haughty bishop in acting altogether contrary to his advice. They also had been thoroughly disgusted by the massacre at Gravelines, and the sack of so many towns against which England had no cause for complaint.

In the afternoon Sir Robert brought three doublets and caps for them to put over their own clothes, so that they could pass as citizens. They employed some time in wrapping strips of cloth round the grapnels, so that these would fall noiselessly onto the tiles.

At nine o'clock Sir Robert said good-bye to them and went out; and half an hour later they ascended to the upper story. They were well provided with ropes, and had made all their arrangements. Edgar was the first to fasten a rope round his body, and while this was held by his companions he was to get out on the window-sill and throw a grapnel over the ridge and pull himself up by the rope attached to it.

The others were to fasten the rope round their bodies at distances of twenty feet apart, so that if one slipped down the others could check him. Edgar took off his shoes and tied them round his neck, and then stood out on the window-sill, and threw the grapnel over the ridge of the roof; then he drew the rope in until he found that the hook caught on the ridge.

“That is all right,” he said to his comrades. “Now keep a firm hold on the rope, but let it gradually out as I climb; if you hear me slipping draw it in rapidly so as to stop me as I come past the window. But there is no fear of that unless the hook gives way.”

Then he swung himself up to the roof of the dormer window and proceeded to haul himself by the rope up the steep incline, helping himself as much as possible with his feet and knees. He was heartily glad when he gained the ridge, and had thus accomplished the most dangerous part of the work. He was able now to fix the grapnel firmly, and sitting astride of the roof, he called down that he was ready. It was easier work for Albert to follow him. Not only was the latter certain that the grapnel was safely fixed, but Edgar, pulling upon the rope, was enabled to give him a good deal of assistance. In two or three minutes Hal Carter joined them.

“In faith, master,” he said, panting, “I had not deemed that so much of my strength had gone from me. If it had not been for the help you gave me I doubt if I could have climbed up that rope.”

They now made their way along to the end of the roof. The grapnel was fixed, and Edgar slid down the rope to the next roof, which was some fifteen feet below them. They did not attempt to free the grapnel, fearing that in its fall it might make a clatter; they therefore used another to mount to the next house, which was as high as that which they had left. There was but a difference of four feet in the height of the next, and they had not to use the grapnel again until they reached the sixth house, which was ten feet below that next to it.

[Illustration: THE PRISONERS MAKE THEIR ESCAPE OVER THE ROOFS OF YPRES.]

There was light enough to enable them to make out the position of the dormer window below them, and fixing the grapnel, Edgar, aided by his companions lowering him, made his way down beside it, and knelt upon the sill, his companions keeping a steady strain upon the rope. With his chisel he had but little difficulty in prising open the casement. His companions were not long in joining him. Once inside the house they made their way with great caution. They had no means of striking a light, and were forced to grope about with their swords in front of them to prevent their touching any piece of furniture, till at last they discovered the door. It was not fastened, and passing through, and, as before, feeling the floor carefully as they went, they presently found the head of the stairs.

After this it was comparatively easy work, though a stoppage was necessary at each landing. At last, to their satisfaction, they found themselves in a flagged passage, and knew that they were on the ground floor. They made their way along the passage, and soon reached the door. It was locked with so massive a fastening that it would have been difficult to unfasten it from the outside; but with the aid of the chisel they had but little difficulty in forcing back the lock. They paused for a minute to listen, as a passer-by might have been startled by the sound of the bolts being shot in an empty house. All was quiet, however, and, opening the door cautiously, Edgar stepped out.

“The street is all clear,” he said; “except half a dozen fellows watching in front of the house we have left, there is not a soul in sight.” The others joined him, closing the door silently behind them. They had not put on their shoes again, so with noiseless steps they crossed the street and turned up the one that had been indicated by Sir Robert. After going a few paces they stopped, put on their shoes, and then walked boldly along. When they reached the end of the street three figures came out from a deep doorway to meet them.

“Is all well?” one asked.

This was the signal that had been agreed upon.

“All is well, Sir Robert. We have escaped without any difficulty or aught going wrong.”

“The saints be praised!” the knight ejaculated. “These with me are Sir Oliver Drafurn and Sir Francois Regnault.”

“Right glad we are, knights,” one of them said, “that we can assist in giving you your freedom. A foul shame indeed would it have been had two such gallant fighters been massacred by this rascally mob, after yielding themselves to a knight.”

“Truly, sirs, we are greatly beholden to you,” Edgar replied, “and trust that an occasion may occur in which we may repay to some of your countrymen the great service you are now rendering us.”

They had gone but a short distance further when the door of a tavern opened and twelve or fifteen half-drunken soldiers poured out.

“Whom have we here?” one of them shouted. “Faith, if they are burghers they must pay for being thus late in the streets.”

“Silence, knaves,” Sir Francois Regnault said, sternly. “What mean ye by this roystering? Disperse to your quarters at once, or by St. James, some of you shall hang in the morning, as a lesson to others that the burgesses of Ypres are not to be insulted by drunken revellers.”

As by this time the speaker had moved on into the light that streamed through the open door, the soldier saw at once that it was a knight, and, muttering excuses, went hastily down the street. No one else was encountered until they reached the foot of the wall. Here Sir Robert took a hearty farewell of them. The two knights first mounted the steps to the wall.

As they reached the top a sentry close by challenged.

“France,” Sir Oliver replied; “and, hark ye, make no noise. I am Sir Oliver Drafurn, and I am here with Sir Francois Regnault to pass three messengers over the wall, bearers of important dispatches. We do not wish the news to get abroad, so take your halbert and march up and down.”

Hal Carter had brought one of the ropes, twisted round him for the purpose.

“You are on the side facing the English camp,” Sir Oliver said. “Those are the lights that you see ahead. You will have three ditches to swim, and will find it cold work, but there is no other way for it.”

After giving hearty thanks to the knights, the three were lowered, one at a time, and the rope was then dropped down. It was a good deal longer than was necessary for descending the wall, but Edgar, rather to the surprise of the others, had chosen it for the purpose. The first ditch was but ten yards away; it was some thirty feet across.

“Now,” Edgar said, “I will cross first. I am much the strongest, for neither of you has fully recovered his strength. The water will be icy cold, therefore I will swim across first, and do you, when I am over, each hold to the rope and I will pull you across.”

Short as was the distance the work was trying, for the night was bitterly cold, and the ditches would have been frozen hard, were it not that twice a day the besieged went out and broke the ice, which had now began to bind again. At last, however, Edgar got across.

“Do you take the rope, Albert, and let Hal hold on by you, for the passage I have made is but narrow.”

A few strong pulls on Edgar's part brought them across.

“It is well,” he said, as they climbed out, “that the knights promised to go one each way, to tell the watchers on the walls to take no heed of any sounds that they might hear of breaking ice, for that those leaving the town were doing so by their authority.”

The two other ditches were crossed in the same way, but the work was more difficult, as the besieged only broke the ice of these once a day.

“We should never have got across without your aid, Edgar,” Albert said. “I could scarce hold on to the rope. My hands are dead, and I feel as if I were frozen to the bone.”

“Let us run for a bit, Albert, to warm our blood. Another quarter of a mile and we shall be challenged by our sentries.”

CHAPTER XVIII.

A NOBLE GIFT

The pace at which the party started soon slackened, for neither Albert nor Hal Carter could maintain it. However, it was not long before they heard the sentry challenge:

“Who go there?”

“Sir Albert De Courcy and Sir Edgar Ormskirk escaped from Ypres,” Edgar answered.

“Stand where you are till I call the sergeant,” the man said, and shouted “Sergeant!” at the top of his voice. In five minutes a sergeant and two men-at-arms came up.

“Hurry, sergeant, I pray you,” Edgar said. “We have swum three ditches, and my companions, being weakened by their wounds, are well-nigh perished.”

“Come on,” the sergeant said, “it is clear at any rate that you are Englishmen.” He had brought a torch with him, and as they came up looked at them narrowly, then he saluted. “I know you, Sir Edgar, disguised as you are. I was fighting behind you on the wall five weeks since, and had it not been for the strength of your arm, I should have returned no more to England.”

“How is Sir Hugh Calverley?” Edgar asked, as they hurried towards the camp.

“His wounds are mending fast,” the sergeant said, “and he went out of his tent to-day for the first time. I saw him myself.”

A quarter of an hour's walking brought them to the tent occupied by Sir Hugh and his followers. A light was still burning there, and they heard voices within.

“May we enter?” Edgar said, as he slightly opened the flap of the tent.

“Surely, that must be the voice of Sir Edgar Ormskirk!” Sir Hugh exclaimed.

“It is I, sure enough, and with me is Sir Albert De Courcy and my brave man-at-arms.”

As he spoke he stepped into the tent. Two knights were there, and they and Sir Hugh advanced with outstretched hands to meet the new-comers.

“Welcome back, welcome back!” Sir Hugh exclaimed, in a tone of emotion. “My brave knights, I and my two comrades here have to thank you for our lives, for, although in truth I know naught about it, I have heard from Sir Thomas Vokes and Sir Tristram Montford how you brought the band to our assistance, and how you kept the enemy at bay, while this good fellow of yours bore me down the ladder on his shoulder; while from those who escaped afterwards we heard how you both, with but two or three others, kept the foe back, and gave time for the rest to jump from the walls or slide down the ladders. But your faces are blue, and your teeth chattering!”

“We have had to swim three ditches, and the ice having formed pretty thickly, it was no child's work.”

“First, do you each drain a goblet of wine,” Sir Hugh said, “and then to your tent. All your things are untouched. Knights, will you go with them and rub them down till their skin glows, and then wrap them up in blankets?” He called, and two servants came in. “Heat three bottles of wine in a bowl with plenty of spices,” he said, “and carry it to these knights' tent, and take a portion to the tent of their men-at-arms for the use of this good fellow. See that your comrades rub you down,” he said to Hal. “They will be glad indeed to see you back; for, although we heard from a prisoner that the two knights were alive, we knew not whether any others had been taken with them. Tell Hawkins to light two torches at once and fix them in the knights' tent, and put two others in that of the men- at-arms. Mind, Sir Edgar, once between the blankets, you stay there till morning. Your story will keep until then.”

After throwing off their wet clothes, and being rubbed down until they glowed, Edgar and Albert were soon covered up in blankets, and after drinking the hot spiced wine, soon fell asleep. In the morning they related their story to Sir Hugh Calverley and the other two knights.

“'Tis Sir Edgar who should tell the tale,” Albert said, “for indeed I know but little about it from the time I saw you lowered over the wall. Things went well with us for a time; we were joined by more men, and were strong enough to divide into two parties, Edgar going to the right while I went to the left. We cleared the wall for some distance, and methinks had there been ladders, so that we could have been helped more quickly, the town would have been won, but the enemy were reinforced more quickly than we were, and we began to lose ground. Then came a body of knights who beat us back till we were close to the point where the ladders were set. Then a knight made at me with a mace. I saw his arms raised, and after that I knew nothing more.”

“The last man who jumped from the wall, Sir Albert, told us that he saw that you were down and that Sir Edgar and one of his men-at-arms were fighting like demons over you. Now, Sir Edgar, tell us how the matter ended.”

“We made a shift to keep them back, Sir Hugh, for some five minutes, when one of the French knights offered to give us terms of surrender on ransom, and seeing no use in fighting longer when the matter could only have terminated one way, I surrendered.”

Then he related the good treatment they had met with at the hands of Sir Robert De Beaulieu, and the manner in which he had enabled them to escape the fury of the rabble of Ypres, and had sent them away free from ransom.

“It was well done, indeed, of him,” Sir Hugh said, warmly. “Truly a courteous and knightly action. And so you have both given your pledge to fight no more in this campaign. By St. George, I should not be ill-pleased if someone would put me under a similar pledge, for I tell you that I am heartily sick of it. Never did so disordered an army start from England. An army led by bishops and priests is something strange. Bishops have before now ridden often in battle, but never before did they assume command. Methinks when I go home that I will ask the king to give me the direction of Westminster Monastery and Abbey; at any rate I could not make a worse hand of it than the Bishop of Norwich is doing of this. And you say that De Beaulieu promised to send your armour on the first opportunity. That is, indeed, a generous action, for the armour of a prisoner is always the property of his captor, and your armour is of great value. I would that we could do something to show the good knight that we appreciate his generosity.”

“We have our chains,” Edgar said. “Of course we did not carry them about us when we should have to fight, and they are very heavy and of the finest workmanship. These would we gladly send to him, would we not, Albert, in token of our gratitude? Though, costly as they are, they are of much less value than the armour.”

“I would gladly add something of my own account,” Sir Hugh said, “seeing that you are in my train, and one does not like to be surpassed by a foreign knight. As to the matter of the ransom, that does not trouble me, and indeed, seeing that you surrendered to him, and that he felt that he could not give protection, and you had to risk your lives in getting away, it was but reasonable that he should remit it, but in the matter of the armour the case is different. I will add to your chains a reliquary which was presented to me by Pedro of Castile when I saved his life in the fight at Najarra. He told me that it contained a nail of the true cross, and that it was brought to Spain by a Spaniard of royal blood who was a knight commander of the Temple.

“I do not know how far this is true, for as one gets older one loses faith in these monkish stories of reliquaries. However, the casket is set with gems of value, and there is with it a parchment setting forth its history; at any rate it is a gift that is worthy of even a prince's acceptance. I will send it to him as a token that Sir Hugh Calverley recognizes his chivalrous behaviour to the knights who were captured while covering his carriage from the ramparts of Ypres, and, therefore, sends this gift to him in all honour and courtesy, together with the gold chains of the knights themselves. We shall not have long to wait. There are fights well- nigh every day, and when these are over there is a truce of an hour to carry off the wounded and dead.”

The young knights thanked Sir Hugh for thus generously supplementing their own offering in return for their armour, but he waved it aside.

“You saved my life,” he said; “or at any rate you saved me from capture, and had I fallen into their hands methinks that I should have had to pay a far heavier ransom before they let me out again.”

Two days later there was heavy fighting again and much loss on both sides. It ceased as usual without any advantage being won by the besiegers. The fighting ended soon after mid-day, and at one o'clock the trumpet sounded a truce. Sir Hugh mounted, with his two knights, saying to Edgar: “It were perhaps best that you should not ride with me. 'Tis likely that the townsmen still think that you are in Beaulieu's house, and were it known that you had escaped it might bring trouble upon him and the two knights who aided your escape from the wall.”

He took with him a pursuivant and trumpeter, and, riding through the English and Flemish men-at-arms, who were already engaged in carrying away the dead and wounded, he rode up to within a short distance of the wall, then the pursuivant and trumpeter advanced to the edge of the moat, and the latter blew a loud blast.

In a short time a knight appeared on the wall, and the pursuivant cried in a loud voice:

“Sir Hugh Calverley, a valiant and puissant knight of England, desires speech with Sir Robert De Beaulieu, a brave and gentle knight of Flanders.”

“I am Sir Robert De Beaulieu. Pray tell Sir Hugh Calverley to do me the courtesy to wait for me a quarter of an hour, and I will then issue forth and speak to him.”

At the end of that time Sir Robert rode out, and crossed the bridge which had been lowered across the ditch for the passage of the soldiers engaged in collecting the dead. He was followed by two esquires and four men-at- arms, the latter bearing something behind them on their horses. The two knights saluted each other courteously, and Sir Hugh introduced his two companions to Sir Robert.

“I am glad, indeed,” the latter said to Calverley, “thus to have the opportunity of meeting one of the most famous knights in Europe. My men- at-arms are bearers of the armour of Sir Edgar Ormskirk and Sir Albert De Courcy, who are, I believe, knights riding in your train. I promised them that I would send the armour on the first opportunity, and am glad indeed that the occasion has come so speedily.”

He and Sir Hugh had both dismounted after saluting each other, and the latter held out his mailed hand to the Fleming.

“Sir Robert De Beaulieu,” he said, “I have heard of you as a brave and honourable knight, and you have in this matter proved yourself to be a chivalrous and generous one in thus rendering up the spoil fairly won by you, without ransom; but it is not our custom to be outdone in generosity. The armour is of no ordinary value, and, as these knights of mine were made prisoners while covering my removal when insensible and helpless, I feel that the debt is mine as well as theirs. They have begged me to give you these two chains, both, as you see, of value, and of the best Italian work. To these I add, as a token of my esteem for you, this casket, which was given to me by Don Pedro of Spain when I rode with the Black Prince to aid him in his struggle with Don Henry. As you will see by the parchment attached to the casket, it contains a nail of the true cross, brought from Palestine by a Spanish grandee who was knight commander of the Spanish branch of the Knights Templar. I pray you to accept it, not as part of the ransom for my knights' armour, but as a proof of my esteem for one who has shown himself a flower of knightly courtesy.”

“It would be churlish, Sir Hugh Calverley, for me to refuse so noble a gift thus courteously tendered. I shall prize it beyond any in my possession, not only for its own value and holiness, but as the gift of so noble and famous a knight. As to the chains, I pray you to return them to your brave young knights. Never did I see men who bore themselves more gallantly, and Sir Edgar, especially, withstood with honour a score of us for some time, and at last he yielded, not because he was conquered, but to save further bloodshed. They are young, and may, like enough, some day be again made prisoners. In that case they may find the chains, which are of singular beauty, of value to them; therefore, I pray you, hand them back to them again as a token of how warmly I appreciate their bravery and conduct.”

“Right gladly will I do so. As you put it in that way, Sir Robert, they will appreciate the gift as much as I do, and, as you say, maybe the chains will be useful to them some day, for they are not of those who battle for spoil, and, like myself, have refused all share in that which the army has taken in Flanders, holding that we had no cause of dispute with your people, and that our assault upon them was unfairly and unjustly made.”

After some more compliments had been exchanged, the two knights grasped each other's hands courteously, remounted, and then saluting again, rode off. While the conversation had been going on, Sir Robert's men-at-arms had handed over the armour to the three retainers who had ridden behind Sir Hugh and his two knights.

Edgar and Albert were delighted at regaining their armour. It would have been impossible for them to have replaced the harness by similar suits, and, moreover, they felt that they would have been humiliated had they, on their return to England, been obliged to confess to Sir Robert Gaiton that they had lost the splendid presents that he had given them. They were less pleased at the return of their chains, but Sir Hugh assured them that it would be an act of discourtesy were they to send them back to De Beaulieu.

There was now nothing to detain them longer in the camp, and taking leave of Sir Hugh, they started the next morning, with Hal Carter and the other surviving retainers, and rode by easy stages to Gravelines, where they took ship for Dover. Instead of riding directly home, they journeyed to London, as they were bearers of a letter from Sir Hugh Calverley to the council, and one also to the king. The latter received them with marked pleasure.

“What! back from the wars, sir knights?” he said, as they handed him Sir Hugh's letter. “Surely Calverley might have chosen as his messengers some whose swords could have been better spared.”

“We were chosen, your Majesty, because we had the misfortune to be taken prisoners at Ypres, and it was a condition of our release that we should take no further part in the campaign, and as we were returning in consequence, Sir Hugh committed to us this letter to yourself, and one to the council.”

“Prisoners!” the king said, with a laugh; “that you had got yourselves killed would not have surprised me, but that you should surrender never entered my mind.”

The two young knights coloured.

“It cannot be said that Sir Albert surrendered,” Edgar said, “seeing that he was insensible from his wounds. As for myself, your Majesty, as I and one of my men-at-arms stood alone on the walls of Ypres surrounded by foes, I trust that your Majesty will see that it was wiser for me to yield, and so to have the opportunity of fighting again some day under your royal banner, than to give away my life uselessly.”

“Assuredly, assuredly,” the young king said, hastily. “I did but jest, Sir Edgar, for I know that so long as a chance of victory remained, you would not lower your sword. However, let me see what the stout knight says. I know already that he does not approve of the way in which the war is being carried on; and, indeed, had we thought that the headstrong bishop would have disregarded Sir Hugh's counsel and embroiled us with the Flemings, whom we regard as our allies, we should not have placed him at the head of the army, for though it is but, as the bishop maintains, a church army, and not an English army, Europe will assuredly hold us responsible for its doings.”

He cut with his dagger the silk that bound the roll of parchment together.

The king read the letter carefully, and when he concluded said:

“Truly, young sirs, you have borne yourselves right gallantly and well; Sir Hugh Calverley speaks strongly indeed in your favour, and says that he owes his freedom if not his life to you. And now, tell me, think you that Ypres will be taken?”

“I fear not, your Majesty,” Edgar said. “I thought that the siege of Oudenarde was worse conducted than anything I had ever read of, but the siege of Ypres is to the full as faulty. The place is strong and stoutly defended, and it can only be taken by regular works erected against it and machines placed to batter a breach. Nothing of this sort has been attempted. The troops march valiantly against the walls, but they throw away their lives in vain; and if, as is said, the French king is marching to its assistance with a strong army, there will be naught for us but to retreat to the ports unless strong aid arrives from England.”

“But the bishop has some eight thousand Englishmen and twenty thousand Ghentois,” the king said. “Surely we might fight and win, as our grandfathers did at Crecy.”

“Yes, sire; but the English army at Crecy was commanded by a king, and was composed of good fighting men, with a great number of knights and nobles to lead them. The army in Flanders is commanded by a bishop, and there are many of the men who have gone over for the sake of plunder, and they will make but a poor stand in battle.”

“My uncle of Lancaster has gathered a large force, and is ready to cross over to their aid,” the king said.

“So we have heard by the way, sire, and if he joins the bishop all may be well, for his authority would be paramount, but at present he has not crossed, and unless he arrives before the King of France, things will assuredly go badly with the bishop.”

“I have no doubt that Sir Hugh has set forth these matters in his letter to the council,” the king said, “but assuredly Lancaster should be there in time. And now, tell me how you made your escape from Ypres.”

Edgar related the circumstances.

“Your captor was an honourable gentleman,” the king said, “and it is well that you escaped, for these Flemish burghers are masterful men and might well have murdered you. I must now to the council; I have summoned it to assemble. Have you been home yet?”

“No, sire. Our first duty was to bring you the letters, but, with your permission, we shall ride down into Kent tomorrow.”

“Do you know that your friend Van Voorden has again returned to London? He found that he could do naught in Flanders, which at present is wholly at the orders of the King of France.”

They rode first to Sir Robert Gaiton's house, where, as always, they were welcomed most warmly, and Albert narrated their adventures in Flanders, and how they still owned the armour he had given them.

After staying there for some time they went to the house where Van Voorden was lodging, having obtained his address from Sir Robert Gaiton. They had not seen him since they had parted from him in Ghent, a year before.

“I thought you intended to settle in Flanders, Mynheer,” Edgar said, after the first greetings were over.

“I hoped to do so, and after I left Antwerp I went to Louvain and took a house there, but when the King of France defeated and killed Van Artevelde, and all Flanders save Ghent came under his power, the country was no longer safe for me. It was known, of course, that I was for many years here, and that I had done all in my power to effect a league between Ghent and England, so three months ago I crossed hither, leaving my wife and daughter at Louvain. I stopped for a short time at Ghent, and had much to do with bringing it about that Ghent should send an army to assist the English; but I fear that the doings of the bishop's troops—the sacking of towns by them—has so set the Flemings against England that there is no hope of a general alliance being made with Flanders.

“There were other things for which I wished to come over. I had hoped to return before this, but matters seem to be going on but badly, and if the King of France and his army defeat or drive out the bishop, his power will be greater than ever in Flanders, and in that case I shall send for my wife and daughter to come over again, and establish myself here finally.”

On taking leave of them he handed a wooden box to each, saying:

“I pray you not to open these until you reach home.”

The next day Edgar and Albert rode down into Kent. Great was the surprise that their presence excited when they arrived at De Courcy's castle. Aline ran down into the courtyard and embraced her brother warmly, and then, as was the custom, held up her cheek to be kissed by Edgar.

“What, tired of the wars already?” she said, laughing. “Or have you killed all your enemies? or how is it that you are here?”

“We have been prisoners, Aline,” her brother said, “and have been bound to take no farther part in the war.”

“Prisoners!” she repeated; “you are joking with me, Albert. Surely you and Edgar would never have surrendered unharmed?”

“Nor did we, Aline. I was cut down and stunned by the blow of a mace, and was lying insensible.”

“And what was Edgar doing?” she asked, looking reproachfully at him.

“Edgar was not near me when I was struck down, Aline, but no sooner did I fall than he, with his man-at-arms, Hal Carter, stood over me and kept at bay a host of knights and soldiers, and slew so many that they were glad at last to give him terms of surrender.”

The girl's face flushed, and she would have spoken had not Sir Ralph and her mother at that moment issued from the door.

“Why! what brings you home, lads?” Sir Ralph asked, heartily.

“They have been taken prisoners, father,” Aline interposed, “and Albert has been wounded, and they have both been obliged to give their parole not to serve again through the war.”

“That is bad news indeed,” the knight said. “It means another farm gone, and perhaps two, to pay for Albert's ransom. However, it is the fortune of war. Now come in and tell us all about it; but doubtless you are both hungry, and the matter will keep till you have dined. The meal is already on the table. You are not looking much the worse for your wounds, Albert,” his father went on as they seated themselves at table.

“I have been healed of them for the last month, father. I was brought down by the blow of a mace, which would have finished me had it not been for the good work put into my helmet by the Milanese armourer. Also I had a wound on the neck, but fortunately it was not very deep.”

“And did you come out of it scatheless, Edgar?”

“Nearly scatheless, for I knew not that I had been wounded until the fight was over, and it was but a pike thrust that entered at the shoulder-joint and cut the flesh thence to the neck. It was but an affair of a bandage and a bit of plaster. The only one seriously hurt was Hal Carter—it was some three weeks before he began to mend. He had half a dozen wounds. Another of my men was killed and two of Albert's.”

“Now let us hear all about it,” Sir Ralph said when the meal was over; “that you bore yourselves well I have no doubt, but I would fain hear the details of the matter.”

Albert told the whole story of the assault and the escape, interrupted by Edgar, who protested that Albert was always belittling his own doings, and giving him credit when everything had been done equally by them both.

“You blame Albert unjustly, Edgar,” Sir Ralph said when the story was concluded. “Albert has behaved well, but he has neither your strength, your skill, nor your quickness. It was you who thought of carrying the broken ladder to another spot, and so taking the besieged on the wall by surprise, and you were the first to mount it. It was you who, when you saw that the case had become altogether hopeless, ordered the soldiers to save themselves, while you held the enemy at bay. Albert would like enough have been killed, had you not so stoutly defended him that they gave terms of surrender to you both. You, again, had the idea of making your escape along the roofs, and took the lead in it. There is all credit due to Albert that he well seconded you, but it was you who led. Again, it is probable that neither he nor your man-at-arms would have been able to cross those half-frozen ditches, had you not first broken the ice for them and then dragged them over. You have done wonders for Albert, but you could not accomplish miracles. You have transformed him from a weakling into a brave young knight, of whom I am proud, but you cannot give him your strength or your quickness. If you go on as you have began, Edgar, you will become a famous captain. He will remain, and will be content to remain, your companion and lieutenant. What have you in those boxes that were strapped behind your saddles?”

“I know not, Sir Ralph,” Albert said. “They were given to us by Mynheer Van Voorden, and he charged us not to open them until we arrived here.”

“It is a mystery, then!” Aline exclaimed. “Let us send for them and open them at once. I am glad one of the boxes was not given to me to take care of, for I am afraid I should never have had the patience to wait until I arrived here before opening it.”

Sir Ralph ordered the boxes to be brought in. “They are light enough,” he said, “and I should judge from their weight that they contain papers of some sort. Open yours first, Albert.”

They were fastened by three skeins of silk, the Fleming's seal being affixed to the knots.

“Cut them, Albert!” Aline exclaimed, as her brother proceeded to break the seals and untie the knots.

“No, no,” he said; “silk is not to be picked up on the wayside, and it will be little trouble to undo them.”

Indeed, in a minute he had unfastened the knots and raised the lid. At the top lay a piece of paper, on which was written, A slight testimony of gratitude for inestimable services rendered to yours gratefully, John Van Voorden. Underneath was a roll of parchment.

“What have we here?” Sir Ralph said. Albert ran his eye over the crabbed black-letter writing, and gave an exclamation of surprise.

“Now, then, Albert,” Aline exclaimed, impatiently, “don't keep it all to yourself. We are burning to know what it is all about!”

Albert made no reply, but continued to read. “It is an assignment to me,” he said, at last, in a low and agitated voice, “of the lands, castle, messuages, tenements, etc., of Cliffe.”

Sir Ralph leapt to his feet. “A princely gift, Albert! The lands are four times as large as mine, and as I have heard, a fair castle has been rising there for months past. Art sure that there is no mistake?”

“There can be no mistake in the deed, father; but can I accept such a gift at the hands of the Fleming?”

“That you can, my son, and without any hesitation. Van Voorden is known to be the richest Fleming in England. He has on various occasions lent vast sums to the king and council, and noble as the gift is, it is one that he can doubtless well afford. You have saved the lives of himself, his wife, and daughter, and he may well feel grateful. He told me when he gave you that suit of armour that it was no recognition of what he felt he owed you, and that he hoped in the future to discharge the debt more worthily. Now, Edgar, let us see what is in your box.”

Edgar had been quietly untying the knots of the silk, and the box was already open. The words on the top were similar to those in Albert's box.

“Please read it, Albert,” he said, handing over the parchment. “You can decipher the characters better than I can.” Albert read it through to himself.

“'Tis similar to mine,” he said, “and assigns you the land, manors, the castle, and all rights and privileges thereto appertaining of the hundred of Hoo.”

“Bravo, bravo!” Sir Ralph exclaimed. “Another noble gift, and fully equal to that of Albert. This Fleming is a very prince. I congratulate you, Edgar, with all my heart. I had heard that Sir John Evesham had sold his estates, which comprise the whole hundred of Hoo, a year since, in order to live at Court, but none seemed to know who was the purchaser. I heard, too, that a large number of men had been employed in building a castle on the heights looking down the Medway past Upnor to Chatham. Why, lads, if you ever win to the rank of knight banneret, you will have land enough to support the dignity, and to take the field with two or three knights and a fair following of men-at-arms in your train. I have gained good sums for the ransom of prisoners, but I never had the luck to save the life of a Flemish merchant and his family.”

“It seems well-nigh impossible,” Edgar said.

“You must remember, Edgar, that these rich Flemings are the bankers of half the princes in Europe. You, who have been in their houses, know that they live in comfort and luxury such as none of our nobles possess. They could find the money for a king's ransom, or pay beforehand the taxes of a country. If a king can grant estates like these to his favourites, and not only the king, but many of our nobles can do so, it is not strange that one of the richest of these Flemings should make such gifts to those who have saved his life without feeling that he has in any way overpaid the service.”

“I must be riding on now,” Edgar said, “to carry this wonderful news to my father.”

While they had been dining, Hal Carter had been getting a hearty meal in the kitchen, where he and Albert's two retainers were surrounded by all the men-at-arms, who were anxious to hear the details of the expedition. When Edgar sent down for his horse, Sir Ralph went down with him to the courtyard, and as Hal brought the horses round, the old knight put his hand upon his shoulder.

“My brave fellow,” he said, “I have heard how you stood with your master across my son's body, and how doughtily you fought. Do not forget that I am your debtor, but for the present I can only say that I thank you for the part you played.”

“It would have been strange, indeed, Sir Ralph, had I not hit my hardest, for my own life depended upon it, and it was not like that I should draw back a foot when Sir Albert, whom I love only next to my master, was lying there; but, indeed, it was a right merry fight, the only one that came up to my expectations of what a stiffly fought melee would be. I would not have missed it for anything.”

CHAPTER XIX.

WELL SETTLED

“Well, well, well,” Mr. Ormskirk exclaimed when Edgar brought the story of all that had happened since he had been away to an end, “indeed you surprise me. I know that many knights fit out parties and go to the wars, not so much for honour and glory as for the spoils and ransoms they may gain, and that after Crecy and Poictiers, there was not a single soldier but came back laden with booty and with rich jewels, gold chains, and costly armour, gathered from the host of French nobles who fell on those fields; while knights who were fortunate enough to capture counts, earls, or princes, gained ransoms that enabled them to purchase estates, and live without occasion to go further to the wars during their lives. But I never thought that you would benefit by such a chance. As it is to my mind more honourable to save life than to take it, I rejoice that you have come to your fortune, not by the slaying of enemies, but by the saving the lives of a man, his wife, and daughter, who are rich enough to reward you.

“Assuredly, if a man like Mynheer Van Voorden had fallen into the hands of the Count of Flanders, the latter would have extracted from him, as the price of his freedom, a sum many times larger than that which he has expended on the purchase of these two estates, and the building of the castles. Well, Edgar, I congratulate you heartily. You can now ride to the wars when the king's banner is spread to the winds, and do your duty to your country, but there will be no occasion for you to become a mere knight adventurer—a class I detest, ever ready to sell their swords to the highest bidder, and to kill men, against whom they have no cause of complaint, as indifferently as a butcher would strike down a bullock with a pole-axe.

“Between these men and those who fight simply in the wars of their own country, the gulf is a wide one, as wide as that betwixt a faithful house- dog and a roving wolf. When are you going to receive your new acquisition, or are you intending to ride first to London to thank the Fleming for his noble gift?”

“Assuredly, we should have first ridden to London, father, but we each found in the bottom of our boxes a short letter which we had at first overlooked. The letters were the same, save for our names. Mine ran:—

“'Dear Sir Edgar,

“'It has given me very great pleasure to prepare this little surprise for you. I pray you, do not mar it in any way by returning me thanks. The gift is as naught in comparison with the service rendered. I am proceeding to the North to-morrow on business with Earl Percy, and shall not return for some weeks. When we meet next, I pray you, let there be no word of thanks concerning this affair, for I consider myself still greatly your debtor. You will find an agent of mine at your castle. He has been there some time, has made the acquaintance of all the vassals and others, and will introduce you to them as their lord. He has my instructions either to remain there to manage your affairs for six months, or for any less time you may choose. But methinks you will do well to keep him for that time, as he is a good man of business, and you will need such an one until you have mastered all the details, and can take matters entirely in your own hands.'

“So you see, father, we shall be free to start to-morrow. Sir Ralph, Lady De Courcy, and Mistress Aline will ride with us, and I trust that you will come also. We shall first go to Cliffe, which will be on our road, and, indeed, I believe that for some distance Albert's lands join mine. Then we shall go on to my castle—it sounds absurd, doesn't it, father?—and doubtless we shall be able to stay in Hoo, or if not, 'tis but two or three miles to Stroud, where we are sure to find good lodging.”

“I should like to ride with you, Edgar, but it is years since I have bestridden a horse.”

“We shall ride but slowly, father, for Dame De Courcy loves not for her palfrey to go beyond a walk. If you like you could bestride Hal Carter's horse, which is a strong and steady animal, and he can walk alongside, so as to be ready to catch the rein if it be needed. He will be very glad to go, for the honest fellow is in the highest delight at the news of my good fortune.”