CHAPTER I
Myles Falworth was but eight years of age at that time, and it
was only afterwards, and when he grew old enough to know more of
the ins and outs of the matter, that he could remember by bits
and pieces the things that afterwards happened; how one evening a
knight came clattering into the court-yard upon a horse,
red-nostrilled and smeared with the sweat and foam of a desperate
ride--Sir John Dale, a dear friend of the blind Lord.
Even though so young, Myles knew that something very serious had
happened to make Sir John so pale and haggard, and he dimly
remembered leaning against the knight's iron-covered knees,
looking up into his gloomy face, and asking him if he was sick to
look so strange. Thereupon those who had been too troubled before
to notice him, bethought themselves of him, and sent him to bed,
rebellious at having to go so early.
He remembered how the next morning, looking out of a window high
up under the eaves, he saw a great troop of horsemen come riding
into the courtyard beneath, where a powdering of snow had
whitened everything, and of how the leader, a knight clad in
black armor, dismounted and entered the great hall door-way
below, followed by several of the band.
He remembered how some of the castle women were standing in a
frightened group upon the landing of the stairs, talking together
in low voices about a matter he did not understand, excepting
that the armed men who had ridden into the courtyard had come for
Sir John Dale. None of the women paid any attention to him; so,
shunning their notice, he ran off down the winding stairs,
expecting every moment to be called back again by some one of
them.
A crowd of castle people, all very serious and quiet, were
gathered in the hall, where a number of strange men-at-arms
lounged upon the benches, while two billmen in steel caps and
leathern jacks stood guarding the great door, the butts of their
weapons resting upon the ground, and the staves crossed, barring
the door-way.
In the anteroom was the knight in black armor whom Myles had seen
from the window. He was sitting at the table, his great helmet
lying upon the bench beside him, and a quart beaker of spiced
wine at his elbow. A clerk sat at the other end of the same
table, with inkhorn in one hand and pen in the other, and a
parchment spread in front of him.
Master Robert, the castle steward, stood before the knight, who
every now and then put to him a question, which the other would
answer, and the clerk write the answer down upon the parchment.
His father stood with his back to the fireplace, looking down
upon the floor with his blind eyes, his brows drawn moodily
together, and the scar of the great wound that he had received at
the tournament at York--the wound that had made him
blind--showing red across his forehead, as it always did when he
was angered or troubled.
There was something about it all that frightened Myles, who crept
to his father's side, and slid his little hand into the palm that
hung limp and inert. In answer to the touch, his father grasped
the hand tightly, but did not seem otherwise to notice that he
was there. Neither did the black knight pay any attention to him,
but continued putting his questions to Master Robert.
Then, suddenly, there was a commotion in the hall without, loud
voices, and a hurrying here and there. The black knight half
arose, grasping a heavy iron mace that lay upon the bench beside
him, and the next moment Sir John Dale himself, as pale as death,
walked into the antechamber. He stopped in the very middle of the
room. "I yield me to my Lord's grace and mercy," said he to the
black knight, and they were the last words he ever uttered in
this world.
The black knight shouted out some words of command, and swinging
up the iron mace in his hand, strode forward clanking towards Sir
John, who raised his arm as though to shield himself from the
blow. Two or three of those who stood in the hall without came
running into the room with drawn swords and bills, and little
Myles, crying out with terror, hid his face in his father's long
gown.
The next instant came the sound of a heavy blow and of a groan,
then another blow and the sound of one falling upon the ground.
Then the clashing of steel, and in the midst Lord Falworth
crying, in a dreadful voice, "Thou traitor! thou coward! thou
murderer!"
Master Robert snatched Myles away from his father, and bore him
out of the room in spite of his screams and struggles, and he
remembered just one instant's sight of Sir John lying still and
silent upon his face, and of the black knight standing above him,
with the terrible mace in his hand stained a dreadful red.
It was the next day that Lord and Lady Falworth and little Myles,
together with three of the more faithful of their people, left
the castle.
His memory of past things held a picture for Myles of old Diccon
Bowman standing over him in the silence of midnight with a
lighted lamp in his hand, and with it a recollection of being
bidden to hush when he would have spoken, and of being dressed by
Diccon and one of the women, bewildered with sleep, shuddering
and chattering with cold.
He remembered being wrapped in the sheepskin that lay at the foot
of his bed, and of being carried in Diccon Bowman's arms down the
silent darkness of the winding stair-way, with the great black
giant shadows swaying and flickering upon the stone wall as the
dull flame of the lamp swayed and flickered in the cold breathing
of the night air.
Below were his father and mother and two or three others. A
stranger stood warming his hands at a newly-made fire, and little
Myles, as he peeped from out the warm sheepskin, saw that he was
in riding-boots and was covered with mud. He did not know till
long years afterwards that the stranger was a messenger sent by a
friend at the King's court, bidding his father fly for safety.
They who stood there by the red blaze of the fire were all very
still, talking in whispers and walking on tiptoes, and Myles's
mother hugged him in her arms, sheepskin and all, kissing him,
with the tears streaming down her cheeks, and whispering to him,
as though he could understand their trouble, that they were about
to leave their home forever.
Then Diccon Bowman carried him out into the strangeness of the
winter midnight.
Outside, beyond the frozen moat, where the osiers, stood stark
and stiff in their winter nakedness, was a group of dark figures
waiting for them with horses. In the pallid moonlight Myles
recognized the well-known face of Father Edward, the Prior of St.
Mary's.
After that came a long ride through that silent night upon the
saddle-bow in front of Diccon Bowman; then a deep, heavy sleep,
that fell upon him in spite of the galloping of the horses.
When next he woke the sun was shining, and his home and his whole
life were changed.
