CHAPTER 8
Every one knows the disagreeable, lurking discomfort that follows
a quarrel--a discomfort that imbitters the very taste of life for
the time being. Such was the dull distaste that Myles felt that
morning after what had passed in the dormitory. Every one in the
proximity of such an open quarrel feels a reflected constraint,
and in Myles's mind was a disagreeable doubt whether that
constraint meant disapproval of him or of his late enemies.
It seemed to him that Gascoyne added the last bitter twang to his
unpleasant feelings when, half an hour later, they marched with
the others to chapel.
"Why dost thou breed such trouble for thyself, Myles?" said he,
recurring to what he had already said. "Is it not foolish for
thee to come hither to this place, and then not submit to the
ways thereof, as the rest of us do?"
"Thou talkest not like a true friend to chide me thus," said
Myles, sullenly; and he withdrew his arm from his friend's.
"Marry, come up!" said Gascoyne; "an I were not thy friend, I
would let thee jog thine own way. It aches not my bones to have
thine drubbed."
Just then they entered the chapel, and words that might have led
to a quarrel were brought to a close.
Myles was not slow to see that he had the ill will of the head of
their company. That morning in the armory he had occasion to ask
some question of Blunt; the head squire stared coldly at him for
a moment, gave him a short, gruff answer, and then, turning his
back abruptly, began talking with one of the other bachelors.
Myles flushed hot at the other's insulting manner, and looked
quickly around to see if any of the others had observed what had
passed. It was a comfort to him to see that all were too busy
arming themselves to think of anything else; nevertheless, his
face was very lowering as he turned away.
"Some day I will show him that I am as good a man as he," he
muttered to himself. "An evil- hearted dog to put shame upon me!"
The storm was brewing and ready to break.
That day was exceptionally hot and close, and permission had been
asked by and granted to those squires not on duty to go down to
the river for a bath after exercise at the pels. But as Myles
replaced his arms in the rack, a little page came with a bidding
to come to Sir James in his office.
"Look now," said Myles, "here is just my ill- fortune. Why might
he not have waited an hour longer rather than cause me to miss
going with ye?"
"Nay," said Gascoyne, "let not that grieve thee, Myles. Wilkes
and I will wait for thee in the dormitory--will we not, Edmund?
Make thou haste and go to Sir James."
Sir James was sitting at the table studying over a scroll of
parchment, when Myles entered his office and stood before him at
the table.
"Well, boy," said he, laying aside the parchment and looking up
at the lad, "I have tried thee fairly for these few days, and may
say that I have found thee worthy to be entered upon the rolls as
esquire of the body."
"I give thee thanks, sir," said Myles.
The knight nodded his head in acknowledgement, but did not at
once give the word of dismissal that Myles had expected. "Dost
mean to write thee a letter home soon?" said he, suddenly.
"Aye," said Myles, gaping in great wonderment at the strangeness
of the question.
"Then when thou dost so write," said Sir James, "give thou my
deep regards to thy father." Then he continued, after a brief
pause. "Him did I know well in times gone by, and we were right
true friends in hearty love, and for his sake I would befriend
thee--that is, in so much as is fitting."
"Sir," said Myles; but Sir James held up his hand, and he stopped
short in his thanks.
"But, boy," said he, "that which I sent for thee for to tell thee
was of more import than these. Dost thou know that thy father is
an attainted outlaw?"
"Nay," cried Myles, his cheeks blazing up as red as fire; "who
sayeth that of him lieth in his teeth."
"Thou dost mistake me," said Sir James, quietly. "It is sometimes
no shame to be outlawed and banned. Had it been so, I would not
have told thee thereof, nor have bidden thee send my true love to
thy father, as I did but now. But, boy, certes he standest
continually in great danger-- greater than thou wottest of. Were
it known where he lieth hid, it might be to his undoing and utter
ruin. Methought that belike thou mightest not know that; and so I
sent for thee for to tell thee that it behoovest thee to say not
one single word concerning him to any of these new friends of
thine, nor who he is, nor what he is."
"But how came my father to be so banned?" said Myles, in a
constrained and husky voice, and after a long time of silence.
"That I may not tell thee just now," said the old knight, "only
this--that I have been bidden to make it known to thee that thy
father hath an enemy full as powerful as my Lord the Earl
himself, and that through that enemy all his ill-fortune --his
blindness and everything--hath come. Moreover, did this enemy
know where thy father lieth, he would slay him right speedily."
"Sir," cried Myles, violently smiting his open palm upon the
table, "tell me who this man is, and I will kill him!"
Sir James smiled grimly. "Thou talkest like a boy," said he.
"Wait until thou art grown to be a man. Mayhap then thou mayst
repent thee of these bold words, for one time this enemy of thy
father's was reckoned the foremost knight in England, and he is
now the King's dear friend and a great lord."
"But," said Myles, after another long time of heavy silence,
"will not my Lord then befriend me for the sake of my father, who
was one time his dear comrade?"
Sir James shook his head. "It may not be," said he. "Neither thou
nor thy father must look for open favor from the Earl. An he
befriended Falworth, and it came to be known that he had given
him aid or succor, it might belike be to his own undoing. No,
boy; thou must not even look to be taken into the household to
serve with gentlemen as the other squires do serve, but must even
live thine own life here and fight thine own way."
Myles's eyes blazed. "Then," cried he, fiercely, "it is shame and
attaint upon my Lord the Earl, and cowardice as well, and never
will I ask favor of him who is so untrue a friend as to turn his
back upon a comrade in trouble as he turneth his back upon my
father."
"Thou art a foolish boy," said Sir James with a bitter smile,
"and knowest naught of the world. An thou wouldst look for man to
befriend man to his own danger, thou must look elsewhere than on
this earth. Was I not one time Mackworth's dear friend as well as
thy father? It could cost him naught to honor me, and here am I
fallen to be a teacher of boys. Go to! thou art a fool."
Then, after a little pause of brooding silence, he went on to say
that the Earl was no better or worse than the rest of the world.
That men of his position had many jealous enemies, ever seeking
their ruin, and that such must look first of all each to himself,
or else be certainly ruined, and drag down others in that ruin.
Myles was silenced, but the bitterness had entered his heart, and
abided with him for many a day afterwards.
Perhaps Sir James read his feelings in his frank face, for he sat
looking curiously at him, twirling his grizzled mustache the
while. "Thou art like to have hard knocks of it, lad, ere thou
hast gotten thee safe through the world," said he, with more
kindness in his harsh voice than was usual. "But get thee not
into fights before thy time." Then he charged the boy very
seriously to live at peace with his fellow-squires, and for his
father's sake as well as his own to enter into none of the broils
that were so frequent in their quarters.
It was with this special admonition against brawling that Myles
was dismissed, to enter, before five minutes had passed, into the
first really great fight of his life.
Besides Gascoyne and Wilkes, he found gathered in the dormitory
six or eight of the company of squires who were to serve that day
upon household duty; among others, Walter Blunt and three other
bachelors, who were changing their coarse service clothes for
others more fit for the household.
"Why didst thou tarry so long, Myles?" said Gascoyne, as he
entered. "Methought thou wert never coming."
"Where goest thou, Falworth?" called Blunt from the other end of
the room, where he was lacing his doublet.
Just now Myles had no heart in the swimming or sport of any sort,
but he answered, shortly, "I go to the river to swim."
"Nay," said Blunt, "thou goest not forth from the castle to-day.
Hast thou forgot how thou didst answer me back about fetching the
water this morning? This day thou must do penance, so go thou
straight to the armory and scour thou up my breastplate."
From the time he had arisen that morning everything had gone
wrong with Myles. He had felt himself already outrated in
rendering service to the bachelors, he had quarrelled with the
head of the esquires, he had nearly quarrelled with Gascoyne, and
then had come the bitterest and worst of all, the knowledge that
his father was an outlaw, and that the Earl would not stretch out
a hand to aid him or to give him any countenance. Blunt's words
brought the last bitter cut to his heart, and they stung him to
fury. For a while he could not answer, but stood glaring with a
face fairly convulsed with passion at the young man, who
continued his toilet, unconscious of the wrath of the new
recruit.
Gascoyne and Wilkes, accepting Myles's punishment as a thing of
course, were about to leave the dormitory when Myles checked
them.
"Stop, Francis!" he cried, hoarsely. "Thinkest thou that I will
stay behind to do yon dog's dirty work? No; I go with ye."
A moment or two of dumb, silent amazement followed his bold
words; then Blunt cried, "Art thou mad?"
"Nay," answered Myles in the same hoarse voice, "I am not mad. I
tell thee a better man than thou shouldst not stay me from going
an I list to go.
"I will break thy cockerel head for that speech," said Blunt,
furiously. He stooped as he spoke, and picked up a heavy clog
that lay at his feet.
It was no insignificant weapon either. The shoes of those days
were sometimes made of cloth, and had long pointed toes stuffed
with tow or wool. In muddy weather thick heavy clogs or wooden
soles were strapped, like a skate, to the bottom of the foot.
That clog which Blunt had seized was perhaps eighteen or twenty
inches long, two or two and a half inches thick at the heel,
tapering to a point at the toe. As the older lad advanced,
Gascoyne stepped between him and his victim.
"Do not harm him, Blunt," he pleaded. "Bear thou in mind how
new-come he is among us. He knoweth not our ways as yet."
"Stand thou back, Gascoyne," said Blunt, harshly, as he thrust
him aside. "I will teach him our ways so that he will not soon
forget them."
Close to Myles's feet was another clog like that one which Blunt
held. He snatched it up, and set his back against the wall, with
a white face and a heart beating heavily and tumultuously, but
with courage steeled to meet the coming encounter. There was a
hard, grim look in his blue eyes that, for a moment perhaps,
quelled the elder lad. He hesitated. "Tom! Wat! Ned!" he called
to the other bachelors, "come hither, and lend me a hand with
this knave."
"An ye come nigh me," panted Myles, "I will brain the first
within reach."
Then Gascoyne dodged behind the others, and, without being seen,
slipped out of the room for help.
The battle that followed was quick, sharp, and short. As Blunt
strode forward, Myles struck, and struck with might and main, but
he was too excited to deliver his blow with calculation. Blunt
parried it with the clog he held, and the next instant, dropping
his weapon, gripped Myles tight about the body, pinning his arms
to his sides.
Myles also dropped the clog he held, and, wrenching out his right
arm with a sudden heave, struck Blunt full in the face, and then
with another blow sent him staggering back. It all passed in an
instant; the next the three other bachelors were upon him,
catching him by the body, the arms, the legs. For a moment or two
they swayed and stumbled hither and thither, and then down they
fell in a struggling heap.
Myles fought like a wild-cat, kicking, struggling, scratching;
striking with elbows and fists. He caught one of the three by his
collar, and tore his jacket open from the neck to the waist; he
drove his foot into the pit of the stomach of another, and
knocked him breathless. The other lads not in the fight stood
upon the benches and the beds around, but such was the awe
inspired by the prestige of the bachelors that not one of them
dared to lend hand to help him, and so Myles fought his fierce
battle alone.
But four to one were odds too great, and though Myles struggled
as fiercely as ever, by-and-by it was with less and less
resistance.
Blunt had picked up the clog he had dropped when he first
attacked the lad, and now stood over the struggling heap, white
with rage, the blood running from his lip, cut and puffed where
Myles had struck him, and murder looking out from his face, if
ever it looked out of the face of any mortal being.
"Hold him a little," said he, fiercely, "and I will still him for
you."
Even yet it was no easy matter for the others to do his bidding,
but presently he got his chance and struck a heavy, cruel blow at
Myles's head. Myles only partly warded it with his arm. Hitherto
he had fought in silence, now he gave a harsh cry.
"Holy Saints!" cried Edmund Wilkes. "They will kill him."
Blunt struck two more blows, both of them upon the body, and then
at last they had the poor boy down, with his face upon the ground
and his arms pinned to his sides, and Blunt, bracing himself for
the stroke, with a grin of rage raised a heavy clog for one
terrible blow that should finish the fight.
