CHAPTER 13
After the first excitement of meeting, discussing, and deciding
had passed, Myles began to feel the weight of the load he had so
boldly taken upon himself. He began to reckon what a serious
thing it was for him to stand as a single champion against the
tyranny that had grown so strong through years of custom. Had he
let himself do so, he might almost have repented, but it was too
late now for repentance. He had laid his hand to the plough, and
he must drive the furrow.
Somehow the news of impending battle had leaked out among the
rest of the body of squires, and a buzz of suppressed excitement
hummed through the dormitory that evening. The bachelors, to
whom, no doubt, vague rumors had been blown, looked lowering, and
talked together in low voices, standing apart in a group. Some of
them made a rather marked show of secreting knives in the straw
of their beds, and no doubt it had its effect upon more than one
young heart that secretly thrilled at the sight of the shining
blades. However, all was undisturbed that evening. The lights
were put out, and the lads retired with more than usual
quietness, only for the murmur of whispering.
All night Myles's sleep was more or less disturbed by dreams in
which he was now conquering, now being conquered, and before the
day had fairly broken he was awake. He lay upon his cot, keying
himself up for the encounter which he had set upon himself to
face, and it would not be the truth to say that the sight of
those knives hidden in the straw the night before had made no
impression upon him. By-and-by he knew the others were beginning
to awake, for he heard them softly stirring, and as the light
grew broad and strong, saw them arise, one by one, and begin
dressing in the gray morning. Then he himself arose and put on
his doublet and hose, strapping his belt tightly about his waist;
then he sat down on the side of his cot.
Presently that happened for which he was waiting; two of the
younger squires started to bring the bachelors' morning supply of
water. As they crossed the room Myles called to them in a loud
voice--a little uneven, perhaps: "Stop! We draw no more water for
any one in this house, saving only for ourselves. Set ye down
those buckets, and go back to your places!"
The two lads stopped, half turned, and then stood still, holding
the three buckets undecidedly.
In a moment all was uproar and confusion, for by this time every
one of the lads had arisen, some sitting on the edge of their
beds, some nearly, others quite dressed. A half-dozen of the
Knights of the Rose came over to where Myles stood, gathering in
a body behind him and the others followed, one after another.
The bachelors were hardly prepared for such prompt and vigorous
action.
"What is to do?" cried one of them, who stood near the two lads
with the buckets. "Why fetch ye not the water?"
"Falworth says we shall not fetch it," answered one of the lads,
a boy by the name of Gosse.
"What mean ye by that, Falworth?" the young man called to Myles.
Myles's heart was beating thickly and heavily within him, but
nevertheless he spoke up boldly enough. "I mean," said he, "that
from henceforth ye shall fetch and carry for yourselves,"
"Look'ee, Blunt," called the bachelor; "here is Falworth says
they squires will fetch no more water for us."
The head bachelor had heard all that had passed, and was even
then hastily slipping on his doublet and hose. "Now, then,
Falworth," said he at last, striding forward, "what is to do? Ye
will fetch no more water, eh? By 'r Lady, I will know the reason
why."
He was still advancing towards Myles, with two or three of the
older bachelors at his heels, when Gascoyne spoke.
"Thou hadst best stand back, Blunt," said he, "else thou mayst be
hurt. We will not have ye bang Falworth again as ye once did, so
stand thou back!"
Blunt stopped short and looked upon the lads standing behind
Myles, some of them with faces a trifle pale perhaps, but all
grim and determined looking enough. Then he turned upon his heel
suddenly, and walked back to the far end of the dormitory, where
the bachelors were presently clustered together. A few words
passed between them, and then the thirteen began at once arming
themselves, some with wooden clogs, and some with the knives
which they had so openly concealed the night before. At the sign
of imminent battle, all those not actively interested scuttled
away to right and left, climbing up on the benches and cots, and
leaving a free field to the combatants. The next moment would
have brought bloodshed.
Now Myles, thanks to the training of the Crosbey-Dale smith, felt
tolerably sure that in a wrestling bout he was a match--perhaps
more than a match--for any one of the body of squires, and he had
determined, if possible, to bring the battle to a single-handed
encounter upon that footing. Accordingly he suddenly stepped
forward before the others.
"Look'ee, fellow," he called to Blunt, "thou art he who struck me
whilst I was down some while since. Wilt thou let this quarrel
stand between thee and me, and meet me man to man without weapon?
See, I throw me down mine own, and will meet thee with bare
hands." And as he spoke, he tossed the clog he held in his hand
back upon the cot.
"So be it," said Blunt, with great readiness, tossing down a
similar weapon which he himself held.
"Do not go, Myles," cried Gascoyne, "he is a villain and a
traitor, and would betray thee to thy death. I saw him when he
first gat from bed hide a knife in his doublet."
"Thou liest!" said Blunt. "I swear, by my faith, I be barehanded
as ye see me! Thy friend accuses me, Myles Falworth, because he
knoweth thou art afraid of me."
"There thou liest most vilely!" exclaimed Myles. "Swear that thou
hast no knife, and I will meet thee."
"Hast thou not heard me say that I have no knife?" said Blunt.
"What more wouldst thou have?"
"Then I will meet thee halfway," said Myles.
Gascoyne caught him by the sleeve, and would have withheld him,
assuring him that he had seen the bachelor conceal a knife. But
Myles, hot for the fight, broke away from his friend without
listening to him.
As the two advanced steadily towards one another a breathless
silence fell upon the dormitory in sharp contrast to the uproar
and confusion that had filled it a moment before. The lads,
standing some upon benches, some upon beds, all watched with
breathless interest the meeting of the two champions.
As they approached one another they stopped and stood for a
moment a little apart, glaring the one upon the other. They
seemed ill enough matched; Blunt was fully half a head taller
than Myles, and was thick-set and close-knit in young manhood.
Nothing but Myles's undaunted pluck could have led him to dare to
face an enemy so much older and stouter than himself.
The pause was only for a moment. They who looked saw Blunt slide
his hand furtively towards his bosom. Myles saw too, and in the
flash of an instant knew what the gesture meant, and sprang upon
the other before the hand could grasp what it sought. As he
clutched his enemy he felt what he had in that instant expected
to feel--the handle of a dagger. The next moment he cried, in a
loud voice: "Oh, thou villain! Help, Gascoyne! He hath a knife
under his doublet!"
In answer to his cry for help, Myles's friends started to his
aid. But the bachelors shouted, "Stand back and let them fight it
out alone, else we will knife ye too." And as they spoke, some of
them leaped from the benches whereon they stood, drawing their
knives and flourishing them.
For just a few seconds Myles's friends stood cowed, and in those
few seconds the fight came to an end with a suddenness unexpected
to all.
A struggle fierce and silent followed between the two; Blunt
striving to draw his knife, and Myles, with the energy of
despair, holding him tightly by the wrist. It was in vain the
elder lad writhed and twisted; he was strong enough to overbear
Myles, but still was not able to clutch the haft of his knife.
"Thou shalt not draw it!" gasped Myles at last. "Thou shalt not
stab me!"
Then again some of his friends started forward to his aid, but
they were not needed, for before they came, the fight was over.
Blunt, finding that he was not able to draw the weapon, suddenly
ceased his endeavors, and flung his arms around Myles, trying to
bear him down upon the ground, and in that moment his battle was
lost.
In an instant--so quick, so sudden, so unexpected that no one
could see how it happened-- his feet were whirled away from under
him, he spun with flying arms across Myles's loins, and pitched
with a thud upon the stone pavement, where he lay still,
motionless, while Myles, his face white with passion and his eyes
gleaming, stood glaring around like a young wild-boar beset by
the dogs.
The next moment the silence was broken, and the uproar broke
forth with redoubled violence. The bachelors, leaping from the
benches, came hurrying forward on one side, and Myles's friends
from the other.
"Thou shalt smart for this, Falworth," said one of the older
lads. " Belike thou hast slain him!"
Myles turned upon the speaker like a flash, and with such a
passion of fury in his face that the other, a fellow nearly a
head taller than he, shrank back, cowed in spite of himself. Then
Gascoyne came and laid his hand on his friend's shoulder,
"Who touches me?" cried Myles, hoarsely, turning sharply upon
him; and then, seeing who it was, "Oh, Francis, they would ha'
killed me!"
"Come away, Myles," said Gascoyne; "thou knowest not what thou
doest; thou art mad; come away. What if thou hadst killed him?"
The words called Myles somewhat to himself. "I care not!" said
he, but sullenly and not passionately, and then he suffered
Gascoyne and Wilkes to lead him away.
Meantime Blunt's friends had turned him over, and, after feeling
his temples, his wrist, and his heart, bore him away to a bench
at the far end of the room. There they fell to chafing his hands
and sprinkling water in his face, a crowd of the others gathering
about. Blunt was hidden from Myles by those who stood around, and
the lad listened to the broken talk that filled the room with its
confusion, his anxiety growing keener as he became cooler. But at
last, with a heartfelt joy, he gathered from the confused buzz of
words that the other lad had opened his eyes and, after a while,
he saw him sit up, leaning his head upon the shoulder of one of
his fellow-bachelors, white and faint and sick as death.
"Thank Heaven that thou didst not kill him!" said Edmund Wilkes,
who had been standing with the crowd looking on at the efforts of
Blunt's friends to revive him, and who had now come and sat down
upon the bed not far from Myles.
"Aye," said Myles, gruffly, "I do thank Heaven for that."
