CHAPTER 28
It waS not until more than three weeks after the King had left
Devlen Castle that Lord George and his company of knights and
archers were ready for the expedition to France. Two weeks of
that time Myles spent at Crosbey-Dale with his father and mother.
It was the first time that he had seen them since, four years
ago, he had quitted the low, narrow, white-walled farmhouse for
the castle of the great Earl of Mackworth. He had never
appreciated before how low and narrow and poor the farm-house
was. Now, with his eyes trained to the bigness of Devlen Castle,
he looked around him with wonder and pity at his father's humble
surroundings. He realized as he never else could have realized
how great was the fall in fortune that had cast the house of
Falworth down from its rightful station to such a level as that
upon which it now rested. And at the same time that he thus
recognized how poor was their lot, how dependent upon the charity
of others, he also recognized how generous was the friendship of
Prior Edward, who perilled his own safety so greatly in affording
the family of the attainted Lord an asylum in its bitter hour of
need and peril.
Myles paid many visits to the gentle old priest during those two
weeks' visit, and had many long and serious talks with him. One
warm bright afternoon, as he and the old man walked together in
the priory garden, after a game or two of draughts, the young
knight talked more freely and openly of his plans, his hopes, his
ambitions, than perhaps he had ever done. He told the old man all
that the Earl had disclosed to him concerning the fallen fortunes
of his father's house, and of how all who knew those
circumstances looked to him to set the family in its old place
once more. Prior Edward added many things to those which Myles
already knew--things of which the Earl either did not know, or
did not choose to speak. He told the young man, among other
matters, the reason of the bitter and lasting enmity that the
King felt for the blind nobleman: that Lord Falworth had been one
of King Richard's council in times past; that it was not a little
owing to him that King Henry, when Earl of Derby, had been
banished from England, and that though he was then living in the
retirement of private life, he bitterly and steadfastly opposed
King Richard's abdication. He told Myles that at the time when
Sir John Dale found shelter at Falworth Castle, vengeance was
ready to fall upon his father at any moment, and it needed only
such a pretext as that of sheltering so prominent a conspirator
as Sir John to complete his ruin.
Myles, as he listened intently, could not but confess in his own
mind that the King had many rational, perhaps just, grounds for
grievance against such an ardent opponent as the blind Lord had
shown himself to be. "But, sir," said he, after a little space of
silence, when Prior Edward had ended, "to hold enmity and to
breed treason are very different matters. Haply my father was
Bolingbroke's enemy, but, sure, thou dost not believe he is
justly and rightfully tainted with treason?"
"Nay," answered the priest, "how canst thou ask me such a thing?
Did I believe thy father a traitor, thinkest thou I would thus
tell his son thereof? Nay, Myles, I do know thy father well, and
have known him for many years, and this of him, that few men are
so honorable in heart and soul as he. But I have told thee all
these things to show that the King is not without some reason to
be thy father's unfriend. Neither, haply, is the Earl of Alban
without cause of enmity against him. So thou, upon thy part,
shouldst not feel bitter rancor against the King for what hath
happed to thy house, nor even against William Brookhurst--I mean
the Earl of Alban--for, I tell thee, the worst of our enemies and
the worst of men believe themselves always to have right and
justice upon their side, even when they most wish evil to
others."
So spoke the gentle old priest, who looked from his peaceful
haven with dreamy eyes upon the sweat and tussle of the world's
battle. Had he instead been in the thick of the fight, it might
have been harder for him to believe that his enemies ever had
right upon their side.
"But tell me this," said Myles, presently, "dost thou, then,
think that I do evil in seeking to do a battle of life or death
with this wicked Earl of Alban, who hath so ruined my father in
body and fortune?"
"Nay," said Prior Edward, thoughtfully, "I say not that thou
doest evil. War and bloodshed seem hard and cruel matters to me;
but God hath given that they be in the world, and may He forbid
that such a poor worm as I should say that they be all wrong and
evil. Meseems even an evil thing is sometimes passing good when
rightfully used."
Myles did not fully understand what the old man meant, but this
much he gathered, that his spiritual father did not think ill of
his fighting the Earl of Alban for his temporal father's sake.
So Myles went to France in Lord George's company, a soldier of
fortune, as his Captain was. He was there for only six months,
but those six months wrought a great change in his life. In the
fierce factional battles that raged around the walls of Paris; in
the evil life which he saw at the Burgundian court in Paris
itself after the truce--a court brilliant and wicked, witty and
cruel--the wonderful liquor of youth had evaporated rapidly, and
his character had crystallized as rapidly into the hardness of
manhood. The warfare, the blood, the evil pleasures which he had
seen had been a fiery, crucible test to his soul, and I love my
hero that he should have come forth from it so well. He was no
longer the innocent Sir Galahad who had walked in pure white up
the Long Hall to be knighted by the King, but his soul was of
that grim, sterling, rugged sort that looked out calmly from his
gray eyes upon the wickedness and debauchery around him, and
loved it not.
Then one day a courier came, bringing a packet. It was a letter
from the Earl, bidding Myles return straightway to England and to
Mackworth House upon the Strand, nigh to London, without delay,
and Myles knew that his time had come.
It was a bright day in April when he and Gascoyne rode clattering
out through Temple Bar, leaving behind them quaint old London
town, its blank stone wall, its crooked, dirty streets, its high-
gabled wooden houses, over which rose the sharp spire of St.
Paul's, towering high into the golden air. Before them stretched
the straight, broad highway of the Strand, on one side the great
houses and palaces of princely priests and powerful nobles; on
the other the Covent Garden, (or the Convent Garden, as it was
then called), and the rolling country, where great stone
windmills swung their slow-moving arms in the damp, soft April
breeze, and away in the distance the Scottish Palace, the White
Hall, and Westminster.
It was the first time that Myles had seen famous London town. In
that dim and distant time of his boyhood, six months before, he
would have been wild with delight and enthusiasm. Now he jogged
along with Gascoyne, gazing about him with calm interest at open
shops and booths and tall, gabled houses; at the busy throng of
merchants and craftsmen, jostling and elbowing one another; at
townsfolk--men and dames--picking their way along the muddy
kennel of a sidewalk. He had seen so much of the world that he
had lost somewhat of interest in new things. So he did not care
to tarry, but rode, with a mind heavy with graver matters,
through the streets and out through the Temple Bar direct for
Mackworth House, near the Savoy Palace.
It was with a great deal of interest that Myles and his patron
regarded one another when they met for the first time after that
half-year which the young soldier had spent in France. To Myles
it seemed somehow very strange that his Lordship's familiar face
and figure should look so exactly the same. To Lord Mackworth,
perhaps, it seemed even more strange that six short months should
have wrought so great a change in the young man. The rugged
exposure in camp and field during the hard winter that had passed
had roughened the smooth bloom of his boyish complexion and
bronzed his fair skin almost as much as a midsummer's sun could
have done. His beard and mustache had grown again, (now heavier
and more mannish from having been shaved), and the white seam of
a scar over the right temple gave, if not a stern, at least a
determined look to the strong, square-jawed young face. So the
two stood for a while regarding one another. Myles was the first
to break the silence.
"My Lord," said he, "thou didst send for me to come back to
England; behold, here am I."
"When didst thou land, Sir Myles?" said the Earl.
"I and my squire landed at Dover upon Tuesday last," answered the
young man.
The Earl of Mackworth stroked his beard softly. "Thou art
marvellous changed," said he. "I would not have thought it
possible."
Myles smiled somewhat grimly. "I have seen such things, my Lord,
in France and in Paris," said he, quietly, "as, mayhap, may make
a lad a man before his time."
"From which I gather," said the Earl, "that many adventures have
befallen thee. Methought thou wouldst find troublesome times in
the Dauphin's camp, else I would not have sent thee to France."
A little space of silence followed, during which the Earl sat
musingly, half absently, regarding the tall, erect, powerful
young figure standing before him, awaiting his pleasure in
motionless, patient, almost dogged silence. The strong, sinewy
hands were clasped and rested upon the long heavy sword, around
the scabbard of which the belt was loosely wrapped, and the
plates of mail caught and reflected in flashing, broken pieces,
the bright sunlight from the window behind.
"Sir Myles," said the Earl, suddenly, breaking the silence at
last, "dost thou know why I sent for thee hither?"
"Aye," said Myles, calmly, "how can I else? Thou wouldst not have
called me from Paris but for one thing. Methinks thou hast sent
for me to fight the Earl of Alban, and lo! I am here."
"Thou speakest very boldly," said the Earl. "I do hope that thy
deeds be as bold as thy words."
"That," said Myles, "thou must ask other men. Methinks no one may
justly call me coward."
"By my troth!" said the Earl, smiling, "looking upon thee--limbs
and girth, bone and sinew--I would not like to be the he that
would dare accuse thee of such a thing. As for thy surmise, I may
tell thee plain that thou art right, and that it was to fight the
Earl of Alban I sent for thee hither. The time is now nearly
ripe, and I will straightway send for thy father to come to
London. Meantime it would not be safe either for thee or for me
to keep thee in my service. I have spoken to his Highness the
Prince of Wales, who, with other of the Princes, is upon our side
in this quarrel. He hath promised to take thee into his service
until the fitting time comes to bring thee and thine enemy
together, and to-morrow I shall take thee to Scotland Yard, where
his Highness is now lodging."
As the Earl ended his speech, Myles bowed, but did not speak. The
Earl waited for a little while, as though to give him the
opportunity to answer.
"Well, sirrah," said he at last, with a shade of impatience,
"hast thou naught to say? Meseems thou takest all this with
marvellous coolness."
"Have I then my Lord's permission to speak my mind?"
"Aye," said the Earl, "say thy say."
"Sir," said Myles, "I have thought and pondered this matter much
while abroad, and would now ask thee a plain question in all
honest an I ha' thy leave. "
The Earl nodded his head.
"Sir, am I not right in believing that thou hast certain weighty
purposes and aims of thine own to gain an I win this battle
against the Earl of Alban?"
"Has my brother George been telling thee aught to such a
purpose?" said the Earl, after a moment or two of silence.
Myles did not answer.
"No matter," added Lord Mackworth. "I will not ask thee who told
thee such a thing. As for thy question--well, sin thou ask it
frankly, I will be frank with thee. Yea, I have certain ends to
gain in having the Earl of Alban overthrown."
Myles bowed. "Sir," said he, "haply thine ends are as much beyond
aught that I can comprehend as though I were a little child; only
this I know, that they must be very great. Thou knowest well that
in any case I would fight me this battle for my father's sake and
for the honor of my house; nevertheless, in return for all that
it will so greatly advantage thee, wilt thou not grant me a boon
in return should I overcome mine enemy?"
"What is thy boon, Sir Myles?"
"That thou wilt grant me thy favor to seek the Lady Alice de
Mowbray for my wife."
The Earl of Mackworth started up from his seat. "Sir Myles
Falworth"--he began, violently, and then stopped short, drawing
his bushy eyebrows together into a frown stern, if not sinister.
Myles withstood his look calmly and impassively, and presently
the Earl turned on his heel, and strode to the open window. A
long time passed in silence while he stood there, gazing out of
the window into the garden beyond with his back to the young man.
Suddenly he swung around again. "Sir Myles," said he, "the family
of Falworth is as good as any in Derbyshire. Just now it is poor
and fallen in estate, but if it is again placed in credit and
honor, thou, who art the son of the house, shalt have thy suit
weighed with as much respect and consideration as though thou
wert my peer in all things, Such is my answer. Art thou
satisfied?"
"I could ask no more," answered Myles.
