الفصل الفصل 16 · Chapter 16

. Chapter 16

I have no intention to describe the fight between Myles Falworth and

Walter Blunt. Fisticuffs of nowadays are brutal and debasing enough, but

a fight with a sharp-edged broadsword was not only brutal and debasing,

but cruel and bloody as well.

From the very first of the fight Myles Falworth was palpably and

obviously overmatched. After fifteen minutes had passed, Blunt stood

hale and sound as at first; but poor Myles had more than one red stain

of warm blood upon doublet and hose, and more than one bandage had been

wrapped by Gascoyne and Wilkes about sore wounds.

He had received no serious injury as yet, for not only was his body

protected by a buckler, or small oblong shield, which he carried upon

his left arm, and his head by a bascinet, or light helmet of steel, but

perhaps, after all, Blunt was not over-anxious to do him any dangerous

harm. Nevertheless, there could be but one opinion as to how the fight

tended, and Myles's friends were gloomy and downcast; the bachelors

proportionately exultant, shouting with laughter, and taunting Myles at

every unsuccessful stroke.

Once, as he drew back panting, leaning upon Gascoyne's shoulder, the

faithful friend whispered, with trembling lips: “Oh, dear Myles, carry

it no further. Thou hurtest him not, and he will slay thee ere he have

done with thee.”

Thereupon Blunt, who caught the drift of the speech, put in a word.

“Thou art sore hurt, Myles Falworth,” said he, “and I would do thee no

grievous harm. Yield thee and own thyself beaten, and I will forgive

thee. Thou hast fought a good fight, and there is no shame in yielding

now.”

“Never!” cried Myles, hoarsely--“never will I yield me! Thou mayst slay

me, Walter Blunt, and I reck not if thou dost do so, but never else wilt

thou conquer me.”

There was a tone of desperation in his voice that made all look serious.

“Nay,” said Blunt; “I will fight thee no more, Myles Falworth; thou hast

had enough.”

“By heavens!” cried Myles, grinding his teeth, “thou shalt fight me,

thou coward! Thou hast brought this fight upon us, and either thou or I

get our quittance here. Let go, Gascoyne!” he cried, shaking loose his

friend's hold; “I tell thee he shall fight me!”

From that moment Blunt began to lose his head. No doubt he had not

thought of such a serious fight as this when he had given his challenge,

and there was a savage bull-dog tenacity about Myles that could not but

have had a somewhat demoralizing effect upon him.

A few blows were given and taken, and then Myles's friends gave a shout.

Blunt drew back, and placed his hand to his shoulder. When he drew

it away again it was stained with red, and another red stain grew and

spread rapidly down the sleeve of his jacket. He stared at his hand for

a moment with a half-dazed look, and then glanced quickly to right and

left.

“I will fight no more,” said he, sullenly.

“Then yield thee!” cried Myles, exultantly.

The triumphant shouts of the Knights of the Rose stung Blunt like a

lash, and the battle began again. Perhaps some of the older lads were of

a mind to interfere at this point, certainly some looked very serious,

but before they interposed, the fight was ended.

Blunt, grinding his teeth, struck one undercut at his opponent--the

same undercut that Myles had that time struck at Sir James Lee at the

knight's bidding when he first practised at the Devlen pels. Myles

met the blow as Sir James had met the blow that he had given, and then

struck in return as Sir James had struck--full and true. The bascinet

that Blunt wore glanced the blow partly, but not entirely. Myles felt

his sword bite through the light steel cap, and Blunt dropped his own

blade clattering upon the floor. It was all over in an instant, but in

that instant what he saw was stamped upon Myles's mind with an indelible

imprint. He saw the young man stagger backward; he saw the eyes roll

upward; and a red streak shoot out from under the cap and run down

across the cheek.

Blunt reeled half around, and then fell prostrate upon his face; and

Myles stood staring at him with the delirious turmoil of his battle

dissolving rapidly into a dumb fear at that which he had done.

Once again he had won the victory--but what a victory! “Is he dead?” he

whispered to Gascoyne.

“I know not,” said Gascoyne, with a very pale face. “But come away,

Myles.” And he led his friend out of the room.

Some little while later one of the bachelors came to the dormitory where

Myles, his wounds smarting and aching and throbbing, lay stretched upon

his cot, and with a very serious face bade him to go presently to Sir

James, who had just come from dinner, and was then in his office.

By this time Myles knew that he had not slain his enemy, and his heart

was light in spite of the coming interview. There was no one in

the office but Sir James and himself, and Myles, without concealing

anything, told, point by point, the whole trouble. Sir James sat looking

steadily at him for a while after he had ended.

“Never,” said he, presently, “did I know any one of ye squires, in all

the time that I have been here, get himself into so many broils as thou,

Myles Falworth. Belike thou sought to take this lad's life.”

“Nay,” said Myles, earnestly; “God forbid!”

“Ne'theless,” said Sir James, “thou fetched him a main shrewd blow; and

it is by good hap, and no fault of thine, that he will live to do more

mischief yet. This is thy second venture at him; the third time, haply,

thou wilt end him for good.” Then suddenly assuming his grimmest and

sternest manner: “Now, sirrah, do I put a stop to this, and no more

shall ye fight with edged tools. Get thee to the dormitory, and abide

there a full week without coming forth. Michael shall bring thee bread

and water twice a day for that time. That is all the food thou shalt

have, and we will see if that fare will not cool thy hot humors withal.”

Myles had expected a punishment so much more severe than that which was

thus meted to him, that in the sudden relief he broke into a convulsive

laugh, and then, with a hasty sweep, wiped a brimming moisture from his

eyes.

Sir James looked keenly at him for a moment. “Thou art white i' the

face,” said he. “Art thou wounded very sorely?”

“Nay” said Myles, “it is not much; but I be sick in my stomach.”

“Aye, aye,” said Sir James; “I know that feeling well. It is thus

that one always feeleth in coming out from a sore battle when one hath

suffered wounds and lost blood. An thou wouldst keep thyself hale, keep

thyself from needless fighting. Now go thou to the dormitory, and, as I

said, come thou not forth again for a week. Stay, sirrah!” he added; “I

will send Georgebarber to thee to look to thy sores. Green wounds are

best drawn and salved ere they grow cold.”

I wonder what Myles would have thought had he known that so soon as

he had left the office, Sir James had gone straight to the Earl and

recounted the whole matter to him, with a deal of dry gusto, and that

the Earl listened laughing.

“Aye,” said he, when Sir James had done, “the boy hath mettle, sure.

Nevertheless, we must transplant this fellow Blunt to the office of

gentleman-in-waiting. He must be old enough now, and gin he stayeth in

his present place, either he will do the boy a harm, or the boy will do

him a harm.”

So Blunt never came again to trouble the squires' quarters; and

thereafter the youngsters rendered no more service to the elders.

Myles's first great fight in life was won.