الفصل الفصل 7 · Chapter 7

. Chapter 7

So little does it take to make a body's reputation.

That night all the squires' quarters buzzed with the story of how the

new boy, Falworth, had answered Sir James Lee to his face without fear,

and had exchanged blows with him hand to hand. Walter Blunt himself was

moved to some show of interest.

“What said he to thee, Falworth?” asked he.

“He said naught,” said Myles, brusquely. “He only sought to show me how

to recover from the under cut.”

“It is passing strange that he should take so much notice of thee as to

exchange blows with thee with his own hand. Haply thou art either very

quick or parlous slow at arms.”

“It is quick that he is,” said Gascoyne, speaking up in his friend's

behalf. “For the second time that Falworth delivered the stroke, Sir

James could not reach him to return; so I saw with mine own eyes.”

But that very sterling independence that had brought Myles so creditably

through this adventure was certain to embroil him with the rude,

half-savage lads about him, some of whom, especially among the

bachelors, were his superiors as well in age as in skill and training.

As said before, the bachelors had enforced from the younger boys a

fagging sort of attendance on their various personal needs, and it was

upon this point that Myles first came to grief. As it chanced, several

days passed before any demand was made upon him for service to the heads

of the squirehood, but when that demand was made, the bachelors were

very quick to see that the boy who was bold enough to speak up to Sir

James Lee was not likely to be a willing fag for them.

“I tell thee, Francis,” he said, as Gascoyne and he talked over the

matter one day--“I tell thee I will never serve them. Prithee, what

shame can be fouler than to do such menial service, saving for one's

rightful Lord?”

“Marry!” quoth Gascoyne; “I reason not of shame at this or that. All I

know is that others serve them who are haply as good and maybe better

than I be, and that if I do not serve them I get knocked i' th' head

therefore, which same goeth soothly against my stomach.”

“I judge not for thee,” said Myles. “Thou art used to these castle

ways, but only I know that I will not serve them, though they be thirty

against me instead of thirteen.”

“Then thou art a fool,” said Gascoyne, dryly.

Now in this matter of service there was one thing above all others that

stirred Myles Falworth's ill-liking. The winter before he had come to

Devlen, Walter Blunt, who was somewhat of a Sybarite in his way, and who

had a repugnance to bathing in the general tank in the open armory court

in frosty weather, had had Dick Carpenter build a trough in the corner

of the dormitory for the use of the bachelors, and every morning it was

the duty of two of the younger squires to bring three pails of water to

fill this private tank for the use of the head esquires. It was seeing

two of his fellow-esquires fetching and carrying this water that Myles

disliked so heartily, and every morning his bile was stirred anew at the

sight.

“Sooner would I die than yield to such vile service,” said he.

He did not know how soon his protestations would be put to the test.

One night--it was a week or two after Myles had come to Devlen--Blunt

was called to attend the Earl at livery. The livery was the last meal of

the day, and was served with great pomp and ceremony about nine o'clock

at night to the head of the house as he lay in bed. Curfew had not yet

rung, and the lads in the squires' quarters were still wrestling and

sparring and romping boisterously in and out around the long row of rude

cots in the great dormitory as they made ready for the night. Six or

eight flaring links in wrought-iron brackets that stood out from the

wall threw a great ruddy glare through the barrack-like room--a light of

all others to romp by. Myles and Gascoyne were engaged in defending the

passage-way between their two cots against the attack of three other

lads, and Myles held his sheepskin coverlet rolled up into a ball and

balanced in his hand, ready for launching at the head of one of the

others so soon as it should rise from behind the shelter of a cot. Just

then Walter Blunt, dressed with more than usual care, passed by on his

way to the Earl's house. He stopped for a moment and said, “Mayhaps I

will not be in until late to-night. Thou and Falworth, Gascoyne, may

fetch water to-morrow.”

Then he was gone. Myles stood staring after his retreating figure with

eyes open and mouth agape, still holding the ball of sheepskin balanced

in his hand. Gascoyne burst into a helpless laugh at his blank,

stupefied face, but the next moment he laid his hand on his friend's

shoulder.

“Myles,” he said, “thou wilt not make trouble, wilt thou?”

Myles made no answer. He flung down his sheepskin and sat him gloomily

down upon the side of the cot.

“I said that I would sooner die than fetch water for them,” said he.

“Aye, aye,” said Gascoyne; “but that was spoken in haste.”

Myles said nothing, but shook his head.

But, after all, circumstances shape themselves. The next morning when he

rose up through the dark waters of sleep it was to feel some one shaking

him violently by the shoulder.

“Come!” cried Gascoyne, as Myles opened his eyes--“come, time passeth,

and we are late.”

Myles, bewildered with his sudden awakening, and still fuddled with the

fumes of sleep, huddled into his doublet and hose, hardly knowing what

he was doing; tying a point here and a point there, and slipping

his feet into his shoes. Then he hurried after Gascoyne, frowzy,

half-dressed, and even yet only half-awake. It was not until he was

fairly out into the fresh air and saw Gascoyne filling the three

leathern buckets at the tank, that he fully awakened to the fact that he

was actually doing that hateful service for the bachelors which he had

protested he would sooner die than render.

The sun was just rising, gilding the crown of the donjon-keep with a

flame of ruddy light. Below, among the lesser buildings, the day was

still gray and misty. Only an occasional noise broke the silence of the

early morning: a cough from one of the rooms; the rattle of a pot or

a pan, stirred by some sleepy scullion; the clapping of a door or a

shutter, and now and then the crowing of a cock back of the long row of

stables--all sounding loud and startling in the fresh dewy stillness.

“Thou hast betrayed me,” said Myles, harshly, breaking the silence at

last. “I knew not what I was doing, or else I would never have come

hither. Ne'theless, even though I be come, I will not carry the water

for them.”

“So be it,” said Gascoyne, tartly. “An thou canst not stomach it,

let be, and I will e'en carry all three myself. It will make me two

journeys, but, thank Heaven, I am not so proud as to wish to get me

hard knocks for naught.” So saying, he picked up two of the buckets and

started away across the court for the dormitory.

Then Myles, with a lowering face, snatched up the third, and, hurrying

after, gave him his hand with the extra pail. So it was that he came to

do service, after all.

“Why tarried ye so long?” said one of the older bachelors, roughly, as

the two lads emptied the water into the wooden trough. He sat on the

edge of the cot, blowzed and untrussed, with his long hair tumbled and

disordered.

His dictatorial tone stung Myles to fury. “We tarried no longer than

need be,” answered he, savagely. “Have we wings to fly withal at your

bidding?”

He spoke so loudly that all in the room heard him; the younger squires

who were dressing stared in blank amazement, and Blunt sat up suddenly

in his cot.

“Why, how now?” he cried. “Answerest thou back thy betters so pertly,

sirrah? By my soul, I have a mind to crack thy head with this clog for

thy unruly talk.”

He glared at Myles as he spoke, and Myles glared back again with right

good-will. Matters might have come to a crisis, only that Gascoyne and

Wilkes dragged their friend away before he had opportunity to answer.

“An ill-conditioned knave as ever I did see,” growled Blunt, glaring

after him.

“Myles, Myles,” said Gascoyne, almost despairingly, “why wilt thou

breed such mischief for thyself? Seest thou not thou hast got thee

the ill-will of every one of the bachelors, from Wat Blunt to Robin de

Ramsey?”

“I care not,” said Myles, fiercely, recurring to his grievance. “Heard

ye not how the dogs upbraided me before the whole room? That Blunt

called me an ill-conditioned knave.”

“Marry!” said Gascoyne, laughing, “and so thou art.”

Thus it is that boldness may breed one enemies as well as gain one

friends. My own notion is that one's enemies are more quick to act than

one's friends.