Bab Bab 23 · Chapter 23

. Chapter 23

That same afternoon the squires' quarters were thrown into such a

ferment of excitement as had, perhaps, never before stirred them. About

one o'clock in the afternoon the Earl himself and Lord George came

walking slowly across the Armory Court wrapped in deep conversation, and

entered Sir James Lee's office.

All the usual hubbub of noise that surrounded the neighborhood of the

dormitory and the armory was stilled at their coming, and when the two

noblemen had entered Sir James's office, the lads and young men gathered

in knots discussing with an almost awesome interest what that visit

might portend.

After some time Sir James Lee came to the door at the head of the long

flight of stone steps, and whistling, beckoned one of the smaller pages

to him. He gave a short order that sent the little fellow flying on some

mission. In the course of a few minutes he returned, hurrying across

the stony court with Myles Falworth, who presently entered Sir James's

office. It was then and at this sight that the intense half-suppressed

excitement reached its height of fever-heat. What did it all mean? The

air was filled with a thousand vague, wild rumors--but the very wildest

surmises fell short of the real truth.

Perhaps Myles was somewhat pale when he entered the office; certainly

his nerves were in a tremor, for his heart told him that something very

portentous was about to befall him. The Earl sat at the table, and in

the seat that Sir James Lee usually occupied; Lord George half sat, half

leaned in the window-place. Sir James stood with his back to the

empty fireplace, and his hands clasped behind him. All three were very

serious.

“Give thee good den, Myles Falworth,” said the Earl, as Myles bowed

first to him and then to the others; “and I would have thee prepare

thyself for a great happening.” Then, continuing directly to the point:

“Thou knowest, sirrah, why we have been training thee so closely these

three years gone; it is that thou shouldst be able to hold thine own

in the world. Nay, not only hold thine own, but to show thyself to be

a knight of prowess shouldst it come to a battle between thee and thy

father's enemy; for there lieth no half-way place for thee, and thou

must be either great or else nothing. Well, sir, the time hath now come

for thee to show thy mettle. I would rather have chosen that thou hadst

labored a twelvemonth longer; but now, as I said, hath come a chance to

prove thyself that may never come again. Sir James tells me that thou

art passably ripe in skill. Thou must now show whether that be so or no.

Hast thou ever heard of the Sieur de la Montaigne?”

“Yea, my Lord. I have heard of him often,” answered Myles. “It was he

who won the prize at the great tourney at Rochelle last year.”

“I see that thou hast his fame pat to thy tongue's end,” said the Earl;

“he is the chevalier of whom I speak, and he is reckoned the best knight

of Dauphiny. That one of which thou spokest was the third great tourney

in which he was adjudged the victor. I am glad that thou holdest his

prowess highly. Knowest thou that he is in the train of the Comte de

Vermoise?”

“Nay,” said Myles, flushing; “I did hear news he was in England, but

knew not that he was in this place.”

“Yea,” said Lord Mackworth; “he is here.” He paused for a moment; then

said, suddenly. “Tell me, Myles Falworth, an thou wert a knight and of

rank fit to run a joust with the Sieur de la Montaigne, wouldst thou

dare encounter him in the lists?”

The Earl's question fell upon Myles so suddenly and unexpectedly that

for a moment or so he stood staring at the speaker with mouth agape.

Meanwhile the Earl sat looking calmly back at him, slowly stroking his

beard the while.

It was Sir James Lee's voice that broke the silence. “Thou heardst thy

Lord speak,” said he, harshly. “Hast thou no tongue to answer, sirrah?”

“Be silent, Lee,” said Lord Mackworth, quietly. “Let the lad have time

to think before he speaketh.”

The sound of the words aroused Myles. He advanced to the table, and

rested his hand upon it. “My Lord--my Lord,” said he, “I know not what

to say, I--I am amazed and afeard.”

“How! how!” cried Sir James Lee, harshly. “Afeard, sayst thou? An thou

art afeard, thou knave, thou needst never look upon my face or speak to

me more! I have done with thee forever an thou art afeard even were the

champion a Sir Alisander.”

“Peace, peace, Lee,” said the Earl, holding up his hand. “Thou art too

hasty. The lad shall have his will in this matter, and thou and no one

shall constrain him. Methinks, also, thou dost not understand him. Speak

from thy heart, Myles; why art thou afraid?”

“Because,” said Myles, “I am so young, sir; I am but a raw boy. How

should I dare be so hardy as to venture to set lance against such an one

as the Sieur de la Montaigne? What would I be but a laughing-stock for

all the world who would see me so foolish as to venture me against one

of such prowess and skill?”

“Nay, Myles,” said Lord George, “thou thinkest not well enough of thine

own skill and prowess. Thinkest thou we would undertake to set thee

against him, an we did not think that thou couldst hold thine own fairly

well?”

“Hold mine own?” cried Myles, turning to Lord George. “Sir; thou dost

not mean--thou canst not mean, that I may hope or dream to hold mine own

against the Sieur de la Montaigne.”

“Aye,” said Lord George, “that was what I did mean.”

“Come, Myles,” said the Earl; “now tell me: wilt thou fight the Sieur de

la Montaigne?”

“Yea,” said Myles, drawing himself to his full height and throwing out

his chest. “Yea,” and his cheeks and forehead flushed red; “an thou bid

me do so, I will fight him.”

“There spake my brave lad!” cried Lord George heartily.

“I give thee joy, Myles,” said the Earl, reaching him his hand, which

Myles took and kissed. “And I give thee double joy. I have talked with

the King concerning thee this morning, and he hath consented to knight

thee--yea, to knight thee with all honors of the Bath--provided thou

wilt match thee against the Sieur de la Montaigne for the honor of

England and Mackworth. Just now the King lieth to sleep for a little

while after his dinner; have thyself in readiness when he cometh forth,

and I will have thee presented.”

Then the Earl turned to Sir James Lee, and questioned him as to how the

bachelors were fitted with clothes. Myles listened, only half hearing

the words through the tumbling of his thoughts. He had dreamed in his

day-dreams that some time he might be knighted, but that time always

seemed very, very distant. To be knighted now, in his boyhood, by the

King, with the honors of the Bath, and under the patronage of the

Earl of Mackworth; to joust--to actually joust--with the Sieur de la

Montaigne, one of the most famous chevaliers of France! No wonder he

only half heard the words; half heard the Earl's questions concerning

his clothes and the discussion which followed; half heard Lord George

volunteer to array him in fitting garments from his own wardrobe.

“Thou mayst go now,” said the Earl, at last turning to him. “But be thou

at George's apartments by two of the clock to be dressed fittingly for

the occasion.”

Then Myles went out stupefied, dazed, bewildered. He looked around,

but he did not see Gascoyne. He said not a word to any of the others in

answer to the eager questions poured upon him by his fellow-squires,

but walked straight away. He hardly knew where he went, but by-and-by

he found himself in a grassy angle below the end of the south stable; a

spot overlooking the outer wall and the river beyond. He looked around;

no one was near, and he flung himself at length, burying his face in

his arms. How long he lay there he did not know, but suddenly some

one touched him upon the shoulder, and he sprang up quickly. It was

Gascoyne.

“What is to do, Myles?” said his friend, anxiously. “What is all this

talk I hear concerning thee up yonder at the armory?”

“Oh, Francis!” cried Myles, with a husky choking voice: “I am to be

knighted--by the King--by the King himself; and I--I am to fight the

Sieur de la Montaigne.”

He reached out his hand, and Gascoyne took it. They stood for a while

quite silent, and when at last the stillness was broken, it was Gascoyne

who spoke, in a choking voice.

“Thou art going to be great, Myles,” said he. “I always knew that it

must be so with thee, and now the time hath come. Yea, thou wilt be

great, and live at court amongst noble folk, and Kings haply. Presently

thou wilt not be with me any more, and wilt forget me by-and-by.”

“Nay, Francis, never will I forget thee!” answered Myles, pressing

his friend's hand. “I will always love thee better than any one in the

world, saving only my father and my mother.”

Gascoyne shook his head and looked away, swallowing at the dry lump in

his throat. Suddenly he turned to Myles. “Wilt thou grant me a boon?”

“Yea,” answered Myles. “What is it?”

“That thou wilt choose me for thy squire.”

“Nay,” said Myles; “how canst thou think to serve me as squire? Thou

wilt be a knight thyself some day, Francis, and why dost thou wish now

to be my squire?”

“Because,” said Gascoyne, with a short laugh, “I would rather be in thy

company as a squire than in mine own as a knight, even if I might be

banneret.”

Myles flung his arm around his friend's neck, and kissed him upon the

cheek. “Thou shalt have thy will,” said he; “but whether knight or

squire, thou art ever mine own true friend.”

Then they went slowly back together, hand in hand, to the castle world

again.

At two o'clock Myles went to Lord George's apartments, and there his

friend and patron dressed him out in a costume better fitted for the

ceremony of presentation--a fur-trimmed jacket of green brocaded velvet

embroidered with golden thread, a black velvet hood-cap rolled like a

turban and with a jewel in the front, a pair of crimson hose, and a pair

of black velvet shoes trimmed and stitched with gold-thread. Myles had

never worn such splendid clothes in his life before, and he could not

but feel that they became him well.

“Sir,” said he, as he looked down at himself, “sure it is not lawful for

me to wear such clothes as these.”

In those days there was a law, known as a sumptuary law, which regulated

by statute the clothes that each class of people were privileged to

wear. It was, as Myles said, against the law for him to wear such

garments as those in which he was clad--either velvet, crimson stuff,

fur or silver or gold embroidery--nevertheless such a solemn ceremony as

presentation to the King excused the temporary overstepping of the law,

and so Lord George told him. As he laid his hand upon the lad's shoulder

and held him off at arm's-length, he added, “And I pledge thee my word,

Myles, that thou art as lusty and handsome a lad as ever mine eyes

beheld.”

“Thou art very kind to me, sir,” said Myles, in answer.

Lord George laughed; and then giving him a shake, let go his shoulder.

It was about three o'clock when little Edmond de Montefort, Lord

Mackworth's favorite page, came with word that the King was then walking

in the Earl's pleasance.

“Come, Myles,” said Lord George, and then Myles arose from the

seat where he had been sitting, his heart palpitating and throbbing

tumultuously.

At the wicket-gate of the pleasance two gentlemen-at-arms stood guard in

half-armor; they saluted Lord George, and permitted him to pass with his

protege. As he laid his hand upon the latch of the wicket he paused for

a moment and turned.

“Myles,” said he, in a low voice, “thou art a thoughtful and cautious

lad; for thy father's sake be thoughtful and cautious now. Do not

speak his name or betray that thou art his son.” Then he opened the

wicket-gate and entered.

Any lad of Myles's age, even one far more used to the world than he,

would perhaps have felt all the oppression that he experienced under the

weight of such a presentation. He hardly knew what he was doing as

Lord George led him to where the King stood, a little apart from

the attendants, with the Earl and the Comte de Vermoise. Even in his

confusion he knew enough to kneel, and somehow his honest, modest

diffidence became the young fellow very well. He was not awkward, for

one so healthful in mind and body as he could not bear himself very ill,

and he felt the assurance that in Lord George he had a kind friend at

his side, and one well used to court ceremonies to lend him countenance.

Then there is something always pleasing in frank, modest manliness such

as was stamped on Myles's handsome, sturdy face. No doubt the King's

heart warmed towards the fledgling warrior kneeling in the pathway

before him. He smiled very kindly as he gave the lad his hand to kiss,

and that ceremony done, held fast to the hard, brown, sinewy fist of the

young man with his soft white hand, and raised him to his feet.

“By the mass!” said he, looking Myles over with smiling eyes, “thou art

a right champion in good sooth. Such as thou art haply was Sir Galahad

when he came to Arthur's court. And so they tell me, thou hast stomach

to brook the Sieur de la Montaigne, that tough old boar of Dauphiny.

Hast thou in good sooth the courage to face him? Knowest thou what a

great thing it is that thou hast set upon thyself--to do battle, even in

sport, with him?”

“Yea, your Majesty,” answered Myles, “well I wot it is a task haply

beyond me. But gladly would I take upon me even a greater venture, and

one more dangerous, to do your Majesty's pleasure!”

The King looked pleased. “Now that was right well said, young man,” said

he, “and I like it better that it came from such young and honest lips.

Dost thou speak French?”

“Yea, your Majesty,” answered Myles. “In some small measure do I so.”

“I am glad of that,” said the King; “for so I may make thee acquainted

with Sieur de la Montaigne.”

He turned as he ended speaking, and beckoned to a heavy, thick-set,

black-browed chevalier who stood with the other gentlemen attendants at

a little distance. He came instantly forward in answer to the summons,

and the King introduced the two to one another. As each took the other

formally by the hand, he measured his opponent hastily, body and limb,

and perhaps each thought that he had never seen a stronger, stouter,

better-knit man than the one upon whom he looked. But nevertheless

the contrast betwixt the two was very great--Myles, young, boyish,

fresh-faced; the other, bronzed, weather beaten, and seamed with a great

white scar that ran across his forehead and cheek; the one a novice, the

other a warrior seasoned in twoscore battles.

A few polite phrases passed between the two, the King listening smiling,

but with an absent and far-away look gradually stealing upon his face.

As they ended speaking, a little pause of silence followed, and then the

King suddenly aroused himself.

“So,” said he, “I am glad that ye two are acquainted. And now we will

leave our youthful champion in thy charge, Beaumont--and in thine, Mon

Sieur, as well--and so soon as the proper ceremonies are ended, we will

dub him knight with our own hands. And now, Mackworth, and thou my Lord

Count, let us walk a little; I have bethought me further concerning

these threescore extra men for Dauphiny.”

Then Myles withdrew, under the charge of Lord George and the Sieur de

la Montaigne and while the King and the two nobles walked slowly up and

down the gravel path between the tall rose-bushes, Myles stood

talking with the gentlemen attendants, finding himself, with a certain

triumphant exultation, the peer of any and the hero of the hour.

That night was the last that Myles and Gascoyne spent lodging in the

dormitory in their squirehood service. The next day they were assigned

apartments in Lord George's part of the house, and thither they

transported themselves and their belongings, amid the awestruck wonder

and admiration of their fellow-squires.