第 二十八 章 · Chapter 28

. 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.