The Winning of the Golden Spurs Part 33

"Dost feel well enough to walk?" the young knight asked, after a long pause.

"Yea, Sir Raymond."

"Then get thee outside the camp, and bring me fresh tidings."

The man obeyed, but ere long he returned, exclaiming: "'Tis all over.

The enemy are nowhere in sight and our men are even now returning."

"Then do not tarry longer, but go to thine own tent, for thou needest better care for thy hurts than I can give thee. This flask of wine I give thee, for, by St. Thomas, thou hast need of it. Nay, do not thank me, but away!"

Once more the camp was alive with men, for the threatened attack of the huge army that Philip had gathered together for the relief of Calais had been ignominiously repelled, and it was known that the fate of the town was sealed. Raymond gathered a fairly true account of the fight from the conversation and joyous exclamations of the elated soldiery, and presently Sir John Hacket, covered with dust and showing signs of the conflict, entered the tent.

"Art feeling better, Raymond?"

"Ay, Sir John. But how goes it with us?"

"Pa.s.sably well but ever I seem to be a messenger of momentous tidings to thee, whether of good or evil."

"Then there is something amiss?" questioned the young man eagerly, instinctively surmising that the news was unfavourable.

"Yea, Raymond. My speech was ever blunt, and methinks the sooner I unburden myself of a message of ill-tidings the easier 'tis for both of us. Briefly, Sir Maurice hath fallen like the true and gallant knight he was, and thou art the last of the Revyngtons of Churston."

"Alack-a-me that it should be so! For though I knew but little of him, I esteemed him a gallant, gentle, and honourable knight even before I wot he was my kinsman. And Sir Reginald Scarsdale--what of him?"

"His heart is stronger than his body. In the first impact he was swept from his saddle by a mere stripling."

"And he is killed, wounded, or taken?"

"Neither, save that he is shaken by the fall, and the King vows that since he cannot hold his own against a youth he will send him home, seeing that his fighting days are over."

"And does Sir Reginald know of this?"

"Ay, and if the King will not relent--and he is hard to turn from his purpose--'twill be the first Scarsdale since the Conquest whose feet on his altar-tomb rest not upon a lion."

"Alas! the King's decision will hit him hard! Do you, Sir John, convey my expressions of regret to the gentle knight, and say that it will give me great pleasure should he deign to visit me."

For several days more Raymond lay weak and ill in his tent, but as April drew on and the weather became warmer his strength began slowly to return. At length, pale and wan, the young knight was able to walk slowly about the camp, supported by two of his archers.

Still the siege continued, a long-drawn, tedious task, with little chance of knightly deeds of daring to earn advancement. The close-drawn lines of the besiegers still kept tenacious grip upon the town, and, though famine and disease wrought havoc amongst its gallant defenders, the end seemed as far off as ever.

The return of summer found Sir Raymond Revyngton completely restored in health, though still chafing with impatience at the life of inactivity, for the younger knights looked with disfavour upon the King's methods of conducting the siege, and would rather have had the opportunity of leading their men to the a.s.sault than sit down before the town waiting for famine to do its fell work.

Friendly tilting-matches, hawking, and sports of a similar nature were indulged in, and Raymond, with an exuberance of energy, took a leading part in the pastimes. Many a pleasant afternoon was spent in the open country around the English lines, hunting or making sport with hounds and falcons, for not an armed Frenchman was to be seen within twenty leagues of Calais, save the starving wretches within its gates.

One afternoon in July Raymond and a score of young knights rode south-eastwards along the sand-dunes, each knight accompanied by a mounted serving-man and a number of hounds. The country was not of a nature to yield much sport, yet, eager to while away the time, the little cavalcade rode carelessly on over the low sandhills.

On their right spread the blue waters of the English Channel, in front towered the chalky heights of Gris-nez, while behind lay the red-tiled houses and grey walls of Calais, with the semicircle of tents that marked the English lines.

At length they reached the summit of a low hill, and here they reined in their steeds.

"No sign of a living creature," remarked one of the party, "though the land away on our left seemeth well wooded. How call you yonder forest, Armand?" he inquired, addressing one of the attendants, a Gascon who had spent the greater part of his life in the neighbourhood of Calais.

"'Tis the forest of Ambleteuse, sir," replied the man; "there the wild boar is to be found."

"Ah There is good sport, fair sirs Let us ride forward."

Half-an-hour's sharp canter brought them to the edge of the wood, and in a long, straggling line the gay-hearted Englishmen, with loud shouts and many a blast upon their horns, plunged into the gloom of the forest glades.

For a while no signs of animal life appeared, then suddenly there came from one of the rearmost hors.e.m.e.n shouts of "A boar!"

Instantly the party turned, and crashing through the underwood, made towards the sound. Raymond, who had been in the van, now found himself in the rear, and, spurring his steed and calling to his attendant to follow, he strove to overtake his companions, while the loud grunts of the hunted boar could be distinctly heard amid the snapping of the brushwood.

At length the glade descended towards a babbling brook, and here the press of hors.e.m.e.n became so thick that many were riding hip to hip.

Suddenly Raymond's horse trod in a rabbit-hole, and before he could realise what had happened he found himself hurtling through the air and striking the soft earth with a heavy thud. Fortunately, the young knight was lightly clad, and fell without injury, but on leaping to his feet he saw his body-servant lying, senseless on the ground, while the two steeds, entangled in their fall, were madly kicking each other with their iron-shod hoofs.

In the excitement of the chase the rest of the cavalcade had rushed onwards, heedless of their companions' misfortunes, and the sound of feet was already dying away.

With a bound Raymond sprang to the side of his attendant and dragged him out of the reach of the perilous hoofs. Then he sought for his horn to summon a.s.sistance, but the instrument was crushed and rendered useless by the fall. Baffled in his purpose, he applied his energies to the task of restoring the unconscious man, bathing his forehead with water obtained from the brook.

His efforts at length were rewarded, for the servant sat up and gazed around in a dazed way.

"Art hurt, Thompson?" asked Raymond anxiously.

"Can scarcely tell, Sir Raymond, save that my head is swimming round like a roasting joint, and my shoulder-blades seem growing out of my neck."

"'Tis of small moment. But stand up if thou canst." Thompson staggered to his feet, and to the knight's satisfaction he found that none of the man's limbs were broken.

"'Tis a sorry pa.s.s, for we must needs find our way back afoot. Pull thyself together, man, for 'tis a goodly step betwixt us and the camp."

Drawing his hunting-knife, Raymond put the two struggling horses--each of whom had a leg broken--out of their misery, then the twain set out on their homeward way. By the time they emerged from the forest their shadows fell far athwart the path, for the sun was sinking in the west; but Thompson was rapidly recovering, and their pace was well maintained.

"There is the hill from whence we first saw the wood," remarked the knight. "But methinks we can leave that well on our left, for the camp lies yonder."

"I deem thee to be right, fair sir. But, mark ye! Look at yonder clouds."

Raymond looked in the direction indicated, and saw that a storm was rapidly driving towards them.

"Night cometh on apace, and with it a tempest," quoth he. "Hasten, or we shall be benighted in this dreary plain."

Hardly had they traversed a distance of three arrow-flights than the wind, hitherto a faint westerly breeze, sprang up with terrific violence. The sand rose in thick clouds, shutting out everything except in their immediate vicinity, and the sun, in a mist of pale yellow sky, sank beneath the indigo-coloured clouds.

Onward they steadily plodded through the heavy yielding sand, the swiftly-falling darkness bringing with it a heavy storm of rain and hail. Wondering whether his comrades were faring as badly, the young knight stumbled and plunged resolutely onwards, his serving-man following closely at his heels, the whistling of the wind making conversation impossible.

For over two hours the twain pursued their uncomfortable walk, till at length a dark object blocked their path. It was a ruined windmill.

Making their way round its ma.s.sive base, the weary travellers found some slight shelter from the force of the wind, and, panting from their exertions, they leaned against the stonework to recover their breath.

"Dost know where we are?" shouted Raymond, his voice almost inaudible in the howling wind.