The Winning of the Golden Spurs Part 4

"Ah, Raymond! Raymond!" replied his father, shaking his head doubtfully, "thou hast yet to learn that though I could fashion mine own weapons, yet custom demands that I get them from a member of the honourable guild of bowyers and fletchers. Didst ever hear of a belted knight welding his own coat of mail?"

The boy, in truth, had yet to learn of the existence of the powerful guilds, or combinations of trades, which, founded for the purpose of self-protection against the rapacity of the barons and the lawlessness of their retainers, became strong enough to be regarded with respect by these turbulent personages. As the guilds grew they obtained charters from their sovereign, till they reached a state that enabled them to deal harshly with those without the pale. Thus, for instance, any man following the occupation of a tanner "not being free"--_i.e._ made a member of a guild--was amerced, or fined, or even subjected to corporal punishment.

Urged by the archer's long, powerful strokes the boat shot up-stream with the tide, pa.s.sing between steeply rising banks, where the freshly leafed trees cast dark shadows across the verdant fields.

Raymond sat on the stern-thwart, looking with silent admiration on the scene, for, as far as he could remember, it was his first experience of a journey by water.

At length they came to a place where on the western side a smaller creek joined the river. Redward rested on his oars and looked towards the mud banks, which were even now nearly covered by the rising water.

"We have hurried apace," he remarked, "and 'tis even too soon to go right up to the town. This is called Badnam Creek, and, by St.

George, I'll wager we'll find some waterfowl amongst the reeds. Take thy crossbow, Raymond, and I'll pit my six-foot bow against it."

Eagerly the boy took his weapon and wound the windlac till the highly-drawn string clicked against the catch. Then he fitted a bolt, and, having done so, turned to watch his sire's movements. The archer had already notched the cord, and the bow, with a couple of arrows, lay on the thwart by his side.

"Steady, my son!" exclaimed the archer in alarm. "Be careful where thou pointest that h.e.l.l-designed toy. 'Tis bad enough to have a foeman's shaft through one leg without having mine own son's bolt through the other. Hold it over the side, I pray thee!"

The boat was run amid a cl.u.s.ter of reeds, and the twain waited silently and eagerly for some sign of feathered life. They were not kept long in suspense, for from a marsh hard by came two wild geese, their necks extended and their wings flapping noisily as they flew.

"Quick, Raymond!" whispered his father, "loose directly they are overhead!"

In his excitement the youth sprang to his feet, and poised his crossbow.

But alas for his inexperience! Unaccustomed to the swaying of the boat he lost his balance and fell backwards across the thwart; his crossbow tw.a.n.ged, and with a deep humming sound the quarrel flew aimlessly into s.p.a.ce.

In a moment Raymond raised himself into a sitting position, only to see his father loose his second arrow.

"And thou hast missed also!" he exclaimed in a tone of reproach.

"Peace, lad; wait and see!"

The birds still continued their pa.s.sage, one gliding with wings outstretched, the other still beating the air with redoubled haste; then, even as they looked, both birds swayed in their flight, and fell into the water within two score paces of each other.

Without further remark Redward pushed the boat clear of the reeds, and rowed towards his spoil. One of the geese was still transfixed by an arrow, the other's neck had a small wound, showing that the shaft had pa.s.sed completely through it.

"Another groat gone!" exclaimed the archer, ruefully contemplating the bird that had failed to stop the arrow. "But that was a grand shot of thine, Raymond, I trow," he added in a bantering tone; "'twas not learned of the monks of Netley?"

Then, observing a flush of mortification overspread the boy's features, he continued, "Never mind, my son, even the best archer in the kingdom would be at a loss in a small boat at first."

Presently they rounded an abrupt spur of land on their left, and came to a spot where the creek narrowed considerably, being enclosed by lofty hills on either side. A broad white road descended these hills to the water's edge, where it was broken by the flowing tide. A rough wooden hut, with a large open boat close at hand, marked the spot where wayfarers were ferried across to the opposite side, where a horn, chained to a post, was blown as a signal to attract the ferryman.

"This is the road 'twixt Southampton and Portsmouth," said the archer, indicating the dusty streak by a nod of his head. "At Bursledon, on this side, is the fortalice of the Hewitts, though from here 'tis hidden by the trees. On the other side is Swanwick Sh.o.r.e, whence come some of the best mariners who man the cogs of Southampton. But, mark ye! Here comes a great company of armed men; by St. Etienne of Tours, it makes my heart glad to hear the clatter of harness once more! I wonder under whose banners they march?"

And resting on his oars, Redward Buckland shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun, and peered steadfastly up the hill where the white road was now alive with men, a grey cloud of dust hanging over them like a marsh mist in autumn, through which the Cross of St. George blazoned on the white surcoats of the archers stood out bravely against the dark foliage.

When the vanguard reached the foot of the hill, a bowshot from where the watchers sat in their little craft, a tucket sounded and the company halted.

Then Redward's accustomed eyes lighted upon their banner, which bore a golden half-moon on an azure field, and unable to contain himself, he stood upright, waving his cap in boisterous delight.

"By Our Lady, 'tis as I thought--the company of the Governor of Portchester! Haste we to the sh.o.r.e, Raymond, that I may welcome mine old comrades!"

CHAPTER II

THE SHADOW OF WAR

A FEW strokes and the boat's keel grated on the shingle. Redward sprang out, hastily secured the craft, and strode towards the crowd of armed men, Raymond following closely at his heels.

Again a tucket sounded, and the ranks broke, most of the archers throwing themselves down by the roadside, as if weary of foot; the mounted men-at-arms led their horses to the gra.s.sy glades of the wood, while a couple of squires rode towards the water's edge to summon the ferryman.

On reaching the outskirts of the throng the old archer looked around to try and recognise some of his former comrades; nor did he look in vain.

"Red Buckland, by the Rood!" exclaimed a bronzed and bearded man-at-arms, seizing him vigorously by the hand. "Right glad am I to see thee again. Ho, Giles, Wat, d.i.c.k!" he shouted to some of his comrades, "come hither and greet an old friend!"

The pair were instantly surrounded by a mob of archers--burly, bearded men, rough in speech and coa.r.s.e in manner, yet full-hearted, honest soldiers, the backbone of the feudalism of mediaeval England.

Raymond stood at the edge of the circle of men, gazing open-mouthed at the unusual sight and listening with youthful eagerness, not unmixed with feelings of awe, as the archers talked, fighting their battles o'er again, or discussed their future movements.

"'Twill be Francewards again ere long," remarked one, a man-at-arms, who, having removed his headpiece, disclosed a close crop of hair furrowed by a long white mark, the legacy of a Norman's axe. "Word came yesternight that we had to repair to Hampton to join the army that the King leads across the Channel."

"Would I were with you, comrades," said Redward, wistfully gazing on the accoutrements of the troops, the sight of which roused old memories of camp and battlefield.

"And wherefore not," replied another. "There's more to be made in a week's march in France than ten years' delving in Merry England. Ay, and I'll warrant that ere long there'll be nought but old men, women, and babes left to guard our hearths."

"Then I must be reckoned amongst the old men," replied Redward, with a mirthful laugh. "Though, methinks, at two score and fifteen years, I am not yet too aged to strike a shrewd blow or to receive hard knocks!"

"Then why tarry?"

"Didst ever have a son, d.i.c.kon?"

"Nay," replied the man, shaking his head. "Neither kith nor kin have I in this world, save my comrades."

"Then thou knowest not how a man's whole being can be wrapped up in his child. I have a son--he stands yonder. How could I leave him--a boy of sixteen--to fare for himself while I follow the banners of England in foreign parts?"

"But thou hast done so aforetimes?"

"Ay, but then the boy was in safe keeping in the abbey of Netley. Now that he is too old, seeing that it is my wish and his desire not to remain within the priory walls, I must needs stay with him."

"Red Buckland, thou art becoming chicken-hearted in thine old age.

The boy--a l.u.s.ty youth he looks--cannot remain with thee for ever,"

argued the soldier. "Now, what say you; join our company once again, and bring him with thee? Methinks there are many such, nay, even younger and of less frame and brawn, who have already set out for the wars. Come, now; again I ask thee, wilt join?"

"d.i.c.kon, thou dost press me hard so that I can scarce refuse. Yet no answer will I give till I have spoken with my boy."

At that moment a trumpet sounded, and the men stood to their arms, forming up in two lines on either side of the road. The archers, armed with short swords or axes in addition to the deadly longbow, faced the men-at-arms, who, protected with breastplate, iron helmet, gorget and greaves, grasped their twelve-foot spears, gazing steadfastly in front as their leader rode slowly between the lines.

Sir John Hacket, Constable of the King's Castle at Portchester, and Governor of the Town of Portsmouth (to give him his official t.i.tle), was then in his fortieth year, yet, from the effects of campaigning under exceptional circ.u.mstances in all parts of Western Europe, he looked considerably older, his hair being a snowy white, contrasting vividly with his brick-red complexion.