The Young Castellan Part 6

"Need to lie still; it wouldn't do to slip over backward. I shouldn't even go into the moat, for I should come down on those stones."

"Stupid to be in dangerous places," he said to himself directly after, and, rolling over, he let himself down upon the broad seat-like place, where he could lie and watch the prospect just as well.

"Rather stupid of me not to come up here oftener," he thought. "It's a capital place. I will ask father to let me have all this old empty tower to myself. What's that? A fight?"

For there was a sudden rush upward of jackdaws from where they had blackened the farthest corner tower to the left, and, looking in that direction as he lay, he saw the reason of the sudden whirr of wings and outburst of sharp, harsh cries, for there upon the leads, and holding on by the little turret which covered the door-way of the spiral staircase, stood Master Pawson.

"Feels like I do, I suppose," thought Roy, as the secretary cast his eyes round the old building, particularly watchful of the pleasaunce, but keeping right back by the outer crenelles as if not wishing to be seen.

At first Roy felt that the secretary saw him, and as his eyes roved on and he made no sign, the boy's hand went to his pocket in search of his handkerchief to wave to him. He did not withdraw it, but lay lazily watching while the secretary now turned his back and stood gazing right away.

"Never saw him do anything of that kind before," thought Roy. "What's he looking after? I shouldn't have thought he had ever been up there in his life."

Roy lay quite still, with his eyes half closed, and all at once the secretary drew out his white laced handkerchief, wiped his forehead three times with a good deal of flourish, and returned it, after which he slowly stepped into the turret opening and backed out of sight.

"Mind you don't slip," said Roy, tauntingly, but quite conscious of the fact that his words could not be heard. "Why, he has gone down like a bear--backward. I could run down those stairs as fast as I came up."

Perhaps it was the warm sunshine, perhaps it was from laziness, but, whatever the cause, Roy Royland went off fast asleep, and remained so for quite a couple of hours, when, starting up wonderingly, and not quite conscious of the reason why he was there, he looked about him, and finally over the great parapet, to see the secretary beyond the farther end of the drawbridge, talking in a very benign way to the old porter, who stood with bent head listening to his words.

"Why, it seems only a few moments ago that I saw him on the leads over his chamber staring out across country, and he must have been down since, and had a walk.--How time does go when you're snoozing," thought Roy, "and how stupid it is to go to sleep in the daytime! I won't do it again."

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE USE OF A SWORD.

Several days pa.s.sed away, but Lady Royland always put off sending in search of news, and seemed to be more cheerful, so that Roy soon forgot his anxiety in the many things he had to think about,--amus.e.m.e.nts, studies, and the like. But he had a few words with his father's old follower on the subject of the absence of news, one day, when Ben was busy, as usual, in the armoury.

"Not heard lately from the master, sir? Pish, that's nothing; soldiers have got their swords and pistols to think about, not their pens. Best soldiers I ever knew couldn't write at all. Enough for them to do to fight. You'll hear from him some day, and when you do, you'll know as he has been pretty busy putting the people straight,--more straight than some on 'em'll like to be, I know. Sarve 'em right; n.o.body's a right to fight agen the king.--Looks right, don't it?"

He held up an old sword which he had rubbed and polished till it flashed in the light.

"Splendid!" said Roy. "Is it sharp?"

"Sharp enough to take your head off at one sweep."

"Nonsense!" said the boy, laughing.

"Oh, it's true enough, Master Roy. Here, you stand all quite stiff and straight, and I'll show you."

"No, thank you, Ben. Suppose I try it on you."

"There you are, then," said the man; "but I must have one, too, for a guard."

He handed the boy the sword, and took up another waiting to be cleaned from galling rust, and, throwing himself on guard, he cried--

"Now then, cut!"

"No; too dangerous," said Roy.

"Not a bit, my lad, because you couldn't touch me."

"I could," said Roy, "where I liked."

"Try, then."

"Not with this sharp sword."

"Very well, then, take one of those; they've no more edge than a wooden one. It's time you did know how to use a sword, sir."

Ben exchanged his glittering blade, too, and once more stood on guard.

"I won't bother you now about how you ought to stand, sir," he said; "that'll come when I begin to give you some lessons. You go just as you like, and hit where you can."

"No, no," said the boy. "I don't want to hurt you, Ben."

"Won't hurt me, sir; more likely to hurt yourself. But do you know you're standing just as badly as you possibly could? and if I was your enemy, I could take off your head, either of your ears, or your legs, as easily as look at you."

Roy laughed, but he did not seem to believe the old soldier's a.s.sertion, and, giving his blunt sword a whirl through the air, he cried--

"Now, then, Ben; which leg shall I cut off?"

"Which you like, sir."

Roy made a feint at the right leg, and, quickly changing the direction of his weapon, struck with it softly at the old soldier's left.

"Tchah!" cried the old man, as blade met blade, his sword, in the most effortless way, being edge outward exactly where Roy struck. "Why, do you know, sir, if I'd been in arnest with you, that you would have been spitted like a c.o.c.kchafer on a pin before you got your blade round to cut?"

"Not I," said the boy, contemptuously.

"Very well, sir; you'll see. Now, try again, and cut hard. Don't let your blade stop to get a bit of hay and a drop of water on the way, but give it me quick."

"But I don't want to hurt you, Ben."

"Well, I don't, either; and, what's more, I don't mean to let you."

"But I shall, I'm sure, if I strike hard."

"You think so, my lad; but do you know what a good sword is?"

"A sword."

"Yes, and a lot more. When a man can use it properly, it's a shield, and a breastplate, helmet, bra.s.ses, and everything else. Now, I'll just show you. Helmet, say. Now, you cut straight down at my head, just as if you were going to cut me in two pieces."

"Put on one of the old helmets, then."

"Tchah! I don't want any helmets. You cut."