CHAPTER XXXII.

As soon as they were out of reach of immediate annoyance, the knight reined in his horse, and turned to see if Shoenvelt showed any symptoms of an inclination to follow. But all was now quiet: the gates were shut, the drawbridge was raised, and not even an archer to be seen upon the walls. Sir Osborne's eye, however, ran over tower, and bartizan, and wall, and battlement, with so keen and searching a glance, that if any watched him in his progress, it must have been from the darkest loophole in the castle, to escape the notice of his eye.

Satisfied at length with his scrutiny, he again pursued his journey down the steep descent into the vast plain of Flanders, and turned his horse towards Mount Cassel, giving Longpole an account, as he went, of the honourable plans and purposes of the good Count of Shoenvelt.

"'Odslife! my lord," said Longpole, "let us go into that part of the world too. If we could but get a good stout fellow or two to our back, we might disconcert them."

"I fear they are too many for us," replied the knight, "though it seems that Shoenvelt, avaricious of all he can get, and afraid that aught should slip through his hands, has divided his men into tens and twelves, so that a few spears well led might do a great deal of harm amongst them. At all events, Longpole, we will buy a couple of lances at Cassel; for we may yet chance to meet with some of Shoenvelt's followers on our road."

Conversing of their future proceedings, they now mounted the steep ascent of Mount Cassel, and approached the gate of the town, the iron grate of which, to their surprise, was slowly pushed back in their faces as they rode up. "Ho! soldier, why do you shut the gate?" cried Sir Osborne; "don't you see we are coming in?"

"No, you are not," replied the other, who was a stiff old Hainaulter, looking as rigid and intractable as the iron jack that covered his shoulders; "none of Shoenvelt's plunderers come in here."

"But we are neither friends nor plunderers of Shoenvelt's," said the knight: "we are his enemies, and have just made our escape from St. Hubert's."

"Ah! a fine tale! a fine tale!" replied the soldier, through the barred gate, which he continued slowly and imperturbably to fasten against them. "We saw you come down the hill, but you don't step in here to-night; so you had better ride away, before the captain sends down to make you. We all know that you can lie as well as rob."

"By my life! if I were in, I'd split your morion for you," said the knight, enraged at the cool nonchalance of the Hainaulter.

"Doubtless," replied he, in the same sort of indifferent snuffling tone; "doubtless: you look like it, and that's one reason why I shall keep you out."

Sir Osborne wasted no more words on the immoveable old pikeman, but, angrily turning his horse, began to descend the hill. A little way down the steep, there was even then, as now, a small hamlet serving as a sort of suburb to the town above; and towards this the knight took his way, pausing to gaze, every now and then, on the vast, interminable plain that lay stretched at his feet, spread over which he could see a thousand cities and villages, all filled with their own little interests and feelings, wherein he had no part nor sympathy, and a thousand roads leading away to them, in every direction, without any one to guide his choice, or to tell him on which he might expect prosperity or disaster.

"To Aire," said he, after he had thought for some time. "We will go to Aire. I hear that the Count de Ligny, whom I fought at Isson, is there, and the Chevalier Bayard, and many other gallant knights and gentlemen, who, perhaps, may welcome me amongst them. Is not that the smoke of a forge, Longpole? Perhaps we may find an armourer. Let us see."

As the knight had imagined, so it proved, and on their demanding two strong lances, the armourer soon brought them forward a bundle of stiff ash staves, bidding them choose. After some examination to ascertain the soundness of the wood, their choice was made; and the Fleming proceeded to adjust to the smaller end of each two handsbreadths of pointed iron, which being fastened and clenched, the knight and his follower paid the charge, and taking possession of their new weapons rode away, directing their course towards Hazebrouck, in their way to Aire.

Their progress now became necessarily slow; for though both horses were powerful in limb and joint, and trained to carry great burdens and endure much fatigue, yet the weight of a heavy iron bard, together with that of a tall strong man armed at all points, was such that in a long journey it of course made itself felt. Evidently perceiving by the languor of his motions that the charger which bore him was becoming greatly wearied, Sir Osborne ceased to urge him, and proposed to stop for the evening at the very first village that could boast of an inn. Nevertheless, it was some time before they met with such a one, most of the hamlets on the road being too poor and insignificant to require or possess anything of the kind. At length, however, a small, neat house, with a verdant holly-bush over the door, invited their steps, and entering, Sir Osborne was saluted heartily by the civil host, who, with brandished knife and snowy bib, was busily engaged in cooking various savoury messes for any guest that Providence might send him. Some specimens of his handiwork were placed before the knight and Longpole, as soon as their horses had been taken care of; and an excellent bottle of old wine, together with some fatigue, induced them to linger a little at the table.

The lattice, which was open, looked out across the road to the little village green, where was to be seen many a schoolboy playing in the fine May evening, and mocking, in his childish sports, the sadder doings of the grown-up children of the day. Here, horsed upon their fellows' backs, were two that acted the part of knights, tilting at each other with broomsticks; and there, marshalled in fair order by a youthful captain, marched a body of young lansquenets, advancing and retreating, wheeling and charging, with no small precision. Sir Osborne watched them for a while, in somewhat of a moralizing mood, till his musing was disturbed by the trotting of a horse past the window, and in a moment after he heard the good-humoured voice of the host addressing the person who arrived.

"Ah! Master Frederick," he said, "what! back again so soon! I told you you would soon be tired of soldiering."

"Nay, nay, Regnault," answered a voice that Sir Osborne thought he had heard before, "I am not tired of soldiering, and never shall be; but I am tired of consorting with a horde of plunderers, for such are Shoenvelt and all his followers. But while I lead my horse to the stable, get me something to eat, good Regnault; for I do not want to go back to the hall till I have dented my sword at least."

"What! are you going to it again?" cried the host; "stay at home, Master Frederick! stay at home! Take care of the house your father has left you. If you are not so rich as the baron, you have enough, and that is better than riches, if one knew it."

"My father was a soldier," answered the young man, "and distinguished himself; and so will I, before I sit down in peace."

Here the conversation ceased; and the host, entering the room in which sat the knight and his follower, began to lay out one of the small tables with which it was furnished. "That is as good a youth," said he, addressing Sir Osborne, while he proceeded with his preparations; "that is as good a youth as ever breathed, if he had not taken this fit of soldiering. His father was a younger brother of old Count Altaman, and after many years' service came to our village, and bought a piece of ground, where he built a house: your worship may see it from here, over the side of the hill, with the wood behind it. He has been dead now a year, and his wife near three; and so Master Frederick there must needs go soldiering. They say it is all love for the baron's daughter. But here he comes."

As he spoke, the young man entered the room, presenting to Sir Osborne, as he had expected, the face of the youth who had been sent by Shoenvelt to welcome him on his arrival at the castle. An ingenuous blush overspread the young Hainaulter's countenance when he saw Sir Osborne, and taking his seat at the table prepared for him, he turned away his head and began his meal in silence.

"Had you not better take off your corslet, Master Frederick?" demanded the host.

"No, no, Regnault," replied the youth; "I do not know that I shall stay here all night. Never mind! give me some wine, and leave me."

Thus repulsed, the innkeeper withdrew, and Sir Osborne continued to watch the young soldier, who, whether it was a feeling of shame at meeting the knight, and degradation at having been made, even in a degree, a party to Shoenvelt's attempt to deceive him, or whether it was bitterness of spirit at returning to his native place unsuccessful, seemed to have his heart quite full; and it appeared to be with pain that he ate the food which was placed before him.

Sir Osborne could feel for disappointed hopes, and after regarding him for a moment or two in silence, he crossed the room and laid his hand upon his shoulder.

The young man turned round with a flushed cheek, hardly knowing whether from anger at the familiarity to vent the feelings of his heart, or to take it in good part, and strive to win the esteem of a man whom he had been taught to admire.

But there was a frankness in the knight's manner, and a noble kindness of intent in his look, that soon removed all doubt. "So, young gentleman," said he, "you have left Count Shoenvelt's company. I thought you were not made to stay long amongst them; but say, was it with his will?"

"I staid not to ask, my lord," replied the young man. "I was bound to Shoenvelt in no way, and the moment the gates were opened after you were gone, I rode out and came away."

Sir Osborne shook his head. "When a soldier engages with a commander," said he, "his own will and pleasure must not be the terms of his service. But of all things, he ought not to quit his leader's banner without giving notice that he intends to do so."

"But, thank God," cried the young Hainaulter, "I had not yet taken service with Shoenvelt. He wanted to swear me to it, as he does the rest; but I would not do so till I saw more of him and of his plans; and so I told him."

"That makes the matter very different," replied the knight with a smile. "I am heartily glad to hear it, for I dare pronounce him a traitorous ruffian, and no true knight. But one more question, young sir, if I urge not your patience. How came you to seek Shoenvelt at first, who never bore a high renown but as a marauder?"

The youth hesitated. "It matters not, sir knight," replied he, after a moment's pause, "to you or to any one, what reasons I might have to seek renown as speedily as possible, and why the long, tedious road to knighthood and to fame, first as page, and then as squire, and then as man-at-arms, was such as I could not bear; but so it was: and as Shoenvelt gave out that he had high commissions from the emperor, and was to do great deeds, I hoped that with him I might find speedy means of signalizing myself. After being two days in the castle, I discovered that his whole design was plunder, which was not the way to fame; and this morning he made me deliver you a message, which I knew to be a falsehood, which was not the road to honour: so I determined to leave him; and as the spearmen are always dropping out of the castle by five or six at a time, to go down to the frontier, I soon found the means of getting away."

"Yours is an error, my good youth," said Sir Osborne, "which I am afraid we are all wont to entertain in the first heat of our early days; but we soon find that the road to fame is hard and difficult of access, and that it requires time, and perseverance, and labour, and strength, even to make a small progress therein. Those who, with a gay imagination, fancy they have made themselves wings to fly up to the top, soon, like the Cretan of old, sear their pinions in the sun, and drop into the sea of oblivion. However, are you willing to follow a poor knight, who, though he cannot promise either fame or riches, will lead you, at least, in the path of honour?"

The enthusiastic youth caught the knight's hand, and kissed it with inexpressible delight. "What! follow you?" cried he; "follow the Lord Darnley, the Knight of Burgundy, whose single arm maintained the bridge at Bovines against the bravest of the Duke of Alençon's horse! Ay, that I will, follow him through the world. Do you hear that, Regnault?" he cried to the innkeeper, who now entered; "do you hear that? Instead of the base Shoenvelt, I am going to follow the noble Lord of Darnley, who was armed a knight by the emperor himself."

The honest innkeeper congratulated Master Frederick heartily upon the exchange; for the knight was now in that part of the country where his name, if not his person, was well known; and in that age, the fame of gallant actions and of noble bearing spread rapidly through all ranks, and gained the meed of applause from men whom we might suppose little capable of appreciating it.

All preliminaries were speedily arranged, and the next morning Sir Osborne set out by dawn for the small town of Hazebrouck, which lay at about two leagues' distance, where he took care to furnish his new follower with a lance, and several pieces of defensive armour that were wanting to his equipment; and then, to ascertain what reliance might be placed on his support in case of emergency, he excited him to practise various military exercises with himself, as they rode along towards Aire. To his no small surprise and pleasure, he found that the young Hainaulter, though somewhat rash and hasty, was far more skilful in the use of his weapons and the management of his horse than he could have conceived; and with such an addition to his party, he no longer scrupled to cast himself in the way of some of Shoenvelt's bodies of marauders, to keep his hand in, as Longpole quaintly expressed it, when he heard his lord's determination.

"Come, Frederick," said the knight, "I will not go on to Aire, as I had determined; but, in order to gratify your wish for renown, we will lie about on the frontier, like true errant knights of old, at any village or other place where we may find shelter; and if we meet with Shoenvelt, or any of his, mind you do honour to your arms. We shall always have the odds of eight or nine against us."

"No, no, sir knight!" cried the young soldier; "do not believe that. It is one of his falsehoods; there are not above ten in any of the bands, and most of them are five or six. I know where most of them lie."

"Hush, hush!" cried Sir Osborne, raising his finger; "you must tell me nothing; so that, if you should chance to break a lance with him, your hand may not tremble at thinking you have betrayed his counsel. Nay, do not blush, Frederick. A man who aspires to chivalry must guide himself by stricter rules than other men. It was for this I spoke. Here is the fair river Lys, if I remember right."

"It is so, sir knight," replied the other; "there is a bridge about a mile lower down."

"What! for a brook like this?" cried Sir Osborne, spurring his horse in. "Oh, no; we will swim it. Follow!"

The young Hainaulter's horse did not like the plunge, and shied away from the brink. "Spur him in, spur him in!" cried Longpole. "If our lord reaches the other bank first, he will never forgive us. He swims like an otter himself, and fancies that his squires ought to be water-rats by birthright."

"Down with the left rein!" cried the knight, turning as his horse swam, and seeing the situation of his young follower. "Give him the spur, bring him to a demivolte, and he must in."

As the knight said, at the second movement of the demivolte, the horse's feet were brought to the very brink of the river, and a slight touch of the mullet made him plunge over; so that, though somewhat embarrassed with his lance in the water, Frederick soon reached the other bank in safety.

One of the beautiful Flemish meadows, which still in many parts skirt the banks of the Lys, presented itself on the other side; and beyond that, a forest that has long since known the rude touch of the heavy axe, which, like some fell enchanter's wand, has made so many of the loveliest woods in Europe disappear, without leaving a trace behind. The one we speak of was then in its full glory, sweeping along with a rich undulating outline by the side of the soft green plain that bordered the river, sometimes advancing close to the very brink, as if the giant trees of which it was composed sought to contemplate their grandeur in the watery mirror, sometimes falling far away, and leaving a wide open space between itself and the stream, covered with thick short grass, and strewed with the thousand flowers wherewith Nature's liberal hand has fondly decorated her favourite spring. Every here and there, too, the wood itself would break away, discovering a long glade penetrating into the deepest recesses of its bosom, filled with the rich, mellow forest light, that, streaming between every aperture, chequered the green, mossy path below, and showed a long perspective of vivid light and shade as far as the eye could reach.

It was up one of these that Sir Osborne took his way, willing to try the mettle of his new follower, and to initiate him into the trade of war, by a few of its first hardships and dangers, doubting not that Shoenvelt had taken advantage of that forest, situated as it was between Lillers and Aire, to post at least one party of his men therein. From what the youth had let drop, as well as from what he had himself observed, the knight was led to believe that the adventurer had greatly magnified the number of his forces; and he also concluded that, to avoid suspicion, he had divided his men into very small troops, except on such points as he expected the King of France himself to pass; and even there, Sir Osborne did not doubt that thirty men would be the extent of any one body, Francis's habit of riding almost unattended, with the fearless confidence natural to his character, being but too well known on the frontier.

To meet with Shoenvelt himself, and if possible to disappoint his schemes of plunder, was now the knight's castle in the air; and though the numbers of his own party were so scanty, he felt the sort of confident assurance in his own courage, his own strength, and his own skill, which is ever worth a host in moments of danger. Longpole, he was also sure, would be no inefficient aid; and though the young Hainaulter might not be their equal in experience or skill, Sir Osborne did not fear that, in time of need, his enthusiastic courage and desire to distinguish himself would make him more than a match for one of Shoenvelt's company.

Under these circumstances, the knight would never have hesitated to attack a body of double, or perhaps treble, his own number; and yet he resolved to proceed cautiously, endeavouring in the first place to inform himself of the situation of Shoenvelt's various bands, and to ascertain which that marauder was likely to join himself.

Wilsten having let drop that he and the count, as the two leaders of their whole force, were to set out the next morning, Sir Osborne saw that no time was to be lost in reconnoitring the ground, in order to ascertain the real strength of the adventurers. He resolved, therefore, to take every means to learn their numbers; and if he found the amount more formidable than he imagined, to risk nothing with so few, but to provide for the king's safety, by giving notice to the garrison of Aire that the monarch was menaced by danger; and then to aid with his own hand in ridding the frontier of such dangerous visitors, though he felt a great degree of reluctance to share with any one an enterprise full of honourable danger. It was likewise necessary to ascertain where Francis I. was; for Shoenvelt might have been deceived, or the king might have already quitted the frontier, or he might be accompanied by a sufficient escort to place his person in security; or, in short, a thousand circumstances might have happened, which would render the enterprise of the adventurers abortive, and his own interference unnecessary, if not impertinent.

Revolving all these considerations in his mind, sometimes proceeding in silence, sometimes calling upon his companions for their opinion, Sir Osborne took his way up one of the deep glades of the forest, still keeping a watchful ear to every sound that stirred in the wood, so that not a note of the thrush or the blackbird, nor the screaming of a jay, nor the rustle of a rabbit, escaped him; and yet nothing met his ear which might denote that there were other beings hid beneath those green boughs besides themselves and the savage tenants of the place: the stag, the wild boar, and the wolf.

The deep ruts, formed by heavy wood-carts in the soft, mossy carpet of the glade, told that the route they were pursuing was one which most probably communicated with some village, or some other road of greater thoroughfare; and after following it for about a mile, they perceived that, now joined to another exactly similar to itself, it wound away to the left, leaving nothing but a small bridle-way before them, which Sir Osborne judged must lead to some spot where the wood had been cleared.

As their horses were now rather fatigued, and the full sun shining upon the forest rendered its airless paths very oppressive, the knight chose the little path before him, hoping it would lead to a more open space where they might repose for a while, and at the same time keep a watch upon the roads they had just quitted. His expectations were not deceitful; for after having proceeded about two hundred yards, they came to a little grassy mound in the wood, which in former times might have monumented the field of some Gallic or Roman victory, piled up above the bones of the mighty dead. Even now, though the forest had grown round and girt it in on every side, the trees themselves seemed to hold it in reverence, leaving it, and even some space round it, free from their grasping roots; except, indeed, where a group of idle hawthorns had gathered impudently on its very summit, flaunting their light blossoms to the sun, and spreading their perfume on the wind.

It was the very spot suited to Sir Osborne's purpose; and, dismounting, the three travellers leaned their lances against the trees, and letting their horses pick a meal from the forest grass, prepared to repose themselves under the shadow of the thorns. Previous to casting himself down upon the bank, however, the knight took care to examine the wood around them; and seeing a sort of yellow light shining between the trees beyond, he pursued his way along what seemed a continuation of the little path which had brought them thither. Proceeding in a slanting direction, apparently to avoid the bolls of some enormous beeches, it did not lead on for above ten or twelve yards, and then opened out upon a high road cut through the very wildest part of the forest, at a spot where an old stone cross and fountain of clear water commemorated the philanthropy of some one long dead, and offered the best of Nature's gifts to the lip of the weary traveller. Sir Osborne profited by the occasion, and communicated his discovery to his companions, who took advantage of it to satisfy their thirst also. They then lay down in the shade of the hawthorns on the mound; and, after some brief conversation, the heat of the day so overpowered the young Hainaulter that he fell asleep. Such an example was never lost upon Longpole, who soon resigned himself to the drowsy god; and Sir Osborne was left the only watcher of the party.

Whether from his greater bodily powers, on which fatigue made but slight impression, or from deeper feelings and thoughts that would not rest, sleep came not near his eyelids; and, lying at his ease in the fragrant air, a thousand busy memories came thronging through his brain, recalling love, and hope, and joy, and teaching to believe that all might yet be his.

While thus indulging waking visions, he thought he heard a distant horn, and listening, the same sound was again borne upon the wind from some part of the forest. It was, however, no warlike note, but evidently proceeded from the horn of some huntsman, who, as Sir Osborne concluded from the time of the year, was chasing the wolf, to whom no season gives repose.

Falling back into the position from which he had risen to listen, Sir Osborne had again given himself up to thought, when he was once more roused by the sound of voices and the trampling of horses' feet on the road hard by. Rising silently, without disturbing his companions, he glided part of the way down the path leading to the fountain, and paused amidst some oaks and shrubs, through the leaves of which he could observe what passed on the highway, without being seen himself.

Nearly opposite to the cross already mentioned appeared two horsemen, one of whom allowed his beast to drink where the water, gurgling over the basin of the fountain, formed a little streamlet across the road, while the other held in his rein about a pace behind, as if waiting with some degree of respect for his companion. As soon as the horse raised its head, the first cavalier turned round, and presented to Sir Osborne's view a fine and princely countenance, whose every feature, whose every glance, bespoke a generous and noble spirit.

In complexion the stranger was of a deep tanned brown, with his eyes, his hair, and his mustachio nearly black; his brow was broad and clear; his eyes were large and full, though shaded by the dark eyelashes that overhung them; his nose was straight, and perhaps somewhat too long; while his mouth was small, and would have been almost too delicate, had it not been for a certain marked curl of the upper lip, which gave it an expression, not of haughtiness nor of sternness, but of grave, condescending dignity. His dress was a rich hunting suit, which might well become a nobleman of the day, consisting of a green pourpoint laced with gold and slashed on the breast, long white hose half covered by his boots, and a short green cloak not descending to his horse's back. His hat was of velvet, with the broad brim slightly turned up round it, and cut in various places so as somewhat to resemble a moral crown, while from the front, thrown over to the back, fell a splendid plume of ostrich feathers which almost reached his shoulder. His only arms appeared to be a dagger in his girdle, and a long heavy sword, which hung from his shoulder in a baldrick of cloth of gold. The other stranger was habited nearly like the first, very little difference existing either in the fashion or the richness of their apparel. Both also were tall and vigorous men, and both were in the prime of their days; but the countenance of the second was very different from that of his companion. In complexion he was fair, with small blue eyes and rather sandy hair; nor would he have been otherwise than handsome, had it not been for a certain narrowness of brow and wideness of mouth, which gave a gaunt and eager expression to his face, totally opposed to the grand and open countenance of the other.

As we have said, when his horse had done drinking, the first traveller turned towards the spot where Sir Osborne stood, and seemed to listen for a moment. At length he said, "Hear you the hunt now, Count William?"

"No, your highness," replied the other; "it has swept away towards Aire."

"Then, sir," rejoined the first, "we are alone!" and drawing his sword from the scabbard, he laid it level before his companion's eyes, continuing abruptly, "what think you of that blade? is it not a good one?" At the same time he fixed his eye upon him with a firm, remarking glance, as if he would have read into his very soul. The other turned as pale as death, and faltered something about its being a most excellent weapon.

"Then," continued the first, "I will ask you, sir count, should it not be a bold man, who, knowing the goodness of this sword, and the strength of this arm, and the stoutness of this heart, would yet attempt anything against my life? However, Count William of Firstenberg, let me tell you, that should there be such a man in this kingdom, and should he find himself alone with me in a wild forest like this, and fail to make the attempt he meditated, I should look upon him as coward as well as traitor, and fool as well as villain." And his dark eye flashed as if it would have struck him to the ground.

Count William^[16] faltered, trembled, and attempted to reply, but his speech failed him; and, striking his hand against his forehead, he shook his bridle-rein, dug his spurs into his horse's sides, and darted down the road like lightning.

"Slave!" cried the other, as he marked him go; "cowardly slave!" and, turning his horse, without further comment he rode slowly on the other way.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

Sir Osborne immediately turned into the forest, and, rousing his companions, called them to horse; but, however, though confessedly the hero of our story, we must leave him for a little time and follow the traveller we have just left upon the road.

For a considerable way he rode on musing, and if one might judge from his countenance, his meditations were somewhat bitter; such as might become the bosom of a king on finding the treachery of the world, the hollowness of friendship, the impossibility of securing affection, or any other of the cold lessons which the world will sometimes teach the children of prosperity. At length he paused, and, looking to the declining sun, saw the necessity of hastening his progress; whereupon, setting spurs to his horse, he galloped along the road without much heeding in what direction it led him, till, coming to one of those openings called carrefours by the French, where a great many roads met, he stopped to consider his farther route. In the midst, it is true, stood a tall post, which doubtless in days of yore pointed out to the inquisitive eye the exact destination to which each of the several paths tended; but old Time, who will be fingering everything that is nice and good, from the loveliest feature of living beauty to the grandest monument of ancient art, had not spared even so contemptible a thing as the finger-post, but, like a great mischievous baby, had scratched out the letters with his pocketknife, leaving no trace of their purport visible.

The traveller rode round it in vain, then paused and listened, as if to catch the sound of the distant hunt; but all was now silent. As a last resource, he raised his hunting-horn to his lips, and blew a long and repeated call; but all was hushed and still: even babbling Echo, in pure despite, answered not a word. He blew again, and had the same success. There was an ominous sort of quietness in the air, which, joined with the sultriness of the evening, the expecting taciturnity of the birds, and some dark heavy clouds that were beginning to roll in lurid masses over the trees, gave notice of an approaching storm.

Some road he must choose, and, calculating as nearly as he could by the position of the sun, he made his election, and spurred along it with all speed. A dropping sound amongst the green leaves, however, soon showed that the storm was begun, and once having commenced, it was not slow in following up its first attack: the rain came down in torrents, so as to render the whole scene misty, and the lightning, followed by its instant peal of thunder, flickered on every side with flash after flash, dazzling the traveller's sight, and scaring his horse by gleaming across his path, while the inky clouds overhead almost deprived them of other light. In vain he every now and then sought some place of shelter, where the trees seemed thickest; the verdant canopy of the leaves, though impervious to the summer sun, and a good defence against a passing shower, were incapable of resisting a storm like that, and wherever he turned the rain poured through in torrents, and wet him to the skin. Galloping on, then, in despair of finding any sufficient covering, he proceeded for nearly half-an-hour along the forest road, before it opened into the country; and where it did so, instead of finding any nice village to give him rest, and shelter, and food, and fire, the horseman could distinguish nothing but a wide, bare expanse of country, looking dismal and desolate in the midst of the gray deluge that was falling from the sky. About seven or eight miles farther on, he could, indeed, see faintly through the rain the spire of some little church, giving the only sign of human habitation; except where, to the left, in the midst of the heath that there bordered the forest, he perceived the miserable little hut of a charcoal-burner, with a multitude of black hillocks before the door, and a large shed for piling up what was already prepared.

To this, then, as the nearest place of shelter, the stranger took his way, very different in appearance from what he had been in the morning; his rich dress soaked and soiled, his velvet hat out of all shape or form, his high plume draggled and thin, with all the feather adhering closely to the pen; and, in short, though still bearing the inalienable look of gentleman, yet in as complete disarray of apparel as the very worst wetting can produce. Without ceremony he rode up to the door, sprang off his horse, and entered the cabin, wherein appeared a good woman of about forty, busily piling up with fresh fuel a fire of dry boughs, over which hung a large pot of soup for the evening meal. The traveller's tale was soon told, and the dame readily promised him shelter and food, in the name of her husband, who was absent, carrying charcoal to the distant village; and seeing that the storm was likely to last all night, he tied his horse under the shed, placed himself by the side of the fire, aided the good woman to raise it into a blaze, and frankly prepared to make himself as comfortable as circumstances would permit. Well pleased with his easy good-humour, the good dame soon grew familiar, gave him a spoon to skim the pot, while she fetched more wood, and bade him make himself at home. In a short time the husband himself returned, as dripping as the traveller had been, and willingly confirmed all that his wife had promised. Only casting himself, without ceremony, into the chair where the stranger had been sitting--and which, by-the-way, was the only chair in the place, all the rest of the seats being joint-stools--he addressed him familiarly, saying, "I take this place by the fire, my good gentleman, because it is the place where I always sit, and this chair, because it is mine; and you know the old proverb--

"By right and by reason, whatever betide,
A man should be master by his own fireside."^[17]

"Faith, you are in the right," cried the traveller, laughing; "so I will content myself with this settle. But let us have something for supper; for, on the word of a--knight, my ride has taught me hunger."

"Give us the soup, dame," cried the charcoal-burner. "Well I wot, sir traveller, that you might be treated like a prince, here on the edge of the wood, did not those vile forest laws prevent a poor man from spearing a boar as well as a rich one. In truth, the king is to blame to let such laws last."

"Faith, and that is true," cried the traveller; "and heartily to blame, too, if his laws stand between me and a good supper. Now would I give a link of this gold chain for a good steak of wild boar pork upon those clear ashes."

The cottager looked at his wife, and the cottager's wife looked at her husband, very like two people undecided what to do. "Fie, now!" cried the stranger; "fie, good dame! I will wager a gold piece against a cup of cold water, that if I look in that coffer, I shall find wherewithal to mend our supper."

"Hal ha! ha!" roared the charcoal-burner; "thou hast hit it. Faith, thou hast hit it! There it is, my buck, sure enough! Bring it forth, dame, and give us some steaks. But, mind," he continued, laying his finger on his lip, with a significant wink; "mind, mum's the word! never fare well and cry roast beef."

"Oh! I'm as close as a mouse," replied the stranger in the same strain; "never fear me: many a stout stag have I overthrown in the king's forests, without asking with your leave or by your leave of any man."

"Ha! ha! ha!" cried the cottager; "thou'rt a brave one! Come, let us be merry while the thunder rolls without. It will strike the king's palace sooner than my cottage, though we are eating wild boar therein."

In such sort of wit passed the evening till nightfall; and the storm still continuing in its full glory, the traveller was fain to content himself with such lodging as the cottage afforded for the night. Though his dress bespoke a rank far higher than their own, neither the cottager nor his wife seemed at all awe-struck or abashed, but quietly examined the gold lacing of his clothes, declared it was very fine, and seemed to look upon him more as a child does upon a gilded toy than in any other light. When night was come, the good dame strewed out one corner of the hut with a little straw, piled it high with dry leaves, and the stranger, rolling up his cloak for a pillow, laid it under his head, stretched himself on the rude bed thus prepared, and soon fell into a profound sleep.

Taking advantage of his nap, we will now return to Sir Osborne, who with all speed roused his companions from their slumbers, and bade them mount and follow. With military alacrity, Longpole was on his horse in a moment, and ready to set out; but for his part, the young Hainaulter yawned and stretched, and, somewhat bewildered, looked as if he would fain have asked whither the knight was going to lead him. A word, however, from Longpole hurried his motions, and both were soon upon the track of Sir Osborne, who was already some way on the little bridle-path by which they had arrived at the grassy mound where they had been sleeping. When he reached the road they had formerly left, he paused, and waited their coming up.

"Now, Longpole," cried he, "give me your judgment: does this road lead to any crossing or not? Quick! for we must not waste a moment."

"Most certainly it does, my lord," replied the shield-bearer: "most probably to the spot where they all meet in the heart of the wood."

"Perhaps he may tell us with more certainty," said the knight; and changing his language to French, for the ear of the young Hainaulter, he asked the same question.

"Oh, yes, certainly," replied Frederick: "it leads to the great carrefour; I have hunted here a hundred times."

"Then, are we on French ground or Flemish?" demanded the knight.

"The French claim it," replied the youth; "but we used to hunt here in their despite."

"Quick, then! let us on!" cried Sir Osborne; "and keep all your eyes on the road before, to see if any one crosses it."

"He has something in his head, I'll warrant," said Longpole to their new companion, as they galloped after Sir Osborne. "Oh! our lord knows the trade of war, and will snuff you out an enemy, without ever seeing him, better than a beagle dog with bandy legs and a yellow spot over his eyes."

"Halt!" cried the knight, suddenly reining in his horse as they came within sight of the carrefour we have already mentioned. "Longpole, keep close under that tree! Frederick, here by my side; back him into the wood, my good youth; that will do. Let every one keep his eyes upon the crossing, and when you see a horseman pass, mark which road he takes. How dark the sky is growing! Hark! is not that a horse's feet?"

They had not remained many minutes when the cavalier we have spoken of appeared at the carrefour, examined in vain the finger-post, sounded his horn once or twice, as we have described, and then again took his way to the left.

"Whither does that road lead?" demanded the knight, addressing the young Hainaulter.

"It opens out on the great heath between the forest and Lillers, my lord," answered Frederick.

"Is there any village, or castle, or house near?" asked Sir Osborne quickly.

"None, none!" replied Frederick; "it is as bare as my hand: perhaps a charbonier's cottage or so," he added, correcting himself.

"Let us on, then," replied the knight. "We are going to have a storm, but we must not mind that;" and putting his horse into a quick pace, he led his followers upon the track of the traveller, taking care never to lose sight of him entirely, and yet contriving to conceal himself, whenever any turn of the road might have exposed him to the view of the person he pursued. The rain poured upon his head, the lightning flashed upon his path; but still the knight followed on without a moment's pause, till he had seen the traveller take refuge in the cottage of the charcoal-burner. Then, and not until then, he paused, spurred his horse through some thick bushes on the edge of the wood, and obtained as much shelter as the high beeches of the forest could afford; nor did he pause at the first or the thickest trees he came to, but took particular pains to select a spot where, though concealed by a high screen of underwood, they could yet distinguish clearly the door of the hut through the various breaks in the branches. Here, having dismounted with his followers, he stationed Frederick at a small opening, to watch the cottage, while he and Longpole carefully provided for the security and refreshment of their horses, as far as circumstances would admit, although the long forest-grass was the only food that could be procured for them, and the storm still continued pouring through the very thickest parts of the wood. To obviate this, the knight and his shield-bearer plied the underwood behind them with their swords, and soon obtained a sufficient supply of leafy branches to interweave with the lower boughs of the trees overhead, and thus to secure themselves against the rain.

While thus employed, Frederick gave notice, as he had been commanded, that some one approached the cottage, which proved to be the charbonier himself, returning with his mule; and after his arrival, their watch remained undisturbed by the coming of any visitor till nightfall.

As soon as it was dark, Sir Osborne allotted to his followers and to himself the portion of the night that each was to watch, taking for his own period the first four hours; after which Longpole's turn succeeded; and lastly, towards morning, came the young Hainaulter's.

With his eye fixed upon the light in the cottage, and his ear eager for every sound, Sir Osborne passed the time till the flame gradually died away, and, flashing more and more faintly, at last sank entirely. However, the dark outline of the hut was still to be seen, and the ear had now more power; for the storm had gradually passed away, and the only sounds that it had left were the thunder rolling faintly round the far limits of the horizon, and the dropping of the water from the leaves and branches of the forest. Towards midnight, Sir Osborne roused Longpole, and recommending him to watch carefully, he threw himself down by the young Hainaulter and was soon asleep.

Somewhat tired with the fatigues of the day, the knight slept soundly, and did not wake till Frederick, who had replaced Longpole on the watch, shook him by the arm; and starting up, he found that it was day.

"Hist, hist! my lord," cried the youth; "here are Shoenvelt and his party."

Sir Osborne looked through the branches in the direction the young man pointed, and clearly distinguished a party of seven spearmen, slowly moving along the side of the forest, at about five hundred yards' distance from the spot where they lay. "It is Shoenvelt's height and form," said the knight, measuring the leader with his eye, "and that looks like Wilsten by his side; but how are you sure?"

"Because I know the arms of both," replied Frederick, "See! they are going to hide in the wood, close by the high road from Lillers to Aire."

As he spoke, the body of horsemen stopped, and one after another disappeared in the wood, convincing Sir Osborne that the young Hainaulter was right.

"Then, nerve your arm and grasp your lance, Frederick," said the knight with a smile; "for if you do well, even this very day you may win your golden spurs. Wake Longpole there; we must be all prepared."

The youth's eyes gleamed with delight, and snatching up his casque, he shook Longpole roughly, and ran to tighten his horse's girths, while Sir Osborne explained to the yeoman that they were upon the eve of an encounter.

'"Odslife!" cried Longpole, "I'm glad to hear it, my lord. I find it vastly cold sleeping in a steel jacket, and shall be glad of a few back-strokes to warm me. You say there are seven of them. It's an awkward number to divide; but you will take three, my lord; I will do my best for two and a-half, and then there will be one and a-half for Master Frederick here. We could not leave the poor youth less, in honesty; for I dare say he is as ready for such a breakfast as we are."

The bustle of preparation now succeeded for a moment or two; and when all was ready, and the whole party once more on horseback, the knight led the way to a gap, from whence he could issue out upon the plain without running the risk of entangling his horse in the underwood. Here stationing himself behind the bushes to the left, he gave orders to Longpole and Frederick not to stir an inch, whatever they saw, till he set the example; and then grasping his lance, he sat like marble, with his eyes fixed upon the cottage.

In about a quarter of an hour the door of the hut opened, and the cottager, running to the shed, brought up the traveller's horse. By this time, he seemed to have discovered that his guest was of higher rank than he imagined; for when the stranger came forth, he cast himself upon his knees, holding the bridle, and remained in that situation till the other had sprung into the saddle.

Dropping some pieces of gold into his host's hand, the traveller now shook his rein; and, putting his horse into an easy pace, took his way over the plain, at about three hundred yards' distance from the forest, proceeding quietly along, totally unconscious of danger. A moment, however, put an end to his security; for he had not passed above a hundred yards beyond the spot where the knight was concealed, when a galloping of horse was heard, and Shoenvelt's party, with levelled lances and horses in charge, rushed forth from the wood upon him.

In an instant Sir Osborne's vizor was down, his spear was in the rest, and his horse in full gallop. "Darnley! Darnley!" shouted he, with a voice that made the welkin ring. "Darnley to the rescue! Traitor of Shoenvelt, turn to your death!"

"Darnley! Darnley!" shouted Longpole, following his lord. "St. George for Darnley! down with the traitors!"

The shout was not lost upon either Shoenvelt or the traveller. The one instantly turned, with several of his men, to attack the knight; the other, seeing unexpected aid at hand, fell back towards Darnley, and with admirable skill and courage defended himself, with nothing but his sword, against the lances of the marauders, who--their object being more to take him living than to kill him--lost the advantage which they would have otherwise had by his want of armour.

Like a wild beast, raging with hate and fury, Shoenvelt charged towards the knight, his lance quivering in his hand with the angry force of his grasp. On, on bore Sir Osborne at full speed towards him, his bridle in his left hand, his shield upon his breast, his lance firmly fixed in the rest, and levelled in such a manner as to avoid its breaking. In a moment they met. Shoenvelt's spear struck Sir Osborne's shield, and, aimed firmly and well, partially traversed the iron; but the knight, throwing back his left arm with vast force, snapped the head of the lance in twain. In the mean while, his own spear, charged at the marauder's throat with unerring exactness, passed clean through the gorget-piece and the upper rim of the corslet, and came bloody out at the back. You might have heard the iron plates and bones cranch as the lance rent its way through. Down went Shoenvelt, horse and man, borne over by the force of the knight's course.

"Darnley! Darnley!" shouted Sir Osborne, casting from him the spear, which he could not disengage from the marauder's neck, and drawing his sword. "Darnley! Darnley to the rescue! Now, Wilsten! now!" and turning, galloped up to where the traveller, with Longpole and Frederick by his side, firmly maintained his ground against the adventurers.

Wilsten's lance had been shivered by Longpole; and now, with his sword drawn, on the other side of the mêlée, he was aiming a desperate blow at the unarmed head of the traveller, who defended himself from a spearman in front; but at that moment the knight charged the adventurer through the midst, overturning all that came in his way, and shouting loud his battle-cry, to call his adversary's attention, and divert him from the fatal blow which he was about to strike. The plan succeeded. Wilsten heard the sound; and seeing Shoenvelt dead upon the plain, turned furiously on Darnley. Urging their horses between all the others, they met in the midst, and thus seemed to separate the rest of the combatants, who, for a moment or two, looked on inactive; while the swords of the two champions played about each other's heads, and sought out the weaker parts of their harness. Both were strong, and active, and skilful; and though Sir Osborne was decidedly superior, it was long before the combat appeared to turn in his favour. At length, by a quick movement of his horse, the knight brought himself close to the adventurer's side, and gaining a fair blow, plunged the point of his sword through his corslet into his bosom.

At that moment, the combat having been renewed by the rest, one of the marauders struck the knight from behind so violently on the head, that it shook him in the saddle, and breaking the fastenings of his helmet, the casque came off and rolled upon the plain. But the blow was too late to save Wilsten, who now lay dead under his horse's feet; and Sir Osborne well repaid it by a single back-stroke at this new opponent's thigh.

By this time only two of the marauders remained on horseback, so well had Longpole, the traveller, and Frederick, done their devoir; and these two were not long in putting spurs to their steeds and flying with all speed, leaving the knight and his companions masters of the field. Looking round, however, Sir Osborne missed the gallant young Hainaulter, while he saw his horse flying masterless over the plain.

"Where is Frederick?" cried the knight, springing to the ground. "By my knighthood! if he be dead, we have bought our victory dear!"

"Not dead, monseigneur, but hurt," said a faint voice near; and turning, he beheld the poor youth fallen to the earth, and leaning on one arm, while with the other he was striving to take off his casque, from the bars of which the blood dripped out fast upon the greensward. Darnley hastened to his aid; and having disencumbered him of his helmet, discovered a bad wound in his throat, which, however, did not appear to him to be mortal; and Longpole, with the stranger, having dismounted and come to his aid, they contrived to stanch the bleeding, which was draining away his life.

When this was done, the noble traveller turned towards Darnley.

"Sir knight," said he, with the calm, dignified tone of one seldom used to address an equal, "how you came here, or why, I cannot tell; but it seems as if heaven had sent you on purpose to save my life. However that may be, I will say of you, that never did a more famous knight wield sword; and, therefore, as the best soldiers in Europe may be proud of such a companion, let me beg you to take this collar, till I can thank you better;" and he cast over the knight's neck the golden chain of the order of St. Michael, with which he was decorated.

"As for you, good squire," he continued, addressing Longpole, "you are worthy of your lord; therefore kneel down."

"Faith, your worship," answered the yeoman, "I never knelt to any man in my life, and never will to any but a king, while I'm in this world!"

"Fie, fie! Heartley!" cried Sir Osborne; "bend your knee. It is the king, man! Do you not understand? It is King Francis!"

"Oh! that changes the case," cried Longpole; "I crave your highness's pardon. I did not know your grace;" and he bent his knee to the king.

Francis drew his sword, and laid it on the yeoman's shoulder; then striking him three light blows, he said, "In the name of God, our Lady, and St. Denis, I dub thee knight. Avance, bon chevalier! Noble or not noble, from this moment I make you such."

Longpole rose, and the king turned to the young Hainaulter, who, sitting near, and supporting himself by his sword, had looked on with longing eyes. "No one of my gallant defenders must be forgotten," said Francis. "Knighthood, my good youth, will hardly pay your wound."

"Oh, yes, yes!" cried Frederick, eagerly; "indeed it will, your highness, more than repay it."

"Then be it so," replied the king, knighting him. "However, remember, fair knights, that Francis of France stints not here his gratitude, or you may think him niggard of his thanks. We will have you all go with us, and we will find better means to repay your timely aid. I know not, sir," he continued, turning to Sir Osborne, and resuming the more familiar first person singular, "whether I heard your battle-cry aright, and whether I now see the famous Lord Darnley, the knight of Burgundy, who, in wars now happily ended, often turned the tide of battle in favour of the emperor." Sir Osborne bowed his head. "Then, sir," continued Francis, "I will say, that never did monarch receive so much injury or so much benefit from the hand of one noble adversary."