Men of Iron by Howard Pyle (golden son ebook .txt) đź“–
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- Author: Howard Pyle
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“See ye not,” said Myles one day, when the Knights of the Rose were gathered in the Brutus Tower—“see ye not that they grow as bad as ever? An we put not a stop to this overmastery now, it will never stop.”
“Best let it be, Myles,” said Wilkes. “They will kill thee an thou cease not troubling them. Thou hast bred mischief enow for thyself already.”
“No matter for that,” said Myles; “it is not to be borne that they order others of us about as they do. I mean to speak to them to-night, and tell them it shall not be.”
He was as good as his word. That night, as the youngsters were shouting and romping and skylarking, as they always did before turning in, he stood upon his cot and shouted: “Silence! List to me a little!” And then, in the hush that followed— “I want those bachelors to hear this: that we squires serve them no longer, and if they would ha’ some to wait upon them, they must get them otherwheres than here. There be twenty of us to stand against them and haply more, and we mean that they shall ha’ service of us no more.”
Then he jumped down again from his elevated stand, and an uproar of confusion instantly filled the place. What was the effect of his words upon the bachelors he could not see. What was the result he was not slow in discovering.
The next day Myles and Gascoyne were throwing their daggers for a wager at a wooden target against the wall back of the armorer’s smithy. Wilkes, Gosse, and one or two others of the squires were sitting on a bench looking on, and now and then applauding a more than usually well-aimed cast of the knife. Suddenly that impish little page spoken of before, Robin Ingoldsby, thrust his shock head around the corner of the smithy, and said: “Ho, Falworth! Blunt is going to serve thee out to-day, and I myself heard him say so. He says he is going to slit thine ears.” And then he was gone as suddenly as he had appeared.
Myles darted after him, caught him midway in the quadrangle, and brought him back by the scuff of the neck, squalling and struggling.
“There!” said he, still panting from the chase and seating the boy by no means gently upon the bench beside Wilkes. “Sit thou there, thou imp of evil! And now tell me what thou didst mean by thy words anon—an thou stop not thine outcry, I will cut thy throat for thee,” and he made a ferocious gesture with his dagger.
It was by no means easy to worm the story from the mischievous little monkey; he knew Myles too well to be in the least afraid of his threats. But at last, by dint of bribing and coaxing, Myles and his friends managed to get at the facts. The youngster had been sent to clean the riding-boots of one of the bachelors, instead of which he had lolled idly on a cot in the dormitory, until he had at last fallen asleep. He had been awakened by the opening of the dormitory door and by the sound of voices—among them was that of his taskmaster. Fearing punishment for his neglected duty, he had slipped out of the cot, and hidden himself beneath it.
Those who had entered were Walter Blunt and three of the older bachelors. Blunt’s companions were trying to persuade him against something, but without avail. It was—Myles’s heart thrilled and his blood boiled—to lie in wait for him, to overpower him by numbers, and to mutilate him by slitting his ears—a disgraceful punishment administered, as a rule, only for thieving and poaching.
“He would not dare to do such a thing!” cried Myles, with heaving breast and flashing eyes.
“Aye, but he would,” said Gascoyne. “His father, Lord Reginald Blunt, is a great man over Nottingham way, and my Lord would not dare to punish him even for such a matter as that. But tell me, Robin Ingoldsby, dost know aught more of this matter? Prithee tell it me, Robin. Where do they propose to lie in wait for Falworth?”
“In the gateway of the Buttery Court, so as to catch him when he passes by to the armory,” answered the boy.
“Are they there now?” said Wilkes.
“Aye, nine of them,” said Robin. “I heard Blunt tell Mowbray to go and gather the others. He heard thee tell Gosse, Falworth, that thou wert going thither for thy arbalist this morn to shoot at the rooks withal.”
“That will do, Robin,” said Myles. “Thou mayst go.”
And therewith the little imp scurried off, pulling the lobes of his ears suggestively as he darted around the corner.
The others looked at one another for a while in silence.
“So, comrades,” said Myles at last, “what shall we do now?”
“Go, and tell Sir James,” said Gascoyne, promptly.
“Nay,” said Myles, “I take no such coward’s part as that. I say an they hunger to fight, give them their stomachful.”
The others were very reluctant for such extreme measures, but Myles, as usual, carried his way, and so a pitched battle was decided upon. It was Gascoyne who suggested the plan which they afterwards followed.
Then Wilkes started away to gather together those of the Knights of the Rose not upon household duty, and Myles, with the others, went to the armor smith to have him make for them a set of knives with which to meet their enemies— knives with blades a foot long, pointed and double-edged.
The smith, leaning with his hammer upon the anvil, listened to them as they described the weapons.
“Nay, nay, Master Myles,” said he, when Myles had ended by telling the use to which he intended putting them. “Thou art going all wrong in this matter. With such blades, ere this battle is ended, some one would be slain, and so murder done. Then the family of him who was killed would haply have ye cited, and mayhap it might e’en come to the hanging, for some of they boys ha’ great folkeys behind them. Go ye to Tom Fletcher, Master Myles, and buy of him good yew staves, such as one might break a head withal, and with them, gin ye keep your wits, ye may hold your own against knives or short swords. I tell thee, e’en though my trade be making of blades, rather would I ha’ a good stout cudgel in my hand than the best dagger that ever was forged.”
Myles stood thoughtfully for a moment or two; then, looking up, “Methinks thou speaketh truly, Robin,” said he; “and it were ill done to have blood upon our hands.”
From the long, narrow stone-paved Armory Court, and connecting it with the inner Buttery Court, ran a narrow arched passageway, in which was a picket-gate, closed at night and locked from within. It was in this arched passageway that, according to little Robert Ingoldsby’s report, the bachelors were lying in wait for Myles. Gascoyne’s plan was that Myles should enter the court alone, the Knights of the Rose lying ambushed behind the angle of the armory building until the bachelors should show themselves.
It was not without trepidation that Myles walked alone into the court, which happened then to be silent and empty. His heart beat more quickly than it was wont, and he gripped his cudgel behind his back, looking sharply this way and that, so as not to be taken unawares by a flank movement of his enemies. Midway in the court he stopped and hesitated for a moment; then he turned as though to enter the armory. The next moment he saw the bachelors come pouring out from the archway.
Instantly he turned and rushed back towards where his friends lay hidden, shouting: “To the rescue! To the rescue!”
“Stone him!” roared Blunt. “The villain escapes!
He stopped and picked up a cobble-stone as he spoke, flinging it after his escaping prey. It narrowly missed Myles’s head; had it struck him, there might have been no more of this story to tell.
“To the rescue! To the rescue!” shouted Myles’s friends in answer, and the next moment he was surrounded by them. Then he turned, and swinging his cudgel, rushed back upon his foes.
The bachelors stopped short at the unexpected sight of the lads with their cudgels. For a moment they rallied and drew their knives; then they turned and fled towards their former place of hiding.
One of them turned for a moment, and flung his knife at Myles with a deadly aim; but Myles, quick as a cat, ducked his body, and the weapon flew clattering across the stony court. Then he who had flung it turned again to fly, but in his attempt he had delayed one instant too long. Myles reached him with a long-arm stroke of his cudgel just as he entered the passageway, knocking him over like a bottle, stunned and senseless.
The next moment the picket-gate was banged in their faces and the bolt shot in the staples, and the Knights of the Rose were left shouting and battering with their cudgels against the palings.
By this time the uproar of fight had aroused those in the rooms and offices fronting upon the Armory Court; heads were thrust from many of the windows with the eager interest that a fight always evokes.
“Beware!” shouted Myles. “Here they come again!” He bore back towards the entrance of the alley-way as he spoke, those behind him scattering to right and left, for the bachelors had rallied, and were coming again to the attack, shouting.
They were not a moment too soon in this retreat, either, for the next instant the pickets flew open, and a volley of stones flew after the retreating Knights of the Rose. One smote Wilkes upon the head, knocking him down headlong. Another struck Myles upon his left shoulder, benumbing his arm from the finger-tips to the armpit, so that he thought at first the limb was broken.
“Get ye behind the buttresses!” shouted those who looked down upon the fight from the windows— “get ye behind the buttresses!” And in answer the lads, scattering like a newly-flushed covey of partridges, fled to and crouched in the sheltering angles of masonry to escape from the flying stones.
And now followed a lull in the battle, the bachelors fearing to leave the protection of the arched passageway lest their retreat should be cut off, and the Knights of the Rose not daring to quit the shelter of the buttresses and angles of the wall lest they should be knocked down by the stones.
The bachelor whom Myles had struck down with his cudgel was sitting up rubbing the back of his head, and Wilkes had gathered his wits enough to crawl to the shelter of the nearest buttress. Myles, peeping around the corner behind which he stood, could see that the bachelors were gathered into a little group consulting together. Suddenly it broke asunder, and Blunt turned around.
“Ho, Falworth!” he cried. “Wilt thou hold truce whiles we parley with ye?”
“Aye,” answered Myles.
“Wilt thou give me thine honor that ye will hold your hands from harming us whiles we talk together?”
“Yea,” said Myles, “I will pledge thee mine honor.”
“I accept thy pledge. See! here we throw aside our stones and lay down our knives. Lay ye by your clubs, and meet us in parley at the horse-block yonder.”
“So be it,” said Myles, and thereupon, standing his cudgel in the angle of the wall, he stepped boldly out into the open courtyard. Those of his party came scatteringly from right and left, gathering about him; and the bachelors advanced in a body, led by the
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