Their back pieces now served the troopers in good stead, as did their superior personal strength. Some beat their assailants down on to the pommel of their saddles, and throttled or stabbed them; while in many cases, where they were hard pressed, the sword of a comrade rid them from their foes.

So the line held on its way, until they reached the head of the body of fugitives. Then in obedience to the shout of Sir John Burgon they turned, broke up into small bodies, and scoured the plain, cutting down the flying foe; and did not draw bridle, until what remained of the enemy had gained the shelter of the wood. Then, at the sound of their leader's trumpet, they gathered around him in the centre of the plain.

Two or three had fallen from the Welsh arrows, and not a few had received ugly slashes from their knives; but, with these exceptions, all had come scatheless through the fray. At least two hundred dead Welshmen were scattered on the plain.

"You have done your work well, men," Sir John said, "and taught them a lesson that they will not forget. Now, let us ride back to Knighton, and see how matters go there."

On arriving at the little town, they found that all was quiet, and that no bodies of Welsh had approached the town. The party of horse were again sent out, in various directions, the smoke serving them as a guide. The villages were found to be entirely deserted; but, pushing farther on, many fugitives came out from hiding places.

Their reports were all of the same character. The Welsh were in full retreat for their own country.

By the time the troops returned with the news to Knighton, the footmen from Ludlow had marched in, and were being entertained by the inhabitants; who, now that the danger had passed, had returned.

"Retired have they, Sir John?" his two fellow knights said, as he arrived with his following. "It was but a raid for plunder, then, and not an invasion. Doubtless, Glendower merely wished to warm their blood, and to engage them so far in his enterprise that they could no longer draw back. They must have carried off some hundreds of cattle and sheep, to say nothing of other plunder; and, had it not been for our having the news soon enough to get here before they retired, they would have got off scatheless. As it is, they have learned that even a well-planned foray cannot be carried out with impunity; but the loss of three hundred lives will not affect them greatly, when it is clear that they have murdered twice that number, as well as enriched themselves with plunder."

"I think not that we shall hear of them, again," Sir John said. "Glendower has shown us, without doubt, what are his intentions; and he may now wait to see what comes of last night's work. I expect that he will keep among the hills, where he can fight to better advantage; for horsemen are of little use, where there are mountains and forests."

After a consultation between the knights, it was agreed that two hundred of the footmen were to remain, for two or three days, at Knighton; in case the retreat of the Welsh might be a feigned one, intended to lull the inhabitants into a state of security, and then to make a sudden night attack upon the walls. The whole force remained until the next morning, and then, leaving Sir Philip Haverstone in command of the party remaining at Knighton, the rest, horse and foot, marched back to Ludlow.

"Your band have indeed distinguished themselves, Oswald," Sir John had said, on the previous evening, as they talked on the events of the day. "Truly they are as stout men as I have ever seen fighting. And you have escaped without a wound, though I marked that your armour and clothes were covered with mire, as if you had been rolling in the road."

"That is just what I have been doing, Sir John. One of them leaped on to the horse behind me, and pinioned my arms; while two or three others made at me, with axes and staves. The clasp of the fellow was like an iron band and, seeing that my only chance was to rid myself of him, I slung my leg over my horse, and we came down together, he undermost. Whether the fall killed him or not, I cannot say, but his arms relaxed. Half a dozen sprang on me, and in another minute I should have been killed, had not that big trooper of mine come to my aid, and with a mighty mace dashed out their brains, well-nigh before they knew that they were attacked."

"A stout fellow, indeed," Sir John said, "and one I should like to have to ride behind me, on the day of battle. I had marked him before, and thought that I had never seen a more stalwart knave; though methinks that he would look better, did he not crop his hair so wondrously short."

Oswald laughed.

"He does it not to beautify himself, Sir John, but to hide the fact that the hair on his crown is but of six weeks' growth."

And then he related the circumstances under which Roger came to be a member of his troop.

"By my faith, he has done well!" Sir John said. "A man with such sinews as that is lost in a cloister. He is a merry fellow, too. I have often marked him at the castle, and his laugh is a veritable roar, that would sound strange echoing along the galleries of a monastery. The abbot did well to let him go, for such a fellow might well disturb the peace and quiet of a whole convent.

"You say that he has skill in war?"

"Yes, Sir John. He has been the instructor in arms of the lay brothers, and of some of the monks, too; and he led the contingent of the abbey at Otterburn; and, although the day went against the English, he and his followers greatly distinguished themselves."

"If you would part with him, I would better his condition, Master Oswald; for, on my recommendation, Sir Edmund would, I am sure, make him captain of a company."

"I should be sorry, indeed, to part with him, Sir John, and the more so since he has saved my life today; but, even were I willing, I feel sure he would not leave me, as we have gone through some adventures together, and he believes that it is to me that he owes his escape from the convent."

"What were these adventures, Oswald?"

"It was a matter touching the Earl of March—not Sir Edmund's nephew, now in the care of the king, but the Scottish earl, George, Earl of Dunbar, also bearing the title of Earl of March. Now that he has taken the oath to King Henry, there is no reason why I should not speak of it."

And he then gave them an account of his visit to Dunbar, and of his escape.

"And why did the earl wish to keep you?"

"Maybe, sir, that he had not then made up his mind, and thought that affairs might yet have been accommodated between himself, Douglas, and the Scottish king."

"Perhaps that was so," Sir John agreed. "He is a crafty, as well as a bold man. However, you were well out of Dunbar, and you and your monk managed the affair well. Think you that the earl is to be trusted?"

"I should say so. These great Scottish nobles deem themselves well-nigh the king's equal, and carry on their wars against each other as independent lords. His castle of Dunbar is in the hands of his bitterest enemy, and Douglas will come into no small portion of his estates. Without the aid of England he could not hope to recover them, and his interests, therefore, are wholly bound up with ours."

"'Tis strange that there should be two Earls of March, of different families and names; and, now that Dunbar has become a vassal of the king, it will make the matter stranger. However, at present no mistakes can arise, seeing that the one is an able warrior, and the other a mere boy. But in the future, were the two Earls of March at the same time at the court of our king, mistakes might well be made, and strange complications take place.

"Doubtless you are aware that Sir Edmund's nephew is, by right of birth, King of England. He was, you know, sprung from the Duke of Clarence, the elder brother of the Duke of Lancaster. The duke died without male issue, and his rights fell to Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, the husband of his daughter Philippa. From their marriage was born the Roger Mortimer who was lord lieutenant of Ireland, during a part of King Richard's reign, and was killed in the wars of that country. He left two sons, of whom the elder was but eight or nine years old, when Richard was dethroned; and he and his brother are now living at Windsor, and are well treated there by the king.

"Had my lord's nephew attained the age of manhood, at the deposition of Richard, many would doubtless have supported his right to the throne; but for a child of eight to rule this realm, and keep in check the turbulence of the great lords, would be so absurd that no one even mentioned his name; and Henry, of course, ascended the throne as if by right of conquest."

"I have heard something of this before, Sir John; but as the Percys were among the chief supporters of Henry, the fact that there was one who had greater rights to the throne was never talked of, at Alnwick; although, by Percy's marriage with Sir Edmund's sister, he became uncle of the young Earl of March."

"I can understand that, and indeed Sir Edmund himself has never, in the most intimate conversation with us, expressed any opinion that the young earl would, if he had his rights, be King of England."



Chapter 10: A Breach Of Duty.

Two or three hours after the return of the force to Ludlow, Sir Edmund Mortimer returned, having ridden almost without a halt, since be received the news of the Welsh incursion. His knights met him in the courtyard.

"Well, my friends, I hear you have sent the Welsh back again, as fast as they came."

"We cannot say that, Sir Edmund," Sir John Wyncliffe replied. "Sir John Burgon went out, with ninety horse; and, coming upon a party of five or six hundred of them, killed half their number, and put the rest to flight; but their main body left of their own free will, and without any urging. 'Tis a pity that they were so hurried, for in another twenty-four hours we should have had some four thousand men on the march against them, besides those who first went on."

"Have they done much damage?"

"There is scarce a house left standing, between the hills on this side of Llanidloes, and Knighton. From what we can gather, they must have slain three or four hundred, at least. At first the total was put much higher; but, as soon as they retired, many fugitives made their way into Knighton; having slipped away in the darkness, when their villages were attacked, and concealed themselves in the woods, or among the rocks."

"There has been fighting up in the north, too," Sir Edmund said. "When I got to Ruthyn, I found that Lord Grey was away; but I talked over matters with his knights. I was to have left on the morning of the fifth day after leaving here, but at night Glendower's men raided almost up to the gates of the castle. Their plans were well laid; for, just at midnight, an alarm was given by a sentry on the walls. Everyone ran to arms, the instant the warder's horn was sounded; but when I reached the top of the walls, fires were bursting out in twenty places. It was not long before the knights rode out, with a hundred and fifty men-at-arms, but the Welsh were already gone. It seems that they had laid an ambuscade round every village and, on the signal being given, fell at once upon the sleeping inhabitants, put all to the sword, fired the houses; and in ten minutes from the first alarm made off, driving horses, cattle, and sheep before them.

"I was with the party, and we rode hard and fast, but we came up with none of them. Each party must have gone its own way, striking off into the hills. As soon as we returned to the castle I started, with my four men-at-arms, and we have lost no time on the road; especially after the rumour reached us that there had been a Welsh raid here, also.

"Now, Sir John Burgon, will you give me an account of the doings of your party?"

The knight reported their proceedings, after leaving Ludlow, and concluded:

"It is like that the story would not have so run, Sir Edmund, had it not been for the bravery shown by the northern men, under the young squire Oswald and his captain, Alwyn. So furiously did the Welsh assail us, in rear, that we should have suffered heavily, indeed, even if we had not met with a grave disaster; had it not been that this band covered our rear, while we charged forward, fighting so stoutly that the spot where they posted themselves was thickly covered with dead. I found time to look round, now and then, for they made but a poor resistance to our advance. Never did I see stronger fighting.

"I have questioned the men. All say that none fought more bravely than young Oswald, and his uncle gives him warm praise. The lad, however, would have lost his life, had it not been for that stout fellow, who stands half a head above his comrades, and is a very giant in strength. Oswald, himself, told me how it came about," and he repeated the account of the incident.

"It was a quick thought, to throw himself and the fellow who held him off the horse; though it would not have availed him, much, had not this stout man-at-arms been at hand. Still, in no case could he have defended himself, single handed, against five of these knaves; though doubtless he would have given a good account of some of them, had not his arms been held.

"Alwyn said that, three times during the fray, the young esquire saved his life, by cutting down men who were attacking him from behind, while he was occupied by other opponents in front."

"He will make a valiant knight, some day, Sir John. Sir Henry Percy would not have written so strongly about him, had he not good reason for feeling that he would not do discredit to his recommendation.

"Well, Sir Knights, you have all merited my thanks, for the manner in which you have discharged your duties, during my absence.

"Of course, you were perfectly right, Wyncliffe, in remaining here; until, at any rate, the knights brought in their following from the country round. It was important to save Knighton, but vastly more so to prevent their overspreading the whole country; which might, for aught we can tell, have been Glendower's object; and it is as well that Haverstone and Bastow should have remained at Knighton.

"Now, as I have not broken my fast, and have ridden since midnight without a stop, I will breakfast; and we can then talk over the plans to be pursued, for there is no disguising the fact that the Welsh are up in arms, and that we have long and heavy work before us.

"However, it is a matter too serious for us to undertake by ourselves, but is for the king himself to take in hand. A raid can be punished by a counter-raid; but now that Glendower has declared himself sovereign of Wales, and that everything points to the fact that the men of his nation are all ready to support him, it is a matter that touches his majesty very closely; and I doubt not that, as soon as he has finished this war with the Scots, he will march hither, at the head of his army.

"However, I shall send out a summons to the tenants of all my nephew's estates, in Herefordshire, and order them to hold themselves in readiness, should Glendower venture to invade us. But I think not that he will do so. He knows that these counties bristle with castles, in which the people could find refuge; and that, if he undertook to besiege them, he would speedily lose the best part of his army.

"None of his people have experience of war, and to besiege a strong place needs machines of all kinds, and of these Glendower has none, nor is it likely that he can construct them. Besides, while marching out he would be exposed to an attack, by the garrisons of these castles sallying out in his rear. Therefore, I think not that he will be foolish enough to undertake any great enterprises; though he may make raids, and carry off booty and cattle, as he has now done.

"Moreover, I cannot keep the vassals in the field longer than their feudal obligations compel them to stay, unless I pay and feed them; which might be done readily enough, for two or three months. But the war may last for years, and I must reserve my means, and strength, till they are urgently needed.

"Lord Grey will doubtless be of my opinion, but is sure to do what he can to capture Glendower; as he will consider him, not only as an enemy of the king, but as a personal foe. However, powerful as he is, I think not that he will venture, alone, to lead an army into the Welsh hills; until he receives assistance from the king."

Two days later, news came that the king, as soon as he heard of Glendower's proclamation, had sent orders to Lord Grey and Lord Talbot, to punish him.

"They will reach Chester, two days hence," Sir Edmund said. "After the raid they made here, I would gladly take some small share in punishing this rebel.

"You, Sir John Burgon, have had a full share of honour, by your defeat of him, the other day; therefore, I will send Sir William Bastow.

"Do you, Sir William, take thirty of the best mounted men of the garrison, together with Lord Percy's troop, and ride to Chester. I will give you a letter to Lord Talbot, saying that, being anxious to aid in the punishment of the rebel who has just raided my marches, I have sent you in all haste, with fifty stout men, to aid him in striking a blow; and, if possible, in effecting Glendower's capture, before he can do further harm to the king's loyal subjects."

Half an hour later, the troop mounted. Oswald was in high spirits, for Sir Edmund had spoken a few words to him, when telling him of the service to which he had appointed him.

"I am sending your troop with Sir William Bastow," he said, "chiefly in order that I may give you another opportunity of distinguishing yourself; and also because I am sure that Percy would be glad that his men should take part in an enterprise in which there may be honour, and credit. Lastly, because I would that my party should do me credit; and the fighting, the other day, showed me that your followers better understand warfare, of this kind, than do mine."

The troop arrived at Chester the second day after leaving, and rested their horses for twenty-four hours. On the arrival of the Earl of Talbot, and Lord Grey, Sir William Bastow called, at the inn where they put up, and delivered the letter from Sir Edmund Mortimer.

"'Tis well done of Sir Edmund," the Earl of Talbot said; "and although Ruthyn lies beyond his government of the marches, he is defending his own command, by aiding Lord Grey and myself against this presumptuous traitor. I will gladly take your clump of spears with me, among whom are, I see, a small party of Lord Percy's men-at-arms.

"I hear that Sir Edmund's men inflicted a sharp blow upon the Welsh, near Knighton. I met his messenger, bearing his report to the king, as we came along; and he gave me the particulars, from which it seems that the fight was, for a time, a hard one, and that the Welshmen fought, as they used to do, with much bravery."

"They did, my lord. I was not with the party that defeated them, having been left at Knighton to aid in the defence there, should the Welsh attack the town; but Sir John Burgon, who commanded, said that, in the village, they fought as if they cared not for their lives; though they made scarce any defence, when he fell upon them as they retired, in disorder. The success he gained he attributes, in no small degree, to Percy's little troop; led by their captain, a stout soldier who commands the garrison of Alnwick, and by a young squire of Sir Henry Percy, who, though but a lad, fought with extreme bravery.

"He is with me now. Sir Henry places great trust in him, and wrote most warmly, concerning him, to Sir Edmund Mortimer."

"We are just going to supper, sir," the earl said. "I hope that you will join us. And I pray you, tell me where this young squire is lodging, that I may send for him, at once; as I would fain learn, from his lips, some closer account of the fighting, which may be of utility to us, in our adventure."

Oswald arrived just as supper was brought in, and was introduced to the earl, and Lord Grey, by Sir William Bastow.

"Sit down with us, young sir," the earl said, kindly. "You are an esquire, I hear, of my good friend Sir Henry Percy. As you eat, I pray you tell me about this fight with the Welsh. Sir Edmund himself was not in command, I hear."

"No, my lord, he was away at the time, having ridden to Ruthyn, to hold council with Lord Grey."

"Ah! I had not heard that he had been there," Earl Grey said.

"He arrived the day before the Welsh raid on your estate, sir. Finding that you were absent, he intended to return home the next morning; but the matter delayed him, for a day, as he rode out with your knights to punish the marauders; who, however, made off before they could be overtaken."

"When you see him, I pray you give him my thanks, for so doing; and now, tell us what happened."

"Sir William Bastow can better inform you, sir, of what took place until we rode away from Knighton; where he remained, with Sir Philip Haverstone, to take command of the townspeople, in case the Welsh should arrive before strong aid should come."

Sir William then related the measures that had been decided upon, and the steps taken to call out the levies; and how he and his brother knights had ridden to Knighton, with the intent to hinder, as far as possible, the Welsh advance; until the footmen could reach the town, to be followed, shortly afterwards, by the troops that would come in from the castles of Radnor.

Oswald then continued the story, and gave an account of the fight in the village, and the manner in which the Welsh were attacked, while retiring with their booty, and completely routed.

"Their tactics have in nowise changed, then," the earl said, "since the days of Griffith and Llewellyn. Against a direct charge they were unable to stand; but they attacked, with fury, whenever there was an opportunity of fighting under circumstances when our weight and discipline gave us little advantage. I hear, from Sir William Bastow, that your little band covered the rear of Sir John Burgon's troop, and succeeded in keeping them at bay, until he had broken the resistance in front, and carried off a small party of villagers who were still defending themselves."

"That was so, my lord. Our men were all accustomed to border warfare; and had for the most part, before entering Percy's service, been often engaged in border forays; and had taken to soldiering after their own homes had been burnt, and their cattle driven off, by Scottish raiders. Therefore they were accustomed to fight each for himself, instead of in close order. Their horses, too, bred on the moors, are far more active and nimble than are the heavier horses of the south; and enter heart and soul into a fray, kicking and plunging and striking with their forelegs at any who approach to assail their riders. Thus it was that they were able to hold the Welsh carles at bay, far better than men otherwise trained and mounted would have been. Another thing is, that in these Border conflicts each man is accustomed to keep his eye on his neighbour; and, if he sees him hard pressed, to give him aid. Therefore it is not surprising that, while the men slew many of the Welsh, they themselves escaped with but a few cuts from blows and hatchets."

"But you yourself were unhorsed, Sir William tells me, and were in great peril. How did that come about?"

"Both my unhorsing, sir, and my rescue, were the result of what I just said, our habit of keeping an eye on our neighbours. A Welshman was on the point of attacking Captain Alwyn, when he was engaged with two others in front. I struck the man down but, as I did so, a Welshman sprang on to my horse, behind, and pinned my arms to my side; while four others rushed at me."

He then related how he had thrown himself and his assailant off his horse, and had been saved by Roger.

"It was a good device, and quickly carried into effect," Earl Talbot said; "though it was well that the man-at-arms next to you was watching you, just as you had watched his captain; else it must have gone hard with you. It is evident that, if you continue as you have begun, you will turn out a right valiant knight.

"Your narrative is useful, and I see that, when we fall in with the Welsh, it will be necessary to have a picked body of men-at-arms, whose duty shall be to cover the rear of the main attack; for it seems that this is the real point of danger. Should we come into conflict with them, I will assign to you a body of men-at-arms, who with Percy's men shall, under your command, fulfil that duty. This would at once be of signal benefit to us, and will give you another opportunity of distinguishing yourself, and winning your spurs when the time comes."

"I thank you greatly, my lord, and trust that I may so bear myself as to merit your approbation."

The next morning the force mounted, at daybreak. It consisted of two hundred horse, that the earl had brought with him; and which was to be joined, at Chirk, by a hundred and fifty of Lord Grey's men from Ruthyn, orders having been already sent on for them to hold themselves in readiness. This was to be done quietly, and without stir, as word would be sure to be sent to Glendower, were it to be known in the town that preparations had been made for an expedition. They were to start from the castle at ten o'clock at night, when the town would be wrapped in sleep, and would arrive at Chirk before daybreak.

On arriving at the castle, it was found that the troops from Ruthyn had duly come in. They were received by the seneschal of William Beauchamp, Lord of Abergavenny. Chirk Castle had passed through many hands, having been several times granted to royal favourites; being a fine building, standing on a lofty eminence, which afforded a view of no less than seventeen counties. It was square and massive, with five flanking towers, and its vast strength was calculated to defy the utmost efforts of the Welsh to capture it. It was but a short distance thence to the valley of the Dee, in which was the estate of Glendower, extending for some eight miles north, into what is now the neighbourhood of Llangollen.

As one of the detachments had arrived before daybreak, and the other two hours after dark, it was improbable that their advent had been noticed; and, at the request of the knight who commanded the troop from Ruthyn, the gates of the castle had been kept closed all day, no one being allowed to enter or leave.

At daybreak the next morning, the whole force sallied out. Three-quarters of an hour later, they dashed down into the valley at a point about half a mile distant from Glendower's dwelling.

This was a very large and stately building. Near it stood a guest house and a church, and all the appurtenances of a man of high rank. It was called Sycharth. Here Glendower maintained an almost princely hospitality; for, in addition to this estate, he possessed others in South Wales.

More especially bards were welcomed here. Some resided for months; others, who simply paused on their rambles through the country, remained but for a few days; but all were received with marked honour by Glendower, who was well aware of the important services that they could render him. Indeed, it was on them that he relied, to no small extent, to arouse the feelings of the populace; and his hospitality was well repaid by the songs they sung, in hall and cottage, in his praise; and by their prophecies that he was destined to restore the ancient glories of the country.

The house was surrounded by a moat and wall, but had otherwise no defensive works; as, for a hundred years, the English and Welsh had dwelt peaceably, side by side. Many of the castles were, indeed, held by Welshmen, and there were few garrisons but had a considerable proportion of Welsh in their ranks.

It was singular that Glendower should, after his defiance of the king, and the raids that had lately been made, have continued to dwell in a spot so open to attack, and within striking distance of the three great castles of Ruthyn, Chirk, and Holt. Certain it is that he kept no garrison that would suffice to offer a stout defence against a strong band, although the precaution was taken of keeping a watchman, night and day, in one of the turrets. The sound of his horn was heard by the horsemen, as soon as they began to descend the hill.

"A pest on the knave!" Lord Grey exclaimed. "He will slip through our fingers, yet."

It was scarce a minute later when a mounted man was seen to dash out, at full speed, from the other side of the building. He was evidently well mounted; and although the pursuit was hotly kept up, for two miles, he gained the forest while they were still a quarter of a mile behind him, and was lost to view; for although they beat the wood for some distance, they could find no traces of him.

When passing by the house, a detachment of a hundred men were ordered to surround it, and to suffer none to enter or leave it. On the return of the pursuing party the house was entered, and ransacked from end to end. The male retainers found in it were ruthlessly killed. The furniture, which showed at once the good taste and wealth of the owner, was smashed into pieces, the hangings torn down, and the whole place dismantled. Only two female attendants were found, and these were suffered, by Earl Talbot's orders, to go free.

"This is evidently the ladies' bower, when they happen to be here," Lord Grey said; as, an hour later, he entered a room in one of the turrets, which had been already plundered by the soldiers. "'Tis a pity that we did not find one or two of Glendower's daughters here. They would have been invaluable as hostages.

"We were too hasty, Talbot. We should have closely questioned some of the men, or those two women, and should have found means to learn whether they were staying here. It may be that it was so, and that they are, even now, concealed in some secret hiding place, hard by."

He at once called up several of his men, and set them to search every room in the turret, for some sign of an entrance to a secret chamber; but although the walls were all tapped, and the floors examined, stone by stone, no clue was found to such an entrance, if it existed.

The house, which was built entirely of stone, offered no facilities for destroying it by fire. The doors were all hewn down; the gates in the wall taken off their hinges, and thrown into the moat, being too massive to be destroyed by the arms of the soldiers. The outlying buildings were all burned down, the vineyard rooted up, and the water turned out of the fish pond. Then, greatly vexed at their failure to seize Glendower himself, the two nobles rode back to Chirk; leaving a hundred men, of whom the band from Ludlow formed part, under two of Earl Talbot's knights, to retain possession of the house, until it should be decided whether it should be levelled stone by stone; or left standing, to go, with the estate, to whomsoever the king might assign it.

By Lord Grey's advice, sentries were posted outside the walls, from nightfall till daybreak, to prevent any risk of surprise by Glendower, whose spies might take him word that the main body of the assailants had left. One of the great halls had been left untouched, to serve for the use of the garrison; and as an abundance of victuals were found in the house, and the cellar was well stocked with wines, it was but a short time before the garrison made themselves thoroughly comfortable.

As soon as it became dark, twenty men were placed on watch. Oswald, with his party, were to take the third watch, at midnight; and Mortimer's men-at-arms the second. The captain of each band was to place the men, at such points as he might select. Alwyn talked the matter over with his nephew.

"It seems to me," the former said, "that there is but a small chance of anyone trying to leave the castle; and at any rate, if they did so, it would scarcely be over the wall, for a splash in the moat would at once betray them. Moreover, I love not killing in cold blood, and should any poor fellows be stowed away somewhere, I should be willing enough to let them go free."

"I agree with you altogether, Alwyn," Oswald, who had not heard the talk between Grey and Talbot, concerning Glendower's daughters, replied heartily. "I would have gladly saved the men who were killed today. It is one thing to slay in battle, but to slaughter unresisting men goes altogether against my grain."

"Then as we are agreed on that, Oswald, I should say that we had best place the greater portion of our men well away from the wall. We can leave two at the gate, and set two others to march round and round the moat. I should say we had best plant the others, in pairs, a quarter of a mile round the house. It is vastly more important to prevent Glendower from recapturing his house, by surprise, than it is to take prisoners two or three fellows making their escape."

"I agree with you, Alwyn."

Accordingly, when they filed out from the gate, four were posted as Alwyn had suggested. The rest were disposed, in pairs, in a circle at a distance round the house.

"I will keep watch with Roger," Oswald said. "'Tis some time since I have had an opportunity for a talk with him. I will take the next post, if you like. The wood comes closer to the house, there, than at any other point; and there are patches, behind which an enemy might creep up. My eyes and ears are both good; and as for Roger, if he lifts that mighty voice of his in tones of alarm, it will reach the ears of all the others, and be the signal for them to run back to the gate, at the top of their speed."

"Very well, Oswald. I shall walk round the ground, and see that all are vigilant. We know not where Glendower's men were lying. It may hap they were twenty miles away, but even so he would have had plenty of time to have brought them up, by now. I don't think there is much chance of any of our men being surprised; most of them having, in their time, been so used to midnight rides across moor and hill, and so accustomed to see in the dark that, crafty as the Welshmen may be, I do not think there is a chance of their getting within a hundred yards of any of our posts, without being seen; especially as the moon is still half full."

"Do you think that there is any chance of our being disturbed, Master Oswald?" Roger said, as they took up their post under a low, stunted tree.

"I do not think so. If Glendower's spies have told him that the main body, of those who surprised him this morning, have returned to Chirk; he may be sure that enough have been left, to hold the place successfully against him and his wild followers, till assistance can reach us; and he would have nothing to gain by recapturing his house, for he could not hold it long against the force assembled at Chirk. Besides, he must know, well enough, that if he is to fight successfully, it must be in the woods. Whether he has studied the black art, or no, there is little doubt that he has turned his attention greatly to military matters, and that he is a foe who is not to be despised. He is playing a deep game, and will give us a deal of trouble, unless I am greatly mistaken, before we have done with him."

"I hear all sorts of strange stories of his powers, Master Oswald."

"Yes; but you see, Roger, the spirits who, as they say, serve him, cannot be of much use; or they would have warned him of the coming of Talbot, and we should not have taken him unawares, this morning."

"That is true enough," Roger said, in a tone of relief. "For my part, I am not greatly alarmed at spirits. The good abbot used to threaten me that I should be carried off by them, unless I mended my ways; but I always slept soundly enough, and never saw aught to frighten me. They used to say that the spirits of some of the dead monks used to walk in the convent garden, but though my cell looked down upon it, and I have often stood there by the hour, never did I see anything to frighten me.

"If the Welsh do come, what are we to do, master—fight them?"

"By no means, Roger. Our duty is to watch, and not to fight. You must lift up your voice, and shout as loud as you can, and then we must run to the gate. There we can make a fight, till the rest join us. But, whatever you do, do not shout until I tell you. A false alarm would raise the whole garrison; and, if naught came of it, would make us a laughing stock."

While they were talking, both were keeping a close lookout on the ground in front of them, and also to the right and left, for the watches were two hundred yards apart, and they had to make sure that no party of the enemy slipped unseen between them. Suddenly Roger plucked Oswald's sleeve, and said in a whisper:

"Unless my eyes deceive me, master, I saw two dark figures flit from that clump of bushes, some forty yards away, to those next to them. There they go again!"

"I see them, Roger. It may be that they are spies, who have crept up close. Let us give chase to them."

"Shall I shout, master?"

"No, no. This is not an attack. Stoop as low as you can or, if they look back, they will see that great figure of yours, and be off like hares. Run as softly as you can."

Stooping low, they set off at a run and, being certain that the figures were making straight for the forest, they did not pause to get another glimpse of them, but ran straight on. They had gone some seventy or eighty yards, when they heard a stifled exclamation; and then, without further attempt at concealment, two figures rose from a bush twenty yards ahead, and fled for the forest. There was no more occasion for stooping and, at the top of their speed, Oswald and Roger pursued the fugitives.

These ran fast, but Oswald, who had outpaced his heavier companion, came up to them when within fifty yards of the edge of the forest; and, passing them, drew his sword and faced them.

"Surrender," he said, "or I will cut you down."

Instead of the fierce spring that he had anticipated, the two figures stopped suddenly, exchanged a word in Welsh, and then dropped their cloaks. To Oswald's astonishment, two young women stood before him. They evidently belonged to the upper class. Both were richly dressed. They wore heavy gold chains round their necks, and bracelets of the same metal; set, as Oswald noticed by the reflection of the moon, with jewels. They had also brooches, and their girdles were held in with massive gold clasps.

By this time Roger had come up, and stood staring with astonishment.

"Take these, good fellows," the girl said in English, as she began to unfasten her necklace. "Take these, and let us go. They will make you rich."

"I am an esquire of Sir Henry Percy," Oswald said, "and I rob not women. By your appearance, I should judge you to be daughters of Glendower."

"It would be useless to deny it," one of the girls said, proudly.

"Why do you come spying here?" Oswald said. "Surely, among your father's warriors, others better suited for such work might have been found."

"We were not spying," the girl replied. "We have lain hidden all day, and were but making our escape."

"How can that be, madam? We had a guard all round the castle, and know that none can have escaped."

"Being an esquire, you are a gentleman, sir, and will not disclose what I am about to tell you; though, indeed, now that our father's house is in your hands, it boots not much whether the secret is known. There is a secret passage from the castle that opens into these bushes, and it was through that that we issued out; having been in hiding all day, in the secret chamber from which it leads.

"Well, sir, we are your prisoners; and shall, I suppose, be sent to London, there to be held until our father is in the usurper's hands, which will not be, believe me, for years yet."

Oswald was silent. The two girls, some seventeen or eighteen years of age, both possessed singular beauty they had inherited from their father; and bore themselves with an air of fearlessness that won his admiration. He was still but a lad and, thinking of the years these fair girls might pass in a prison, he felt a deep pity for them. He drew Roger aside.

"What think you, Roger? Must we send these fair young girls to prison?"

"In faith, I know not, master. Having been shut up many a time in a cell, I have a sort of fellow feeling for prisoners; and indeed, two fairer maidens I have never seen. Our orders were to look after Welshmen, and see that they did not attack us. No word was said of Welsh women. And besides, they were running away, and not thinking of attacking us."

"That is all very well, Roger, but I cannot deceive myself. There is no doubt that it is our duty to take these two maidens prisoners, but my heart aches at the thought that they might pass years of their lives in a prison. They are not responsible for their father's misdeeds and ambition, and it may be that, if they are restored, Glendower may be induced to treat those who fall into his hands mercifully. None but ourselves know of this, and no one need ever know.

"I will risk it, anyhow," he said after a short pause. "I know that I am not doing my duty in letting them go; and that, were it ever known, I should lose all chance of further advancement, if indeed I did not lose my life. However, it need never be known, and my conscience would sorely trouble me, whenever I thought of them shut up in one of King Henry's prisons."

He turned to the girls again.

"Think you, ladies," he asked, "that were you in the king's hands, your father would make terms and submit himself?"

"Certainly not," the one who had spoken before said. "He has other children—sons and daughters—and he would not dream of abandoning his rights, and betraying his country, to obtain the liberty of two of us."

"In that case, then, your imprisonment would in no degree stop this war, or bring about a renewal of peace between the two countries?"

"Certainly not; and as for us, we would strangle ourselves in prison, did we think that any thought of us would turn our father from his noble purpose."

"Then in that case," Oswald said quietly, "it is clear that your captivity would do nought to bring about peace, or to allay the troubles that have now begun. Therefore I will take on me to let you go, though in so doing I may be failing somewhat in my duty. Only promise me that, in the future, you will use what influence you may possess with your father, to obtain kind treatment for prisoners who may fall into his hands."

The expression of haughty defiance, that they had hitherto worn, faded from the girls' faces.

"We shall never forget your kindness, sir," one said, in a low voice. "We thank you, with all our hearts; not so much for our own sake, as for our father's. He has been cruelly ill used. He has much to trouble him, and although I know that our captivity would not turn him from his purpose, it could not but greatly grieve and trouble him, and he has already troubles enough on his shoulders.

"Will you accept one of these jewels, as a token only of our gratitude for your kindness, shown this night to us?"

"Thanks, lady, but no gift will I take. I am failing in my duty, but at least it shall not be said that I received aught for doing so."

"Then at least—" the girl began, turning to Roger.

"No, lady," the man-at-arms said. "I am neither knight nor esquire, but a simple soldier; but I take no presents for saving two maidens from capture and captivity. I have been a monk all my life, though now a man-at-arms. Never before have I had an opportunity of doing aught of kindness for a woman, and I am glad that the chance has fallen in my way."

"May I ask the name of one who has done us such kindness?" the girl said, turning to Oswald.

"It were best not, lady. It is a service that might cost me my head, were it to be bruited about. 'Tis best, then, that even you should not know it. I doubt not that you would preserve the secret; but you would perhaps mention it to your father, and it were best that it were known to none."

The girls were silent for a minute.

"Sir," the elder said, after exchanging a word or two with her sister, "we would ask a boon of you. The successes in a war are not always on one side. My sister and I will think often of one who has so greatly befriended us; and were you, by any accident of war, to fall into the Welsh hands, and should evil befall you, it would be a deep grief to us. We pray you then, sir, to accept this little gold necklet. Its value is small, indeed, but it was given to me when a child by my father. My name and his are engraved on the clasp. Should you, at any time of stress, send this to my father; right sure am I that, on recognizing it, he would treat as dear friends those who have done so much for his daughters. I pray you to accept it, and to wear it always round your neck or wrist; and if it should never prove useful to you, it will at least recall us to your thoughts."

"I cannot be so churlish, lady, as to refuse your token so offered; and though I hope that it will not be needful to use it as you say—for, indeed, I expect to return very shortly to my lord in Northumberland—it will be a pleasant remembrance of the service that a good fortune has enabled me to render, to two fair maidens. Be assured that I shall ever keep your necklet, for the sake of the givers.

"And now, farewell! We must be back at our post, for the captain of the guard will be going his round, and we might be missed."

"We shall never forget you, sir. May the blessing of God fall on you, for your kind deed!"

"May all good fortune attend you!" Oswald answered; and then, with Roger, he made his way back to his post; while the girls hurried on, and entered the forest.



Chapter 11: Bad News.

"This has been a strange adventure, Roger."

"A very strange one, master. Lord Grey would tear his hair, if he knew that those two pretty birds had been hiding in the cage all day, and he never knew it. However, I see not that it can do us harm. Nay, more, there is a probability that it may even benefit us, for if it should happen, by ill fortune, we should ever fall into the hands of the Welsh, and they should abstain from cutting our throats then and there, perchance these young ladies would repay the service we have rendered them, by taking us under their protection."

"It may be so, indeed, Roger, though I hope that I shall never hear more of tonight's adventure. We may reason as we will, but there is no doubt that, although we had no instructions touching the capture of women, we have failed in our duty."

"That will in no way trouble me, Master Oswald. When I was a monk, I failed in my duty scores of times, and am no whit the worse for it; rather the better, indeed, since it is owing to my failures that I am now a free man-at-arms, instead of being mewed up for life in a convent. I shall not sleep one wink less, for having saved two of the prettiest girls I ever saw from having been shut up, for years, in a prison."

"I am afraid your sense of duty is not strong, Roger."

"I am afraid not, master, saving in the matter of doing my duty in face of an enemy."

"You mean, Roger, that you will do your duty when it so pleases you, and not otherwise."

"I expect that is the way with a good many of us," Roger laughed. "I wonder whether Lord Grey had any idea that Glendower's daughters were in the house when we arrived there?"

"I know not, but I remember now that they had men searching, for some time, for signs of secret passages. Whether it was from any idea that Glendower's daughters might be hidden away, I know not."

"Truly it might have been," Roger said, "for I saw, among the spoil that was carried off when the others rode for Chirk, some silks and stuffs that looked like feminine garments.

"There is somebody coming across from the next post," he broke off. "Doubtless it is the captain. You would not tell him what we have done?"

"Certainly not, Roger. My uncle is an old soldier, and though he would not, for my sake, say anything about it, I think not that he would approve of what has been done. 'Tis best, at any rate, to keep it entirely to ourselves."

"All quiet here, as elsewhere?" Alwyn asked as he came up.

"All quiet, Uncle."

"'Tis well; for although methinks that we could hold the place against the Welshmen, we could hardly hope that some of our posts would not be cut off, before they could reach the house. It is well to keep watch, but the more I think of it, the more I feel that Glendower will scarce attack us. He could not hold the place, did he gain it; and it might well be that, after we were turned out again, the place would be destroyed, seeing that it would need two or three hundred men to be shut up here, in garrison."

After waiting half an hour, Alwyn again made the round of the posts, and then went in to rouse the party that were to relieve them. As soon as these issued out, the sentries were called in, and stretched themselves for three hours' sleep.

Before day dawned, a messenger rode in from Chirk, bearing Earl Talbot's orders for the evacuation of the house, as there could be no advantage in retaining it; and, were it empty, Glendower might return there, and afford them another opportunity for capturing him.

On the following day the party broke up. Lord Grey rode with his men to Ruthyn, and the forty men-at-arms from Ludlow returned to that town; where, a few days later, the news arrived that Glendower, with a large following, had established himself on the rugged height of Corwen, and was engaged in strengthening the ancient fortifications on its summit.

For a time there was quiet on the border, and then came the startling news that Glendower had suddenly surprised, plundered, and burnt to the ground the town of Ruthyn, where a fair was being held at the time. Then, having obtained great booty, and greatly injured his enemy Lord Grey, he again retired. It was evident that no local force of sufficient strength could be found to pursue Glendower into his fastnesses on the ranges of Berwyn and Snowdon, and nothing was done until, three months later, the king, on his return from Scotland, marched into Wales with the levies of Warwickshire, Leicestershire, and eight other adjacent counties, while orders were issued to the people of Shrewsbury, and other towns on the eastern border, to hold themselves in readiness to repel any movement of the Welsh in that direction.

The king, however, accomplished nothing. Glendower, with his following, took refuge among the forests of Snowdon; and the English army marched along the north coast, putting to the sword a few bands of peasantry, who ventured to oppose them; crossed to the Isle of Anglesey and, entering the Franciscan monastery of Llanfaes, slew some of the monks and carried the rest to England, and established a community of English monks in the convent. This was done because the Franciscans had been supporters of the late king, and were believed to have given aid and encouragement to Glendower.

The Welsh expedition was, therefore, no more successful than the Scotch had been.

For a time, matters settled down. Glendower was occupied in strengthening his position. So much had his reputation spread, that large numbers of Welshmen who had settled in England now sold their property, gave up their positions and abandoned their careers, and made their way across the border to join him. Still, for some months no operations were undertaken, on either side; and, a week after the return of the king and his forces, Sir Edmund Mortimer said to Oswald:

"I will no longer keep you and your following from your lord's side. I have largely strengthened my garrison, and twenty men, however valiant, are no longer of importance. As you know, I should not have asked Percy to aid me, had I not thought that, perchance, he might have come himself, bringing with him two or three hundred men; and that my sister might have accompanied him. Maybe, if matters go on quietly on the northern marches, he may be able to do so yet; but I fear that the Scotch will take advantage of the troubles here, and may, for aught I know, have entered into communication with Glendower, so that they may together harass the kingdom. I have written several times to him, telling him what good service you and his men have rendered; and that I would I had five hundred such good fighters with me, in which case I would undertake, single handed, to bring this fellow to reason.

"I have written a letter which I will hand you to deliver, saying that, as at present things are quiet and Glendower is in hiding among the mountains, I have sent you back to him; not without the hope that, should greater events take place, he himself will come hither, for a while, to give me the benefit of his knowledge of border warfare, even if he comes accompanied only by my sister and a dozen spears. I may tell you that, some two months since, he wrote saying that he should be glad to have you, and the captain of his garrison of Alnwick, back again; and I then wrote to him, saying that while the king was in Wales I would hold you, seeing that Glendower might make a great foray here, while the king was hunting for him in the north; but that, as soon as he left with his army, I would send you home."

Alwyn and the men were all well pleased when they heard that they were to return; for, since the raid on Glendower's house, their life had been a dull one, to which even the fact that they were receiving pay from Sir Edmund, as well as from Percy, was insufficient to reconcile them; and it was with light hearts that they started, on the following morning, for the north, arriving at Alnwick ten days after leaving. Sir Hotspur came down into the courtyard, as they rode into the castle.

"Welcome back, Oswald; and you, my trusty Alwyn!

"I thank you all, my men, for the manner in which you have borne yourselves, and that you have shown the men of the west how stoutly we Northumbrians can hold our own, in the day of battle. I am glad, indeed, to find that all that went have returned home; some bearing scars, indeed, but none disabled. I will instruct your captain to grant all of you a month's leave, to pay a visit to your families.

"You must sup with us tonight, Alwyn, and give us a full account of your doings, and also your frank opinion as to the state of things in the west, and the probability of long trouble with this strange Welshman, who has so boldly taken up arms, and defied the strength of England."

It was nearly a year since the party had left Alnwick, and Oswald had, in that time, greatly increased in height and strength. He was now eighteen, and as he was nearly six feet in height, and his figure had filled out greatly since he had left his home, he might well have passed as three or four years older than his real age. That evening, Alwyn gave a full account of their fray with the Welsh.

"These men fight stoutly, Alwyn," Percy said, when he had concluded his story.

"Right stoutly, Sir Henry, and were their discipline equal to their bravery, they would be formidable opponents, indeed; but as it is, they are quite unable to stand against men-at-arms in a set battle. In this respect they are by no means equal to the Scotch, but for surprises, or irregular fighting, I could wish to see no better men."

"It is an unfortunate affair," Percy said. "It seemed that we had finished with Wales, at Llewellyn's death, and that the two nations had become one. In London, and many other places, they were settled among us. Numbers of them studied at our universities, and in Shropshire, Radnor, Flint, and other border counties I have heard that most of the labouring men were Welsh, and have come to speak our language; and indeed, they form no small portion of the garrisons of the castles; so much so that I fear that, should the Welsh really ravage the border counties, 'tis like that not a few of the castles will fall into their hands by the treachery of their fellow countrymen in the garrisons.

"Sir Edmund speaks very highly of you, Oswald, not only for your behaviour in the fight, which was reported to him by Sir James Burgon, a knight well fitted to judge in such matters, but as an inmate of his castle. He said that, from your conversation, he has conceived a high opinion of you.

"At present things are somewhat quiet here, and it were well that you should, like your uncle, take a holiday for a time, and visit your father and mother. They have sent over, several times, for news of you."

The next morning Oswald mounted and rode off, attended by Roger, who had asked Oswald to take him with him, as he had no relations he cared to visit. Alwyn was going for a few days only, and indeed, would probably have declined to take a holiday at all, had not Oswald earnestly begged him to go with him.

"'Tis two years since you have been there," Oswald said.

"That is so, Oswald, but I have often been longer without seeing my brother; and, in truth, of late I have had so little to do, with but twenty men to look after, that I long for regular work and drill again. Still, it were best that I went with you. There are turbulent times on hand, both on this border, in Wales, and maybe in France. I may get myself killed, and your father's house may be harried again by the Bairds, and he may not succeed in getting off scatheless, as he did last time; and I should blame myself, afterwards, if I had not seen him, and shaken his hand, when I had an opportunity such as the present."

Oswald had seen so much, during the two years that had passed since he first left the hold that, as he rode towards it, it seemed strange that everything should be going on as if it was but the day before that he had ridden away—the only difference being that the hold looked strangely small, and of little account, after the many strong castles he had seen.

As soon as they reached the moor, within sight of the hold, a horseman was seen to leave it, and ride at a gallop towards them.

"That is ever the way," Oswald said; "we like to know, when a visitor is seen, whether he comes as friend or foe."

As the moss trooper rode up, and was about to put the customary question, he recognized Oswald; and, wheeling his pony without a word, dashed off at full gallop, waving his spear and shouting, as he approached the hold.

They rode at a canter after him and, as they reached the entrance, his father and mother appeared at the door at the top of the steps. The latter ran down the steps and, as Oswald leapt from his horse, threw her arms round his neck.

"Thank God you are back again, my boy!" she cried; "though as yet, I can hardly believe that this tall fellow is my Oswald. But otherwise you are in no way changed."

"I think, Mother, that you are looking better than when I saw you last."

"I am well, dear," she said. "We have had a quiet year, and no cause for anxiety, and things have gone well with us; and it has been pleasant, indeed, for us to have received such good news of your doings, and to know that you stood so well with Hotspur."

Oswald now ran up the steps to greet his father, who was already talking with Alwyn, who had slipped off his horse and run to speak to his brother, while Oswald was occupied with his mother.

"Well, lad," John Forster said, laying his hand upon his shoulder, and looking him up and down, "you have grown well nigh into manhood. I always said that you would over top me, and though methinks that I have still three inches of advantage, you have yet time to grow up to look down on me.

"Well, you have done credit to us, boy, and your monkish reading and writing has not harmed you, as I was afraid it would. Alwyn tells me that no man of Percy's troop did better than you, in that fight with the Welsh; save, mayhap, that big man-at-arms down there, who, he tells me, cracked the skulls of four Welshmen who were trying to stab you, besides those he disposed of on his own account."

"I owe him my life, indeed, Father. He is a man after your own heart, strong and brave and hearty, even jovial when occasion offers. He can troll out a border lay with the best, and can yet read and write as well as an abbot. His name is Roger."

"Come up, Roger," John Forster shouted, "and give me a grip of your hand. You have saved my son's life, as he tells me; and, so long as you live, there will be a nook by the fire, here, and a hearty welcome, when you are tired of soldiering."

"In truth, you are a mighty man," he went on, after he and Roger had exchanged a grip that would have well nigh broken the bones of an ordinary man. "I have been looked upon as one able to strike as hard a blow as any on the border; but assuredly, you would strike a heavier one. Why, man, you must be five or six inches bigger, round the chest, than I am."

"You have been an active man from your youth," Roger replied, "ever on horseback and about, while I spent years with nought to do but eat and drink, and build up my frame, in a monastery."

"Oswald told us, in his letters, that you had been a monk; but had, with the consent of the abbot, unfrocked yourself."

"It was so," Roger replied, with a laugh. "Methinks that it was a happy day for the abbot, as well as for myself, when I laid aside my gown; for I fear that I gave him more trouble than all the rest of his convent. Besides, it was as if a wolf's cub had been brought up among a litter of ladies' lapdogs—it was sure to be an ill time for both."

"And for how long are you at home with us, brother Alwyn?" John Forster asked, presently.

"I am here for a week only, John; but Oswald has leave for a month, seeing that, at present, there is no great chance of Hotspur needing his services. The Scotch are quiet since the king returned, I hear."

"Ay, they are as quiet as is their nature to be, but 'tis not likely to last long. I went not with the army, but I hear that Henry behaved so gently that the Scotch feel that it would be almost an act of ingratitude to meddle with us, for a time. However, that will not last long. Next spring they will doubtless be storming down over the hills again."

The holiday passed delightfully to Oswald. Roger enjoyed it even more. It was so long since the latter had been permitted the freedom of riding at will, over mountain and moor, that he was like a schoolboy enjoying an altogether unwonted holiday. He and Oswald scoured the country, sometimes returning late in the afternoon, but often staying for the night at the houses of one or other of Oswald's friends. Once they crossed the border, and rode to the Armstrongs', where they stopped for a couple of days, bringing Allan and Janet back with them; for Roxburgh was still held by the English, and unless when hostilities were actively going on, the people of the border, save the marauders, who were always ready to seize any opportunity that offered of carrying off booty, were on friendly terms, and maintained frequent intercourse with each other.

Alwyn had returned to Alnwick when his leave was up. He had spent his time quietly at the hold. He and his brother had discussed many plans by which its defences could be strengthened, but arrived at the same conclusion: that it could defend itself, at present, against any small party, but must yield, however much its defences were increased, at the approach of an invading army; since, even with the assistance of the inhabitants of the surrounding districts, it could not maintain itself until an army was gathered, and the invaders driven out.

Occasionally an afternoon was devoted to sports on the moor; and, on one occasion, John Forster sent messengers down to Yardhope, and other villages on the Coquet, and to the holds of his neighbours; inviting them to come to a gathering, at which there would be prizes for riding, wrestling, running, shooting, and feats of arms on horseback and foot, and at which all comers would be entertained.

The result was a gathering such as had not taken place, in that part of the country, for years. Over a thousand people assembled, comprising women as well as men. The sports began early, and the various events were all eagerly contested. Ralph Gray won the horse race, a horse which he had brought from the south being far superior, in speed, to any of the smaller border horses; although, had the trial been for endurance, it would have had but small chance with them. The shooting was close, one of Percy Hope's men winning at last. The quarterstaff prize was awarded to Long Hackett, one of John Forster's retainers. At wrestling Roger bore off the palm. Some of his opponents were, in the opinion of lookers on, more skilled at the sport; but his weight and strength more than counterbalanced this, and one after another tried, in vain, to throw him to the ground; succumbing, themselves, as soon as he put out his strength, and theirs began to be exhausted; when, drawing them up to him with irresistible strength, he laid them quietly on the ground.

Oswald himself carried off the palm in a mile foot race.

At one o'clock the sports were concluded. While they had been going on, a score of men were attending to the great joints roasting over bonfires, six bullocks having been slaughtered the day before. Ducks, geese, and chickens innumerable were also cooking; while, for the table in the hold, at which the principal guests sat down, were trout, game, and venison pasties. Here wine was provided, while outside a long row of barrels of beer were broached, for the commonalty.

Dinner over, there was singing and dancing. Alwyn had engaged, and sent from Alnwick, a score of musicians. These were divided into five parties, stationed at some little distance apart, and round these the younger portion of the gathering soon grouped themselves; while the elders listened to border lays sung by wandering minstrels. The days were shortening fast and, as many of those present had twenty miles to ride, by six o'clock the amusements came to an end, and the gathering scattered in all directions, delighted with the day's proceedings; which, although they would have been thought of but small account in the southern counties, were rare, indeed, in a district so thinly populated, and so frequently engaged in turmoil and strife.

Except in the running match, Oswald had engaged in none of the contests, he being fully occupied in aiding his mother in welcoming the guests, and seeing to their comfort; while his father, assisted by his friends, Hope, Gray, and Liddel, superintended the arrangements for the sports, and acted as judges. In the afternoon, Oswald and his cousins had joined heartily in the dances, and enjoyed the day to the full as much as their visitors.

Gatherings of this kind were not uncommon. Shooting, wrestling, and sword-playing for the men, and dancing on the green for the young people, took place at most of the village fairs; but the gathering at Yardhope was long talked about, as a special occasion, from the hospitality in which all were included, and the number of the heads of the border families who were present, and took part in the proceedings.

Oswald's mother had been the prime mover in the matter. She was proud of her son, and thought that it was a good occasion to present him to the countryside, as one who was now arriving at manhood, and was likely, in time, to make a figure on the border. John Forster had at first declared that it was wholly unnecessary, and that such a thing had never taken place in his time, or in his father's before him.

"That may be, husband," she said, "but Oswald has been away from us for two years, and it may be as much more before he returns. He is like to become a knight, before long—Alwyn said that the lad was sure to win his spurs—and it would be well that he should not slip out of the memory of folks here. Besides, we have his cousins, and it is well that they should carry back news that, in spite of the troublous times, we can yet be merry on suitable occasions.

"The cost will not be very great. The meat can scarcely be counted, seeing that we have as many cattle on the moor as can pick up a living there. Moreover, our neighbours all gave us a helping hand, to repair the hold after it was sacked last year, and 'tis but right that we should hold some sort of gathering, and this will do for the two purposes."

The last argument had more weight with John Forster than the former ones. Once having consented, he took as much interest in it as did his wife; and dug up the pot in which he stowed away any sums that remained, at the end of each year, over and above the expenses of the hold; and provided all that was required, without stinting.

Three days after the gathering, the Armstrongs returned home, and Oswald rode with Roger to Alnwick. The next three months passed quietly and uneventfully. Snow was lying deep on the Cheviots, and until spring there was little chance of the Scotch making a foray.

Oswald worked hard in the hall, where the knights kept themselves in exercise, practised with the young squires, and superintended the drilling and practice of the men-at-arms, of whom the number at the castle had been much increased; for none doubted that in the spring the Scots would, after Henry's invasion, pay a return visit to England, and that the northern counties would need a very strong force to hold them in check.

He was, several times, sent by Percy with messages to the governors of Roxburgh and Jedburgh, and to other commanders; calling upon them to be vigilant, and to send in lists of arms and stores required, so that all should be in good order to make a stout resistance, when the need came.

When he had received no special orders to return with speed to Alnwick, Oswald generally found time to pay a visit of a few hours to the Armstrongs. On these excursions Roger and another man-at-arms always rode with him, for it would not have been becoming for a squire, and messenger of Hotspur, to ride without such escort.

Alwyn had picked out, for Roger's use, one of the strongest horses in the castle. It was not a showy animal, having a big ugly head, and being vicious in temper; therefore, after some trial, it had been handed over to the men-at-arms, instead of being retained for the service of the knights. It had, at first, tried its best to establish a mastership over the trooper; but it soon found that its efforts were as nothing against the strength of its rider, and that it might as well try to shake off its saddle as to rid itself of the trooper, the grip of whose knees almost stopped its breathing. Oswald, too, was very well mounted, Sir Edmund Mortimer having presented him with one of the best horses in the stable, upon his leaving him.

Upon nearing Hiniltie one day, just as the new year had begun, Oswald was alarmed at seeing smoke wreaths ascending from the knoll behind the village upon which the Armstrongs' hold stood. Galloping on, he soon saw that his first impressions were correct, and that his uncle's tower was on fire. He found the village in confusion.

"What has happened?" he asked, reining in his horse for a moment.

"The hold was suddenly attacked, two hours ago," a man said. "A party of reivers rode through here. None had seen them coming, and there was no time for us to take our women and children, and hurry to the shelter of the hold. Adam Armstrong is away at Roxburgh. Young Allan, with what few men there were at the hold, had but just time to shut the gates; but these were hewed down, in a short time, by the troopers. There was a stout fight as they entered. Allan was cut down and left for dead, and the troopers were all killed. Dame Armstrong was slain, and her daughters carried off by the reivers; and these, as soon as they had sacked the house, set it alight and galloped off. Most of the men here were away in the fields, or with the flocks in the valleys, and we were too few to hinder them, and could but shut ourselves up in the houses, until they had gone."

Oswald had dropped his reins, in speechless dismay.

"It is terrible," he said, at last. "Aunt killed, Janet and Jessie carried away, and Allan wounded, perhaps to death!"

"Whence came these villains?" he asked suddenly. "From beyond the Cheviots? It can hardly be so, for this part is under the governor of Roxburgh, and no English raiders would dare to meddle with any here. Besides, my uncle has always been on good terms with them, holding himself aloof from all quarrels, and having friends and relations on both sides of the border."

"We believe that it was the Bairds," a man said. "There has long been a standing quarrel between them and the Armstrongs, partly about stolen cattle, but more, methinks, because of the relationship between the Armstrongs and your people"—for Oswald's visits to his uncle had made his face familiar to the villagers—"and they say that the Bairds have sworn that they will never rest, until they have slain the last of the Forsters."

"Where is Allan Armstrong?"

"They have carried him down to the last house in the village. The priest and Meg Margetson, who knows more of wounds and simples than anyone here, are with him."

"Has his mother's body been recovered?"

The man shook his head.

"The hold was on fire, from roof to cellar, before they left," he said. "I and others ran up there, directly they had galloped away. The house was like a furnace. And indeed, we knew not of her death until a boy, who had seen her slain, and had dropped from a window and hidden himself till they had gone, came out and told us. He, and two or three others, are the only ones left alive of those in the hold, when we arrived and saved young Allan; and indeed, whether he lives now, or not, I know not. The priest said, when we carried him in, that his state was almost beyond hope."

Oswald galloped on to the end of the village, leapt from his horse, and threw the reins to Roger, who had been muttering words that he certainly would not have found in the missals, or the books, of the monastery.

"Is there nothing to be done, Master Oswald?"

"Not at present. We must wait till my uncle returns."

Then he entered the house. He had met the priest frequently, during his stay with the Armstrongs; as he entered the room, he was standing by a pallet on which Allan was laid, while a very old woman was attending to a decoction that was boiling over the fire.

"Is there any hope, father?"

"I know not," the priest replied, shaking his head sorrowfully. "We have stanched the wounds, but his head is well nigh cleft open. I have some skill in wounds, for they are common enough in this unfortunate country, and I should say that there was no hope; but Meg here, who is noted through the country round for her knowledge in these matters, thinks that it is possible he may yet recover. She is now making a poultice of herbs that she will lay on the wound; or rather on the wounds, for he has no less than four."

"I think that he will live, young master," the old woman said in a quavering, high-pitched voice. "'Tis hard to kill an Armstrong. They have ever been a hardy race and, save the lad's father, have ever been prone to the giving and taking of blows. I watched by his grandfather's bed, when he was in as sore a strait as this; but he came round, and was none the worse for it, though the blow would have killed any man with a softer skull.

"A curse upon the Bairds, I say. They have ever been a race of thieves and raiders, and it is their doings that have brought trouble on the border, as long as I can remember."

"Has any gone to bear the news to Adam Armstrong, father?"

"Yes. I sent off a messenger on horseback, as soon as they had gone. Adam left early, and the man will meet him on his way back."

Half an hour later, indeed, Adam Armstrong rode in. Oswald met him outside. His face was set and hard, and Oswald would scarce have recognized the kindly, genial man who had always received him so heartily.

"There are hopes that he will live," Oswald said.

There was a slight change in the expression of Armstrong's face.

"'Tis well," he said, "that one should be saved, to take revenge for this foul business. All the others are gone."

"I hope we may rescue my cousins."

"We might as well try to rescue a young lamb, that had been carried off by an eagle," he said bitterly. "Even could an archer send a shaft through the bird's breastbone, the lamb would be bleeding and injured, beyond all hope, ere it touched the ground. We may revenge, Oswald, but I have no hope of rescue."

Then he went into the house, without further word.



Chapter 12: A Dangerous Mission.

Half an hour later, Adam Armstrong came out of the cottage where his son was lying. His mood had changed. He had gathered hope from Meg Margetson's confident assurances that there was ground for it.

"Now, let us talk of what had best be done, Oswald," he said, as he led the way into the next cottage, where the woman at once turned her children out, and cleared a room for him.

"What force could you gather, Uncle?"

"In my grandfather's time," he said, "two hundred Armstrongs, and their followers, could gather in case of need; but the family was grievously thinned, in the days when Edward carried fire and sword through Scotland; and for the last fifty years Roxburgh and these parts have been mostly under English rule, and in that time we have never gathered as a family. Still, all my kin would, I know, take up this quarrel; and I should say that, in twelve hours, we could gather fifty or sixty stout fighting men.

"But the Bairds would be expecting us, and can put, with the families allied to them and their retainers, nigh three hundred men under arms. Their hold is so strong a one that it took fifteen hundred Englishmen, under Umfraville, three weeks to capture it. It was destroyed then, but it is stronger now than ever.

"Could we get aid from Roxburgh, think you?"

"I fear not, Uncle. I know that the governor has strict orders not to give Douglas any pretext for invading us, and to hold his garrison together; since the earl may, at any moment, endeavour to capture the town before help could arrive. And even were he to send four or five hundred men, the Bairds could hold out for a fortnight, at least; and long before this Douglas would be down, with an army, to his rescue.

"I have been talking it over with my trusty companion, here, and he agrees with me that, unless a body of men-at-arms that would avail to capture the fortalice by a sudden assault can be raised, we must trust to guile rather than force; and I propose that he and I shall, at once, start for the hold and see how matters stand, and where the prisoners are confined, and what hope there is of getting them free. I propose to send my other man to Yardhope, to tell my father what has happened, and to ask him to warn his friends to be ready to cross the border, and to join any force you can gather for an attack on the Bairds. It is true that stringent orders have been issued that there is to be no raiding in Scotland, but my father would not heed that for a moment. The attack that has been made upon you, the killing of his wife's sister, the wounding of Allan, and carrying off of his nieces would be deemed, by him, a grievance sufficient to justify his disregarding all orders. Besides which, he has the old grievance against the Bairds, which is all the more bitter since they led the Scots to attack Yardhope. I can guarantee that, when he gets word from you as to the day and place, he will meet you there with at least a hundred spears. It is true that, with this force and that which you can bring, he could not hope to capture the Bairds' hold; but together you could carry sword and fire through his district, before he could gather a force to meet you in the field."

"I fear that would not do, Oswald. William Baird would be capable of hanging the girls from the battlements, when the first fire was lit."

Oswald was silent. From the tales he had heard of the ferocity of these dreaded marauders, he felt that it was more than probable that his uncle was right.

"It seems to me," he said, after a pause, "that it were best for you to send two men to Parton; which is, as I have heard, though I have never been there, ten miles south of the Bairds'. Let them give the name of Johnstone; and, at the tavern where they put up, say they expect a relative of the same name. As soon as I can find out how the affair had best be managed, I will give them instructions as to the plans I propose. One will carry them to you, and the other to my father. Will Parton be a good place for you to join forces?"

"As well as any other, Oswald. Your plan seems to me a good one. At any rate, I can think of nothing better. My brain is deadened by this terrible misfortune. Had I my own will, I would ride straight to the Bairds' hold and challenge him and his brothers and sons to meet me, one after another, in fair combat; and should be well contented if I could slay one or two of them, before being myself killed."

"I can quite understand that, Uncle. But your death would be, in no way, an advantage to the girls; nay, would rather render them more helpless, therefore I pray you to let me carry things out as I have planned."

His uncle nodded.

"I shall send out a dozen runners to my friends," he said, "and beg them to be here tomorrow morning, early. Then, when I have talked matters over with them, I shall ride to Roxburgh and lay the matter before the governor. I know that I shall get no help from him; but at least, when he hears of a gathering here, he will know that 'tis with no evil intention against the English."

Ten minutes later, Oswald's messenger started for Yardhope, with a full account of the step he was taking, and of the arrangements that had been made. This done, he had a long talk with Roger.

"Now, Roger," he said, "this will be the most dangerous business in which we have been concerned; and I should not venture to undertake it, did I not know that I could rely, absolutely, upon you."

"I will do my best, master, and will adventure my life all the more willingly, since it is in the service of Allan and Janet Armstrong. They were always pleasant and friendly with me, at Yardhope, and I like them for themselves, as well as because they are your cousins. Now, master, what is to be done?"

"Have you your gown with you, Roger?"

"No, master. I know you always told me to take it with me, thinking that it might come in useful, and I carried it under my saddle all the time we were in Wales; but, seeing that this was but a ride to Jedburgh and back, I thought that there would be no occasion for it."

"That is unfortunate, Roger, for it is upon this that we must depend to get an entry into the Bairds' hold."

"Well, master, I can doubtless get some rough cloth of the colour, at Jedburgh; and indeed, there is a small monastery about three miles hence on the road, and it may be that, if Adam Armstrong will go with us and say wherefore it is wanted, the prior will let him have one."

"I will see him at once. No time must be lost. While he is away, you must shave your head again."

Roger's face fell.

"'Tis hard, master, after it has grown so well to match the rest. Still, for so good a purpose I must even give in."

On hearing what was wanted, Armstrong mounted and rode off at once and, while he was away, one of the villagers shaved the top of Roger's head again. In an hour, Armstrong brought back a monk's gown.

"He was loath to let me have it even, for such a purpose, though I told him that you were once a monk of the order. Finally he said that his conscience would not allow him to lend it, but that he would sell it to me for six pennies, which I gladly gave him."

"It is dark now," Oswald said, "and I know not the road. Can you give me some man to put me on the way? We will not make straight for the Bairds', but will strike the road from Glasgow, some ten or twelve miles north of his place, so that we can come down from that direction. Then our guide, after taking us on to the road, had best take charge of the horses and lead them to Parton, there to remain with them until your messenger, and the one from Yardhope, arrive. It would be as well to have the horses there, for we cannot know what need we may have of them."

"That I will arrange at once, Oswald. Is there aught else?"

"Yes, Uncle, I must leave my armour and clothes here, and borrow others that will pass as a disguise."

"How would you go, Oswald?"

"In truth, it is a difficult matter. That of a minstrel would be the best passport, but I know nought of harp or other instrument. I might go as a vendor of philters and charms, a sort of half-witted chap, whose mother concocted such things."

"They would never let you into the Bairds' castle, Oswald."

"Then I must be a rough man-at-arms, one who had been in the service of the Earl of March; and who, when he turned traitor and went over to the English, found himself without employment; and asked nothing better than to enter the service of someone who will give him bread and meat, in return for any services that he can render, whether in hunting up any cattle among the hills, or striking a shrewd blow in the service of his employer, if needs be."

"That must do, if we can think of nothing better, Oswald. I will speedily bring you the things you require, as they will be found in every house in the village; and some, alas! will be needed no more by those who wore them."

"They must be of good size, Uncle."

"Ay, ay, lad. There must have been some tall fellows, among those they slew today."

Half an hour later, Roger and Oswald mounted. His uncle sent two of his men with them, saying that it would look strange were one man to come, with two horses, to Parton; but that two, saying that their masters would follow, would seem a more probable tale.

"They will, if they can, find some quiet farmhouse a mile out of the village, and there get lodgings for themselves and beasts. You can arrange with them to take up their station on the road, so that you can, if needs be, find them."

It was with a sigh that Roger flung himself into the saddle. It was not the horse on which he had ridden there, but a strong, shaggy pony.

"He does not look much," one of the men said, "but there is no better horse, of the sort, in the country. He has both speed and bottom, and can carry you up or down hill, and is as sure-footed as a goat."

Roger had assented to the change, for his own horse was as unlike one that a monk would have bestrode as could be well imagined. He had obtained a stout staff, to which the village smith had added two or three iron rings at each end, rendering it a formidable weapon, indeed, in such hands.

"It reminds me of our start for Dunbar, master," he said. "One might have a worse weapon than this;" and he swung it round his head, in quarterstaff fashion; "still, I prefer a mace."

"That staff will do just as well, Roger. A man would need a hard skull, indeed, to require more than one blow from such a weapon."