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Chapter 2


BOOK I - THE TWO LADS : CHAPTER I - AT THE SIGN OF THE SUN IN KETTLEY

Sir Daniel and his men lay in and about Kettley that night, warmly
quartered and well patrolled.  But the Knight of Tunstall was one
who never rested from money-getting; and even now, when he was on
the brink of an adventure which should make or mar him, he was up
an hour after midnight to squeeze poor neighbours.  He was one who
trafficked greatly in disputed inheritances; it was his way to buy
out the most unlikely claimant, and then, by the favour he curried
with great lords about the king, procure unjust decisions in his
favour; or, if that was too roundabout, to seize the disputed manor
by force of arms, and rely on his influence and Sir Oliver's
cunning in the law to hold what he had snatched.  Kettley was one
such place; it had come very lately into his clutches; he still met
with opposition from the tenants; and it was to overawe discontent
that he had led his troops that way.

By two in the morning, Sir Daniel sat in the inn room, close by the
fireside, for it was cold at that hour among the fens of Kettley.
By his elbow stood a pottle of spiced ale.  He had taken off his
visored headpiece, and sat with his bald head and thin, dark visage
resting on one hand, wrapped warmly in a sanguine-coloured cloak.
At the lower end of the room about a dozen of his men stood sentry
over the door or lay asleep on benches; and somewhat nearer hand, a
young lad, apparently of twelve or thirteen, was stretched in a
mantle on the floor.  The host of the Sun stood before the great
man.

"Now, mark me, mine host," Sir Daniel said, "follow but mine
orders, and I shall be your good lord ever.  I must have good men
for head boroughs, and I will have Adam-a-More high constable; see
to it narrowly.  If other men be chosen, it shall avail you
nothing; rather it shall be found to your sore cost.  For those
that have paid rent to Walsingham I shall take good measure - you
among the rest, mine host."

"Good knight," said the host, "I will swear upon the cross of
Holywood I did but pay to Walsingham upon compulsion.  Nay, bully
knight, I love not the rogue Walsinghams; they were as poor as
thieves, bully knight.  Give me a great lord like you.  Nay; ask me
among the neighbours, I am stout for Brackley."

"It may be," said Sir Daniel, dryly.  "Ye shall then pay twice."

The innkeeper made a horrid grimace; but this was a piece of bad
luck that might readily befall a tenant in these unruly times, and
he was perhaps glad to make his peace so easily.

"Bring up yon fellow, Selden!" cried the knight.

And one of his retainers led up a poor, cringing old man, as pale
as a candle, and all shaking with the fen fever.

"Sirrah," said Sir Daniel, "your name?"

"An't please your worship," replied the man, "my name is Condall -
Condall of Shoreby, at your good worship's pleasure."

"I have heard you ill reported on," returned the knight.  "Ye deal
in treason, rogue; ye trudge the country leasing; y' are heavily
suspicioned of the death of severals.  How, fellow, are ye so bold?
But I will bring you down."

"Right honourable and my reverend lord," the man cried, "here is
some hodge-podge, saving your good presence.  I am but a poor
private man, and have hurt none."

"The under-sheriff did report of you most vilely," said the knight.
"'Seize me,' saith he, 'that Tyndal of Shoreby.'"

"Condall, my good lord; Condall is my poor name," said the
unfortunate.

"Condall or Tyndal, it is all one," replied Sir Daniel, coolly.
"For, by my sooth, y' are here and I do mightily suspect your
honesty.  If ye would save your neck, write me swiftly an
obligation for twenty pound."

"For twenty pound, my good lord!" cried Condall.  "Here is
midsummer madness!  My whole estate amounteth not to seventy
shillings."

"Condall or Tyndal," returned Sir Daniel, grinning, "I will run my
peril of that loss.  Write me down twenty, and when I have
recovered all I may, I will be good lord to you, and pardon you the
rest."

"Alas! my good lord, it may not be; I have no skill to write," said
Condall.

"Well-a-day!" returned the knight.  "Here, then, is no remedy.  Yet
I would fain have spared you, Tyndal, had my conscience suffered.
Selden, take me this old shrew softly to the nearest elm, and hang
me him tenderly by the neck, where I may see him at my riding.
Fare ye well, good Master Condall, dear Master Tyndal; y' are post-
haste for Paradise; fare ye then well!"

"Nay, my right pleasant lord," replied Condall, forcing an
obsequious smile, "an ye be so masterful, as doth right well become
you, I will even, with all my poor skill, do your good bidding."

"Friend," quoth Sir Daniel, "ye will now write two score.  Go to!
y' are too cunning for a livelihood of seventy shillings.  Selden,
see him write me this in good form, and have it duly witnessed."

And Sir Daniel, who was a very merry knight, none merrier in
England, took a drink of his mulled ale, and lay back, smiling.

Meanwhile, the boy upon the floor began to stir, and presently sat
up and looked about him with a scare.

"Hither," said Sir Daniel; and as the other rose at his command and
came slowly towards him, he leaned back and laughed outright.  "By
the rood!" he cried, "a sturdy boy!"

The lad flushed crimson with anger, and darted a look of hate out
of his dark eyes.  Now that he was on his legs, it was more
difficult to make certain of his age.  His face looked somewhat
older in expression, but it was as smooth as a young child's; and
in bone and body he was unusually slender, and somewhat awkward of
gait.

"Ye have called me, Sir Daniel," he said.  "Was it to laugh at my
poor plight?"

"Nay, now, let laugh," said the knight.  "Good shrew, let laugh, I
pray you.  An ye could see yourself, I warrant ye would laugh the
first."

"Well," cried the lad, flushing, "ye shall answer this when ye
answer for the other.  Laugh while yet ye may!"

"Nay, now, good cousin," replied Sir Daniel, with some earnestness,
"think not that I mock at you, except in mirth, as between kinsfolk
and singular friends.  I will make you a marriage of a thousand
pounds, go to! and cherish you exceedingly.  I took you, indeed,
roughly, as the time demanded; but from henceforth I shall
ungrudgingly maintain and cheerfully serve you.  Ye shall be Mrs.
Shelton - Lady Shelton, by my troth! for the lad promiseth bravely.
Tut! ye will not shy for honest laughter; it purgeth melancholy.
They are no rogues who laugh, good cousin.  Good mine host, lay me
a meal now for my cousin, Master John.  Sit ye down, sweetheart,
and eat."

"Nay," said Master John, "I will break no bread.  Since ye force me
to this sin, I will fast for my soul's interest.  But, good mine
host, I pray you of courtesy give me a cup of fair water; I shall
be much beholden to your courtesy indeed."

"Ye shall have a dispensation, go to!" cried the knight.  "Shalt be
well shriven, by my faith!  Content you, then, and eat."

But the lad was obstinate, drank a cup of water, and, once more
wrapping himself closely in his mantle, sat in a far corner,
brooding.

In an hour or two, there rose a stir in the village of sentries
challenging and the clatter of arms and horses; and then a troop
drew up by the inn door, and Richard Shelton, splashed with mud,
presented himself upon the threshold.

"Save you, Sir Daniel," he said.

"How!  Dickie Shelton!" cried the knight; and at the mention of
Dick's name the other lad looked curiously across.  "What maketh
Bennet Hatch?"

"Please you, sir knight, to take cognisance of this packet from Sir
Oliver, wherein are all things fully stated," answered Richard,
presenting the priest's letter.  "And please you farther, ye were
best make all speed to Risingham; for on the way hither we
encountered one riding furiously with letters, and by his report,
my Lord of Risingham was sore bested, and lacked exceedingly your
presence."

"How say you?  Sore bested?" returned the knight.  "Nay, then, we
will make speed sitting down, good Richard.  As the world goes in
this poor realm of England, he that rides softliest rides surest.
Delay, they say, begetteth peril; but it is rather this itch of
doing that undoes men; mark it, Dick.  But let me see, first, what
cattle ye have brought.  Selden, a link here at the door!"

And Sir Daniel strode forth into the village street, and, by the
red glow of a torch, inspected his new troops.  He was an unpopular
neighbour and an unpopular master; but as a leader in war he was
well-beloved by those who rode behind his pennant.  His dash, his
proved courage, his forethought for the soldiers' comfort, even his
rough gibes, were all to the taste of the bold blades in jack and
salet.

"Nay, by the rood!" he cried, "what poor dogs are these?  Here be
some as crooked as a bow, and some as lean as a spear.  Friends, ye
shall ride in the front of the battle; I can spare you, friends.
Mark me this old villain on the piebald!  A two-year mutton riding
on a hog would look more soldierly!  Ha!  Clipsby, are ye there,
old rat?  Y' are a man I could lose with a good heart; ye shall go
in front of all, with a bull's eye painted on your jack, to be the
better butt for archery; sirrah, ye shall show me the way."

"I will show you any way, Sir Daniel, but the way to change sides,"
returned Clipsby, sturdily.

Sir Daniel laughed a guffaw.

"Why, well said!" he cried.  "Hast a shrewd tongue in thy mouth, go
to!  I will forgive you for that merry word.  Selden, see them fed,
both man and brute."

The knight re-entered the inn.

"Now, friend Dick," he said, "fall to.  Here is good ale and bacon.
Eat, while that I read."

Sir Daniel opened the packet, and as he read his brow darkened.
When he had done he sat a little, musing.  Then he looked sharply
at his ward.

"Dick," said he, "Y' have seen this penny rhyme?"

The lad replied in the affirmative.

"It bears your father's name," continued the knight; "and our poor
shrew of a parson is, by some mad soul, accused of slaying him."

"He did most eagerly deny it," answered Dick.

"He did?" cried the knight, very sharply.  "Heed him not.  He has a
loose tongue; he babbles like a jack-sparrow.  Some day, when I may
find the leisure, Dick, I will myself more fully inform you of
these matters.  There was one Duckworth shrewdly blamed for it; but
the times were troubled, and there was no justice to be got."

"It befell at the Moat House?" Dick ventured, with a beating at his
heart.

"It befell between the Moat House and Holywood," replied Sir
Daniel, calmly; but he shot a covert glance, black with suspicion,
at Dick's face.  "And now," added the knight, "speed you with your
meal; ye shall return to Tunstall with a line from me."

Dick's face fell sorely.

"Prithee, Sir Daniel," he cried, "send one of the villains!  I
beseech you let me to the battle.  I can strike a stroke, I promise
you."

"I misdoubt it not," replied Sir Daniel, sitting down to write.
"But here, Dick, is no honour to be won.  I lie in Kettley till I
have sure tidings of the war, and then ride to join me with the
conqueror.  Cry not on cowardice; it is but wisdom, Dick; for this
poor realm so tosseth with rebellion, and the king's name and
custody so changeth hands, that no man may be certain of the
morrow.  Toss-pot and Shuttle-wit run in, but my Lord Good-Counsel
sits o' one side, waiting."

With that, Sir Daniel, turning his back to Dick, and quite at the
farther end of the long table, began to write his letter, with his
mouth on one side, for this business of the Black Arrow stuck
sorely in his throat.

Meanwhile, young Shelton was going on heartily enough with his
breakfast, when he felt a touch upon his arm, and a very soft voice
whispering in his ear.

"Make not a sign, I do beseech you," said the voice, "but of your
charity tell me the straight way to Holywood.  Beseech you, now,
good boy, comfort a poor soul in peril and extreme distress, and
set me so far forth upon the way to my repose."

"Take the path by the windmill," answered Dick, in the same tone;
"it will bring you to Till Ferry; there inquire again."

And without turning his head, he fell again to eating.  But with
the tail of his eye he caught a glimpse of the young lad called
Master John stealthily creeping from the room.

"Why," thought Dick, "he is a young as I.  'Good boy' doth he call
me?  An I had known, I should have seen the varlet hanged ere I had
told him.  Well, if he goes through the fen, I may come up with him
and pull his ears."

Half an hour later, Sir Daniel gave Dick the letter, and bade him
speed to the Moat House.  And, again, some half an hour after
Dick's departure, a messenger came, in hot haste, from my Lord of
Risingham.

"Sir Daniel," the messenger said, "ye lose great honour, by my
sooth!  The fight began again this morning ere the dawn, and we
have beaten their van and scattered their right wing.  Only the
main battle standeth fast.  An we had your fresh men, we should
tilt you them all into the river.  What, sir knight!  Will ye be
the last?  It stands not with your good credit."

"Nay," cried the knight, "I was but now upon the march.  Selden,
sound me the tucket.  Sir, I am with you on the instant.  It is not
two hours since the more part of my command came in, sir messenger.
What would ye have?  Spurring is good meat, but yet it killed the
charger.  Bustle, boys!"

By this time the tucket was sounding cheerily in the morning, and
from all sides Sir Daniel's men poured into the main street and
formed before the inn.  They had slept upon their arms, with
chargers saddled, and in ten minutes five-score men-at-arms and
archers, cleanly equipped and briskly disciplined, stood ranked and
ready.  The chief part were in Sir Daniel's livery, murrey and
blue, which gave the greater show to their array.  The best armed
rode first; and away out of sight, at the tail of the column, came
the sorry reinforcement of the night before.  Sir Daniel looked
with pride along the line.

"Here be the lads to serve you in a pinch," he said.

"They are pretty men, indeed," replied the messenger.  "It but
augments my sorrow that ye had not marched the earlier."

"Well," said the knight, "what would ye?  The beginning of a feast
and the end of a fray, sir messenger;" and he mounted into his
saddle.  "Why! how now!" he cried.  "John!  Joanna!  Nay, by the
sacred rood! where is she?  Host, where is that girl?"

"Girl, Sir Daniel?" cried the landlord.  "Nay, sir, I saw no girl."

"Boy, then, dotard!" cried the knight.  "Could ye not see it was a
wench?  She in the murrey-coloured mantle - she that broke her fast
with water, rogue - where is she?"

"Nay, the saints bless us!  Master John, ye called him," said the
host.  "Well, I thought none evil.  He is gone.  I saw him - her -
I saw her in the stable a good hour agone; 'a was saddling a grey
horse."

"Now, by the rood!" cried Sir Daniel, "the wench was worth five
hundred pound to me and more."

"Sir knight," observed the messenger, with bitterness, "while that
ye are here, roaring for five hundred pounds, the realm of England
is elsewhere being lost and won."

"It is well said," replied Sir Daniel.  "Selden, fall me out with
six cross-bowmen; hunt me her down.  I care not what it cost; but,
at my returning, let me find her at the Moat House.  Be it upon
your head.  And now, sir messenger, we march."

And the troop broke into a good trot, and Selden and his six men
were left behind upon the street of Kettley, with the staring
villagers.


Robert Louis Stevenson