Winning His Spurs by George Alfred Henty

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WINNING HIS SPURS

A Tale of the Crusades.

BY G. A. HENTY

1895

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. THE OUTLAWS
CHAPTER II. A RESCUE
CHAPTER III. THE CAPTURE OF WORTHAM HOLD
CHAPTER IV. THE CRUSADES
CHAPTER V. PREPARATIONS
CHAPTER VI. THE LISTS
CHAPTER VII. REVENGE
CHAPTER VIII. THE ATTACK
CHAPTER IX. THE PRINCESS BERENGARIA
CHAPTER X. PIRATES
CHAPTER XI. IN THE HOLY LAND
CHAPTER XII. THE ACCOLADE
CHAPTER XIII. IN THE HANDS OF THE SARACENS
CHAPTER XIV. AN EFFORT FOR FREEDOM
CHAPTER XV. A HERMIT'S TALE
CHAPTER XVI. A FIGHT OF HEROES
CHAPTER XVII. AN ALFINE STORM
CHAPTER XVIII. SENTENCED TO DEATH
CHAPTER XIX. DRESDEN
CHAPTER XX. UNDER THE GREENWOOD
CHAPTER XXI. THE ATTEMPT ON THE CONVENT
CHAPTER XXII. A DASTARDLY STRATAGEM
CHAPTER XXIII. THE FALSE AND PERJURED KNIGHT
CHAPTER XXIV. THE SIEGE OF EVESHAM CASTLE
CHAPTER XXV. IN SEARCH OF THE KING
CHAPTER XXVI. KING RICHARD'S RETURN TO ENGLAND

WINNING HIS SPURS.

CHAPTER I.

THE OUTLAWS.

It was a bright morning in the month of August, when a lad of some
fifteen years of age, sitting on a low wall, watched party after party of
armed men riding up to the castle of the Earl of Evesham. A casual
observer glancing at his curling hair and bright open face, as also at
the fashion of his dress, would at once have assigned to him a purely
Saxon origin; but a keener eye would have detected signs that Norman
blood ran also in his veins, for his figure was lither and lighter, his
features more straightly and shapely cut, than was common among Saxons.
His dress consisted of a tight-fitting jerkin, descending nearly to his
knees. The material was a light-blue cloth, while over his shoulder hung
a short cloak of a darker hue. His cap was of Saxon fashion, and he wore
on one side a little plume of a heron. In a somewhat costly belt hung a
light short sword, while across his knees lay a crossbow, in itself
almost a sure sign of its bearer being of other than Saxon blood. The boy
looked anxiously as party after party rode past towards the castle.

"I would give something," he said, "to know what wind blows these knaves
here. From every petty castle in the Earl's feu the retainers seem
hurrying here. Is he bent, I wonder, on settling once and for all his
quarrels with the Baton of Wortham? or can he be intending to make a
clear sweep of the woods? Ah! here comes my gossip Hubert; he may tell me
the meaning of this gathering."

Leaping to his feet, the speaker started at a brisk walk to meet a
jovial-looking personage coming down from the direction of the castle.
The new comer was dressed in the attire of a falconer, and two dogs
followed at his heels.

"Ah, Master Cuthbert," he said, "what brings you so near to the castle?
It is not often that you favour us with your presence."

"I am happier in the woods, as you well know, and was on my way thither
but now, when I paused at the sight of all these troopers flocking in to
Evesham. What enterprise has Sir Walter on hand now, think you?"

"The earl keeps his own counsel," said the falconer, "but methinks a
shrewd guess might be made at the purport of the gathering. It was but
three days since that his foresters were beaten back by the landless
men, whom they caught in the very act of cutting up a fat buck. As thou
knowest, my lord though easy and well-disposed to all, and not fond of
harassing and driving the people as are many of his neighbours, is yet
to the full as fanatical anent his forest privileges as the worst of
them. They tell me that when the news came in of the poor figure that
his foresters cut with broken bows and draggled plumes--for the varlets
had soused them in a pond of not over savoury water--he swore a great
oath that he would clear the forest of the bands. It may be, indeed,
that this gathering is for the purpose of falling in force upon that
evil-disposed and most treacherous baron, Sir John of Wortham, who has
already begun to harry some of the outlying lands, and has driven off, I
hear, many heads of cattle. It is a quarrel which will have to be fought
out sooner or later, and the sooner the better, say I. Although I am no
man of war, and love looking after my falcons or giving food to my dogs
far more than exchanging hard blows, yet would I gladly don the buff and
steel coat to aid in levelling the keep of that robber and tyrant, Sir
John of Wortham."

"Thanks, good Hubert," said the lad. "I must not stand gossiping here.
The news you have told me, as you know, touches me closely, for I would
not that harm should come to the forest men."

"Let it not out, I beseech thee, Cuthbert, that the news came from me,
for temperate as Sir Walter is at most times, he would, methinks, give
me short shift did he know that the wagging of my tongue might have
given warning through which the outlaws of the Chase should slip through
his fingers."

"Fear not, Hubert; I can be mum when the occasion needs. Can you tell me
farther, when the bands now gathering are likely to set forth?"

"In brief breathing space," the falconer replied. "Those who first
arrived I left swilling beer, and devouring pies and other provisions
cooked for them last night, and from what I hear, they will set forth as
soon as the last comer has arrived. Whichever be their quarry, they will
try to fall upon it before the news of their arrival is bruited abroad."

With a wave of his hand to the falconer the boy started. Leaving the
road, and striking across the slightly undulated country dotted here
and there by groups of trees, the lad ran at a brisk trot, without
stopping to halt or breathe, until after half an hour's run he arrived
at the entrance of a building, whose aspect proclaimed it to be the
abode of a Saxon franklin of some importance. It would not be called a
castle, but was rather a fortified house, with a few windows looking
without, and surrounded by a moat crossed by a drawbridge, and capable
of sustaining anything short of a real attack. Erstwood had but lately
passed into Norman hands, and was indeed at present owned by a Saxon.
Sir William de Lance, the father of the lad who is now entering its
portals, was a friend and follower of the Earl of Evesham; and soon
after his lord had married Gweneth the heiress of all these fair
lands--given to him by the will of the king, to whom by the death of
her father she became a ward--Sir William had married Editha, the
daughter and heiress of the franklin of Erstwood, a cousin and dear
friend of the new Countess of Evesham.

In neither couple could the marriage at first have been called one of
inclination on the part of the ladies, but love came after marriage.
Although the knights and barons of the Norman invasion would, no doubt,
be considered rude and rough in these days of broadcloth and
civilization, yet their manners were gentle and polished by the side of
those of the rough though kindly Saxon franklins; and although the Saxon
maids were doubtless as patriotic as their fathers and mothers, yet the
female mind is greatly led by gentle manners and courteous address. Thus
then, when bidden or forced to give their hands to the Norman knights,
they speedily accepted their lot, and for the most part grew contented
and happy enough. In their changed circumstances it was pleasanter to
ride by the side of their Norman husbands, surrounded by a gay cavalcade,
to hawk and to hunt, than to discharge the quiet duties of mistress of a
Saxon farm-house. In many cases, of course, their lot was rendered
wretched by the violence and brutality of their lords; but in the
majority they were well satisfied with their lot, and these mixed
marriages did more to bring the peoples together and weld them in one,
than all the laws and decrees of the Norman sovereigns.

This had certainly been the case with Editha, whose marriage with Sir
William had been one of the greatest happiness. She had lost him, three
years before the story begins, fighting in Normandy, in one of the
innumerable wars in which our first Norman kings were constantly
involved. On entering the gates of Erstwood, Cuthbert had rushed hastily
to the room where his mother was sitting with three or four of her
maidens, engaged in work.

"I want to speak to you at once, mother," he said.

"What is it now, my son?" said his mother, who was still young and very
comely. Waving her hand to the girls, they left her.

"Mother," he said, when they were alone, "I fear me that Sir Walter is
about to make a great raid upon the outlaws. Armed men have been coming
in all the morning from the castles round, and if it be not against the
Baron de Wortham that these preparations are intended, and methinks it is
not, it must needs be against the landless men."

"What would you do, Cuthbert?" his mother asked anxiously. "It will not
do for you to be found meddling in these matters. At present you stand
well in the favour of the Earl, who loves you for the sake of his
wife, to whom you are kin, and of your father, who did him good
liegeman's service."

"But, mother, I have many friends in the wood. There is Cnut, their
chief, your own first cousin, and many others of our friends, all
good men and true, though forced by the cruel Norman laws to refuge
in the woods."

"What would you do?" again his mother asked.

"I would take Ronald my pony and ride to warn them of the danger that
threatens."

"You had best go on foot, my son. Doubtless men have been set to see that
none from the Saxon homesteads carry the warning to the woods. The
distance is not beyond your reach, for you have often wandered there, and
on foot you can evade the eye of the watchers; but one thing, my son, you
must promise, and that is, that in no case, should the Earl and his bands
meet with the outlaws, will you take part in any fray or struggle."

"That will I willingly, mother," he said. "I have no cause for offence
against the castle or the forest, and my blood and my kin are with both.
I would fain save shedding of blood in a quarrel like this. I hope that
the time may come when Saxon and Norman may fight side by side, and I
maybe there to see."

A few minutes later, having changed his blue doublet for one of more
sober and less noticeable colour, Cuthbert started for the great forest,
which then stretched to within a mile of Erstwood. In those days a large
part of the country was covered with forest, and the policy of the
Normans in preserving these woods for the chase, tended to prevent the
increase of cultivation.

The farms and cultivated lands were all held by Saxons, who although
nominally handed over to the nobles to whom William and his successors
had given the fiefs, saw but little of their Norman masters. These stood,
indeed, much in the position in which landlords stand to their tenants,
payment being made, for the most part, in produce. At the edge of the
wood the trees grew comparatively far apart, but as Cuthbert proceeded
farther into its recesses, the trees in the virgin forest stood thick and
close together. Here and there open glades ran across each other, and in
these his sharp eye, accustomed to the forest, could often see the stags
starting away at the sound of his footsteps.

It was a full hour's journey before Cuthbert reached the point for
which he was bound. Here, in an open space, probably cleared by a storm
ages before, and overshadowed by giant trees, was a group of men of all
ages and appearances. Some were occupied in stripping the skin off a
buck which hung from the bough of one of the trees. Others were
roasting portions of the carcass of another deer. A few sat apart, some
talking, others busy in making arrows, while a few lay asleep on the
greensward. As Cuthbert entered the clearing, several of the party rose
to their feet.

"Ah, Cuthbert," shouted a man of almost gigantic stature, who appeared to
be one of the leaders of the party, "what brings you here, lad, so early?
You are not wont to visit us till even, when you can lay your crossbow at
a stag by moonlight."

"No, no, Cousin Cnut," Cuthbert said, "thou canst not say that I have
ever broken the forest laws, though I have looked on often and often,
whilst you have done so."

"The abettor is as bad as the thief," laughed Cnut, "and if the foresters
caught us in the act, I wot they would make but little difference whether
it was the shaft of my longbow or the quarrel from thy crossbow which
brought down the quarry. But again, lad, why comest thou here? for I see
by the sweat on your face and by the heaving of your sides that you have
run fast and far."

"I have, Cnut; I have not once stopped for breathing since I left
Erstwood. I have come to warn you of danger. The earl is preparing
for a raid."

Cnut laughed somewhat disdainfully.

"He has raided here before, and I trow has carried off no game. The
landless men of the forest can hold their own against a handful of Norman
knights and retainers in their own home."

"Ay," said Cuthbert, "but this will be no common raid. This morning bands
from all the holds within miles round are riding in, and at least 500
men-at-arms are likely to do chase today."

"Is it so?" said Cnut, while exclamations of surprise, but not of
apprehension, broke from those standing round. "If that be so, lad, you
have done us good service indeed. With fair warning we can slip through
the fingers of ten times 500 men, but if they came upon us unawares, and
hemmed us in it would fare but badly with us, though we should, I doubt
not give a good account of them before their battle-axes and maces ended
the strife. Have you any idea by which road they will enter the forest,
or what are their intentions?"

"I know not," Cuthbert said; "all that I gathered was that the earl
intended to sweep the forest, and to put an end to the breaches of the
laws, not to say of the rough treatment that his foresters have met with
at your hands. You had best, methinks, be off before Sir Walter and his
heavily-armed men are here. The forest, large as it is, will scarce hold
you both, and methinks you had best shift your quarters to Langholm Chase
until the storm has passed."

"To Langholm be it, then," said Cnut, "though I love not the place. Sir
John of Wortham is a worse neighbour by far than the earl. Against the
latter we bear no malice, he is a good knight and a fair lord; and could
he free himself of the Norman notions that the birds of the air, and the
beasts of the field, and the fishes of the water, all belong to Normans,
and that we Saxons have no share in them, I should have no quarrel with
him. He grinds not his neighbours, he is content with a fair tithe of the
produce, and as between man and man is a fair judge without favour. The
baron is a fiend incarnate; did he not fear that he would lose by so
doing, he would gladly cut the throats, or burn, or drown, or hang every
Saxon within twenty miles of his hold. He is a disgrace to his order, and
some day when our band gathers a little stronger, we will burn his nest
about his ears."

"It will be a hard nut to crack," Cuthbert said, laughing. "With such
arms as you have in the forest the enterprise would be something akin to
scaling the skies."

"Ladders and axes will go far, lad, and the Norman men-at-arms have
learned to dread our shafts. But enough of the baron; if we must be his
neighbours for a time, so be it."

"You have heard, my mates," he said, turning to his comrades gathered
around him, "what Cuthbert tells us. Are you of my opinion, that it is
better to move away till the storm is past, than to fight against heavy
odds, without much chance of either booty or victory?"

A general chorus proclaimed that the outlaws approved of the proposal for
a move to Langholm Chase. The preparations were simple. Bows were taken
down from the boughs on which they were hanging, quivers slung across the
backs, short cloaks thrown over the shoulders. The deer was hurriedly
dismembered, and the joints fastened to a pole slung on the shoulders of
two of the men. The drinking-cups, some of which were of silver, looking
strangely out of place among the rough horn implements and platters, were
bundled together, carried a short distance and dropped among some thick
bushes for safety; and then the band started for Wortham.

With a cordial farewell and many thanks to Cuthbert, who declined their
invitations to accompany them, the retreat to Langholm commenced.

Cuthbert, not knowing in which direction the bands were likely to
approach, remained for a while motionless, intently listening.

In a quarter of an hour he heard the distant note of a bugle.

It was answered in three different directions, and Cuthbert, who knew
every path and glade of the forest, was able pretty accurately to surmise
those by which the various bands were commencing to enter the wood.

Knowing that they were still a long way off, he advanced as rapidly as he
could in the direction in which they were coming. When by the sound of
distant voices and the breaking of branches he knew that one at least of
the parties was near at hand, he rapidly climbed a thick tree and
ensconced himself in the branches, and there watched, secure and hidden
from the sharpest eye, the passage of a body of men-at-arms fully a
hundred strong, led by Sir Walter himself, accompanied by some half
dozen of his knights.

When they had passed, Cuthbert again slipped down the tree and made at
all speed for home. He reached it, so far as he knew without having been
observed by a single passer-by.

After a brief talk with his mother, he started for the castle, as his
appearance there would divert any suspicion that might arise; and it
would also appear natural that seeing the movements of so large a body of
men, he should go up to gossip with his acquaintances there.

When distant a mile from Evesham, he came upon a small party.

On a white palfrey rode Margaret, the little daughter of the earl. She
was accompanied by her nurse and two retainers on foot.

Cuthbert--who was a great favourite with the earl's daughter, for whom
he frequently brought pets, such as nests of young owlets, falcons, and
other creatures--was about to join the party when from a clump of trees
near burst a body of ten mounted men.

Without a word they rode straight at the astonished group. The
retainers were cut to the ground before they had thought of drawing a
sword in defence.

The nurse was slain by a blow with a battle-axe, and Margaret, snatched
from her palfrey, was thrown across the saddle-bow of one of the mounted
men, who then with his comrades dashed off at full speed.

CHAPTER II.

A RESCUE.

The whole of the startling scene of the abduction of the Earl of
Evesham's daughter occupied but a few seconds. Cuthbert was so astounded
at the sudden calamity that he remained rooted to the ground at the spot
where, fortunately for himself, unnoticed by the assailants, he had stood
when they first burst from their concealment.

For a short time he hesitated as to the course he should take.

The men-at-arms who remained in the castle were scarce strong enough to
rescue the child, whose captors would no doubt be reinforced by a far
stronger party lurking near.

The main body of Sir Walter's followers were deep in the recesses of the
forest, and this lay altogether out of the line for Wortham, and there
would be no chance whatever of bringing them up in time to cut off the
marauders on their way back.

There remained only the outlaws, who by this time would be in Langholm
Forest, perhaps within a mile or two of the castle itself.

The road by which the horsemen would travel would be far longer than the
direct line across country, and he resolved at once to strain every nerve
to reach his friends in time to get them to interpose between the captors
of the Lady Margaret and their stronghold.

For an instant he hesitated whether to run back to Erstwood to get a
horse; but he decided that it would be as quick to go on foot, and far
easier so to find the outlaws.

These thoughts occupied but a few moments, and he at once started at the
top of his speed for his long run across the country.

Had Cuthbert been running in a race of hare and hound, he would assuredly
have borne away the prize from most boys of his age. At headlong pace he
made across the country, every foot of which, as far as the edge of
Langholm Chase, he knew by heart.

The distance to the woods was some twelve miles, and in an hour and a
half from the moment of his starting Cuthbert was deep within its shades.
Where he would be likely to find the outlaws he knew not; and, putting a
whistle to his lips, he shrilly blew the signal, which would, he knew, be
recognized by any of the band within hearing.

He thought that he heard an answer, but was not certain, and again dashed
forward, almost as speedily as if he had but just started.

Five minutes later a man stood in the glade up which he was running. He
recognized him at once as one of Cnut's party.

"Where are the band?" he gasped.

"Half a mile or so to the right," replied the man.

Guided by the man, Cuthbert ran at full speed, till, panting and scarce
able to speak, he arrived at the spot where Cnut's band were gathered.

In a few words he told them what had happened, and although they had just
been chased by the father of the captured child, there was not a moment
of hesitation in promising their aid to rescue her from a man whom they
regarded as a far more bitter enemy, both of themselves and their race.

"I fear we shall be too late to cut them off," Cnut said, "they have so
long a start; but at least we will waste no time in gossiping."

Winding a horn to call together some of the members of the band who had
scattered, and leaving one at the meeting-place to give instructions to
the rest, Cnut, followed by those assembled there, went off at a swinging
trot through the glades towards Wortham Castle.

After a rapid calculation of distances, and allowing for the fact that
the baron's men--knowing that Sir Walter's retainers and friends were all
deep in the forest, and even if they heard of the outrage could not be on
their traces for hours--would take matters quietly, Cnut concluded that
they had arrived in time.

Turning off, they made their way along the edge of the wood to the point
where the road from Evesham ran through the forest.

Scarcely had the party reached this point when they heard a faint
clatter of steel.

"Here they come!" exclaimed Cuthbert.

Cnut gave rapid directions, and the band took up their posts behind the
trees, on either side of the path.

"Remember," Cnut said, "above all things be careful not to hit the child,
but pierce the horse on which she is riding. The instant he falls, rush
forward. We must trust to surprise to give us the victory."

Three minutes later the head of a band of horsemen was seen through the
trees. They were some thirty in number, and, closely grouped as they were
together, the watchers behind the trees could not see the form of the
child carried in their midst.

When they came abreast of the concealed outlaws, Cnut gave a sharp
whistle, and fifty arrows flew from tree and bush into the closely
gathered party of horsemen. More than half their number fell at once;
some, drawing their swords, endeavoured to rush at their concealed foes,
while others dashed forward in the hope of riding through the snare into
which they had fallen. Cuthbert had levelled his crossbow, but had not
fired; he was watching with intense anxiety for a glimpse of the
bright-coloured dress of the child. Soon he saw a horseman separate
himself from the rest and dash forward at full speed. Several arrows flew
by him, and one or two struck the horse on which he rode.

The animal, however, kept on its way.

Cuthbert levelled his crossbow on the low arm of a tree, and as the rider
came abreast of him touched the trigger, and the steel-pointed quarrel
flew true and strong against the temple of the passing horseman. He fell
from his horse like a stone and the well-trained animal at once stood
still by the side of his rider.

Cuthbert leapt forward, and to his delight the child at once opened her
arms and cried in a joyous tone,--

"Cuthbert!"

The fight was still raging fiercely, and Cuthbert, raising her from the
ground, ran with her into the wood, where they remained hidden until the
combat ceased, and the last survivors of the Baron's band had ridden past
towards the castle.

Then Cuthbert went forward with his charge and joined the band of
outlaws, who, absorbed in the fight, had not witnessed the incident of
her rescue, and now received them with loud shouts of joy and triumph.

"This is a good day's work indeed for all," Cuthbert said; "it will make
of the earl a firm friend instead of a bitter enemy; and I doubt not that
better days are dawning for Evesham Forest."

A litter was speedily made with boughs, on this Margaret was placed, and
on the shoulders of two stout foresters started for home, Cnut and
Cuthbert walking beside, and a few of the band keeping at a short
distance behind, as a sort of rear-guard should the Baron attempt to
regain his prey.

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