Winning of the Golden Spurs

F. Westerman Percy

Description

Though most of his action-adventure tales were set against the backdrop of World War I, in The Winning of the Golden Spurs, author Percy F. Westerman takes readers back in time for a rip-roaring romp set in the Middle Ages. Fans of historical fiction will love this fast-moving tale of a skilled archer's exploits.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 août 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776528400
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE WINNING OF THE GOLDEN SPURS
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PERCY F. WESTERMAN
 
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The Winning of the Golden Spurs First published in 1911 ISBN 978-1-77652-840-0 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Prologue Chapter I - The Archer, Redward Buckland Chapter II - The Shadow of War Chapter III - Of the Midnight Descent of the French Invaders Chapter IV - Of the Gallant Stand of the Nine Archers Chapter V - The Men of Hampshire and the Genoese Galley Chapter VI - At the Abbey Chapter VII - The Sack of Southampton Chapter VIII - Of the Assault on St. Barbara's Tower Chapter IX - On the Heels of the Enemy Chapter X - Father and Son Set Out for Hennebon Chapter XI - The Chirurgeon of Légué Chapter XII - The Journey Perilous Chapter XIII - The Relief of Hennebon Chapter XIV - Raymond's Errand Chapter XV - Trapped! Chapter XVI - The Tables Turned Chapter XVII - The Fall of the Count's Stronghold Chapter XVIII - Redward's Confession Chapter XIX - Crécy Chapter XX - His Life for His Foe Chapter XXI - The Rejected Guerdon Chapter XXII - Sir Raymond Chapter XXIII - The Adventure at the Ruined Mill Chapter XXIV - The Homecoming Endnotes
Prologue
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IT was early morning on the 5th day of August, 1303, the Royal Cityof Winchester. The sun had not yet risen, but a cold grey lightfiltered in through a narrow window and dimly illumined a small,scantily-furnished room overlooking the city walls.
Seated on a rough wooden stool, his face buried in his hands, was ayoung fellow of about twenty years of age. His body swayed withuncontrollable grief, and, though dry-eyed, deep sobs of mingledremorse and despair showed the anguish that rent his body anddistracted his mind.
In a corner of the room a torch, burnt low in its iron socket, threwa yellow light that was fast being overmastered by the growing dawn,yet the glimmer was sufficient to play upon the naked blade of asword, the steel of which was discoloured towards its point by adull, rust-coloured stain.
Suddenly the sound of a heavy footstep was heard on the stairs. Theyouth started to his feet and gazed wildly around, as if seeking aplace of concealment or some means of escape. He was tall, wellformed, and, in spite of his haggard looks, comely of face, and hisclothes, though rent and covered with chalk and dust, showed that hewas of no mean position.
Realising the impossibility of hiding himself, he stood erect andalert, awaiting the arrival of what he took to be his fate; but,instead of a thundering summons of the officers of the law, therecame a gentle rap, and the door was slowly pushed ajar.
"Hist! Art there, Master Revyngton? 'Tis I, Nicholas Hobbes!"
"Enter, Nicholas! Certes I thought 'twas the watch."
The new arrival was a man some few years older than the fugitive. Hewas clad in a rough leather suit, frayed at elbows and knees, and towhich shavings and feathers still clung—a silent witness to histrade of fletcher.
"'Tis a sorry pass, Master Revyngton. How came it about?"
"Ay, that I will say right willingly; but first tell me—how knowestthou that I am here?"
"Easily said! Dick Ford told me that thou wert a fugitive in hishouse, and asked me to use my scatterbrain wits to find a way tosmuggle thee out of the city. That being so, 'twere best I saw thee,and to that purpose I am here. But, again, how came it to pass?"
"Faith! I can scarce say. 'Twas in the meads, yestereven. YoungStephen Scarsdale and Reginald, his brother, were on this side of thestream, I on the nether bank, with Wulf, my favourite hound. 'Hothere!' cried Stephen. 'What meanst thou by trespassing on the groundof my Lord Bishop?' 'I do not trespass,' I replied. 'The Mead hathever been free to the men of this city, and no one hath yet said menay.' 'I'll warrant thou art after my Lord Bishop's trout. By therood, I'll send a bolt through the head of thy lurcher.' 'Thy aimmust be more sure than when I beat thee at the butts,' I replied,little thinking but that he spoke in jest, but in answer he levelledhis crossbow, and ere I was aware of it poor Wulf was lyingtransfixed on the ground."
"Then I was seized by a thousand devils, and sprang across the narrowplank bridge to hurl the slayer of my hound into the river, butStephen, whipping out his blade, bade me do likewise. In less timethan it takes to tell our swords crossed, though, mark ye, I meantnot to harm him; yet, like a fool, he ran in upon my blade, and 'twasall over in an instant."
"And then?"
"The younger Scarsdale, who is a worthy gentleman compared with hiswitless brother, tried to stop me as I fled. There was no help forit, so he, too, went down, though I trow he is not much hurt. Hastheard aught of Stephen?"
"Naught save that he is as dead as a door-nail. But, MasterRevyngton, 'tis, as I said, a sorry pass. What wilt thou do?"
"Do? Give myself into the hands of the law. What else wouldst thouhave me do?"
"Anything but that. Consider! Thou art young and full of life. Whyshouldst thou grace a halter if it can be avoided, for, mark well,the Scarsdales are a powerful family, and moreover Stephen was of theBishop's household. How thinkst thou to make good thy case before thypeers when the weight of title and position is set against thee? Besober, young master, and think on't."
"Ay, 'tis hard to die thus."
"No need to die at all—at any rate, just yet. Flee the country.France or the States of the Rhine ever offer an attraction for aroving blade, and peradventure in a few years the affair will haveblown over."
"But how can I escape?"
"There thou hast me. Where is Dick Ford?"
"Gone to gather tidings. He will be here anon."
Both men relapsed into silence, staring moodily at the narrow window,through which could be seen the battlements of the city gilded by therising sun, while ever and again came the sweet strains of a lark asit soared heavenwards from the dew-sodden meadows without the walls.
Again came the sound of footsteps, and Dick Ford, the bowyer,entered. He was a short, red-complexioned man, with a cheerfulcountenance, as if nothing could upset his good nature, though attimes his looks belied him, and the worthy citizens of Winchester ofthad cause to remember his tongue when it ran riot. Like the fletcher,his appearance betrayed him, for the sharp wittle that hung from hisgirdle, the daubs of beeswax, and the faint reek of varnish markedhis calling as a maker of the famous English longbows.
"A pretty hornet's nest thou hast raised, Master Revyngton," heexclaimed, shaking his head. "Yesternight the city crier called theeat the marketcross, and on the Soke Bridge. The Bishop's Court hathclaimed thee, and in default of thy appearance thou wilt be declaredoutlaw. Furthermore, the gates are doubly guarded, and men are evennow in ambush on the road to the sanctuary at St. Cross if so be thouseekest refuge therein. By the saintly Swithun, I trow thou art themost sought-for man in Winton."
"He hath made up his mind, Dick," exclaimed Hobbes. "Better an outlawwith a heavy conscience than a corpse with none at all."
"Ay, let me but get once clear of the city and I'll reck not what Ibecome."
"Bravely spoken, Master Revyngton! And now, how canst thou make goodthine escape? Thou canst count on us to a surety, for 'twould illrequite thy father's kindness to us in times past if we let thee fallinto the hands of the Bishop's men. Where is thine arrow-wain, Dick?"
"Below, in the barn."
"And laden?"
"Nay, but it soon could be. Wherefore?"
"Place Master Revyngton in the cart and cover him with arrows. 'Tisthe day thou journeyest to Bishopstoke and Botley. He would then bewell on his way to the abbey at Netley."
"Steady, Dick, steady! Should the guard at Kingsgate search the wainmy neck is as good as if fitted with a halter. Yet I'll take therisk; but see to it, young master, if the plan goeth amiss, thou'ltbear me witness that I wot not of thy presence?"
"Ay, good Nicholas. But if they question thee and search the cart Imust make a bid for freedom, so stand in the way, and I'll warrantI'll knock thee down just to give colour to the deceit."
"But strike not too hard, Master Revyngton, neither on the face, forI am in no mind to go home to my good wife with my nose awry or mineeyes closed up. A gentle tap, I pray thee—like this—and I'llwarrant I'll fall as surely as if I were smitten with the club of theSouthampton giant Ascupart."
"After all's said and done," remarked the fletcher, "there may be noneed to smite thee, Nick, for 'tis unlikely that they will search thycart. But the day groweth apace. If it is to be done, the sooner thebetter, say I."
"Then make a good meal, Master Revyngton," said Hobbes, setting aloaf of brown bread, some cheese, and a jack of ale, "for if notthou'lt feel the want of it ere long. Now set to like a goodtrencherman, though, being but plain men, our fare is likewise plain.Thou knowest the road?"
"Passably well, save the latter part."
"Then keep close, but not on it if perchance thou art pursued, for itis to Southampton that they'll think thou art bound. Take the by-roadto Botley, whence the abbey lies but a league or so away."
While the fletcher and the bowyer were giving advice the younger mandid justice to the food; then, at a sign from Ford, his companionstole softly down the rough ladder that did duty as a staircase, andpeered cautiously up and down the street. Another moment, and thethree men had darted across the narrow road to a small barn, themutual