The Knight of Mayford

By H. C. BAILEY,

Author of "My Lady of Orange."

ANY a year ago, when lance and sword still ruled the land, and a kingdom's fate was turned by a hundred bows of yew, Sir Bertram D'Aylesford, Lord of the Manor of Thorpe, Warden of the King's Peace, sat in his own hall, with his lady beside him, and his squires and men-at-arms at the great table below the daïs. His armour flashed back the sunlight as he sat there, a mighty man of his hands. His head and neck were bare, and the brown bull neck rose tall and sinewy out of the bright steel.

"So Gaston de la Tour is riding?" quoth Sir Bertram D'Aylesford. He leant back in his great oak chair and bent his brows at the messenger.

"Riding he is," said the messenger. "Out at dawn from his nest in the hills; riding hot-foot over meadow and tilth, with a line of dead men to mark his trail—till the homesteads flare at sundown, and the barns lie all in a ruddy low."

"Humph!" said Sir Bertram D'Aylesford.

"Never a village but knows his shield, never a child but hath learnt to run from the Grey Wolf's Head, never a maid in all our shire but fears the riders of De la Tour. Not a township have we"

"Now a plague on all priests!" cried Sir Bertram D'Aylesford, rapping his fist on the table. "Look up, Sir Priest; look a man in the eye! Where is the good Gaston?"

"God knoweth!" said the priest piously, and he crossed his hands on his breast.

Sir Bertram lay back in his chair again. He took his wife's hand and played with it; then, as the brown, sinewy fingers closed on her soft white hand, "Sweetheart, sweetheart," said he, "I will e'en go look for this Gaston!" and he laughed to himself softly, looking into her eyes. "Not alone, Bertram!" cried the Lady Elinor. "Nay, not alone! "At the word the squires and men-at-arms in the hall leant forward, eagerly listening.

"Aye, I will go alone. Saddle me Roland. Sweetheart, I have heard very much of this Gaston. It will do me good to see him. I grow fat." A growl of disappointment ran round the hall. Sir Bertram rose to his full height—a man of the biggest English stock. He looked down on his men and chuckled.

"Ye quarrelsome knaves!" he cried. "Can ye not be happy without breaking of heads? Am I to find fights for you? I am Warden of the King's Peace, and I go on a very peaceful errand!"

There was sudden silence for a moment, until some squire, who had stuffed his fist in his mouth in vain, broke out into a choked guffaw. But under Sir Bertram's eye there was none would second him; and Sir Bertram, turning from them with a grim smile, dropped on his knee beside his lady and kissed her hand.

"Sweetheart, would you grudge me the honour?" he said softly. "Is it good that I should fear the French thief?" Her left hand lay on his curly hair.

"Bertram, Bertram, knight-errant still!" she said.

"Till I die, sweetheart," quoth Sir Bertram D'Aylesford. So he mounted the great steed and rode away southward over the heather. All was bare then where now are the pinewoods about Woodham and Sherewater. The sun was drawing towards the west as Sir Bertram crested the hill and saw the blaze of purple heather stretching away over the billowy moor to Chobham; and there behind him he heard a snatch of song:—

Sir Bertram stopped. Up the hill after him, astride a sturdy mare, came a squat, swarthy figure with a great yew stave slung on its back.

"I said I would ride alone, Dick," said Sir Bertram.

"So ye did," growled Dick.

"Well, knave?" said the knight angrily.

"Well, sir?" said the bowman.

"Why do you follow me?"

"I know Gaston de la Tour," growled Dick, and the fierce eyes met fiercely.

"Obstinate knave!" cried Sir Bertram, but there was a laugh in his eyes. "Come then, in Heaven's name! But remember—stand off, Dick!"

"Aye, aye, I'll stand off," growled Dick, "a fair bow-shot off."

Together the knight and his man came to Horsell, and by the lych-gate of the church-yard, on the brow of the hill, they paused and looked eastward long and hard.

"Boy there, running," growled Dick, and they turned their horses and rode down the hill.

A mile beyond the end of the village stood a cottage all alone, and about it was a hedge of holly grown to a tall man's height. Behind that hedge the boy was gasping out his story, and the knight and his man trotting silently over the turf reined up silently to hear.

"Master Denzil, Master Denzil—the Lady May and her father!" stammered the boy breathlessly.

"Yes, yes?" It was a sharp voice that answered.

"She—the Grey Wolf riders—they came this morning—broke in unawares" and a sharp cry cut him short.

"May! May! What of her?"

At that Sir Bertram moved in his saddle.

"They have her—she is bound to the great gate, and the Grey Wolf swears he will marry her by the sunset. A priest is there. They are drinking in the hall—a score of riders. And all our men"

But his listener was gone—dashed into the house and broke out again, with a great scythe in his hand and his priest's frock kilted to the girdle. Then Dick, looking up at his master, saw the black eyes alight with the battle fire, and chuckled. Out through the wicket-gate dashed the priest, and Sir Bertram spurred his horse forward, and he smiled as he cried—

"Whither away, Sir Priest?"

The priest stayed in his course, eyed him, and through his teeth he said—

"Are you a knight?"

"And I keep to my trade. Do you, Sir Priest?" And he waved his hand at the scythe.

But the priest broke past him, crying—

"I go to save a lady; if you be a knight, come, too!"

"And a very fair offer!" cried Sir Bertram D'Aylesford, and trotted after him. "But tell me, what does a priest with a lady?"

"Or what may any man do with a scythe?" growled the archer.

"What is the lady to you?" muttered the priest.

"Why, a knight loves every lady in the land; but a priest—eh, man, a priest?"

But the priest had no answer. His face flushed as he ran at Sir Bertram's stirrup, and the knight chuckled and glanced at Dick.

And indeed it was very true that the Grey Wolf riders had come to Mayford Hall. Soon after dawn they came, riding down from their lair in the downs above Albury. There at Mayford they found only Sir Simon of Mayford, and his daughter the Lady May, and some half-score of idle serving-men. Sir Simon ever was a man of peace—would give the price of a fair manor for a crabbed writing in an ancient tongue. His boast it was that he had never been inside his armour for twenty years. Therefore Sir Bertram D'Aylesford and his friend and sworn brother, Harry of Silvermere, scorned Sir Simon Mayford with a mighty scorn. But the Mayford lands are fair and fat—meadow and cornland in the rich Wey valley; and the Mayford maid was very fair; and so there swept down upon Mayford, Gaston de la Tour, the freebooter of Touraine, seeking the lands and the lady.

The Grey Wolf's banner came to the courtyard, and all ways at once ran the men and maids; and Gaston de la Tour in his inlaid armour stalked up the hall.

"Hail, Sir Simon!" and then from the courtyard came the screams of women; and the Lady May grew white as death. But Gaston de la Tour laughed.

"We must have our joke!" said he; and he eyed the trembling figures before him and laughed again.

But at that the lady found her voice.

"You coward!" she cried. "You coward!"

Gaston's black eyes blazed, his dark face flushed.

"'Fore Heaven! I will teach you to speak me fair," he cried. He stamped his mailed foot on the ground and his men rushed in. "Take them out, the old ram and his ewe; tie them up to the gatepost, one on either side. Ah! my lady, you shall learn to speak me fair!" He patted her cheek and, leaning forward to whisper, said, "And at nightfall, lady, you marry me!"

She flushed and caught her breath, and Gaston's men, laughing, dragged her away. They bound her to the gatepost. The cords drawn tight pressed her loose robes tight about her, made furrows on her breast. But withal she held her proud head high and her full lips set firm. Over against her her father was bound, and his head fell on his breast. Never one of all the serving-men came near save the boy that was her page, the boy that bore her message to Denzil Grey, the priest.

All the afternoon Gaston and his men drank and feasted in the hall at Mayford; with them sat a priest who had helped them in more than one dark deed. This priest was to marry the Lady May to Gaston de la Tour.

The shadows had grown long when Sir Bertram D'Aylesford came in sight of Mayford Hall. Floating from the roof was the banner with the Grey Wolf's Head, and, as he saw that, Sir Bertram loosed his sword in his scabbard and tried the weight of his lance. But Denzil's eyes were fixed on the gateway, and he quickened his pace as he looked. Bertram's hand fell heavily on his shoulder.

"Nay, nay, Sir Priest," said he, and he laughed. "We come on a very peaceful errand. I am Warden of the King's Peace; who breaks that peace must deal with me. Ah! I see a good man in armour. Dick, thou knave, keep our priest here and keep the peace," and Sir Bertram spurred forward alone. Dick dismounted heavily. "Sit down, priest," he growled. "What! would you doubt Sir Bertram D'Aylesford? You shall keep the peace!" And he pushed the priest to the ground. "And I—I will keep the peace, too … but I think I will string my bow." He laughed gruffly.

While Dick the archer strung his bow, Sir Bertram D'Aylesford galloped up to the man in armour. He was one of Gaston's men, reeling down to a farmhouse on some devil's errand. But Sir Bertram spurred across his path.

"Lend me your armour, friend," quoth he.

"G-g-go to the devil!" said Gaston's man.

"All in good time," quoth Bertram, and hit him over the head. Then, dismounting, he took from him breastplate and helm and sword, and galloped back to his priest.

"Now, reverend sir, throw away that holy weapon, put on the armour of men, and go rescue your lady," quoth Bertram; and Denzil without a word did as he was bid. Bertram slapped him on the back with a gauntleted hand. "Let me see you run at Gaston!" he cried, and he eyed the priest sharply through the bars of his helmet. And the priest dashed forward at once. Then Bertram lay back in his saddle and laughed.

"By the Powers—the priest is a man!" he cried. "Up after him, Dick!"

"Slow and sure," growled Dick, and he twanged his bowstring, mounted, and spurred away.

The priest it was who cut the lady's bonds; the archer who came to the hall door first; but the priest again who dashed in alone, half-armed, on twenty of the best swordsmen in the shire. The archer stopped in the doorway, and there, as the sunlight poured in behind him, he took his stand, and the great bow twanged the battle song. The priest was fighting madly in a crowd of men, and ever behind him the great bow twanged, and the grey goose feathers found their men. Denzil the priest was down, beaten to his knee, under a score of blows, and then on a sudden through the great window leapt a man in armour, stood on the sill, while the sunlight flashed on his panoply of steel, and leapt down like a lion to the sheepfold, shouting—

"D'Aylesford! D'Aylesford!"

He ran at the crowd; his great sword fell through the sunlight and rose red. Fell again, this way and that, while his shield caught blows all round him.

"To my back, Denzil," he cried. "D'Aylesford! D'Aylesford!" At each cry a man went down, and while Denzil the priest stood at his back and fought those who would have smitten him behind, Bertram D'Aylesford raged through the Mayford Hall and drove before him the Grey Wolf riders. The archer stood in the doorway, an arrow ready on the string; but he shot twice only at those who sought to run. And at last only Gaston de la Tour was left, fighting desperately a losing fight.

"Ah! Gaston, Gaston!" cried Bertram D'Aylesford, and he smote heavily again and again. Gaston fought to reach the doorway, drawing back and back, and Bertram cried—

"'Ware arrows, Gaston!" and Dick the archer laughed, and twanged his bowstring loudly with his thumb. Then, before Gaston's shield could rise to meet it, a stroke crashed down on his helmet, broke it and clave his head. And Sir Bertram leant on his sword, breathing hard.

"So, Gaston," said he. Then he turned to Denzil. "And so there is peace at Mayford!" said he. "How do you fare? What! God's death! sit down, man!" He pushed Denzil to a chair, tore from his own helmet his wife's white kerchief that he wore always, and pressed it to a wound in the throat. Denzil the priest was very pale, and his priest's frock was wet and warm. But a voice cried from the doorway—

"Let me come to him!" And Dick the archer stood aside as the Lady May ran up the hall. She lifted the helmet from Denzil's head and looked at the wound.

"Give me water, sir," she cried, and Sir Bertram bowed and went out.

"Ah! Denzil, so you came for me," she said very softly, and she kissed his hand. Denzil flushed again, caught her own hand in his and kissed it.

"My lady, I am your servant. It is God's will that I can be no more."

But the archer heard and he laughed.

Sir Bertram came with a great bowl of water, and he smiled in his helmet as he saw how the lady hung over Denzil. Denzil, looking up, saw his twinkling eyes, and flushed; but the Lady May was busy with his wound. Sir Bertram took off his helmet and wiped his brow.

"It is as I said—I grow fat, Dick," said he.

But Dick the archer only answered—

"And that man is a priest."

"Why, so he is, by his frock; but Dick, stop me that rogue!"

Across the garden Gaston's priest was scuttling away.

Dick caught up his bow.

"Stop, knave!" he shouted, and an arrow, loosed on the instant, whistled by the priest's ear. The priest fell on the ground.

"Keep him," said Sir Bertram carelessly. "I may want him." And he went to speak by the way, with Sir Simon.

"Here has been very pretty fighting, sir," said he.

"I am infinitely your debtor, sir," cried Sir Simon.

"Less mine than his," said Sir Bertram quickly, with a wave of his hand. "And, who is he? He appears to know the family."

"He is in holy orders, Sir Bertram."

"Full orders?" asked Bertram.

"He is but a poor lay brother," said Sir Simon; "but he hath a very pretty learning. It is but a little while since he expounded to me a perplexed passage in Tullius Cicero; and of the great seer Aristoteles I believe of a verity he knoweth more than I."

"Now, the seer Aris-what-is-it? may the Fiend confound!" muttered Sir Bertram; but aloud he said (for he was a blunt man), "Then he is free to marry?"

"It hath been decided," said Sir Simon, "by the Œcumenical Council of Holy Church at" and Sir Bertram was seized by a violent fit of coughing.

"Caput vigensimum" Sir Simon went on.

"Oh! the devil!" said Sir Bertram. "My dear Sir Simon, I have no learning in these things, and if you will talk Hebrew"

"It was Latin, sir," said Sir Simon.

"Bah!" said Sir Bertram. "Then why does he not marry?"

"I have sometimes thought that he was in hopeless case."

"Now, I do not think that," said Sir Bertram.

"Knowing his low estate, that love was not for him, he"

"Loved her all the more," said Sir Bertram.

"Sought the bosom of the Church," said Sir Simon.

"Well, why not hers?" Sir Bertram asked.

"Sir Bertram D'Aylesford, you speak of my daughter!" cried Sir Simon angrily.

"Why, that is true!" said Sir Bertram. "In all honour and love, as I would have every man speak of woman." He stopped in his walk and laid his hand on Sir Simon's arm. "Sir Simon, he is a man of his hands. Ye saw him run in on them all alone. Splendour of Heaven! Harry of Silvermere would do it—I would do it—but before God I know none other would do the like. Before I sleep this night I will give him the honours that he hath won. Do you give him the maid. 'Faith, if man ever won woman, he hath won her, too!" "He is of low birth," said Sir Simon doubtfully.

"Low birth!" cried Bertram. "Man, I will make him knight. The knight that is made by my sword need not care for his birth. Do you owe him naught? If he had not come this day, your plight would have been very ill. Sir Simon, I am not used to ask for favours, and yet I do pray you for this."

"It is for May to choose," said Sir Simon, and Bertram laughed.

"Dick, thou knave, bring chairs," he cried. So he and Sir Simon sat together in the garden. "Bring the boy Denzil and the maid. So, now are we set. By my right as Lord Warden of the King's Peace I hold here a Court. The King's peace hath been broken in this manor of Mayford. I will take order that no man break it again." He bent his heavy black brows on the Lady May. "You trouble the King's peace, lady." He pointed to Denzil. "Here is a good man nearly slain for you. Shall the King's lieges be slain for a girl?" he cried.

Then the priest Denzil answered, "Aye, Sir Bertram, even as you would have given your life."

"You jest, sir," said Sir Bertram angrily. "I am no wanton brawler. I rush into no fights for a girl that loves me not."

Then Denzil blushed; but the Lady May's voice was very low, and she said—

"Sir Bertram, that is not true." And having said it her face was dark with shame. But Sir Bertram slapped his hand on his thigh.

"'Fore Heaven! I shall need my priest," said he. "Kneel, Denzil, kneel!" And as Denzil knelt he drew his sword and gave, the accolade. "Rise, Sir Denzil; serve God, honour the King, love thy love!" So Denzil rose. "Now bring me my priest," said Bertram.

And the Lady May fell on her knees and kissed Sir Bertram's hand.

But he lifted her and kissed her cheek. "Lady, Sir Denzil is a very wise and prudent knight," said he.

There were they married by Gaston's priest, and that night they all rode back in the gloaming to Sir Bertram's castle, and the Lady Elinor welcomed them all. When she heard the story she rose and kissed the Lady May many times, for men say that Sir Bertram won the Lady Elinor even so.

Now, if all these things be not true—if I have not told them as I found them set out in the chronicles of D'Aylesford, then is there no family in my own shire where the eldest son is ever Denzil and the eldest daughter May.