When Ralph trotted after the little cavalcade, which he had allowed to get ahead of him as he waved his final adieu to his parents and his home, he felt all the pride of boyhood budding into independent manhood.
He had long chafed at his inactive life. The rough experience of the late civil wars had taught men to live fast, and many a hardy knight had begun the fierce struggle in the hand-strokes of war at the age of twelve or thirteen. The boyhood of King Edward the Fourth had often been told him, how early he had learned the accomplishments of the tilt-yard, and how early he had practised them on the stern field of war. A king by the right of his own good sword at the age of twenty, he had fought in many deadly fights as leader and simple man-at-arms for several years before.
Ralph had always been a good boy at his lessons, for he was fond of the chaplain who taught him, but the book he loved most of all was the recently printed book of Sir Thomas Malory, who had compiled and translated the Mort-d'Arthur. He gloated over the description of the single combats, the jousts, and the tourneys in that poetic story, and never tired of the numberless tales of "how the good knight Sir Bors or Sir Lamorak laid on either strokes, and how they foined and lashed, and gave each other blows till the blood ran down, and each stood astonied." His favourite knight was Sir Beaumains. He admired Sir Launcelot, but he was too far above him, while Sir Beaumains was only a beginner, and went through adventures which were not too far out of the common as possibly to occur to himself.
And now he was on the actual road to fortune. He was going to be trained in the household of a great knight, live in a castle, and have daily instruction with youths like himself, aspirants to fame and martial deeds.
The fresh air of the morning seemed never before so fresh, never had the birds sung so blithely. How springy the turf seemed under his horse's hoofs. He sang gaily as he trotted along, and flicked at the flies that tried to settle on his horse's neck.
"Softly, Master Ralph," cried Humphrey. "Thou art a light weight, I know, but we have far to go, and 'tis best to let the cattle go quiet."
The Abbot had settled himself comfortably in his saddle, and called his young kinsman up to him. The servants fell a little behind, Humphrey trying to draw the mendicant and his young daughter into conversation. But he only received short answers from the man, while the girl barely answered at all. The serving-man, unable to make anything out of either of them, gave up the attempt, and began to talk to the attendants of the Abbot.
It was a lovely June day. All the country looked crisp and bright in the clear sunlight. The road lay over a high hill, whence a broad landscape stretched before them, then it dipped down into the old town of Andover, where the cavalcade stopped before the rambling old wooden hostelry, and the Abbot refreshed himself with a cup of malmsey before they entered on the rather wild track of forest and down that lay between Andover and Winchester.
Leaving Andover, they crossed the low land on each side of the Teste, and that river itself near Chilbolton, and then rose over the steep acclivity of Barton Stacey down, with its wide ridge of hills stretching east and west in bleak loneliness, to face the sweeping winds that roared over them from the south-west bringing up the salt of the channel to invigorate the sheep that browsed over their slopes.
The Abbot discoursed from time to time of the various duties Ralph would have to fulfil, how he must conduct himself towards his superiors, equals, and inferiors; and his advice was certainly considerably more worldly-wise than had been that of Ralph's father and mother.
The boy listened attentively; but somehow, with the quick intuition of youthful directness, he detected the ring of worldly wisdom, as differing from the ingenuous simplicity of his' parent's advice. He could not help being amused and interested with the many little anecdotes with which the Abbot illustrated and enlivened his advice, while he felt more than ever how little he knew of the world and its ways.
"Now look you, fair kinsman," said the Abbot. "'Tis a right thing, and one well-pleasing to Holy Church, to be generous and free-handed; but 'tis not wise to give blindly, and without due inquiry. Thou lentest yonder idle vagrant thine horse yesterday. The holy saints guided him aright to thy father's house; but he might, for aught thou knewest, have just as well taken thine horse to Weyhill horse-fair, and there sold him, or ridden away where thou wouldst never have seen him more."
"But, my lord Abbot," cried the boy, "I liked the sound of his voice, and his words were fair: he could not but be honest."
"See there now; alack! good lack! the boy will surely come to harm an he goeth on like that! See you not, fair kinsman, that an you hearken to all fair words and gentle voices, you will e'en be stripped as clean as a rose bush with a blight on it? That is what I say, wait and see. I say not 'give not,' but look well before you give.
"Then again in a quarrel--for hot youth must needs quarrel--be wary how you enter in; see well that your adversary is one from whom you can hope to obtain honour,--one that if you vanquish him can yield you due satisfaction and fair guerdon, or, if he should vanquish you--for you must e'en look to both sides--that he be one to whom you may yield without loss of honour,--sithen he be so puissant a foe that there is as much honour gained in encountering him as there might be in overcoming another.
"In all things give heed and act discreetly. Be no tale-bearer, but listen well to all that goeth on. In all things serve thy master loyally; but be not so besotted as ever to be ruined for any. As for ensample, if thy lord choose a quarrel that must needs bring him to destruction, go not thou after him, but save thyself in time; as rats are said to cross by the hawser that mooreth a ship to the land, when they know of their own natural sagacity that ruin awaiteth that ship. Only give him fair notice thereof first. See how, during the late civil commotions, the Church hath acted discreetly, and saved her possessions in the midst of the broil. Even George, Archbishop of York, allied as he was to the Earl of Warwick and the Duke of Clarence, yet compounded with the late King Edward IV., on whose soul may God have mercy. But, blessed saints! whom have we here? 'Tis some noble baron, I doubt not, going to Winchester too, unless, indeed, it be the train of my Lord Woodville himself."
They had now reached a high bleak hill, and were nearly at the point where another road joined the one they were travelling by, which led from Marlborough and Cirencester to Winchester. Coming along this other road, which led from Reading, and just rising over the brow of the hill, Ralph could see a party of well-armed men. The dust from their horses obscured them partly, but he could make out that there were several footmen, carrying the formidable bill which dealt such deadly wounds, and gleaming above them were the helmets of two or three men-at-arms. The red crosses on their white surcoats, or tabards, showed that they belonged to the troops levied for the king, or at least raised by some noble for service, for which it was customary to take a contract.
"Ay, belike that's what they are," said the Abbot. "Do you, Peter, now ride on, while I tarry here to welcome my Lord Woodville; and take good lodgings for the night in Winchester, for me and my kinsman the Master Ralph de Lisle."
This was said to the chief of his lay brothers who acted as his serving-men, and who were clad in a dress very much resembling their lord's, but of a dark colour, instead of white.
Ralph was glad they were going to wait to meet the approaching party. He had never seen a band of armed men before, and he thought the appearance of these very imposing, as the pennons of the mounted men fluttered in the breeze.
"Ay, there's the banner of my Lord Woodville--he'll not be far behind," said the Abbot, as another little band mounted the hill, the centre figure carrying a little square flag on the end of a lance, which gaily waved its red and white colours as the horseman moved to the swing of his steed.
It was a very pretty sight. The wide-extending view, over broad pasture and swelling down, the distance hidden by a grey haze; the yellow road, leading straight across the green grass of the down, for the summer was hardly begun, while the gleaming weapons, white surcoats, and fluttering banners, mingled with the brilliant red of the crosses, and the blazon on the flag, contrasted well with the deep blue of the cloudless sky, fading away to the warm haze of the horizon. Gaily the grasshoppers chirped among the wild convolvulus on the roadside, the bees hummed over the clover, and the larks were soaring joyously in the azure overhead.
Ralph gave a sigh of enjoyment--life was already beginning.
The little party sat motionless on their steeds, the Abbot having reined up his horse at the junction of the two roads. Ralph sat on his horse beside him, and Humphrey, the other lay brother, and the sumpter horses, were grouped behind them--while behind them again was the poor man, leaning against the pony on which his daughter sat, who had, however, frequently insisted on her father taking her place.
Suddenly the Abbot remembered them.
"Beshrew me," he said, "I wish thy lady mother had not saddled me with these beggars; it beseemeth not a prelate like me to have such rapscallions attending on him."
The girl noticed the impatience of the Abbot, and partly heard his muttered words.
"Come, father, let us get hence before the others come; we but disgrace the noble Abbot and his fair nephew."
"Nay, nay, stay now," said the Abbot testily, relenting a little when he heard the soft voice of the girl. "'T would look worse an thou wert now to slip off as though I were ashamed of thee. Even stay and brave it out. After all, 'twill look seemly that I be busied in the protection of the poor and houseless. Ay, marry! 'twill please my Lord Woodville who ever jibeth at the pride of Mother Church, as he calleth it, when I appear in the state befitting the Abbot of the first house of our order in England, and patron of the Chapel of St Nicholas in his own castle of Carisbrooke. Prythee stay: 'twill be well!"
The advanced guard had now reached the place where the others were awaiting them.
The Abbot recognised the sergeant-at-arms who led the little band.
"Why, how now, Tom o' Kingston, who'd have thought to have met thee here to-day?"
"What, my Lord Abbot, you over here! 'tis my noble lord will be right pleased to see thee," answered a splendid specimen of a man-at-arms, clad from head to foot in brown armour, his horse barbed and protected with body arms as well. He had his slender lance slung behind him, and his long sword clanked against the iron of his stirrup. His moustaches curled over the lower chin-piece of his salade or helmet, and his eyes looked bold and fierce under the shadow of its projecting peak. Over his breastplate he wore a loose white surcoat, blazoned with the red cross of St George, while a heavy mace hung from his high-peaked saddle-bow. The effect of the massive armour was to give the trooper the appearance of immense width of chest and strength of body, while in reality he was only of medium size, in proportion to men of the present day.
"Is my Lord Woodville nigh at hand, worthy Tom?" said the Abbot.
"Ay, my lord, he is just behind his banner, attended by his own gentlemen, and some gentlemen of France. But I must be getting on, or the march will be delayed. Hast thou any further orders, my Lord Abbot?"
"Nay, Master Tom; I will see thee again at Winchester belike, where I would commend to thy care this young springald here, who comes of gentle birth, and is desirous of learning knightly feats of arms under thy noble master."
"He shall be right welcome, whoever he is, but all the more so that he cometh under thy commendation, reverend lord. 'Tis a right gallant youth, and he sitteth his horse full manfully."
So saying, the sergeant-at-arms clapped spurs to his horse, made a salute with his gauntleted hand, and trotted after his party, who had gone on while he was exchanging greetings with the Abbot.
"Note him well, Ralph; he is one of the best soldiers we have in our island, and he comes of gentle blood too. He is the most trusty of all the men-at-arms belonging to my Lord Woodville."
The main body of the troops had now come close to where they were standing. The foremost ranks passed them without any greeting beyond a respectful salute to the Abbot. The men marched along in very loose order, for it was a time of peace, and they were returning from the successful but deadly fight at Stoke. Several of them were bandaged on the arm or head, and those who were wounded were only lightly armed.
After this body had passed, a little interval elapsed, and then came Sir Edward Woodville, commonly called Lord Woodville, Lord and Captain of the Isle of Wight, and knight of the Lancastrian order of S.S.[*] He was attended by several gentlemen, mostly English, but some two or three evidently French. He was preceded by two men-at-arms, and three mounted archers, all splendidly armed and equipped. Behind him came a group of three or four pages, all young men of good birth, aspirants to knightly rank, and being trained in the household of Sir Edward Woodville.
[*] The origin of this symbol is not known. Conjecture has varied between the words "Soveraygno Seneschal" and the swan badge of the House of Lancaster. The collar formed a very graceful ornament, the gold S.S. being linked together, or set on blue and white ribbon.
Ralph looked at these eagerly. They would be his future companions, and he felt a little shy at first, as the boys all scanned him critically, making remarks to each other the while in a low tone.
Lord Woodville instantly recognised the Abbot, and greeted him cordially. After the mutual salutations were over, and the Abbot of Quarr had congratulated him on the success of the King's arms, and his own part in the fray, he introduced Ralph to him, as a present from himself, telling Lord Woodville his previous history and lineage.
At the mention of the word Lisle, a shade seemed to pass over the tranquil face of the Captain of the Wight, like a cloud shadow over the smooth slope of a southerly down; but it passed as quickly as it came, and although he examined the boy more attentively, his expression had resumed its usual serenity.
The boy felt somewhat abashed as the calm grey eyes of the distinguished knight and nobleman fell upon him, searching him through and through; but he scanned the countenance and appearance of his future lord with shy interest, in spite of the awe his glance produced.
He saw before him a gentleman of about thirty to thirty-five years of age, in the prime of life, and strikingly handsome. For all the Woodvilles, both male and female, were remarkable for their personal advantages, and inherited the beauty of person which had caused Jacquetta of Luxemburg, second wife of the great Duke of Bedford, and the cause of the ruin of the English power in France nearly as much as the hapless Joan of Arc, to choose their father, a simple country gentleman, for her second husband. He was dressed magnificently, and very elegantly. Covering his long dark chestnut hair, which hung down on each side of his face, was a velvet bonnet, ornamented with an ostrich plume on one side, fastened by a brilliant ruby brooch. Dark eyebrows surmounted very expressive grey eyes; his complexion would have been fair, had it not been bronzed by long exposure in many a campaign and knightly enterprise. His face was clean shaven, and thus the firm but sweet lines of his mouth were displayed to full advantage. A close-fitting lace collar round his neck contrasted with the spiral ridge of his steel gorget, which the richly-embroidered surcoat, cut straight across the chest, from shoulder to shoulder, allowed to be plainly visible. The short sleeves of this surcoat reached only to the elbows; the rest of his person was encased in rich armour, while a gorgeous gold-studded belt supported his straight long sword and richly-jewelled dagger. His helmet was carried by an esquire fully armed, who also bore his lord's lance. A handsome collar of S.S., ending in a portcullis badge, adorned his neck, while instead of steel gauntlets he wore soft leather gloves, and a splendid falcon rested on his right hand. Another esquire bore his lord's shield, and led a spare horse, fully accoutred in body armour and housing for battle or tilt.
"So this is Master Ralph de Lisle, is it?" said Lord Woodville, who had been appointed on the accession of Henry VII. to succeed his unfortunate but accomplished brother, Lord Scales, in the lordship of the Isle of Wight. "He cometh of an old Isle of Wight family, and is heartily welcome to such training as he can acquire in my poor household. Truly an his deeds shall answer to his fair outside, he will prove a right hardy knight. But tell me," he added, "is he of near kin to old Sir William Lisle of Briddlesford?"
"Nay, my lord, not of close kin," replied the Abbot of Quarr. "Sir William's grandsire returned to the land of his fathers in Harry the Fourth's reign. As thou knowest, he hath but one son and one daughter, and he hath disinherited the son. 'Tis a sad story."
"Ah! I had forgotten," said Lord Woodville. Then turning to the old knight who rode a little behind, he said, "Here, Sir John Trenchard, is one more to add to your charge. I deliver Master Lisle to your care, knowing full well I cannot give him to a better master of chivalry and gentle learning. Teach him as you so well know how, and the King will gain a fine soldier, and you, my friend, more credit than ever."
Lord Woodville then smiled graciously at Ralph and turned to the Abbot to continue the converse interrupted by the presentation of the boy.
So Ralph Lisle was introduced to his future Lord, and from henceforth would be under the orders of the good knight Sir John Trenchard, until he should be declared worthy to rank as an esquire, and take part in warlike expeditions.