CHAPTER XVII. HOW THEY WERE AT FAULT.

As Dicky Cheke darted after the figure which disappeared in the mist, he stumbled over some obstacle on the ground, and nearly fell. Recovering himself hastily, he stooped down to see what it was. The moon had risen higher, and the black edge of the shadow of the castle was receding before the silver light.

"Holy Saints!" gasped Dicky, as he stooped down, and saw with horror that what had caused him to tumble was the body of Ralph Lisle, the gleam of his gay dress plainly telling who it was. "I have come too late."

Then springing up, he called to the guard to bring a light, and run for a leech. The shouts of the boy soon brought assistance. Three archers on guard hurried out of the gate, carrying a lighted cresset with them. By the lurid glare of the smoky light Dicky, who was kneeling down by his insensible friend, could see a dark stain marring the rich colours of the tunic, and a black pool under the right side of the prostrate boy.

"He's been hard stricken," said one of the men.

"Here's been foul play. But who'd hurt Master Lisle?" said another.

"Now, none of your talking," said Dicky. "Get some water and cloths." At the same time he tore up his fine white linen tabard and laid the pieces over the small puncture from which the blood was welling in ominous streams. "I' faith, the poor lad will bleed to death, an the leech comes not."

"Here he comes," said the other archer, as a tall figure in a long fur gown came out of the wicket-gate, attended by several others, among whom the weather-beaten face of Sir John Trenchard was visible.

"How's this? how's this?" he inquired peremptorily. "How came the lad out here?"

No one answered.

"Which of you men was on guard?"

"Please your worship, 'twas my guard," said one of the men, knowing that Sir John Trenchard would be sure to find out, and thinking it best to make a virtue of necessity.

"Then how came this about?" said the Seneschal sternly.

"Marry, Sir John, 'tis more than I know. 'Tis parlous dark under the gateway, and belike he slipped out while my back was turned."

"Get you to the guard-room. There'll be more of this anon," said Sir John sharply. Then turning to the leech, he asked, "Is the boy dead?"

"Nay, Sir John; 'tis a deep wound, but not mortal. There's no artery severed, as thou mayest see by the darker colour of the blood. Had it been of a scarlet colour, 'twould have been useless for me to come. The flow is already stayed. We must get him to his bed, but that gently."

While the archers were raising Ralph with great care, Sir John Trenchard closely questioned Dicky Cheke as to how he came to find Ralph, and elicited from the page how the mysterious warning had been given him by the little girl, and how Bowerman had been designated as cherishing vengeful designs on Ralph.

"Where is Bowerman?" said Sir John Trenchard.

"Nay, I have seen him not," answered Dicky Cheke.

"Bid the pages be called to my apartment," said Sir John to one of the yeomen who attended on him. Then turning to Dicky, he said, "And who is this little wench?"

"I know not, Sir John. I never saw her before to-day."

"Hast thou any cause to suspect any one? Thou mayest speak freely; 'tis a case will have to be carefully inquired into."

Dicky Cheke hesitated; he had the natural disinclination all honest, manly natures have to incriminate any one, or harbour a thought that might do an injustice to another. Like all the rest of the garrison, he strongly suspected that Bowerman was at the bottom of the cruel trick which had been played on Black Tom, and he more than mistrusted him in this present case.

"Well, Master Cheke, hast thou no answer to give? 'Tis a grave matter. Thou wilt have to answer. Dost thou mistrust Eustace Bowerman?"

"Yes, Sir John," said Dicky, slowly and reluctantly.

"Ay, marry, and so do I. But we shall see anon."

They had now entered the courtyard. At the sight of the little procession--the four stalwart men walking in time, and the pale face of the insensible boy--the dancers all stopped, and came crowding round; but at a word from Sir John Trenchard, and a polite request from the Captain of the Wight to continue their festivity, the guests resumed their dancing, only Yolande insisted on going into the hall with her injured cousin, and old Sir William Lisle attended her. The leech now carefully examined the wound, and his verdict was anxiously awaited.

The usual remedies were resorted to for restoring animation, and, to the joy of Yolande, after a little quiver of the eyelids, they slowly opened, and Ralph once more looked upon the world.

The leech, seeing that all immediate danger was over, and that the h?morrhage was yielding to the treatment, directed a bed to be made ready in a room adjoining the hall, and then dilated upon the excellencies of his remedies, to the great impatience of Yolande.

"But, Master Leech, will he get well? Is it a dangerous wound?"

"Nay, fair Mistress Lisle, science answereth not such bold questions as these but with silence. To get well is in the hands of God; we can but speak of how science and medicine knoweth what is the best course to adopt. 'Tis well known to those admitted to the occult arcana of the heavenly influences that the celestial bodies exercise a strange influence on our poor bodies of clay. Sol draweth unto him during the day the blood of our systems, gentle Mater Nox appeaseth the heat of our sanguine flow, and settleth the blood in our extremities. As at the third hour the bile subsideth, so that its acrid properties be not blended with the flow of the blood, so also at the second hour the atrabilis subsides, and in the eventime the phlegm abateth--"

"Marry, Master Surgeon Barber, thy discourse causeth my head to buzz. Tell me plainly an thou canst, is my cousin in danger of death?"

"Noble lady, to give a short answer becometh not the dignity of my art. There are hopes in that chaste Luna is in the ascendant, and ?sculapius ruleth the seventh house, that what is natheless a deadly thrust may yield to my remedies. But as the learned Averroes--than whom my old master, the worshipful Master Thomas Morstede, knew no--"

"Beshrew me, Master Barber, thou wilt drive me mad!" cried the impatient Yolande. "Canst thou not answer me plainly, instead of talking thy jaw-breaking jargon?"

But the leech or barber was incensed at this want of respect, especially coming from a young lady, and he briefly replied he must wait before giving an opinion until Aldeboran reached the third house.

Compelled to be satisfied with this answer, Yolande saw her cousin moved to his new couch, and then, recognising the absolute necessity of not disturbing him, she returned to the festivities, over which a cloud had been cast by this strange event.

Meanwhile Sir John Trenchard had gone to his apartment, and thither Maurice Woodville, Willie Newenhall and Dicky Cheke followed him.

"Where's Master Bowerman?" inquired the Seneschal.

No one answered.

"Who saw him last?" was the next question.

Newenhall moved uneasily, but looked as stolid as ever.

"Master Newenhall, thou art the eldest; tell me where you last saw Master Bowerman."

"An it please you, Sir John, 'twas after the banquet was over."

"Well, where was he? Was he dancing?"

"He was dancing."

"How long agone was that?"

Newenhall twisted his cap round, and looked more stupid and vacant than ever.

"Come, Master Newenhall, brush up thy wits and give a short answer--time presses."

"Maybe 'twas an hour ago," said the page sullenly.

Sir John Trenchard, seeing that Newenhall, either through stupidity or on purpose, would give no useful information, turned to Dicky Cheke and bid him narrate all the circumstances of his finding Ralph.

When he heard of the figure disappearing over the steep declivity on the other side of the road, Sir John rated Master Cheke soundly for not having bid one of the archers pursue him; and in spite of Dicky's protestations that he was so flurried by the sight of Ralph's body lying bleeding in the road, as to think only of helping him, that young gentleman was severely reprimanded for his absence of mind.

"One who would be a useful knight, and serve his prince well, should never forget what is the right course, never mind what may be the obstacles," said the Seneschal, with stern sententiousness.

Maurice Woodville could give no information; he had been in close attendance on the Captain of the Wight, and had not seen Bowerman at all.

Orders were now issued to have the castle searched for the missing page, but with no result. He was not found, and no one had any doubt that it was Eustace Bowerman who had struck the blow.

The guests all dispersed to their homes soon afterwards, many of them being accommodated for the night in the castle as guests of the Captain of the Wight; among whom Sir William Lisle and his daughter, with the Abbot of Quarr, were the most honoured.

The next morning, the first visitor to inquire after Ralph was his cousin Yolande. It was joyful news to her to hear that he had passed a quiet night, and, although very weak and faint from loss of blood, was doing well. No one had as yet questioned him on the strange accident, and it was still a mystery why he had gone outside the castle at all.

"'Tis a rare mischance, Maurice," said Dicky Cheke, as they went downstairs together to begin the duties of the day; "Ralph might have gotten the prize of this day's tourney also."

"'Twas Bowerman that dealt the foul stroke," said Maurice, without heeding the other's remark. "Where can he have gotten to?"

"Ay, where indeed? But he can't escape; I hear there's orders been sent out to search all boats that leave the island."

"Marry! why he could have gotten clear off before the alarm was raised. They ought to have scoured the country for him last night, they'd have taken him then withouten any doubt."

Dicky looked rather foolish. He remembered how he had been rated by Sir John Trenchard the night before.

"Dost think Newenhall knows aught of the matter?"

"Humph!" answered Dicky. "He didn't like Ralph, and he wouldn't stop any harm coming to him, but I don't think he's got the pluck to do him a wrong himself."

"His ways were odd last night. Didst mark how he couldn't answer old Jack-in-Harness's questions?"

"Couldn't? Wouldn't, you mean," said Dicky. "Ay, I marked it sure enough. Well, old Jack's as sharp as a needle--he'll find it all out."

The conversation was interrupted by their arriving at the door of their lord's apartment, and being ordered to enter by the archer on guard.

The account of Ralph Lisle's favourable condition was joyfully received throughout the garrison, and the news had already spread to Newport.

"So I hear there was a young lad slain last night in a drunken brawl after the revels," said the same rough fisherman who had spoken with Bowerman the day before, to a countryman whom he met coming out of Carisbroke.

"Ay, so they say; leastways, if it warn't two or three as was killed. Holy Thomas! they castle folk be a woundy lot of gallants. They'd as soon kill each other as the French, so long as there's nought else to kill."

"Marry, and you're right; but I hear there'll be blows anon."

"Ay, sayest so? Well, well; but where away? All's quiet i' the land, bean't it?

"Seemingly. But there's them as'll be moving soon. They've not done with the White Rose yet. Howsever, 'tis blows in France as'll soon be going. 'Tis rumoured over t'other side o' the water that our Captain's a-going over there with a power of men."

"No! you don't say so; and who's he going to fight?"

"Why the French, to be sure; all along o' the Duke of Bretagne having helped King Henry when he were in hiding there."

"Then 'tis the King of France as backs the t'other side--eh?"

"Ay, ay; and another powerful princess."

"Oh! and who's that?"

"Why, 'tis the good Duchess of Burgundy, as was sister to our brave king, to be sure."

"What, she as I heard say gave that Simnel lad so much money? Well, now, she be a kind lady. But, i' faith! I'm sick o' wars. 'Tis the ruin of all our lives and fortunes; and surely we've had enough i' the past years."

"Marry! my lad, there's always a picking when knights are pricking. 'Tis wars makes poor men rich, and rich men poor, an you only know the way."

"Ay, ay, but you beant as old as I be. I've worked on Swainston Manor for a matter o' twenty-four year come next Lammas. My lord then were the great King-maker, as he were called--Old Bear and Ragged Staff. And what came to him? why, he were slain in battle at Barnet field. Then arter him, my lord were the Duke of Clarence. Well what came to him? why, all along o' being a king's brother, and not having such a good headpiece as t'other brother, he were put i' a butt o' Malmsey--so they sez, leastways--and so were drowned. And now, who's my master? why him, poor lad, as they've got mewed up i' Lunnon Tower. And all for what? because, poor lad, he's his father's son, and bears the name of Warwick, like his grandfather; and like enough he'll come to a bloody end too."[*]

[*] He was executed for trying to escape from the Tower with Perkin Warbeck, in 1498.

"Well, well, I shall be late for the sword strokes an I stop here. Are you coming, gaffer?"

"Marry am I. There'll be a sight worth seeing, I hear. Who'll win the prize to-day, think you?"

"Certes, there's not much question. 'Twill be the stout knight in the plain armour."

"Oh, ay! and who be he?"

"That'll be known soon enough; but come along."

So saying, they walked off to the place of arms, where the tilting had taken place the previous day.

There was the same concourse of spectators, but the interest was not nearly so great as it had been the day before, the hand-to-hand encounter with swords not affording such opportunities for spectacular effect as the mounted contests.

However, there were some very fierce encounters, Sir Alain de Kervignac exchanging several hard blows with Sir John Dudley, who had recovered sufficiently to take part in the proceedings. It was unfortunate that the only combatants on the assailants' side who could fight at all on equal terms were incapacitated by the severe wounds they had received; and in order to prevent the sport becoming too tame, permission was given by the Judges to Sir Richard Cornwall and the unknown knight to meet the two Breton knights.

That evening Ralph was so much better that Dicky Cheke and Maurice Woodville were allowed to see him. The lively account given of the day's proceedings by the former young gentleman will describe the fighting better than a mere narrative of the sword-strokes exchanged.

"'Tis a pity, Ralph, thou wast not there. 'Twas rare sport. Sir Richard Cornwall caught the Breton--the Sire de Kervignac, I mean--such a crack over the costard, I thought he had split his skull; but he's a tough little wight, that he is. He no more minded it than if it had been a fleabite. Up he sprang, and waving his sword in the air, he brought it down like a flash of lightning right athwart Sir Richard's sword, which he held to guard his head; he hit so hard that he cut it right in two, and then, swinging it round, he gave him a buffet on the side of his salade--for he wore a salade and not a burgonnet to-day--that, big man as Sir Richard Cornwall is, he staggered, so that I verily bethought me he was going to fall to the ground, and thou knowest how big a man Sir Richard is. And all the while Sir Richard had no sword to smite in turn; but he made a brave fight of it, for he rushed out round the barrier and seized the small Breton in his arms. Then we did shout; oh, how I shouted!"

"Yea, and got rapped over the costard for doing it," said Maurice Woodville. "And serves you right, too; I felt quite grieved for thy want of manners."

"Now that is a scurvy tale! Why, Maurice, thou knowest thou wast going to shout too, only thy mouth was so full of apple puff that thou hadst filched from Polly Bremeskete's basket, which was open as thou chancest to pass, that thou couldst not make a sound saving a gruesome, pig-like snort. Come, that won't do."

"Marry will it. I did not make a braying jackass of myself, as thou didst."

"No, because thou hadst already made a pig of thyself. But there! 'twill be long ere I finish my tale, if thou breakest in in this way."

"Then cut it short, Dicky, or, better still, I'll go on. Well, Ralph, the Marshal stopped them. He bade Sir Richard let go, and said both had done their devoir full well. But the best sport of the whole was when the Rusty Knight--I marvel who he is--tackled the other Breton--him whom thou toppledst over, thou knowest. There was a slashing and rashing! The sparks flew like the sparks at the armourer's forge when Tom works the bellows, and at last the Rusty one smote the Breton so fierce a blow that he fell to the ground and never moved, and all men thought him dead. Then the people shouted, and--"

"Yes! and thou hadst finished thine apple puff then, so thou shoutedst too," broke in Dicky, who was fuming and fidgetting at the story being taken out of his mouth.

"Thou wert told to be still, and not make a noise, Dicky. We shall have old Mother Trenchard after us an thou art not quiet. Well, as I was saying, the Rusty Knight having no--"

"You weren't saying it!" broke in Dicky again. "You were saying--"

"What an egg thou art, Dicky! Wilt thou be still, and let me finish?"

"Why, 'twas I who began, and I ought to finish."

But here Lady Trenchard was attracted by the rising voices, and coming in, bade both the boys begone.

Placing her cool hand on Ralph's brow, the kind lady remarked she was glad to see him looking so well; and then, sitting by his side, she went on with her work, while she told him, in a more connected way, the events of the day.

Ralph was relieved to hear that Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené was not seriously hurt, only stunned by the terrific blow of his antagonist.

"But who is he, Lady Trenchard?--knowest thou?"

"'Tis a deadly foe to the Lord Captain, for he openly challenged him to mortal combat," said Lady Trenchard gravely.

"What! he dared to challenge the Captain of the Wight?" cried Ralph, in amaze; "and what said he?"

"He accepted his challenge."