CHAPTER IV.

As merry a peal as ever was rung, though not perhaps as scientific a

one, ushered in the month of May, and as bright a sun as ever shone

rose up in the eastern sky, and cast long lines of light over the green

fields, glistening with the tears of departed night. The spring had

been one of those fair seasons which have but rarely visited us in

latter years, when, according to the old rhyme,

"March winds and April showers

Had brought about May flowers."

Almost every leaf was upon the trees, except, indeed, in the case of

some of those sturdy old oaks, which, in their brown hardihood, seemed

unwilling to put on the livery of spring. The snowdrop had had her

season and was gone, but the violet still lingered, shedding her

perfume in the shade, and the hawthorn flaunted her fragrant blossoms

to the wooing air. It was, in short, the merry, merry month of May, and

her ensigns were out in every hedge and every field, calling young

hearts to gaiety and enjoyment, and promising a bright summer in her

train.

Many a maiden had been out, before the sun rose, from behind the

distant slopes, to gather May dew to refresh her beauty, and many a

youth, seeking the blossom of the white-thorn, had met, by preconcerted

accident, the girl he loved under the lover's tree, and kissed her as

warmly as under the mistletoe. Young Harland, however, had looked for

Kate Greenly at the place where he had found her on the same day in the

former year, but had looked in vain; and, as he returned homeward,

somewhat disappointed, had found her with a party of gay girls,

sometimes laughing with their laughter, sometimes falling into deep and

gloomy thought.

Her young companions broke away to leave her alone with her

acknowledged lover; and Kate walked quickly home by his side, with a

varying and a changeful air, which we must notice for a moment, though

we cannot pause to tell all that passed between them. Sometimes she was

gay and saucy, as her wont; sometimes she was thoughtful and even sad;

sometimes she affected scorn for her lover's gentle reproaches;

sometimes she raised her eyes, and gazed on him with a look of

tenderness and regret that made him sorry he had uttered them. Her

demeanour was as varying as an April day; but that it had often been

before, and he saw not a deeper shadow that spread with an ominous

cloud-like heaviness over all. They parted at the door of her father's

house, and young Ralph Harland turned him home again, thinking of the

pleasure of the merry dance and all the sports that were to come, and

how a little gift, which he had prepared for her he loved, would quiet

all idle quarrels between him and fair Kate Greenly.

The village green, the sweet little village green which we have

described, was early decked out with all that could be required for the

sports of the day. The tall May-pole in the centre, surmounted with a

coronet of flowers, streaming with ribbons and green leaves, and every

sort of country ornament, was prepared for the dance around it, which

was soon to take place. Every tree was hung with garlands, and even the

old well was decorated with wreaths and branches of the hawthorn and

the oak. The inn itself was a complete mass of flowers; and, before the

door, at a very early hour, were arranged the various prizes which were

to reward the successful competitors in the rustic sports of the day.

There was a runlet of wine stood beside the little bench beneath the

eaves, and in a pen, formed by four hurdles, was a milk-white ram, with

his horns gilded, and a chaplet twisted round his curly pate; and

further off, leaning against the wall, stood a long yew bow, with a

baldric, and sheaf of arrows, winged with peacock's feathers, bearing

silver ornaments upon the quiver.

These prizes were the first object of curiosity, and at an early hour

many a group of boys and girls, and youths and maidens, gathered round

the pen where the fat, long fleeced ram was confined, and pulled him by

the gilded horns, while others looked at the bow, and every now and

then stretched out a hand to touch and examine it more closely, but

were deterred by a loud shrill voice from one of the windows of the

inn, shouting, "Beware the thong!"

No season of merriment occurred at that time in England without

bringing together its crowd of minstrels and musicians; and even then

so populous had the gentle craft become, and so dissolute withal, that

laws and regulations were found necessary for the purpose of

diminishing the numbers of its followers and regulating their manners.

"Free drink for the minstrels" was a general proverb assented to by

all, and the consequence was, that having the opportunity, they seldom

wanted the inclination to pour their libations too freely, a good deal

to the inconvenience, very frequently, of their entertainers. The

class, however, which came to a May-day merry-making in a common

country village was, of course, not of the highest grade, either in

musical skill or professional rank; and the first who appeared on the

village-green was a piper, with his bag under his arm, producing, as he

came, those extraordinary sounds which are found to have a very

pleasant effect upon some portions of the human species, but are almost

universally distasteful to the canine race. Upon this occasion almost

all the dogs in the village followed him, either barking or howling.

The good piper, however, did not seem to consider it as at all a bad

compliment, but sitting himself down upon the bench before the inn

door, played away to his square-headed auditory, till some human

bipeds, and amongst the rest Jack Greenly himself, came forth with a

jug of humming ale, and set it down beside him.

The piper drank, as pipers will drink, a long and hearty draught, then

looked around him, and as a matter of course, commended liberally to

the ears of his entertainer the preparations which had been made for

the May-day games.

A floyter, or player on the flute, was not long behind, and he himself

was succeeded by a man with a rote but the great musician of all, the

performer on the viol, without whom the dance would not have been

perfect, like all other important personages, caused himself to be

waited for; and at length, when he did appear, came accompanied by his

retinue, consisting of two long-eared curs, and a boy, carrying his

viol, carefully wrapped up in the recesses of a fustian bag. With great

airs of dignity, too, he took his way at once into the house, and both

prudently and humanely tuned his instrument in a room where few if any

ears were nigh to hear.

Fain would I, dear reader, could such a thing be permitted, indulge in

a long description of the May-day games of old England. Fain would I

tell you who in the wrestling match won the milk-white ram, or shot the

best arrow, or hurled the best quoit; but there are more serious things

before us, and to them we must hurry on, leaving to imagination to

undertake the task of depicting not only these, but the still greater

struggle which took place amongst many a hardy yeoman for a fine horse.

of Yorkshire breed, given by Ralph Harland himself in honour of her he

loved.

Suffice it then, for the present, that the sports of the morning were

over, that the noonday meal, too, was at an end, that the girls of the

village had rearranged their dress for the lighter amusement of the

evening, and were gathering gaily under the group of trees to begin

their first dance around the Maypole. Ralph Harland stood by Kate's

side, and was asking anxiously what made her so sad, when suddenly he

raised his eyes, and his countenance became even more overcast than

hers.

The sound which had made him look up had certainly nothing unusual in

it on that busy morning. It was but the tramp of three or four horses

coming at a rapid pace, but the young man's heart was anxious; and when

his eyes rested on the face of Richard de Ashby, who rode in, followed

by three men, and dressed with unusual splendour, well might the young

franklin's bosom be troubled with feelings bitter and indignant,

especially as he saw her whom he loved turn red and white, and read in

the changing colour the confirmation of many a dark suspicion.

The personage who had produced these sensations seemed at first to take

no notice of the gay groups around him, but advancing at once to the

low inn door, which was nearly blocked up by the jovial person of John

Greenly himself, he sprang to the ground lightly and gracefully,

asking, in such a tone that all around could hear what he said, whether

the Earl of Ashby had yet arrived.

On finding that such was not the case, he turned round with an

indifferent air, saying, "Good faith, then I must amuse myself as best

I may, till my fair cousin comes. What have you going forward here--a

May-day dance? Good sooth, I will make one. Pretty Kate," he continued,

advancing to the spot where she stood, "will you give me your hand to

lead you a measure round the Maypole?"

"It is promised to me," said Ralph Harland, in a stern tone, before

Kate could reply, bending his brows angrily upon his rival.

"Is it, indeed!" cried Richard de Ashby, gazing at him from head to

foot with that cool look of supercilious contempt which is so hard to

bear, and yet so difficult to quarrel with.--"Well, but she has two

hands; she shall give you one and me the other, and this pretty little

damsel," he continued, to a girl of some twelve or thirteen years of

age, who stood by listening, "this pretty little damsel shall take my

other hand--so that is all settled. Come, Master Violer, let us hear

the notes of the catgut! Come, sweet Kate, I long to see those lovely

limbs playing in the graceful dance."

Poor Ralph Harland! it was one of those moments when it is equally

difficult to act and not to act, especially for one inexperienced,

young, and brought up in habitual deference for superior rank and

station. A direct insult, an open injury, he would have avenged at once

upon the highest head that wagged in all the realm; but the covert

scorn of the manner, the hidden baseness of the design, he knew not how

to meet; and following, rather than accompanying, his light-o'-love

sweetheart to the dance, he joined in a pastime to which his heart was

but ill attuned.

It is under such circumstances that those who are wronged have always

the disadvantage. Ralph was fierce, silent, gloomy; while Richard de

Ashby was all grace, self-possession, smiles, and cheerfulness. His

speech and his glances were for Kate Greenly alone. His looks and his

voice were full of triumph, his eyes full of meaning; and many a time

and oft, as they danced gaily round, he whispered to her soft things,

of which no one heard the whole, although there was a keen and eager

ear close by, listening for every sound to fix a quarrel on the

speaker.

At length the notes of the viol stopped, and the dance came to an end,

just as Richard de Ashby was adding a word or two more to something he

had been saying in a low tone to the fair coquette beside him, while

her colour changed more than once, and eyelids were cast down. The

sudden silence rendered the last half of the sentence audible. It

was--"Then lose not a moment."

Ralph Harland cast her hand from him indignantly, and fronting Richard

de Ashby, exclaimed--"To do what?"

"What is that to thee, peasant?" demanded Richard de Ashby, colouring

as much with anger at his words having been overheard, as with pride.

"Everything that she does is matter to me," replied Ralph, fiercely,

"if I am to be her husband; and if I am not, woe be to the man that

makes her break her promise."

"You are insolent, peasant," replied the Earl's kinsman, with a look of

scorn; "take care, or you will make me angry."

"It shall be done without care," replied Ralph Harland, feeling no more

hesitation, now that he was fully embarked; "let go my arm, Kate, and I

will soon show you and others of what egg-shells a lord's cousin can be

made.--What brings you here to spoil our merriment, and mar our May-day

games? Take that as a remembrance of Ralph Harland!" and he struck him

a blow, which, although Richard de Ashby partially warded it off, made

him stagger and reel back. But at that very moment, the three servants

he had brought with him, who had hitherto stood at a distance, seeing

their master engaged in a squabble with one of the dancers, ran up, and

one of them, catching him by the arm, prevented him from falling.

His sword was now out of the sheath in an instant; the weapons of his

attendants were not behind, and all four rushed upon the young

franklin, exclaiming, "Cut off his ears! The villain has dared to

strike a nobleman! Cut off his ears!"

All the villagers scattered back from the object of their fury, except

two--Kate Greenly, who cast herself upon her knees before Richard de

Ashby, begging him to spare her lover, and Ralph's old grey-headed

father, who, running up from the inn door, placed a stout staff in his

son's hand, exclaiming, "Well done, Ralph, my boy! Thrash 'em all! Ho!

Greenly, give me another stick that I may help him!"

One of the serving-men, however, struck the old franklin with the

pummel of his sword, and knocked him down, while the two others pressed

forward upon Ralph, and the foremost caught his left arm, just as

Richard de Ashby, putting Kate aside, came within arm's-length of him

in front, reiterating with fierce vehemence, "Cut off his ears!"

It is probable that the order would have been executed unmercifully,

had not a sudden ally appeared upon Ralph Harland's side.

Leaping from the window of the inn, a man clothed in a close-fitting

coat, and hose of Lincoln green, with a sword by his side, a narrow

buckler on his shoulder, a sheaf of arrows under his left arm, and a

leathern bracer just below the bend of the elbow, sprang forward, with

a pole some six feet long in his hand, and at three bounds cleared the

space between the inn and the disputants. The third leap, which brought

him up with them, was scarcely taken, when one blow of his staff struck

the man who held Ralph by the left arm to the ground, and a second sent

the sword of Richard de Ashby flying far over his head.

At the same moment he exclaimed, looking at the servant whom he had

knocked down, "Ha! ha! my old acquaintance; when last we had a fall in

yonder inn together, I thought we should meet again! Fair play! fair

play!--Not four against one! Get you in, Kate Light-o'-love! out of

harm's way! The day may not end so well as it has begun. Fair play, I

say, or we may take odds too!"

Richard de Ashby looked round, furiously, after his sword, and laid his

hand upon the dagger that hung at his right side; but the sight he saw,

as he turned his eyes towards the inn, was one well calculated to

moderate, at least, the expression of his rage, for some eight or nine

men, all habited alike in close coats of Lincoln green, were coming up

at a quick pace from behind the house, and their apparel, and

appearance altogether, could leave little doubt that they were

companions of him who had first arrived, and in whom he recognised with

no slight surprise, the same blue-nosed old peasant whom he had found

contending with his servants not many nights before. The hump, indeed,

was gone, and the neck was straight enough. All signs of decrepitude,

too, had passed away; but the face was not to be mistaken, and Richard

de Ashby's countenance fell at the sight.

He was no coward, however; for, amongst the swarm of vices, and

follies, and faults, which degraded so many of the Norman nobility of

that day, cowardice was rarely, if ever, to be met with. They were a

people of the sword, and never unwilling to use it.

His first thought, then, was to resist to the death, if need might be;

his next, how to resist to the best advantage. Snatching his sword,

then, which one of his servants had picked up, he looked to the clump

of trees, but Harland, and the man in green, with a whole host of

villagers, whose angry faces betokened him no good, were immediately in

the way, so that his only resource seemed to be to retreat to the inn

door.

The first step he took in that direction, however, produced a rapid

movement on the part of the yeomen, or foresters, or whatever the

green-coated gentlemen might be, which cut him off from that place of

refuge, and, at the same moment, the voice of Hardy exclaimed, "Stop

him from the church path, Much! This rat-trap of ours has too many

holes in it, but that will close them all--Now, Master Richard de

Ashby, listen to a word or two. You come here with no good purposes to

any one, and we want no more of you. But you shall have your choice of

three things:--You shall either get to your horse's back, and go away,

swearing, as you believe in the blessed Virgin, never to set foot in

this place again,--I don't think you dare break that oath,--or--"

"I will not!" replied Richard de Ashby, fiercely.

"Very well, then," said Hardy; "if that is the case, you shall stand

out in the midst, cast away sword and dagger, betake you to a

quarter-staff, and see whether, with the same arms, young Ralph Harland

here will not thrash you like a sheaf of wheat."

"Fight a peasant with a quarter-staff!" cried Richard de Ashby. "I will

not!"

"Well, then, the third may be less pleasant," said Hardy. "I have

nothing else to offer, but that we all fall upon you and yours, and

beat you till you remember Hendley-green as long as you call yourself a

man."

"Murder us, if you will," said Richard de Ashby, doggedly; "but we will

sell our lives dearly."

"I don't know that, worshipful sir," said the man with the purple nose;

"we have no inclination to thrash more men than necessary, so all your

servitors may take themselves off, if they like. Run, my men, run, if

it so please you. But make haste, for my quarter-staff is itching to be

about your master's ears!" And so saying, he made it whirl round in his

hand like the sails of a mill.

One of the men needed no time to deliberate, but betook himself to his

heels as fast as he could go. A second hesitated for a moment or two,

and then saying, "It is no use contending with such odds," moved slowly

away. The third, however--Hardy's old adversary in the hostelry--placed

himself by Richard de Ashby's side, saying, "I will stand by you, sir!"

and added a word or two in a lower tone.

"Now, Much--and you, Tim-of-the-Mill," cried Hardy, "let us rush on

them all at once, beat down their swords with your bucklers, and tie

them tight. Then we will set the bagpipe before them, and flog them

half way to Pontefract. Quick! quick! I see the priest coming, and he

will be for peace-making."

The first step was hardly taken in advance, however, when the blast of

a trumpet sounded upon the high road, and a dozen different cries from

the villagers of----

"Hold off! hold off!"

"Forbear! Here comes the Sheriff!"

"Run for it, Master Hardy--they are the lords Greenly talked of!"

"Away--away, good yeomen!" all uttered at once, gave notice to the

gentlemen in green that some formidable enemy was in the rear.

In a moment after, two or three gentlemen of distinguished port, riding

slowly at the head of some fifty horsemen, came down the road upon the

green; and Hardy, as he was called, seeing that the day was no longer

his own, was passing across to join his companions on the other side,

when Richard de Ashby cast himself in his way, and aimed a blow at him

with his sword. The stout yeoman parried it easily with his staff, and

struck his opponent on the chest with the sharp end of the pole, thus

clearing a path by which he soon placed himself at the head of the

foresters.

"Come with us, Harland," he cried, "you will be safer away."

Richard de Ashby, however, shouting aloud, and waving his hand to the

party of gentlemen who were advancing, soon brought some of them to his

side. "Stop them! stop them!" he cried, pointing to the men in green.

"I have been grossly ill used, and well-nigh murdered!--Let your men go

round, my lord, and cut them off."

A word, a sign, from an elderly man at the head of the party, instantly

set some twenty of the horsemen into a gallop, to cut off the foresters

from the road to the church. They, on their part, took the matter very

calmly, however, unslinging their bows, bending them, and laying an

arrow on the string of each, with a degree of deliberation which shewed

that they were not unaccustomed to such encounters.

The villagers however, scattered like a flock of sheep at these

intimations of an approaching fray; the girls and the women, screaming,

and running, and tumbling down, took refuge in the neighbouring houses,

or ran away up the road. The greater part of the men decamped more

slowly, looking back from time to time to see what was going on; while

some six or seven stout peasants and the yeomen stood gathered together

under one of the trees, armed, in some instances, with swords and bows,

and one or two displaying a quarter-staff, but all seeming very well

disposed to take part in the fray, on one side or the other.

Things were in this state, and that hesitating pause had intervened

which usually precedes the first blow in a strife of any kind, when the

priest, who had been seen before to quit his house, now hurried forward

to the group of gentlemen who, without dismounting from their horses,

had gathered round Richard de Ashby. His errand was, of course, to

preach peace and forbearance; and although his face was round and rosy,

his body stout, and indicating strongly a life of ease and a fondness

for good things, it is but justice to say, that he not only urged the

necessity of quiet and tranquillity with eagerness and authority, but

he rated Richard de Ashby boldly for his conduct in the village, and

showed that ho knew a great deal more of his proceedings than was at

all pleasant to that personage.

"Sir, you are one of those," he said, "who are ever ready to play the

fool with a poor village coquette, who, if in riding through a place

they see a poor girl proud of a neat ankle or a jimp waist, are ever

ready to take advantage of her vanity to work her ruin; and if such men

put themselves in danger, and get a broken head, they must take the

consequences, without running on to bloodshed and murder."

The priest was still speaking; the yeomen were slowly retreating

towards the church, without at all heeding the horsemen in their way;

two or three elderly noblemen were listening attentively to the works

of the good clergyman; and two young ones, a step behind, were holding

themselves somewhat apart from each other, with no great appearance of

friendship between them, when the one on the left hand of the group

suddenly put the magnificent horse on which he was mounted into a quick

canter, and rode straight towards the foresters.

At first, supposing his purpose to be hostile, they wheeled upon him,

raising their bows at once, and each man drew his arrow to his ear; but

seeing that he was not followed, they assumed a more pacific aspect;

and, while one of the old lords whom he had left behind, called to him

loudly, by the name of Hugh, to come back, he not only rode on, but, to

the surprise of all, sprang from his horse and grasped young Harland

warmly by the hand.

This proceeding for the time drew all eyes in that direction, and the

end of the priest's speech was but little attended to; but, at his

request, one of the gentlemen sent off a servant to the horsemen near

the church, telling them not to act without orders.

In the meantime a brief conversation between the young nobleman and the

franklin took place, after which, remounting his horse, the former came

back to the group, and said, "May I venture a few words, my lords?"

"Of course, Lord Hugh will take part against me," exclaimed Richard de

Ashby, "or old Earl Hubert's blood will not be in his veins!"

"Not so," replied the young gentleman; "all old feuds between our

families have--thanks to God and the wisdom of those two noble

Earls--been done away. No one more rejoices in the friendship which now

exists between our houses than I do--none will more strenuously strive

to preserve it. I came merely to tell that which I know and that which

I have just heard. The young man I have been speaking with is as honest

and true as any knight or noble in the world. He once rendered me a

good service, and no one shall harm him; for that at least I pawn my

name and knighthood. He tells me, however, that this worthy gentleman

here, having taken a fancy to his promised bride, thinks fit to intrude

on their May-day sports, and, stretching somewhat the privileges of a

gentleman, makes love to the girl before his face. His endurance, it

seems, does not reach that length, and he struck our friend Sir

Richard, who fell upon him again, sword in hand, with his three

servants, when these good foresters of Barnesdale interfered to see

fair play."

"The whole is true, I doubt not," cried the priest, "for----"

"Look! look!" cried Richard de Ashby, fiercely; "while you listen to

such gossip, they are making their escape! They are going into the

priest's house, as I live!"

As he spoke, a loud voice from the other side of the green shouted, in

a laughing tone, "For Richard de Ashby's bonnet!"

All eyes were instantly turned in that direction, where, at the door of

the priest's house, two or three of the foresters were still to be

seen, the rest of them having gone in one by one. In front of the group

stood the man they called Hardy, and he repeated again, with a loud

shout, "For Richard de Ashby's bonnet!"

As soon as he saw that he had attracted attention, he suddenly raised

the bow he held in his hand, drew it to the full extent of his arm, and

an arrow whistled through the air. Richard de Ashby had started

slightly on one side as soon as he saw the archer take his aim, but the

forester altered the direction of his arm, with a laugh, even as he

loosed the shaft from the string, and the missile, with unerring truth,

passed through the hood that it was intended for, and would have fallen

beyond had it not been stopped by a jewel in the front. As it was, the

arrow remained hanging amongst his black hair, and when he drew it

forth, with a white cheek, and a somewhat trembling hand, he read

imprinted in black letters, on the wood just below the feather,

"Scathelock. Remember!"

The nobles handed the arrow one to another, read the name, and the word

that followed it, and then gazed in each other's faces with a meaning

look.

"Call back the horsemen," said one of the elder gentlemen. "These men

are gone; and it is as well as it is."