Beatrix of Clare | Page 2

the short gown of velvet and sable--you brought it from France, I assume; the fashion smacks of the Continent. I would like much to have your opinion as to how it looks on me--we are rather of a size, I take it--though I shall have to forego the pleasure of the opinion until another day. . . And now that I can see your doublet, I am enamoured also of it--will you lend it to me for a little while? Truly, my lord, I mind never to have seen a handsomer, or one that caught my fancy more."
De Lacy looked again at the archers and their ready bows.
"St. Denis, fellow," he said, "leave me enough clothes to return to the castle."
"God forbid," exclaimed the bandit, "that I should put a gallant gentleman to any such embarrassment--but you must admit it were a shame to have gown and doublet and yet no bonnet to match them. . ."
The Knight took it off and sent it spinning toward him.
"Note the feather," he said. "It is rarely long and heavy."
"I observed that yesterday," was the merry response.
"Is there anything else about me you care for?" De Lacy asked.
"Nothing--unless you could give me your rarely generous disposition. Methinks I never met a more obliging gentleman."
The Knight arose. "Then, as I am already overdue at Windsor, I shall give you good morning."
The archer raised his hand.
"I am sorry, my lord, but we must impose a trifle further on your good nature and ask you to remain here a while," and he nodded to the man beside him, who drew a thin rope from his pouch and came forward.
De Lacy started back--the leveled arrows met him on every side.
"You would not bind me!" he exclaimed.
The outlaw bowed again.
"It grieves me to the heart to do it, but we have pressing business elsewhere and must provide against pursuit. Some one will, I hope, chance upon you before night. . . Proceed, James--yonder beech will answer."
The Knight laughed.
"I thank you for the hope," he said--and, throwing his body into the blow, smashed the rogue with the rope straight on the chin-point, and leaping over him closed with the leader.
It was done so quickly and in such positions that the others dared not shoot lest they strike either James or their chief--but the struggle was only for a moment; for they sprang in and dragged the Knight away, and whipped the rope about his arms.
"Marry," exclaimed the leader, brushing the dirt from his clothes, "I am sorry they did not let us have the wrestle out--though you are a quick hitter, my lord, and powerful strong in the arms. I wager you showed James more stars than he ever knew existed."
James, still dazed, was struggling to get up, and one of the others gave him a hand.
"By St. Hubert," he growled, rubbing his head in pain and scowling at De Lacy, "if there be more I have no wish to see them."
In the fight De Lacy's forearm had struck the point of his own dagger, where it protruded below the brigand's belt, and the blood was scarleting the white sleeve of his tunic.
The leader came over and bared the wound.
"It is a clean gash, my lord," he said, "but will need a bandage." He drew a bow-cord around the arm above the elbow; then, "With your permission," carefully cut away the sleeve and deftly bound up the hurt.
De Lacy watched him curiously.
"You are a charming outlaw," he observed; "a skillful surgeon--and I fancy, if you so cared, you could claim a gentle birth."
The man stepped back and looked him in the eyes a moment.
"If I remove the bonds, will you give me your Knightly word to remain here, speaking to no one until . . . the sun has passed the topmost branch of yonder oak?"
The Knight bowed.
"That I will, and thank you for the courtesy."
At a nod the rope was loosed, and the next instant the outlaws had vanished in the forest--but De Lacy's cloak lay at his feet, flung there by the chief himself.
"St. Denis!" De Lacy marveled, "has Robin Hood returned to the flesh?"
Then he looked at the sun, and resumed his seat on the fallen tree.
"A pretty mess," he mused--"a stranger in England--my first day at Windsor and the jest of the castle. . . Stripped like a jowly tradesman . . . taken like a cooing babe . . . purseless . . . daggerless . . . bonnetless . . . doubletless--aye, naked, but for an outlaw's generosity . . . cut by my own weapon"--he held up his hand and looked at the abraded knuckles--"and that is all the credit I have to show--the mark of a caitiff's chin. . . Methinks I am fit only for the company of children."
He glanced