Half-Hours with Great Story-Tellers | Page 7

the siege went on.
Towards evening his lordship awoke, and grew tired of the din. Guy
Pearson, too, had got a black eye from a brick bat, and the assailants
were clambering over the outer wall. So the Baron called for his
Sunday hauberk of Milan steel, and his great two-handed sword with
the terrible name:--it was the fashion in feudal times to give names to
swords: King Arthur's was christened Excalibar; the Baron called his
Tickletoby, and whenever he took it in hand, it was no joke.
"Up with the portcullis! down with the bridge!" said Sir Robert; and out
he sallied followed by the elite of his retainers. Then there was a pretty
to-do. Heads flew one way--arms and legs another; round went
Tickletoby, and, wherever it alighted, down came horse and man, the
Baron excelled himself that day. All that he had done in Palestine faded
in the comparison; he had fought for fun there, but now it was for life
and lands. Away went John de Northwood; away went William of
Hever, and Roger of Leybourne. Hamo de Crevecoeur, with the church
vassals and the banner of St. Austin, had been gone some time. The
siege was raised, and the Lord of Sheppey was left alone in his glory.
But, brave as the Baron undoubtedly was, and total as had been the
defeat of his enemies, it cannot be supposed that La Stoccata would be
allowed to carry it away thus. It has before been hinted that Abbot
Anselm had written to the Pope, and Boniface the Eight piqued himself
on his punctuality as a correspondent in all matters connected with
church discipline. He sent back an answer by return of post; and by it
all Christian people were strictly enjoined to aid in exterminating the
offender, on pain of the greater excommunication in this world and a
million of years of purgatory in the next. But then, again, Boniface the
Eight was rather at a discount in England just then. He had affronted
Longshanks, as the royal lieges had nicknamed their monarch; and
Longshanks had been rather sharp upon the clergy in consequence. If
the Baron de Shurland could but get the King's pardon for what, in his
cooler moments, he admitted to be a peccadillo, he might sniff at the
Pope, and bid him 'to do his devilmost.'
Fortune, who as the poet says, delights to favor the bold, stood his
friend on this occasion. Edward had been for some time collecting a
large force on the coast of Kent, to carry on his French wars for the
recovery of Guienne; he was expected shortly to review it in person;

but, then, the troops lay principally in cantonments about the mouth of
the Thames, and his majesty was to come down by water. What was to
be done?--the royal barge was in sight, and John de Norwood and
Hamo de Crevecoeur had broken up all the boats to boil their
camp-kettles. A truly great mind is never without resources.
"Bring me my boots!" said the Baron.
They brought him his boots, and his dapple-grey steed along with them.
Such a courser; all blood and bone, short-backed, broad-chested, and--
but that he was a little ewe-necked--faultless in form and figure. The
Baron sprang upon his back, and dashed at once into the river.
The barge which carried Edward Longshanks and his fortunes had by
this time nearly reached the Nore; the stream was broad and the current
strong, but Sir Robert and his steed were almost as broad, and a great
deal stronger. After breasting the tide gallantly for a couple of miles,
the knight was near enough to hail the steersman.
"What have we got here?" said the King. "It's a mermaid," said one.
"It's a grampus," said another. "It's the devil," said a third. But they
were all wrong; It was only Robert de Shurland. "Gramercy" said the
King, "that fellow was never born to be drowned!"
It has been said before that the Baron had fought in the Holy Wars; in
fact, he had accompanied Longshanks, when only heir-apparent, in his
expedition twenty-five years before, although his name is
unaccountably omitted by Sir Harris Nicolas in his list of crusaders. He
had been present at Acre when Amirand of Joppa stabbed the prince
with a poisoned dagger, and had lent Princess Eleanor his own
tooth-brush after she had sucked out the venom from the wound. He
had slain certain Saracens, contented himself with his own plunder, and
never dunned the commissariat for arrears of pay. Of course he ranked
high in Edward's good graces, and had received the honor of
knighthood at his hands on the field of battle.
In one so circumstanced, it cannot be supposed that such a trifle as the