Men of Iron | Page 9

gain thee
footing here? But stay! Thou didst say anon that thou hadst a letter to
my Lord. From whom is it?"
"It is from my father," said Myles. "He is of noble blood, but fallen in
estate. He is a kinsman of my Lord's, and one time his comrade in
arms."
"Sayst so?" said the other. "Then mayhap thy chances are not so ill,
after all." Then, after a moment, he added: "My name is Francis
Gascoyne, and I will stand thy friend in this matter. Get thy letter ready,
for my Lord and his Grace of York are within and come forth anon.
The Archbishop is on his way to Dalworth, and my Lord escorts him so
far as Uppingham. I and those others are to go along. Dost thou know
my Lord by sight?"
"Nay," said Myles, "I know him not."
"Then I will tell thee when he cometh. Listen!" said he, as a confused

clattering sounded in the court-yard without. "Yonder are the horses
now. They come presently. Busk thee with thy letter, friend Myles."
The attendants who passed through the anteroom now came and went
more hurriedly, and Myles knew that the Earl must be about to come
forth. He had hardly time to untie his pouch, take out the letter, and tie
the strings again when the arras at the door-way was thrust suddenly
aside, and a tall thin squire of about twenty came forth, said some
words to the young men upon the bench, and then withdrew again.
Instantly the squires arose and took their station beside the door-way. A
sudden hush fell upon all in the room, and the men-at-arms stood in a
line against the wall, stiff and erect as though all at once transformed to
figures of iron. Once more the arras was drawn back, and in the hush
Myles heard voices in the other room.
"My Lord cometh," whispered Gascoyne in his ear, and Myles felt his
heart leap in answer.
The next moment two noblemen came into the anteroom followed by a
crowd of gentlemen, squires, and pages. One of the two was a dignitary
of the Church; the other Myles instantly singled out as the Earl of
Mackworth.
CHAPTER 4
He was a tall man, taller even than Myles's father. He had a thin face,
deep-set bushy eyebrows, and a hawk nose. His upper lip was clean
shaven, but from his chin a flowing beard of iron- gray hung nearly to
his waist. He was clad in a riding-gown of black velvet that hung a
little lower than the knee, trimmed with otter fur and embroidered with
silver goshawks--the crest of the family of Beaumont.
A light shirt of link mail showed beneath the gown as he walked, and a
pair of soft undressed leather riding-boots were laced as high as the
knee, protecting his scarlet hose from mud and dirt. Over his shoulders
he wore a collar of enamelled gold, from which hung a magnificent
jewelled pendant, and upon his fist he carried a beautiful Iceland
falcon.

As Myles stood staring, he suddenly heard Gascoyne's voice whisper in
his ear, "Yon is my Lord; go forward and give him thy letter."
Scarcely knowing what he did, he walked towards the Earl like a
machine, his heart pounding within him and a great humming in his
ears. As he drew near, the nobleman stopped for a moment and stared
at him, and Myles, as in a dream, kneeled, and presented the letter. The
Earl took it in his hand, turned it this way and that, looked first at the
bearer, then at the packet, and then at the bearer again.
"Who art thou?" said he; "and what is the matter thou wouldst have of
me?"
"I am Myles Falworth," said the lad, in a low voice; "and I come
seeking service with you."
The Earl drew his thick eyebrows quickly together, and shot a keen
look at the lad. "Falworth?" said he, sharply--"Falworth? I know no
Falworth!"
"The letter will tell you," said Myles. "It is from one once dear to you."
The Earl took the letter, and handing it to a gentleman who stood near,
bade him break the seal. "Thou mayst stand," said he to Myles; "needst
not kneel there forever." Then, taking the opened parchment again, he
glanced first at the face and then at the back, and, seeing its length,
looked vexed. Then he read for an earnest moment or two, skipping
from line to line. Presently he folded the letter and thrust it into the
pouch at his side. "So it is, your Grace," said he to the lordly prelate,
"that we who have luck to rise in the world must ever suffer by being
plagued at all times and seasons. Here is one