The Black Arrow | Page 3

him; and he continued obstinately digging, and piped up, very thin and shaky:
"Now, dear lady, if thy will be, I pray you that you will rue on me."
"Nick Appleyard," said Hatch, "Sir Oliver commends him to you, and bids that ye shall come within this hour to the Moat House, there to take command."
The old fellow looked up.
"Save you, my masters!" he said, grinning. "And where goeth Master Hatch?"
"Master Hatch is off to Kettley, with every man that we can horse," returned Bennet. "There is a fight toward, it seems, and my lord stays a reinforcement."
"Ay, verily," returned Appleyard. "And what will ye leave me to garrison withal?"
"I leave you six good men, and Sir Oliver to boot," answered Hatch.
"It'll not hold the place," said Appleyard; "the number sufficeth not. It would take two score to make it good."
"Why, it's for that we came to you, old shrew!" replied the other. "Who else is there but you that could do aught in such a house with such a garrison?"
"Ay! when the pinch comes, ye remember the old shoe," returned Nick. "There is not a man of you can back a horse or hold a bill; and as for archery--St. Michael! if old Harry the Fift were back again, he would stand and let ye shoot at him for a farthen a shoot!"
"Nay, Nick, there's some can draw a good bow yet," said Bennet.
"Draw a good bow!" cried Appleyard. "Yes! But who'll shoot me a good shoot? It's there the eye comes in, and the head between your shoulders. Now, what might you call a long shoot, Bennet Hatch?"
"Well," said Bennet, looking about him, "it would be a long shoot from here into the forest."
"Ay, it would be a longish shoot," said the old fellow, turning to look over his shoulder; and then he put up his hand over his eyes, and stood staring.
"Why, what are you looking at?" asked Bennet, with a chuckle. "Do, you see Harry the Fift?"
The veteran continued looking up the hill in silence. The sun shone broadly over the shelving meadows; a few white sheep wandered browsing; all was still but the distant jangle of the bell.
"What is it, Appleyard?" asked Dick.
"Why, the birds," said Appleyard.
And, sure enough, over the top of the forest, where it ran down in a tongue among the meadows, and ended in a pair of goodly green elms, about a bowshot from the field where they were standing, a flight of birds was skimming to and fro, in evident disorder.
"What of the birds?" said Bennet.
"Ay!" returned Appleyard, "y' are a wise man to go to war, Master Bennet. Birds are a good sentry; in forest places they be the first line of battle. Look you, now, if we lay here in camp, there might be archers skulking down to get the wind of us; and here would you be, none the wiser!"
"Why, old shrew," said Hatch, "there be no men nearer us than Sir Daniel's, at Kettley; y' are as safe as in London Tower; and ye raise scares upon a man for a few chaffinches and sparrows!"
"Hear him!" grinned Appleyard. "How many a rogue would give his two crop ears to have a shoot at either of us? Saint Michael, man! they hate us like two polecats!"
"Well, sooth it is, they hate Sir Daniel," answered Hatch, a little sobered.
"Ay, they hate Sir Daniel, and they hate every man that serves with him," said Appleyard; "and in the first order of hating, they hate Bennet Hatch and old Nicholas the bowman. See ye here: if there was a stout fellow yonder in the wood-edge, and you and I stood fair for him--as, by Saint George, we stand!--which, think ye, would he choose?"
"You, for a good wager," answered Hatch.
"My surcoat to a leather belt, it would be you!" cried the old archer. "Ye burned Grimstone, Bennet--they'll ne'er forgive you that, my master. And as for me, I'll soon be in a good place, God grant, and out of bow-shoot--ay, and cannon-shoot--of all their malices. I am an old man, and draw fast to homeward, where the bed is ready. But for you, Bennet, y' are to remain behind here at your own peril, and if ye come to my years unhanged, the old true- blue English spirit will be dead."
"Y' are the shrewishest old dolt in Tunstall Forest," returned Hatch, visibly ruffled by these threats. "Get ye to your arms before Sir Oliver come, and leave prating for one good while. An ye had talked so much with Harry the Fift, his ears would ha' been richer than his pocket."
An arrow sang in the air, like a huge hornet; it struck old Appleyard between the shoulder-blades, and pierced him clean through, and he fell forward on his face among the cabbages. Hatch,