The Black Arrow | Page 6

the context; nay, I am a sluggard priest, I am too deep in men's
affairs. Well, let us ride forth, Master Hatch. The jackmen should be at
the church by now."
So they rode forward down the road, with the wind after them, blowing
the tails of the parson's cloak; and behind them, as they went, clouds
began to arise and blot out the sinking sun. They had passed three of
the scattered houses that make up Tunstall hamlet, when, coming to a
turn, they saw the church before them. Ten or a dozen houses clustered
immediately round it; but to the back the churchyard was next the
meadows. At the lych-gate, near a score of men were gathered, some in
the saddle, some standing by their horses' heads. They were variously
armed and mounted; some with spears, some with bills, some with
bows, and some bestriding plough-horses, still splashed with the mire
of the furrow; for these were the very dregs of the country, and all the
better men and the fair equipments were already with Sir Daniel in the
field.

"We have not done amiss, praised be the cross of Holywood! Sir Daniel
will be right well content," observed the priest, inwardly numbering the
troop.
"Who goes? Stand! if ye be true!" shouted Bennet. A man was seen
slipping through the churchyard among the yews; and at the sound of
this summons he discarded all concealment, and fairly took to his heels
for the forest. The men at the gate, who had been hitherto unaware of
the stranger's presence, woke and scattered. Those who had dismounted
began scrambling into the saddle; the rest rode in pursuit; but they had
to make the circuit of the consecrated ground, and it was plain their
quarry would escape them. Hatch, roaring an oath, put his horse at the
hedge, to head him off; but the beast refused, and sent his rider
sprawling in the dust. And though he was up again in a moment, and
had caught the bridle, the time had gone by, and the fugitive had gained
too great a lead for any hope of capture.
The wisest of all had been Dick Shelton. Instead of starting in a vain
pursuit, he had whipped his crossbow from his back, bent it, and set a
quarrel to the string; and now, when the others had desisted, he turned
to Bennet and asked if he should shoot.
"Shoot! shoot!" cried the priest, with sanguinary violence.
"Cover him, Master Dick," said Bennet. "Bring me him down like a
ripe apple."
The fugitive was now within but a few leaps of safety; but this last part
of the meadow ran very steeply uphill; and the man ran slower in
proportion. What with the greyness of the falling night, and the uneven
movements of the runner, it was no easy aim; and as Dick levelled his
bow, he felt a kind of pity, and a half desire that he might miss. The
quarrel sped.
The man stumbled and fell, and a great cheer arose from Hatch and the
pursuers. But they were counting their corn before the harvest. The man
fell lightly; he was lightly afoot again, turned and waved his cap in a
bravado, and was out of sight next moment in the margin of the wood.
"And the plague go with him!" cried Bennet. "He has thieves' heels; he
can run, by St Banbury! But you touched him, Master Shelton; he has
stolen your quarrel, may he never have good I grudge him less!"
"Nay, but what made he by the church?" asked Sir Oliver. "I am
shrewdly afeared there has been mischief here. Clipsby, good fellow,

get ye down from your horse, and search thoroughly among the yews."
Clipsby was gone but a little while ere he returned carrying a paper.
"This writing was pinned to the church door," he said, handing it to the
parson. "I found naught else, sir parson."
"Now, by the power of Mother Church," cried Sir Oliver, "but this runs
hard on sacrilege! For the king's good pleasure, or the lord of the
manor--well! But that every run-the-hedge in a green jerkin should
fasten papers to the chancel door--nay, it runs hard on sacrilege, hard;
and men have burned for matters of less weight. But what have we here?
The light falls apace. Good Master Richard, y' have young eyes. Read
me, I pray, this libel."
Dick Shelton took the paper in his hand and read it aloud. It contained
some lines of very rugged doggerel, hardly even rhyming, written in a
gross character, and most uncouthly spelt. With the spelling somewhat
bettered, this is how they ran:
"I had four blak arrows under my belt, Four for the greefs that I have
felt, Four for the nomber