The Black Arrow | Page 9

Robert Louis Stevenson

of that loss. Write me down twenty, and when I have recovered all I
may, I will be good lord to you, and pardon you the rest."
"Alas! my good lord, it may not be; I have no skill to write," said
Condall.
"Well-a-day!" returned the knight. "Here, then, is no remedy. Yet I
would fain have spared you, Tyndal, had my conscience suffered.
Selden, take me this old shrew softly to the nearest elm, and hang me
him tenderly by the neck, where I may see him at my riding. Fare ye
well, good Master Condall, dear Master Tyndal; y' are post- haste for
Paradise; fare ye then well!"
"Nay, my right pleasant lord," replied Condall, forcing an obsequious
smile, "an ye be so masterful, as doth right well become you, I will
even, with all my poor skill, do your good bidding."
"Friend," quoth Sir Daniel, "ye will now write two score. Go to! y' are
too cunning for a livelihood of seventy shillings. Selden, see him write
me this in good form, and have it duly witnessed."
And Sir Daniel, who was a very merry knight, none merrier in England,
took a drink of his mulled ale, and lay back, smiling.

Meanwhile, the boy upon the floor began to stir, and presently sat up
and looked about him with a scare.
"Hither," said Sir Daniel; and as the other rose at his command and
came slowly towards him, he leaned back and laughed outright. "By the
rood!" he cried, "a sturdy boy!"
The lad flushed crimson with anger, and darted a look of hate out of his
dark eyes. Now that he was on his legs, it was more difficult to make
certain of his age. His face looked somewhat older in expression, but it
was as smooth as a young child's; and in bone and body he was
unusually slender, and somewhat awkward of gait.
"Ye have called me, Sir Daniel," he said. "Was it to laugh at my poor
plight?"
"Nay, now, let laugh," said the knight. "Good shrew, let laugh, I pray
you. An ye could see yourself, I warrant ye would laugh the first."
"Well," cried the lad, flushing, "ye shall answer this when ye answer
for the other. Laugh while yet ye may!"
"Nay, now, good cousin," replied Sir Daniel, with some earnestness,
"think not that I mock at you, except in mirth, as between kinsfolk and
singular friends. I will make you a marriage of a thousand pounds, go
to! and cherish you exceedingly. I took you, indeed, roughly, as the
time demanded; but from henceforth I shall ungrudgingly maintain and
cheerfully serve you. Ye shall be Mrs. Shelton--Lady Shelton, by my
troth! for the lad promiseth bravely. Tut! ye will not shy for honest
laughter; it purgeth melancholy. They are no rogues who laugh, good
cousin. Good mine host, lay me a meal now for my cousin, Master John.
Sit ye down, sweetheart, and eat."
"Nay," said Master John, "I will break no bread. Since ye force me to
this sin, I will fast for my soul's interest. But, good mine host, I pray
you of courtesy give me a cup of fair water; I shall be much beholden
to your courtesy indeed."
"Ye shall have a dispensation, go to!" cried the knight. "Shalt be well
shriven, by my faith! Content you, then, and eat."
But the lad was obstinate, drank a cup of water, and, once more
wrapping himself closely in his mantle, sat in a far corner, brooding.
In an hour or two, there rose a stir in the village of sentries challenging
and the clatter of arms and horses; and then a troop drew up by the inn
door, and Richard Shelton, splashed with mud, presented himself upon

the threshold.
"Save you, Sir Daniel," he said.
"How! Dickie Shelton!" cried the knight; and at the mention of Dick's
name the other lad looked curiously across. "What maketh Bennet
Hatch?"
"Please you, sir knight, to take cognisance of this packet from Sir
Oliver, wherein are all things fully stated," answered Richard,
presenting the priest's letter. "And please you farther, ye were best
make all speed to Risingham; for on the way hither we encountered one
riding furiously with letters, and by his report, my Lord of Risingham
was sore bested, and lacked exceedingly your presence."
"How say you? Sore bested?" returned the knight. "Nay, then, we will
make speed sitting down, good Richard. As the world goes in this poor
realm of England, he that rides softliest rides surest. Delay, they say,
begetteth peril; but it is rather this itch of doing that undoes men; mark
it, Dick. But let me see, first, what cattle ye have brought. Selden, a
link here at the door!"
And Sir Daniel strode forth
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