The Lances of Lynwood | Page 5

Eleanor, cheer up, for he cannot but come
soon."
"So many soons have passed away, that my heart is well-nigh too sick

for hope," said Eleanor. "And when he comes it will be but a bright
dream to last for a moment. He cannot long be spared from the Prince's
side."
"You must go with him, then, sister, and see how I begin my days of
chivalry--that is, if he will but believe me fit to bear shield and lance."
"Ah! Master Eustace, if you were but such as I have seen others of your
race," said Ralph, shaking his head. "There was Sir Henry --at your age
he had made the Scottish thieves look about them, I promise you. And
to go no further back than Sir Reginald himself-- he stood by the
Prince's side at Crecy ere he was yet fifteen!"
"It is not my fault that I have not done as much, Ralph," said Eustace.
"It is not for want of the will, as you know full well."
"No. Thanks to me, I trust you have the will and the teaching, at least,
to make a good Knight," said Ralph. "And yet, while I think of the
goodly height and broad shoulders of those that have gone before
you--"
"But hark! hark!" cried Eustace, cutting short a comparison which did
not seem likely to be complimentary. "Dost not hear, Ralph? A horn!"
"The Lynwood note! My husband's note! O thanks, thanks to the
Saints!" cried the Lady, clasping her hands, whilst Eustace, vaulting
into the saddle behind his little nephew, rode across the drawbridge as
fast as the stiffened joints of old Blanc Etoile could be prevailed on to
move. Gaining the summit of a rising ground, both at once shouted,
"Our own pennon! It is himself!" as they beheld the dark blue crosslet
on an argent field floating above a troop of horsemen, whose armour
glanced in the setting sun.
"There are the Lances of Lynwood, Arthur," said Eustace, leaping to
the ground. "Keep your seat, and meet your father like a brave Knight's
son."
He then settled the reins in the child's hand, and walked beside him to
meet the new-comers. They were about twenty in number, armed alike
with corselets marked with the blue cross, steel headpieces, and long
lances. In front rode two of higher rank. The first was a man of noble
mien and lofty stature, his short dark curled hair and beard, and
handsome though sunburnt countenance, displayed beneath his small
blue velvet cap, his helmet being carried behind him by a man-at-arms,
and his attire consisting of a close-fitting dress of chamois leather, a

white mantle embroidered with the blue cross thrown over one shoulder,
and his sword hanging by his side. His companion, who carried at his
saddle-bow a shield blazoned with heraldic devices in scarlet and gold,
was of still greater height, and very slight; his large keen eyes, hair and
moustache, black as jet; and his complexion dark brown, with a
well-formed aquiline nose, and a perfect and very white set of teeth.
The instant the first-mentioned horseman perceived Eustace and Arthur,
he sprang to the ground and hurried to meet them with rapid
affectionate greetings and inquiries. In another moment Dame Eleanor
appeared on the drawbridge, and, weeping with joy, was clasped in her
husband's arms. Behind her stood the venerable chaplain, Father Cyril,
and a step or two further off, Ralph Penrose, both of whom in turn
received the kindly greetings of Sir Reginald Lynwood, as, with his
wife hanging on his arm and his boy holding his hand, he passed under
the gateway of his ancestral castle. Turning the next moment, he
addressed his tall companion: "Friend Gaston, I bid you welcome!
Dame Eleanor, and you, brother Eustace, I present to you my trusty
Esquire, Master Gaston d'Aubricour."
Due courtesies passed between the Lady and the Squire, who, after a
few words with the Knight, remained to see the disposal of the men,
while Sir Reginald himself entered the hall with his wife, son and
brother. Eustace did not long remain there: he found that Reginald and
Eleanor had much to say to each other, and his curiosity and interest
were, besides, greatly excited by the novelty of the scene presented by
the castle court, so different from its usual peaceful monotony. The
men were unsaddling their horses, rubbing them down, walking them
about, or removing the stains of dust and mud from their own armour,
while others were exchanging greetings with the villagers, who were
gathering in joyous parties round such of the newly arrived as were
natives of the place.
In the midst stood the strange Squire, superintending a horse-boy who
was rubbing down the Knight's tall war-horse, and at the same time
ordering,