Winning His Spurs | Page 2

the purpose of falling in force upon that
evil-disposed and most treacherous baron, Sir John of Wortham, who
has already begun to harry some of the outlying lands, and has driven

off, I hear, many heads of cattle. It is a quarrel which will have to be
fought out sooner or later, and the sooner the better, say I. Although I
am no man of war, and love looking after my falcons or giving food to
my dogs far more than exchanging hard blows, yet would I gladly don
the buff and steel coat to aid in levelling the keep of that robber and
tyrant, Sir John of Wortham."
"Thanks, good Hubert," said the lad. "I must not stand gossiping here.
The news you have told me, as you know, touches me closely, for I
would not that harm should come to the forest men."
"Let it not out, I beseech thee, Cuthbert, that the news came from me,
for temperate as Sir Walter is at most times, he would, methinks, give
me short shift did he know that the wagging of my tongue might have
given warning through which the outlaws of the Chase should slip
through his fingers."
"Fear not, Hubert; I can be mum when the occasion needs. Can you tell
me farther, when the bands now gathering are likely to set forth?"
"In brief breathing space," the falconer replied. "Those who first
arrived I left swilling beer, and devouring pies and other provisions
cooked for them last night, and from what I hear, they will set forth as
soon as the last comer has arrived. Whichever be their quarry, they will
try to fall upon it before the news of their arrival is bruited abroad."
With a wave of his hand to the falconer the boy started. Leaving the
road, and striking across the slightly undulated country dotted here and
there by groups of trees, the lad ran at a brisk trot, without stopping to
halt or breathe, until after half an hour's run he arrived at the entrance
of a building, whose aspect proclaimed it to be the abode of a Saxon
franklin of some importance. It would not be called a castle, but was
rather a fortified house, with a few windows looking without, and
surrounded by a moat crossed by a drawbridge, and capable of
sustaining anything short of a real attack. Erstwood had but lately
passed into Norman hands, and was indeed at present owned by a
Saxon. Sir William de Lance, the father of the lad who is now entering
its portals, was a friend and follower of the Earl of Evesham; and soon

after his lord had married Gweneth the heiress of all these fair
lands--given to him by the will of the king, to whom by the death of her
father she became a ward--Sir William had married Editha, the
daughter and heiress of the franklin of Erstwood, a cousin and dear
friend of the new Countess of Evesham.
In neither couple could the marriage at first have been called one of
inclination on the part of the ladies, but love came after marriage.
Although the knights and barons of the Norman invasion would, no
doubt, be considered rude and rough in these days of broadcloth and
civilization, yet their manners were gentle and polished by the side of
those of the rough though kindly Saxon franklins; and although the
Saxon maids were doubtless as patriotic as their fathers and mothers,
yet the female mind is greatly led by gentle manners and courteous
address. Thus then, when bidden or forced to give their hands to the
Norman knights, they speedily accepted their lot, and for the most part
grew contented and happy enough. In their changed circumstances it
was pleasanter to ride by the side of their Norman husbands,
surrounded by a gay cavalcade, to hawk and to hunt, than to discharge
the quiet duties of mistress of a Saxon farm-house. In many cases, of
course, their lot was rendered wretched by the violence and brutality of
their lords; but in the majority they were well satisfied with their lot,
and these mixed marriages did more to bring the peoples together and
weld them in one, than all the laws and decrees of the Norman
sovereigns.
This had certainly been the case with Editha, whose marriage with Sir
William had been one of the greatest happiness. She had lost him, three
years before the story begins, fighting in Normandy, in one of the
innumerable wars in which our first Norman kings were constantly
involved. On entering the gates of Erstwood, Cuthbert had rushed
hastily to the room where his mother was sitting with three or four of
her maidens, engaged in work.
"I want to speak to you at once, mother,"