Men of Iron

E >> Ernie Howard Pyle >> Men of Iron


"I be turned seventeen last April," Myles answered, as he had the
evening before to Lord Mackworth.

"Humph!" said Sir James; "thou be'st big of bone and frame for thine
age. I would that thy heart were more that of a man likewise, and less
that of a giddy, hare-brained boy, thinking continually of naught but
mischief."

Again he fell silent, and Myles sat quite still, wondering if it was
on account of any special one of his latest escapades that he had been
summoned to the office--the breaking of the window in the Long Hall by
the stone he had flung at the rook, or the climbing of the South Tower
for the jackdaw's nest.

"Thou hast a friend," said Sir James, suddenly breaking into his
speculations, "of such a kind that few in this world possess. Almost
ever since thou hast been here he hath been watching over thee. Canst
thou guess of whom I speak?"

"Haply it is Lord George Beaumont," said Myles; "he hath always been
passing kind to me.

"Nay," said Sir James, "it is not of him that I speak, though methinks
he liketh thee well enow. Canst thou keep a secret, boy?" he asked,
suddenly.

"Yea," answered Myles.

"And wilt thou do so in this case if I tell thee who it is that is thy
best friend here?"

"Yea."

"Then it is my Lord who is that friend--the Earl himself; but see that
thou breathe not a word of it."

Myles sat staring at the old knight in utter and profound amazement, and
presently Sir James continued: "Yea, almost ever since thou hast come
here my Lord hath kept oversight upon all thy doings, upon all thy mad
pranks and thy quarrels and thy fights, thy goings out and comings in.
What thinkest thou of that, Myles Falworth?"

Again the old knight stopped and regarded the lad, who sat silent,
finding no words to answer. He seemed to find a grim pleasure in the
youngster's bewilderment and wonder. Then a sudden thought came to
Myles.

"Sir," said he, "did my Lord know that I went to the privy garden as I
did?"

"Nay," said Sir James; "of that he knew naught at first until thy father
bade thy mother write and tell him."

"My father!" ejaculated Myles.

"Aye," said Sir James, twisting his mustaches more vigorously than ever.
"So soon as thy father heard of that prank, he wrote straightway to
my Lord that he should put a stop to what might in time have bred
mischief."

"Sir," said Myles, in an almost breathless voice, "I know not how to
believe all these things, or whether I be awake or a-dreaming."

"Thou be'st surely enough awake," answered the old man; "but there are
other matters yet to be told. My Lord thinketh, as others of us do--Lord
George and myself--that it is now time for thee to put away thy boyish
follies, and learn those things appertaining to manhood. Thou hast been
here a year now, and hast had freedom to do as thou might list; but,
boy,"--and the old warrior spoke seriously, almost solemnly--"upon thee
doth rest matters of such great import that did I tell them to thee thou
couldst not grasp them. My Lord deems that thou hast, mayhap, promise
beyond the common of men; ne'theless it remaineth yet to be seen an he
be right; it is yet to test whether that promise may be fulfilled. Next
Monday I and Sir Everard Willoughby take thee in hand to begin training
thee in the knowledge and the use of the jousting lance, of arms, and of
horsemanship. Thou art to go to Ralph Smith, and have him fit a suit of
plain armor to thee which he hath been charged to make for thee against
this time. So get thee gone, think well over all these matters, and
prepare thyself by next Monday. But stay, sirrah," he added, as Myles,
dazed and bewildered, turned to obey; "breathe to no living soul what
I ha' told thee--that my Lord is thy friend--neither speak of anything
concerning him. Such is his own heavy command laid upon thee."

Then Myles turned again without a word to leave the room. But as he
reached the door Sir James stopped him a second time.

"Stay!" he called. "I had nigh missed telling thee somewhat else. My
Lord hath made thee a present this morning that thou wottest not of. It
is"--then he stopped for a few moments, perhaps to enjoy the full flavor
of what he had to say--"it is a great Flemish horse of true breed and
right mettle; a horse such as a knight of the noblest strain might be
proud to call his own. Myles Falworth, thou wert born upon a lucky day!"

"Sir," cried Myles, and then stopped short. Then, "Sir," he cried again,
"didst thou say it--the horse--was to be mine?"

"Aye, it is to be thine."

"My very own?"

"Thy very own."

How Myles Falworth left that place he never knew. He was like one in
some strange, some wonderful dream. He walked upon air, and his heart
was so full of joy and wonder and amazement that it thrilled almost to
agony. Of course his first thought was of Gascoyne. How he ever found
him he never could tell, but find him he did.

"Come, Francis!" he cried, "I have that to tell thee so marvellous that
had it come upon me from paradise it could not be more strange."

Then he dragged him away to their Eyry--it had been many a long day
since they had been there--and to all his friend's speeches, to all his
wondering questions, he answered never a word until they had climbed the
stairs, and so come to their old haunt. Then he spoke.

"Sit thee down, Francis," said he, "till I tell thee that which passeth
wonder." As Gascoyne obeyed, he himself stood looking about him. "This
is the last time I shall ever come hither," said he. And thereupon he
poured out his heart to his listening friend in the murmuring solitude
of the airy height. He did not speak of the Earl, but of the wonderful
new life that had thus suddenly opened before him, with its golden
future of limitless hopes, of dazzling possibilities, of heroic
ambitions. He told everything, walking up and down the while--for he
could not remain quiet--his cheeks glowing and his eyes sparkling.

Gascoyne sat quite still, staring straight before him. He knew that his
friend was ruffling eagle pinions for a flight in which he could never
hope to follow, and somehow his heart ached, for he knew that this must
be the beginning of the end of the dear, delightful friendship of the
year past.



CHAPTER 22

And so ended Myles Falworth's boyhood. Three years followed, during
which he passed through that state which immediately follows boyhood in
all men's lives--a time when they are neither lads nor grown men, but
youths passing from the one to the other period through what is often an
uncouth and uncomfortable age.

He had fancied, when he talked with Gascoyne in the Eyry that time,
that he was to become a man all at once; he felt just then that he had
forever done with boyish things. But that is not the way it happens in
men's lives. Changes do not come so suddenly and swiftly as that, but by
little and little. For three or four days, maybe, he went his new way of
life big with the great change that had come upon him, and then, now
in this and now in that, he drifted back very much into his old ways
of boyish doings. As was said, one's young days do not end all at once,
even when they be so suddenly and sharply shaken, and Myles was not
different from others. He had been stirred to the core by that first
wonderful sight of the great and glorious life of manhood opening before
him, but he had yet many a sport to enjoy, many a game to play, many a
boisterous romp to riot in the dormitory, many an expedition to make
to copse and spinney and river on days when he was off duty, and when
permission had been granted.

Nevertheless, there was a great and vital change in his life; a change
which he hardly felt or realized. Even in resuming his old life there
was no longer the same vitality, the same zest, the same enjoyment in
all these things. It seemed as though they were no longer a part of
himself. The savor had gone from them, and by-and-by it was pleasanter
to sit looking on at the sports and the games of the younger lads than
to take active part in them.

These three years of his life that had thus passed had been very full;
full mostly of work, grinding and monotonous; of training dull, dry,
laborious. For Sir James Lee was a taskmaster as hard as iron and
seemingly as cold as a stone. For two, perhaps for three, weeks Myles
entered into his new exercises with all the enthusiasm that novelty
brings; but these exercises hardly varied a tittle from day to day, and
soon became a duty, and finally a hard and grinding task. He used, in
the earlier days of his castle life, to hate the dull monotony of the
tri-weekly hacking at the pels with a heavy broadsword as he hated
nothing else; but now, though he still had that exercise to perform, it
was almost a relief from the heavy dulness of riding, riding, riding in
the tilt-yard with shield and lance--couch--recover--en passant.

But though he had nowadays but little time for boyish plays and
escapades, his life was not altogether without relaxation. Now and
then he was permitted to drive in mock battle with other of the younger
knights and bachelors in the paddock near the outer walls. It was a
still more welcome change in the routine of his life when, occasionally,
he would break a light lance in the tilting-court with Sir Everard
Willoughby; Lord George, perhaps, and maybe one or two others of the
Hall folk, looking on.

Then one gilded day, when Lord Dudleigh was visiting at Devlen, Myles
ran a course with a heavier lance in the presence of the Earl, who came
down to the tilt-yard with his guest to see the young novitiate ride
against Sir Everard. He did his best, and did it well. Lord Dudleigh
praised his poise and carriage, and Lord George, who was present, gave
him an approving smile and nod. But the Earl of Mackworth only sat
stroking his beard impassively, as was his custom. Myles would have
given much to know his thoughts.

In all these years Sir James Lee almost never gave any expression either
of approbation or disapproval--excepting when Myles exhibited some
carelessness or oversight. Then his words were sharp and harsh enough.
More than once Myles's heart failed him, and bitter discouragement
took possession of him; then nothing but his bull-dog tenacity and
stubbornness brought him out from the despondency of the dark hours.

"Sir," he burst out one day, when his heart was heavy with some failure,
"tell me, I beseech thee, do I get me any of skill at all? Is it in me
ever to make a worthy knight, fit to hold lance and sword with other
men, or am I only soothly a dull heavy block, worth naught of any good?"

"Thou art a fool, sirrah!" answered Sir James, in his grimmest tones.
"Thinkest thou to learn all of knightly prowess in a year and a half?
Wait until thou art ripe, and then I will tell thee if thou art fit to
couch a lance or ride a course with a right knight."

"Thou art an old bear!" muttered Myles to himself, as the old one-eyed
knight turned on his heel and strode away. "Beshrew me! an I show thee
not that I am as worthy to couch a lance as thou one of these fine
days!"

However, during the last of the three years the grinding routine of his
training had not been quite so severe as at first. His exercises took
him more often out into the fields, and it was during this time of his
knightly education that he sometimes rode against some of the castle
knights in friendly battle with sword or lance or wooden mace. In these
encounters he always held his own; and held it more than well, though,
in his boyish simplicity, he was altogether unconscious of his own
skill, address, and strength. Perhaps it was his very honest modesty
that made him so popular and so heartily liked by all.

He had by this time risen to the place of head squire or chief bachelor,
holding the same position that Walter Blunt had occupied when he himself
had first come, a raw country boy, to Devlen. The lesser squires
and pages fairly worshipped him as a hero, albeit imposing upon his
good-nature. All took a pride in his practice in knightly exercises, and
fabulous tales were current among the young fry concerning his strength
and skill.

Yet, although Myles was now at the head of his class, he did not,
as other chief bachelors had done, take a leading position among the
squires in the Earl's household service. Lord Mackworth, for his own
good reasons, relegated him to the position of Lord George's especial
attendant. Nevertheless, the Earl always distinguished him from the
other esquires, giving him a cool nod whenever they met; and Myles, upon
his part--now that he had learned better to appreciate how much his Lord
had done for him--would have shed the last drop of blood in his veins
for the head of the house of Beaumont.

As for the two young ladies, he often saw them, and sometimes, even
in the presence of the Earl, exchanged a few words with them, and Lord
Mackworth neither forbade it nor seemed to notice it.

Towards the Lady Anne he felt the steady friendly regard of a lad for a
girl older than himself; towards the Lady Alice, now budding into ripe
young womanhood, there lay deep in his heart the resolve to be some day
her true knight in earnest as he had been her knight in pretence in that
time of boyhood when he had so perilously climbed into the privy garden.

In body and form he was now a man, and in thought and heart was quickly
ripening to manhood, for, as was said before, men matured quickly in
those days. He was a right comely youth, for the promise of his boyish
body had been fulfilled in a tall, powerful, well-knit frame. His face
was still round and boyish, but on cheek and chin and lip was the curl
of adolescent beard--soft, yellow, and silky. His eyes were as blue
as steel, and quick and sharp in glance as those of a hawk; and as he
walked, his arms swung from his broad, square shoulders, and his body
swayed with pent-up strength ready for action at any moment.

If little Lady Alice, hearing much talk of his doings and of his promise
in these latter times, thought of him now and then it is a matter not
altogether to be wondered at.

Such were the changes that three years had wrought. And from now the
story of his manhood really begins.


Perhaps in all the history of Devlen Castle, even at this, the high tide
of pride and greatness of the house of Beaumont, the most notable time
was in the early autumn of the year 1411, when for five days King Henry
IV was entertained by the Earl of Mackworth. The King was at that time
making a progress through certain of the midland counties, and with him
travelled the Comte de Vermoise. The Count was the secret emissary of
the Dauphin's faction in France, at that time in the very bitterest
intensity of the struggle with the Duke of Burgundy, and had come to
England seeking aid for his master in his quarrel.

It was not the first time that royalty had visited Devlen. Once, in Earl
Robert's day, King Edward II had spent a week at the castle during the
period of the Scottish wars. But at that time it was little else than a
military post, and was used by the King as such. Now the Beaumonts were
in the very flower of their prosperity, and preparations were made
for the coming visit of royalty upon a scale of such magnificence and
splendor as Earl Robert, or perhaps even King Edward himself, had never
dreamed.

For weeks the whole castle had been alive with folk hurrying hither and
thither; and with the daily and almost hourly coming of pack-horses,
laden with bales and boxes, from London. From morning to night one heard
the ceaseless chip-chipping of the masons' hammers, and saw carriers
of stones and mortar ascending and descending the ladders of the
scaffolding that covered the face of the great North Hall. Within, that
part of the building was alive with the scraping of the carpenters'
saws, the clattering of lumber, and the rapping and banging of hammers.

The North Hall had been assigned as the lodging place for the King and
his court, and St. George's Hall (as the older building adjoining it was
called) had been set apart as the lodging of the Comte de Vermoise and
the knights and gentlemen attendant upon him.

The great North Hall had been very much altered and changed for the
accommodation of the King and his people; a beautiful gallery of carved
wood-work had been built within and across the south end of the room for
the use of the ladies who were to look down upon the ceremonies below.
Two additional windows had been cut through the wall and glazed, and
passage-ways had been opened connecting with the royal apartments
beyond. In the bedchamber a bed of carved wood and silver had been
built into the wall, and had been draped with hangings of pale blue and
silver, and a magnificent screen of wrought-iron and carved wood had
been erected around the couch; rich and beautiful tapestries brought
from Italy and Flanders were hung upon the walls; cushions of velvets
and silks stuffed with down covered benches and chairs. The floor of
the hall was spread with mats of rushes stained in various colors, woven
into curious patterns, and in the smaller rooms precious carpets of
arras were laid on the cold stones.

All of the cadets of the House had been assembled; all of the
gentlemen in waiting, retainers and clients. The castle seemed full to
overflowing; even the dormitory of the squires was used as a lodging
place for many of the lesser gentry.

So at last, in the midst of all this bustle of preparation, came the day
of days when the King was to arrive. The day before a courier had come
bringing the news that he was lodging at Donaster Abbey overnight, and
would make progress the next day to Devlen.

That morning, as Myles was marshalling the pages and squires, and, with
the list of names in his hand, was striving to evolve some order out
of the confusion, assigning the various individuals their special
duties--these to attend in the household, those to ride in the
escort--one of the gentlemen of Lord George's household came with an
order for him to come immediately to the young nobleman's apartments.
Myles hastily turned over his duties to Gascoyne and Wilkes, and then
hurried after the messenger. He found Lord George in the antechamber,
three gentlemen squires arming him in a magnificent suit of ribbed
Milan.

He greeted Myles with a nod and a smile as the lad entered. "Sirrah,"
said he, "I have had a talk with Mackworth this morn concerning thee,
and have a mind to do thee an honor in my poor way. How wouldst thou
like to ride to-day as my special squire of escort?"

Myles flushed to the roots of his hair. "Oh, sir!" he cried, eagerly,
"an I be not too ungainly for thy purpose, no honor in all the world
could be such joy to me as that!"

Lord George laughed. "A little matter pleases thee hugely," said he;
"but as to being ungainly, who so sayeth that of thee belieth thee,
Myles; thou art not ungainly, sirrah. But that is not to the point. I
have chosen thee for my equerry to-day; so make thou haste and don thine
armor, and then come hither again, and Hollingwood will fit thee with a
wreathed bascinet I have within, and a juppon embroidered with my arms
and colors."

When Myles had made his bow and left his patron, he flew across the
quadrangle, and burst into the armory upon Gascoyne, whom he found still
lingering there, chatting with one or two of the older bachelors.

"What thinkest thou, Francis?" he cried, wild with excitement. "An honor
hath been done me this day I could never have hoped to enjoy. Out of
all this household, Lord George hath chose me his equerry for the day to
ride to meet the King. Come, hasten to help me to arm! Art thou not glad
of this thing for my sake, Francis?"

"Aye, glad am I indeed!" cried Gascoyne, that generous friend; "rather
almost would I have this befall thee than myself!" And indeed he was
hardly less jubilant than Myles over the honor.

Five minutes later he was busy arming him in the little room at the end
of the dormitory which had been lately set apart for the use of the head
bachelor. "And to think," he said, looking up as he kneeled, strapping
the thigh-plates to his friend's legs, "that he should have chosen thee
before all others of the fine knights and lords and gentlemen of quality
that are here!"

"Yea," said Myles, "it passeth wonder. I know not why he should so
single me out for such an honor. It is strangely marvellous."

"Nay," said Gascoyne, "there is no marvel in it, and I know right well
why he chooseth thee. It is because he sees, as we all see, that thou
art the stoutest and the best-skilled in arms, and most easy of carriage
of any man in all this place."

Myles laughed. "An thou make sport of me," said he, "I'll rap thy head
with this dagger hilt. Thou art a silly fellow, Francis, to talk so. But
tell me, hast thou heard who rides with my Lord?"

"Yea, I heard Wilkes say anon that it was Sir James Lee."

"I am right glad of that," said Myles; "for then he will show me what to
do and how to bear myself. It frights me to think what would hap should
I make some mistake in my awkwardness. Methinks Lord George would never
have me with him more should I do amiss this day."

"Never fear," said Gascoyne; "thou wilt not do amiss."

And now, at last, the Earl, Lord George, and all their escort were
ready; then the orders were given to horse, the bugle sounded, and away
they all rode, with clashing of iron hoofs and ringing and jingling
of armor, out into the dewy freshness of the early morning, the slant
yellow sun of autumn blazing and flaming upon polished helmets and
shields, and twinkling like sparks of fire upon spear points. Myles's
heart thrilled within him for pure joy, and he swelled out his sturdy
young breast with great draughts of the sweet fresh air that came
singing across the sunny hill-tops. Sir James Lee, who acted as the
Earl's equerry for the day, rode at a little distance, and there was an
almost pathetic contrast between the grim, steadfast impassiveness of
the tough old warrior and Myles's passionate exuberance of youth.

At the head of the party rode the Earl and his brother side by side,
each clad cap-a-pie in a suit of Milan armor, the cuirass of each
covered with a velvet juppon embroidered in silver with the arms and
quarterings of the Beaumonts. The Earl wore around his neck an "S S"
collar, with a jewelled St. George hanging from it, and upon his head a
vizored bascinet, ornamented with a wreath covered with black and yellow
velvet and glistening with jewels.

Lord George, as was said before, was clad in a beautiful suit of ribbed
Milan armor. It was rimmed with a thin thread of gold, and, like his
brother, he wore a bascinet wreathed with black and yellow velvet.

Behind the two brothers and their equerries rode the rest in their
proper order--knights, gentlemen, esquires, men-at-arms--to the number,
perhaps, of two hundred and fifty; spears and lances aslant, and
banners, permons, and pencels of black and yellow fluttering in the warm
September air.

From the castle to the town they rode, and then across the bridge, and
thence clattering up through the stony streets, where the folk looked
down upon them from the windows above, or crowded the fronts of the
shops of the tradesmen. Lusty cheers were shouted for the Earl, but the
great Lord rode staring ever straight before him, as unmoved as a stone.
Then out of the town they clattered, and away in a sweeping cloud of
dust across the country-side.

It was not until they had reached the windy top of Willoughby Croft, ten
miles away, that they met the King and his company. As the two parties
approached to within forty or fifty yards of one another they stopped.

As they came to a halt, Myles observed that a gentleman dressed in
a plain blue-gray riding-habit, and sitting upon a beautiful white
gelding, stood a little in advance of the rest of the party, and he knew
that that must be the King. Then Sir James nodded to Myles, and leaping
from his horse, flung the reins to one of the attendants. Myles did
the like; and then, still following Sir James's lead as he served
Lord Mackworth, went forward and held Lord George's stirrup while he
dismounted. The two noblemen quickly removed each his bascinet, and
Myles, holding the bridle-rein of Lord George's horse with his left
hand, took the helmet in his right, resting it upon his hip.

Then the two brothers walked forward bare-headed, the Earl, a little in
advance. Reaching the King he stopped, and then bent his knee--stiffly
in the armored plates--until it touched the ground. Thereupon the King
reached him his hand, and he, rising again, took it, and set it to his
lips.

Then Lord George, advancing, kneeled as his brother had kneeled, and to
him also the King gave his hand.

Myles could hear nothing, but he could see that a few words of greeting
passed between the three, and then the King, turning, beckoned to a
knight who stood just behind him and a little in advance of the others
of the troop. In answer, the knight rode forward; the King spoke a few
words of introduction, and the stranger, ceremoniously drawing off his
right gauntlet, clasped the hand, first of the Earl, and then of Lord
George. Myles knew that he must be the great Comte de Vermoise, of whom
he had heard so much of late.