The Brethren

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Again there was whispering between the pair.

"My master says," was the answer, "he thinks that all who see her
will have need of her, since such loveliness is rare. But if you
wish a name, well, one comes into his mind; the name of the
knight Lozelle."

"The knight Lozelle!" murmured Rosamund, turning even paler than
before, as well she might. For this Lozelle was a powerful man
and Essex-born. He owned ships of whose doings upon the seas and
in the East evil tales were told, and once had sought Rosamund's
hand in marriage, but being rejected, uttered threats for which
Godwin, as the elder of the twins, had fought and wounded him.
Then he vanished--none knew where.

"Is Sir Hugh Lozelle here then?" asked Godwin, "masked like you
common cowards? If so, I desire to meet him, to finish the work I
began in the snow last Christmas twelvemonths."

"Find that out if you can," answered the tall man. But Wulf
said, speaking low between his clenched teeth:

"Brother, I see but one chance. We must place Rosamund between
us and charge them."

The captain of the band seemed to read their thoughts, for again
he whispered into the ear of his companion, who called out:

"My master says that if you try to charge, you will be fools,
since we shall stab and ham-string your horses, which are too
good to waste, and take you quite easily as you fall. Come then,
yield, as you can do without shame, seeing there is no escape,
and that two men, however brave, cannot stand against a crowd.
He gives you one minute to surrender."

Now Rosamund spoke for the first time.

"My cousins," she said, "I pray you not to let me fall living
into the hands of Sir Hugh Lozelle, or of yonder men, to be taken
to what fate I know not. Let Godwin kill me, then, to save my
honour, as but now he said he would to save my soul, and strive
to cut your way through, and live to avenge me."

The brethren made no answer, only they looked at the water and
then at one another, and nodded. It was Godwin who spoke again,
for now that it had come to this struggle for life and their
lady, Wulf, whose tongue was commonly so ready, had grown
strangely silent, and fierce-faced also.

"Listen, Rosamund, and do not turn your eyes," said Godwin.
"There is but one chance for you, and, poor as it is, you must
choose between it and capture, since we cannot kill you. The
grey horse you ride is strong and true. Turn him now, and spur
into the water of Death Creek and swim it. It is broad, but the
incoming tide will help you, and perchance you will not drown."

Rosamund listened and moved her head backwards towards the boat.
Then Wulf spoke--few words and sharp: "Begone, girl! we guard the
boat."

She heard, and her dark eyes filled with tears, and her stately
head sank for a moment almost to her horse's mane.

"Oh, my knights! my knights! And would you die for me? Well, if
God wills it, so it must be. But I swear that if you die, that
no man shall be aught to me who have your memory, and if you
live--" And she looked at them confusedly, then stopped.

"Bless us, and begone," said Godwin.

So she blessed them in words low and holy; then of a sudden
wheeled round the great grey horse, and striking the spur into
its flank, drove straight at the deep water. A moment the
stallion hung, then from the low quay-end sprang out wide and
clear. Deep it sank, but not for long, for presently its rider's
head rose above the water, and regaining the saddle, from which
she had floated, Rosamund sat firm and headed the horse straight
for the distant bank. Now a shout of wonderment went up from the
woman thieves, for this was a deed that they had never thought a
girl would dare. But the brethren laughed as they saw that the
grey swam well, and, leaping from their saddles, ran forward a
few paces--eight or ten--along the mole to where it was
narrowest, as they went tearing the cloaks from their shoulders,
and, since they had none, throwing them over their left arms to
serve as bucklers.

The band cursed sullenly, only their captain gave an order to his
spokesman, who cried aloud:

"Cut them down, and to the boat! We shall take her before she
reaches shore or drowns."

For a moment they wavered, for the tall twin warriors who barred
the way had eyes that told of wounds and death. Then with a rush
they came, scrambling over the rough stones. But here the
causeway was so narrow that while their strength lasted, two men
were as good as twenty, nor, because of the mud and water, could
they be got at from either side. So after all it was but two to
two, and the brethren were the better two. Their long swords
flashed and smote, and when Wulf's was lifted again, once more it
shone red as it had been when he tossed it high in the sunlight,
and a man fell with a heavy splash into the waters of the creek,
and wallowed there till he died. Godwin's foe was down also,
and, as it seemed, sped.

Then, at a muttered word, not waiting to be attacked by others,
the brethren sprang forward. The huddled mob in front of them
saw them come, and shrank back, but before they had gone a yard,
the swords were at work behind. They swore strange oaths, they
caught their feet among the rocks, and rolled upon their faces.
In their confusion three of them were pushed into the water,
where two sank in the mud and were drowned, the third only
dragging himself ashore, while the rest made good their escape
from the causeway. But two had been cut down, and three had
fallen, for whom there was no escape. They strove to rise and
fight, but the linen masks flapped about their eyes, so that
their blows went wide, while the long swords of the brothers
smote and smote again upon their helms and harness as the hammers
of smiths smite upon an anvil, until they rolled over silent and
stirless.

"Back!" said Godwin; "for here the road is wide; and they will
get behind us."

So back they moved slowly, with their faces to the foe, stopping
just in front of the first man whom Godwin had seemed to kill,
and who lay face upwards with arms outstretched.

"So far we have done well," said Wulf, with a short laugh. "Are
you hurt?"

"Nay," answered his brother, "but do not boast till the battle is
over, for many are left and they will come on thus no more. Pray
God they have no spears or bows."

Then he turned and looked behind him, and there, far from the
shore now, swam the grey horse steadily, and there upon its back
sat Rosamund. Yes, and she had seen, since the horse must swim
somewhat sideways with the tide, for look, she took the kerchief
from her throat and waved it to them. Then the brethren knew
that she was proud of their great deeds, and thanked the saints
that they had lived to do even so much as this for her dear sake.

Godwin was right. Although their leader commanded them in a
stern voice, the band sank from the reach of those awful swords,
and, instead, sought for stones to hurl at them. But here lay
more mud than pebbles, and the rocks of which the causeway was
built were too heavy for them to lift, so that they found but
few, which when thrown either missed the brethren or did them
little hurt. Now, after some while, the man called "master"
spoke through his lieutenant, and certain of them ran into the
thorn thicket, and thence appeared again bearing the long oars of
the boat.

"Their counsel is to batter us down with the oars. What shall we
do now, brother?" asked Godwin.

"What we can," answered Wulf. "It matters little if Rosamund is
spared by the waters, for they will scarcely take her now, who
must loose the boat and man it after we are dead."

As he spoke Wulf heard a sound behind him, and of a sudden Godwin
threw up his arms and sank to his knees. Round he sprang, and
there upon his feet stood that man whom they had thought dead,
and in his hand a bloody sword. At him leapt Wulf, and so fierce
were the blows he smote that the first severed his sword arm and
the second shore through cloak and mail deep into the thief's
side; so that this time he fell, never to stir again. Then he
looked at his brother and saw that the blood was running down his
face and blinding him.

"Save yourself, Wulf, for I am sped," murmured Godwin.

"Nay, or you could not speak." And he cast his arm round him and
kissed him on the brow.

Then a thought came into his mind, and lifting Godwin as though
he were a child, he ran back to where the horses stood, and
heaved him onto the saddle.

"Hold fast!" he cried, "by mane and pommel. Keep your mind, and
hold fast, and I will save you yet."

Passing the reins over his left arm, Wulf leapt upon the back of
his own horse, and turned it. Ten seconds more, and the pirates,
who were gathering with the oars where the paths joined at the
root of the causeway, saw the two great horses thundering down
upon them. On one a sore wounded man, his bright hair dabbled
with blood, his hands gripping mane and saddle, and on the other
the warrior Wulf, with starting eyes and a face like the face of
a flame, shaking his red sword, and for the second time that day
shouting aloud: "A D'Arcy! a D'Arcy! Contre D'Arcy, contre
Mort!"

They saw, they shouted, they massed themselves together and held
up the oars to meet them. But Wulf spurred fiercely, and, short
as was the way, the heavy horses, trained to tourney, gathered
their speed. Now they were on them. The oars were swept aside
like reeds; all round them flashed the swords, and Wulf felt that
he was hurt, he knew not where. But his sword flashed also, one
blow--there was no time for more--yet the man beneath it sank
like an empty sack.

By St. Peter! They were through, and Godwin still swayed upon
the saddle, and yonder, nearing the further shore, the grey horse
with its burden still battled in the tide. They were through!
they were through! while to Wulf's eyes the air swam red, and the
earth seemed as though it rose up to meet them, and everywhere
was flaming fire.

But the shouts had died away behind them, and the only sound was
the sound of the galloping of their horses' hoofs. Then that
also grew faint and died away, and silence and darkness fell upon
the mind of Wulf.



Chapter Two: Sir Andew D'Arcy

Godwin dreamed that he was dead, and that beneath him floated
the world, a glowing ball, while he was borne to and fro through
the blackness, stretched upon a couch of ebony. There were bright
watchers by his couch also, watchers twain, and he knew them for
his guardian angels, given him at birth. Moreover, now and again
presences would come and question the watchers who sat at his
head and foot. One asked:

"Has this soul sinned?" And the angel at his head answered:

"It has sinned."

Again the voice asked: "Did it die shriven of its sins?"

The angel answered: "It died unshriven, red sword aloft, fighting
a good fight."

"Fighting for the Cross of Christ?"

"Nay; fighting for a woman."

"Alas! poor soul, sinful and unshriven, who died fighting for a
woman's love. How shall such a one find mercy?" wailed the
questioning voice, growing ever fainter, till it was lost far,
far away.

Now came another visitor. It was his father--the warrior sire
whom he had never seen, who fell in Syria. Godwin knew him well,
for the face was the face carven on the tomb in Stangate church,
and he wore the blood-red cross upon his mail, and the D'Arcy
Death's-head was on his shield, and in his hand shone a naked
sword.

"Is this the soul of my son?" he asked of the whiterobed
watchers. "If so, how died he?"

Then the angel at his foot answered: "He died, red sword aloft,
fighting a good fight."

"Fighting for the Cross of Christ?"

"Nay; fighting for a woman."

"Fighting for a woman's love who should have fallen in the Holy
War? Alas! poor son; alas! poor son! Alas! that we must part
again forever!" and his voice, too, passed away.

Lo! a Glory advanced through the blackness, and the angels at
head and foot stood up and saluted with their flaming spears.

"How died this child of God?" asked a voice, speaking out of the
Glory, a low and awful voice.

"He died by the sword," answered the angel.

"By the sword of the children of the enemy, fighting in the war
of Heaven?"

Then the angels were silent.

"What has Heaven to do with him, if he fought not for Heaven?"
asked the voice again.

"Let him be spared," pleaded the guardians, "who was young and
brave, and knew not. Send him back to earth, there to retrieve
his sins and be our charge once more."

"So be it," said the voice. "Knight, live on, but live as a knight
of Heaven if thou wouldst win Heaven."

"Must he then put the woman from him?" asked the angels.

"It was not said," answered the voice speaking from the Glory.
And all that wild vision vanished.

Then a space of oblivion, and Godwin awoke to hear other voices
around him, voices human, well-beloved, remembered; and to see a
face bending over him--a face most human, most well-beloved, most
remembered--that of his cousin Rosamund. He babbled some
questions, but they brought him food, and told him to sleep, so
he slept. Thus it went on, waking and sleep, sleep and waking,
till at length one morning he woke up truly in the little room
that opened out of the solar or sitting place of the Hall of
Steeple, where he and Wulf had slept since their uncle took them
to his home as infants. More, on the trestle bed opposite to him,
his leg and arm bandaged, and a crutch by his side, sat Wulf
himself, somewhat paler and thinner than of yore, but the same
jovial, careless, yet at times fierce-faced Wulf.

"Do I still dream, my brother, or is it you indeed?"

A happy smile spread upon the face of Wulf, for now he knew that
Godwin was himself again.

"Me sure enough," he answered. "Dream-folk don't have lame legs;
they are the gifts of swords and men."

"And Rosamund? What of Rosamund? Did the grey horse swim the
creek, and how came we here? Tell me quick--I faint for news!"

"She shall tell you herself." And hobbling to the curtained door,
he called, "Rosamund, my--nay, our--cousin Rosamund, Godwin is
himself again. Hear you, Godwin is himself again, and would speak
with you!"

There was a swift rustle of robes and a sound of quick feet among
the rushes that strewed the floor, and then--Rosamund herself,
lovely as ever, but all her stateliness forgot in joy. She saw
him, the gaunt Godwin sitting up upon the pallet, his grey eyes
shining in the white and sunken face. For Godwin's eyes were
grey, while Wulf's were blue, the only difference between them
which a stranger would note, although in truth Wulf's lips were
fuller than Godwin's, and his chin more marked; also he was a
larger man. She saw him, and with a little cry of delight ran and
cast her arms about him, and kissed him on the brow.

"Be careful," said Wulf roughly, turning his head aside, "or,
Rosamund, you will loose the bandages, and bring his trouble back
again; he has had enough of blood-letting."

"Then I will kiss him on the hand--the hand that saved me," she
said, and did so. More, she pressed that poor, pale hand against
her heart.

"Mine had something to do with that business also but I don't
remember that you kissed it, Rosamund. Well, I will kiss him too,
and oh! God be praised, and the holy Virgin, and the holy Peter,
and the holy Chad, and all the other holy dead folk whose names I
can't recall, who between them, with the help of Rosamund here,
and the prayers of the Prior John and brethren at Stangate, and
of Matthew, the village priest, have given you back to us, my
brother, my most beloved brother." And he hopped to the bedside,
and throwing his long, sinewy arms about Godwin embraced him
again and again.

"Be careful," said Rosamund drily, "or, Wulf, you will disturb
the bandages, and he has had enough of blood-letting."

Then before he could answer, which he seemed minded to do, there
came the sound of a slow step, and swinging the curtain aside, a
tall and noble-looking knight entered the little place. The man
was old, but looked older than he was, for sorrow and sickness
had wasted him. His snow-white hair hung upon his shoulders, his
face was pale, and his features were pinched but
finely-chiselled, and notwithstanding the difference of their
years, wonderfully like to those of the daughter Rosamund. For
this was her father, the famous lord, Sir Andrew D'Arcy.

Rosamund turned and bent the knee to him with a strange and
Eastern grace, while Wulf bowed his head, and Godwin, since his
neck was too stiff to stir, held up his hand in greeting. The old
man looked at him, and there was pride in his eye.

"So you will live after all, my nephew," he said, "and for that I
thank the giver of life and death, since by God, you are a
gallant man--a worthy child of the bloods of the Norman D'Arcy
and of Uluin the Saxon. Yes, one of the best of them."

"Speak not so, my uncle," said Godwin; "or at least, here is a
worthier,"--and he patted the hand of Wulf with his lean
fingers. "It was Wulf who bore me through. Oh, I remember as much
as that--how he lifted me onto the black horse and bade me to
cling fast to mane and pommel. Ay, and I remember the charge, and
his cry of 'Contre D'Arcy, contre Mort!' and the flashing of
swords about us, and after that--nothing."

"Would that I had been there to help in that fight," said Sir
Andrew D'Arcy, tossing his white hair. "Oh, my children, it is
hard to be sick and old. A log am I--naught but a rotting log.
Still, had I only known--"

"Father, father," said Rosamund, casting her white arm about
his neck. "You should not speak thus. You have done your share."

"Yes, my share; but I should like to do more. Oh, St. Andrew,
ask it for me that I may die with sword aloft and my grandsire's
cry upon my lips. Yes, yes; thus, not like a worn-out war-horse
in his stall. There, pardon me; but in truth, my children, I am
jealous of you. Why, when I found you lying in each other's arms
I could have wept for rage to think that such a fray had been
within a league of my own doors and I not in it."

"I know nothing of all that story," said Godwin.

"No, in truth, how can you, who have been senseless this month or
more? But Rosamund knows, and she shall tell it you. Speak on,
Rosamund. Lay you back, Godwin, and listen."

"The tale is yours, my cousins, and not mine," said Rosamund.
"You bade me take the water, and into it I spurred the grey
horse, and we sank deep, so that the waves closed above my head.
Then up we came, I floating from the saddle, but I regained it,
and the horse answered to my voice and bridle, and swam out for
the further shore. On it swam, somewhat slantwise with the tide,
so that by turning my head I could see all that passed upon the
mole. I saw them come at you, and men fall before your swords; I
saw you charge them, and run back again. Lastly, after what
seemed a very long while, when I was far away, I saw Wulf lift
Godwin into the saddle--I knew it must be Godwin, because he set
him on the black horse--and the pair of you galloped down the
quay and vanished.

"By then I was near the home shore, and the grey grew very weary
and sank deep in the water. But I cheered it on with my voice,
and although twice its head went beneath the waves, in the end it
found a footing, though a soft one. After resting awhile, it
plunged forward with short rushes through the mud, and so at
length came safe to land, where it stood shaking with fear and
weariness. So soon as the horse got its breath again, I pressed
on, for I saw them loosing the boat, and came home here as the
dark closed in, to meet your uncle watching for me at the gate.
Now, father, do you take up the tale."

"There is little more to tell," said Sir Andrew. "You will
remember, nephews, that I was against this ride of Rosamund's to
seek flowers, or I know not what, at St. Peter's shrine, nine
miles away, but as the maid had set her heart on it, and there
are but few pleasures here, why, I let her go with the pair of
you for escort. You will mind also that you were starting
without your mail, and how foolish you thought me when I called
you back and made you gird it on. Well, my patron saint--or
yours--put it into my head to do so, for had it not been for
those same shirts of mail, you were both of you dead men to-day.
But that morning I had been thinking of Sir Hugh Lozelle--if
such a false, pirate rogue can be called a knight, not but that
he is stout and brave enough--and his threats after he recovered
from the wound you gave him, Godwin; how that he would come back
and take your cousin for all we could do to stay him. True, we
heard that he had sailed for the East to war against Saladin--or
with him, for he was ever a traitor--but even if this were so,
men return from the East. Therefore I bade you arm, having some
foresight of what was to come, for doubtless this onslaught must
have been planned by him."

"I think so," said Wulf, "for, as Rosamund here knows, the tall
knave who interpreted for the foreigner whom he called his
master, gave us the name of the knight Lozelle as the man who
sought to carry her off."

"Was this master a Saracen?" asked Sir Andrew, anxiously.

"Nay, uncle, how can I tell, seeing that his face was masked like
the rest and he spoke through an interpreter? But I pray you go
on with the story, which Godwin has not heard."

"It is short. When Rosamund told her tale of which I could make
little, for the girl was crazed with grief and cold and fear,
save that you had been attacked upon the old quay, and she had
escaped by swimming Death Creek--which seemed a thing
incredible--I got together what men I could. Then bidding her
stay behind, with some of them to guard her, and nurse herself,
which she was loth to do, I set out to find you or your bodies.
It was dark, but we rode hard, having lanterns with us, as we
went rousing men at every stead, until we came to where the roads
join at Moats. There we found a black horse--your horse,
Godwin--so badly wounded that he could travel no further, and I
groaned, thinking that you were dead. Still we went on, till we
heard another horse whinny, and presently found the roan also
riderless, standing by the path-side with his head down.

"'A man on the ground holds him!' cried one, and I sprang from
the saddle to see who it might be, to find that it was you, the
pair of you, locked in each other's arms and senseless, if not
dead, as well you might be from your wounds. I bade the
country-folk cover you up and carry you home, and others to run
to Stangate and pray the Prior and the monk Stephen, who is a
doctor, come at once to tend you, while we pressed onwards to
take vengeance if we could. We reached the quay upon the creek,
but there we found nothing save some bloodstains and--this is
strange--your sword, Godwin, the hilt set between two stones, and
on the point a writing."

"What was the writing?" asked Godwin.

"Here it is," answered his uncle, drawing a piece of parchment
from his robe. "Read it, one of you, since all of you are
scholars and my eyes are bad."

Rosamund took it and read what was written, hurriedly but in a
clerkly hand, and in the French tongue. It ran thus: "The sword of
a brave man. Bury it with him if he be dead, and give it back to
him if he lives, as I hope. My master would wish me to do this
honour to a gallant foe whom in that case he still may meet.
(Signed) Hugh Lozelle, or Another."

"Another, then; not Hugh Lozelle," said Godwin, "since he cannot
write, and if he could, would never pen words so knightly."

"The words may be knightly, but the writer's deeds were base
enough," replied Sir Andrew; "nor, in truth do I understand this
scroll."

"The interpreter spoke of the short man as his master," suggested
Wulf.

"Ay, nephew; but him you met. This writing speaks of a master
whom Godwin may meet, and who would wish the writer to pay him a
certain honour."

"Perhaps he wrote thus to blind us."

"Perchance, perchance. The matter puzzles me. Moreover, of whom
these men were I have been able to learn nothing. A boat was seen
passing towards Bradwell--indeed, it seems that you saw it, and
that night a boat was seen sailing southwards down St. Peter's
sands towards a ship that had anchored off Foulness Point. But
what that ship was, whence she came, and whither she went, none
know, though the tidings of this fray have made some stir."

"Well," said Wulf, "at the least we have seen the last of her
crew of women-thieves. Had they meant more mischief, they would
have shown themselves again ere now."

Sir Andrew looked grave as he answered.

"So I trust, but all the tale is very strange. How came they to
know that you and Rosamund were riding that day to St.
Peter's-on-the-Wall, and so were able to waylay you? Surely some
spy must have warned them, since that they were no common pirates
is evident, for they spoke of Lozelle, and bade you two begone
unharmed, as it was Rosamund whom they needed. Also, there is the
matter of the sword that fell from the hand of Godwin when he was
hurt, which was returned in so strange a fashion. I have known
many such deeds of chivalry done in the East by Paynim men--"