The Black Arrow Part 5

"Tut!" cried d.i.c.k. "Would ye mind a ducking? Blood of wound or dust of travel--that's a man's adornment."

"Nay, then, I like him better plain," observed the lad. "But, prithee, how shall I do? Prithee, good Master Richard, help me with your good counsel. If I come not safe to Holywood, I am undone."

"Nay," said d.i.c.k, dismounting, "I will give more than counsel. Take my horse, and I will run awhile, and when I am weary we shall change again, that so, riding and running, both may go the speedier."

So the change was made, and they went forward as briskly as they durst on the uneven causeway, d.i.c.k with his hand upon the other's knee.

"How call ye your name?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Call me John Matcham," replied the lad.

"And what make ye to Holywood?" d.i.c.k continued.

"I seek sanctuary from a man that would oppress me," was the answer.

"The good Abbot of Holywood is a strong pillar to the weak."

"And how came ye with Sir Daniel, Master Matcham?" pursued d.i.c.k.

"Nay," cried the other, "by the abuse of force! He hath taken me by violence from my own place; dressed me in these weeds; ridden with me till my heart was sick; gibed me till I could 'a' wept; and when certain of my friends pursued, thinking to have me back, claps me in the rear to stand their shot! I was even grazed in the right foot, and walk but lamely. Nay, there shall come a day between us; he shall smart for all!"

"Would ye shoot at the moon with a hand-gun?" said d.i.c.k. "'Tis a valiant knight, and hath a hand of iron. An he guessed I had made or meddled with your flight, it would go sore with me."

"Ay, poor boy," returned the other, "y' are his ward, I know it. By the same token, so am I, or so he saith; or else he hath bought my marriage--I wot not rightly which; but it is some handle to oppress me by."

"Boy again!" said d.i.c.k.

"Nay, then, shall I call you girl, good Richard?" asked Matcham.

"Never a girl for me," returned d.i.c.k. "I do abjure the crew of them!"

"Ye speak boyishly," said the other. "Ye think more of them than ye pretend."

"Not I," said d.i.c.k, stoutly. "They come not in my mind. A plague of them, say I! Give me to hunt and to fight and to feast, and to live with jolly foresters. I never heard of a maid yet that was for any service, save one only; and she, poor shrew, was burned for a witch and the wearing of men's clothes in spite of nature."

Master Matcham crossed himself with fervour, and appeared to pray.

"What make ye?" d.i.c.k inquired.

"I pray for her spirit," answered the other, with a somewhat troubled voice.

"For a witch's spirit?" d.i.c.k cried. "But pray for her, an ye list; she was the best wench in Europe, was this Joan of Arc. Old Appleyard the archer ran from her, he said, as if she had been Mahoun. Nay, she was a brave wench."

"Well, but, good Master Richard," resumed Matcham, "an ye like maids so little, y' are no true natural man; for G.o.d made them twain by intention, and brought true love into the world, to be man's hope and woman's comfort."

"Faugh!" said d.i.c.k. "Y' are a milk-sopping baby, so to harp on women.

An ye think I be no true man, get down upon the path, and whether at fists, back-sword, or bow and arrow, I will prove my manhood on your body."

"Nay, I am no fighter," said Matcham, eagerly. "I mean no t.i.ttle of offence. I meant but pleasantry. And if I talk of women, it is because I heard ye were to marry."

"I to marry!" d.i.c.k exclaimed. "Well, it is the first I hear of it. And with whom was I to marry?"

"One Joan Sedley," replied Matcham, colouring. "It was Sir Daniel's doing; he hath money to gain upon both sides; and, indeed, I have heard the poor wench bemoaning herself pitifully of the match. It seems she is of your mind, or else distasted to the bridegroom."

"Well! marriage is like death, it comes to all," said d.i.c.k, with resignation. "And she bemoaned herself? I pray ye now, see there how shuttle-witted are these girls: to bemoan herself before that she had seen me! Do I bemoan myself? Not I. An I be to marry, I will marry dry-eyed! But if ye know her, prithee, of what favour is she? fair or foul? And is she shrewish or pleasant?"

"Nay, what matters it?" said Matcham. "An y' are to marry, ye can but marry. What matters foul or fair? These be but toys. Y' are no milksop, Master Richard; ye will wed with dry eyes, anyhow."

"It is well said," replied Shelton. "Little I reck."

"Your lady wife is like to have a pleasant lord," said Matcham.

"She shall have the lord Heaven made her for," returned d.i.c.k. "It trow there be worse as well as better."

"Ah, the poor wench!" cried the other.

"And why so poor?" asked d.i.c.k.

"To wed a man of wood," replied his companion. "O me, for a wooden husband!"

"I think I be a man of wood, indeed," said d.i.c.k, "to trudge afoot the while you ride my horse; but it is good wood, I trow."

"Good d.i.c.k, forgive me," cried the other. "Nay, y' are the best heart in England; I but laughed. Forgive me now, sweet d.i.c.k."

"Nay, no fool words," returned d.i.c.k, a little embarra.s.sed by his companion's warmth. "No harm is done. I am not touchy, praise the saints."

And at that moment the wind, which was blowing straight behind them as they went, brought them the rough flourish of Sir Daniel's trumpeter.

"Hark!" said d.i.c.k, "the tucket soundeth."

"Ay," said Matcham, "they have found my flight, and now I am unhorsed!"

and he became pale as death.

"Nay, what cheer!" returned d.i.c.k. "Y' have a long start, and we are near the ferry. And it is I, methinks, that am unhorsed."

"Alack, I shall be taken!" cried the fugitive. "d.i.c.k, kind d.i.c.k, beseech ye help me but a little!"

"Why, now, what aileth thee?" said d.i.c.k. "Methinks I help you very patently. But my heart is sorry for so spiritless a fellow! And see ye here, John Matcham--sith John Matcham is your name--I, Richard Shelton, tide what betideth, come what may, will see you safe in Holywood. The saints so do to me again if I default you. Come, pick me up a good heart, Sir White-face. The way betters here; spur me the horse. Go faster! faster! Nay, mind not for me; I can run like a deer."

So, with the horse trotting hard, and d.i.c.k running easily alongside, they crossed the remainder of the fen, and came out upon the banks of the river by the ferryman's hut.

CHAPTER III--THE FEN FERRY

The river Till was a wide, sluggish, clayey water, oozing out of fens, and in this part of its course it strained among some score of willow-covered, marshy islets.

It was a dingy stream; but upon this bright, spirited morning everything was become beautiful. The wind and the martens broke it up into innumerable dimples; and the reflection of the sky was scattered over all the surface in crumbs of smiling blue.