CHAPTER XVI

OUR KNIGHT'S STORY

"ONCE upon a time there lived a knight called 'Sir Roger Dereker.' He had fought his king's battles from the time he had been a little boy of fourteen, when he had gone out with the king himself, as his page. He was the bravest knight about the king's court; he did not seem to know what fear was, and everybody who knew him loved him. For though he was bold and brave he was gentleness itself with women and children, and with any one who needed his pity and help. He lived in a strong castle not very far from his king, and he had a young wife to whom he was devoted—"

"Oh!" I cried. "You must tell us how he got her, Aunt Mildred; and please make it very exciting."

"Well, one bitterly cold winter night he was riding home with his page behind him. The rain and sleet were driving furiously into his face. His hands were so cold he could hardly hold his rein, and his good horse, called Goldenhawk, could only move at a foot's pace, for they were passing through a black forest, with gloomy pines, and a mass of undergrowth obstructed their progress. Suddenly he heard a crashing through the bushes behind him, and a snow-white horse dashed frantically past him with the form of a woman upon his back. She was covered from head to foot in a dark blue cloak, and seemed to be trying in vain to pull her horse up.

"'After!' Roger cried to his page. 'She is being carried away against her will!'

"He put spurs into his own steed, and he and his page pursued the runaway till they had left the forest behind them. Now a great plain stretched before them, and in the distance were the twinkling lights of the good knight's castle.

"So fast had the lady's horse fled across the plain, that they did not reach her till she had drawn up before the portcullis of the castle. The white horse was covered with foam, and the lady was breathless and exhausted.

"Sir Roger rode forward and saluted her.

"'Madame, it is a terrible night, and you are close to my door, which is always open to shelter strangers in need. Will you do me the pleasure of partaking of my hospitality?'

"The lady drew her cloak closer round her, and said in the softest tone possible:

"'I thank you, sir. I am far from home—in truth, I am homeless, and I know not where my servants are. Some one is pursuing me; he has killed my father and burnt my home. I need protection.'

"Sir Roger blew his horn, the portcullis was raised, and the knight and lady had barely passed inside before, with a thundering roar, a body of mounted men swept up to the gate.

"The leader called out in tones of fury:

"'That lady belongs to me. She is my promised wife!'

"Sir Roger vouchsafed no answer. He took his fair visitor to his mother's apartments, and did not see her again till supper-time. Her pursuers were not strong enough to storm his castle, so with many threats and curses they retreated.

"When Sir Roger met his guest at supper, he was startled at her wonderful beauty. She was quite a young girl, in a white robe embroidered with gold. Her hair was a rich brown, falling in rippling waves round her sweet pale face; she had deep blue eyes with long curved lashes, and her face was a picture of innocent beauty. As their eyes met, the faintest pink blush rose in her cheeks. She took her seat at his table in silence.

"But after the meal was over, he led the way into his favourite sitting-room, and beside a blazing fire she told him her history. Her sweet eyes were full of tears as she repeated how her father had fallen in a furious fight with his greatest enemy, Baron Dacre, who had demanded her hand and had been refused. She told him how, through the treachery of a servant, the Baron gained an entrance into their courtyard, and a terrible fight ensued. When at last her home was in flames, she fled alone, mounted on her white steed, and the Baron and his men instantly gave chase to her.

"'How can I thank you, sir,' she said, as she raised her eyes to his, 'for befriending and sheltering a maid who is now an orphan and an outcast?'

"'By giving me the right to protect and shelter you evermore,' was Sir Roger's earnest reply.

"And that was how he wooed and won his bride."

We all clapped our hands as a kind of applause.

Then Aunt Mildred went on:

"Troublous times came for our good knight. His king was surrounded by treacherous courtiers, and this very Baron Dacre rose up against him with a large faction of discontented subjects, and a civil war began to rage.

"On the very eve of Sir Roger's marriage with the Lady Gwendoline, a messenger arrived at his gates, calling him to arms. Sir Roger tore himself away from his beautiful bride, and when for one moment she protested, he said, 'My sweetheart, I am bound to my king with the cords of honour and of love. I love you not the less because I love him first. I would not sully the shield of my knighthood by failing him when he desires my services.'

"And so he rode away and was absent for four long months, when he returned to her covered with wounds and with glory.

"For a time, he rested peacefully at home, but one day his castle was assaulted by this Baron Dacre with a large number of followers, and he was hard put to it to defend his wife and belongings. In the very midst of the fray, a messenger entered the castle by the secret passage that led underground for a mile, and had its exit in the middle of the forest. It was a call to attend upon the king that very hour.

"For one moment he hesitated; he knew if he went, his home would be taken and destroyed.

"He looked at his wife.

"'Sweetheart, I must away to my king; it is a summons for me.'

"She rose to the occasion.

"'And I, with your faithful servants, will hold the castle until your return.'

"'Bravo!' exclaimed Denys.

"Sir Roger girded on his sword and departed by the secret passage with the messenger who came. He told his wife if hard-pressed, she must also take refuge in it. And if she reached the forest, there was at that end a cave where she could remain in safety till he rejoined her.

"He went to his king, who was having an important consultation with his nobles and wished to ask Sir Roger's advice upon a knotty point. He gave it; and then, happening to raise his eyes, the king saw from his castle window a mighty column of fire rising up into the sky. He asked the reason of it, and Sir Roger, standing before him with compressed lips and pale cheeks, made answer:

"'Sire, that is my castle, and the destruction of it has been completed in my absence by my enemy.'

"'Did you know aught of this before you came?'

"'I was in the midst of my defence when the king's messenger came.'

"'And you left your wife to perish?'

"'She was going to defend it as best she could, and I told her of a place of safety in case the odds were too great against her.'

"'Sir Roger,' said the king, 'I shall not forget this night. Go, and may God have saved your brave wife from death.'

"He went, and found his wife in the cave in the midst of a little company of wounded retainers. She was, without a thought of self, binding up and dressing their wounds. But when her husband clasped her in his arms, she fainted dead away. And he discovered that an arrow had pierced her left arm and was causing her agonising pain."

"Don't make her die, Aunt Mildred!" I cried.

"It was long before the brave knight got reconciled to another home, but the king gave him a much bigger property than he had had before, and years passed by. He had a little son, a boy who was the joy of his heart. And it was his desire to train him up as a soldier and servant of his king.

"At length in an evil day, after Sir Roger and his men had just returned from fighting their king's battles in foreign lands, they brought back with them that dreadful disease, the black plague, into the castle. First one servant sickened, then another, then Lady Gwendoline and her little son fell victims to it, and the knight sank on his knees and besought mercy from God above.

"At this identical moment the king's messenger again appeared, summoning him to attend his king on an expedition into a far country.

"The knight made not a sigh or murmur, but left his dying wife and son, and it was not till two weeks elapsed that his king heard of his faithfulness. They had a severe campaign before them, and Sir Roger was enabled at the most crucial moment to save the life of his king and turn the tide of battle from near defeat to a glorious victory. But he was sore wounded himself, and told his page when the fight was over:

"'Bear me back home, and it may be that my wife and boy have recovered. I would see them before I die.'

"They took him back, and marvelled that he reached his home in safety. As he tottered into his hall, he beheld to his infinite joy his wife and son with open arms receiving him. They had recovered, owing to a skilful herbalist who tended them night and day.

"But for many weeks the brave knight lay between life and death. At last he too took up life again, but his health was shattered and his strength had departed. For some years he lived happily, seeing his son grow into a brave, handsome soldier. And then, one awful howling stormy night, he heard a knocking at his gates.

"He was an old man now, his sight was dim, and his hearing dull, but he tottered to the door.

"'It is my king. Let me receive him and give him the honour that is due to him!'

"His servants tried to keep him back from the bitter cold of the courtyard, but he pressed on.

"'My king! My king!'

"And though his followers would not believe it, it was even so.

"The king had been betrayed, and was fleeing for his life. He knew one loyal subject would receive him, and it was to him he turned.

"The old knight led him into his warm comfortable hall, and then fell at his feet.

"'Oh, sire, I have dreamt of this honour, but never thought I would realise it. Enter into the dwelling that is rightly yours, for the owner of it is your humble and devoted servant, and all that he has belongs to his king!'

"When the king stooped down with tears in his eyes to raise his faithful knight, he found his spirit had departed. His last thought and breath had been spent, as they always had been all his life, in faithful loyalty and love to his royal master.

"And the king caused the motto to be engraved upon the shields of the Derekers for evermore—'Semper fidelis, semper paratus.'"

We were quite silent for a minute or two after Aunt Mildred ended. My heart was thumping, as it always does when I feel roused up.

"He was something like a knight!" said Denys.

"Oh!" said Aylwin. "If only we lived in those good old days!"

Lynette was crying.

"Poor old knight! The king ought to have hugged and kissed him for being such a dear."

I said nothing—I couldn't, but Aunt Mildred looked across at me and said:

"Well, Grisel, your eyes are blazing. Do you like it?"

I nodded; then I said with a little effort:

"We can be like that now—and I shall be."

"And so shall I," said Denys, looking across at me. He and I understood each other.

Aunt Mildred never pointed the moral, that's why we like her stories. They always inspire us, but she never tells us how they speak to us. We find that out for ourselves. I was so bubbling over with it, that I put down my work and dashed out of the room into my bedroom. Then I got down upon my knees and spoke to my King. And I asked Him to make me, through thick and thin, even if I had to suffer, a faithful ready servant of His, and to let me glory in it. And I really meant it.

Denys loved Aunt Mildred's story. I went into the church the next day to fetch father's surplice to be mended. It was Saturday, and to my astonishment I found Denys kneeling by the knight's tomb. He jumped up as if he had been shot, and I pretended not to have seen him kneeling, because I knew he wouldn't like it. I came up to the tomb and looked at the knight.

"Were you looking to see if he was really like Aunt Mildred's knight?" I said, not knowing quite what to say.

And then he spoke straight out.

"I was vowing a vow," he said.

I was awfully interested.

"Do tell me, and I won't tell any one," I said.

He pointed to the motto on the shield.

"I have vowed to be that, God helping me." And then he marched straight out of the church.

I was determined not to be behind him, so I knelt down again, though I had done it last night, only I put it in proper vow words this time, and then I went indoors feeling ready for anything.

We began getting ready for Christmas now. Every day we hoped to hear news of Andy, but we never did, and we missed him dreadfully. Father was certain he had been stolen. We were talking about it one evening. Lynette and I were still working away at Annie's clothes, and the boys were making Christmas cards. They said they could make them much better than the cards Mrs. Ribbon was selling for Christmas, and of course it was much cheaper. Aylwin could draw very well, he could copy anything, and Denys is very good at flags. He gets a piece of cardboard and colours it all over like a flag; and he has got a sheet of all the flags in the world—it came out of the "Boy's Own Paper." So he just copies them, and puts "A Merry Christmas to You" upon them, and then they're ready to send.

Aylwin was drawing a donkey, and so of course he began to talk about Andy.

"I wonder," he said, "if the gipsies have been about and stolen Andy? Mrs. Ribbon told me to-day that they sometimes come to Lemworth at Christmas-time. There's to be another kind of fair there. Perhaps if we went to it we should find Andy there."

"They aren't such duffers," said Denys gloomily. "They wouldn't bring him into this neighbourhood again. Of course, if they did steal him, they would sell him to some one else."

"I tell you who would be likely to steal him," I said. "Not the gipsies—they seem to have given up stealing in these days—but that horrid swearing man with the ragged donkeys. I heard from Bob Tapson that he goes to a seaside place in this very county every summer, and makes a nice sum out of them; and he starves them all the winter time."

The boys seemed quite struck with this idea.

"Of course we ought to find him out. Where does he live?"

"Somewhere the other side of Lemworth," I said. "You ask Bob; he'll tell you."

Aylwin wanted to rush off then and there, but it was too late, and they had to wait till the next morning.

And then they began to plan what they would do.

Denys said:

"I expect if we find Andy there, the scoundrel will have dyed him another colour. How can we identify him? He'll declare, of course, he belongs to him."

Then we began to think over Andy's marks, and at last we remembered that one of his ears had a tiny slit in it.

"I hope that will be proof enough," Denys said. "You see we may have to fight it out before a judge."

"Andy is such a rotter, he'll never answer his name as he ought," said Aylwin. "He would just as soon go to the thief as to us when called."

"And perhaps we shall have a long lawsuit that will cost heaps and heaps of money," said Denys again. "It will be called the 'Donkey case,' and will fill columns in the newspaper."

Lynette began to giggle at the idea.

Then I suggested:

"If you could find out quietly about Andy, it would be best. And when you were quite sure that it was he, couldn't you steal him back again? That wouldn't be wrong, would it?"

"Of course it wouldn't. We could visit the stables in the dead of night. It would be rather exciting."

"You see, he's such an ass," said Aylwin, "that he might take it into his head not to come with us. He might remember his night-cap."

"I'd make him come fast enough if I once got hold of him," said Denys. "But after all, the man may not have him, or he may have sold him."

"Anyhow, it is worth trying," I said.

And they all thought it was.