“Then the better for us,” cried Nigel, “since there is at least one honourable venture which is all our own.”
Chandos chuckled and turned upon the flushed youth a twinkling and sympathetic eye. “You have a fashion of speech which carries me back to the old men whom I met in my boyhood,” said he. “There were some of the real old knight-errants left in those days, and they spoke as you do. Young as you are, you belong to another age. Where got you that trick of thought and word?”
“I have had only one to teach me, the Lady Ermyntrude.”
“Pardieu! she has trained a proper young hawk ready to stoop at a lordly quarry,” said Chandos. “I would that I had the first unhooding of you. Will you not ride with me to the wars?”
The tears brimmed over from Nigel’s eyes, and he wrung the gaunt hand extended from the bath. “By Saint Paul! what could I ask better in the world? I fear to leave her, for she has none other to care for her. But if it can in any way be arranged—”
“The king’s hand may smooth it out. Say no more until he is here. But if you wish to ride with me—”
“What could man wish for more? Is there a squire in England who would not serve under the banner of Chandos! Whither do you go, fair sir? And when do you go? Is it to Scotland? Is it to Ireland? Is it to France? But alas, alas!”
The eager face had clouded. For the instant he had forgotten that a suit of armour was as much beyond his means as a service of gold plate. Down in a twinkling came all his high hopes to the ground. Oh, these sordid material things, which come between our dreams and their fulfilment! The squire of such a knight must dress with the best. Yet all the fee simple of Tilford would scarce suffice for one suit of plate.
Chandos, with his quick wit and knowledge of the world, had guessed the cause of this sudden change.
“If you fight under my banner it is for me to find the weapons,” said he. “Nay, I will not be denied.”
But Nigel shook his head sadly. “It may not be. The Lady Ermyntrude would sell this old house and every acre round it, ere she would permit me to accept this gracious bounty which you offer. Yet I do not despair, for only last week I won for myself a noble warhorse for which I paid not a penny, so perchance a suit of armour may also come my way.”
“And how won you the horse?”
“It was given me by the monks of Waverley.”
“This is wonderful. Pardieu! I should have expected, from what I have seen, that they would have given you little save their malediction.”
“They had no use for the horse, and they gave it to me.”
“Then we have only to find someone who has no use for a suit of armour and will give it to you. Yet I trust that you will think better of it and let me, since that good lady proves that I am your kinsman, fit you for the wars.”
“I thank you, noble sir, and if I should turn to anyone it would indeed be to you; but there are other ways which I would try first. But I pray you, good Sir John, to tell me of some of your noble spear-runnings against the French, for the whole land rings with the tale of your deeds, and I have heard that in one morning three champions have fallen before your lance. Was it not so?”
“That it was indeed so these scars upon my body will prove; but these were the follies of my youth.”
“How can you call them follies? Are they not the means by which honourable advancement may be gained and one’s lady exalted?”
“It is right that you should think so, Nigel. At your age a man should have a hot head and a high heart. I also had both, and fought for my lady’s glove or for my vow or for the love of fighting. But as one grows older and commands men one has other things to think of. One thinks less of one’s own honour and more of the safety of the army. It is not your own spear, your own sword, your own arm, which will turn the tide of fight; but a cool head may save a stricken field. He who knows when his horsemen should charge and when they should fight on foot, he who can mix his archers with his men-at-arms in such a fashion that each can support the other, he who can hold up his reserve and pour it into the battle when it may turn the tide, he who has a quick eye for boggy land and broken ground—that is the man who is of more worth to an army than Roland, Oliver, and all the paladins.”
“Yet if his knights fail him, honoured sir, all his head-work will not prevail.”
“True enough, Nigel; so may every squire ride to the wars with his soul on fire, as yours is now. But I must linger no longer, for the king’s service must be done. I will dress, and when I have bid farewell to the noble Dame Ermyntrude I will on to Farnham; but you
