_ For a time the garrison at the castle had but little to do. Lord Grey had taken no steps to recover the estates from which his retainers had been so unceremoniously ejected. He had, indeed, marched a strong force through them; but the Welsh had entirely withdrawn, and it would be necessary to keep so large a force unemployed, were he to reoccupy the land, that he abstained from taking any decisive action, prior to the return of the messenger whom he had despatched to inform the king of the forcible measures that Glendower had taken to recover the estate. It would have been no trifling step to take, to carry his arms into Wales, and so bring on a fresh struggle after so many years of peace; and he would not move in the matter, until he had the royal authority.
Henry lost no time in replying. Glendower had been an open supporter of Richard, and had retired from court rather than own his successor as king. He had made his complaints against Lord Grey before Parliament, and his appeal had been rejected by an overwhelming majority. His attack upon Lord Grey was, therefore, viewed in the light of an insult to the royal power; and, a fortnight after Oswald and his party arrived at Sir Edmund's, a messenger arrived with a royal order, to all barons holding castles on the border, to proclaim Owen Glendower an outlaw, and to take all measures necessary to capture him.
Sir Edmund shook his head, as he read the proclamation, copies of which were to be fixed to the castle gate, and in other conspicuous places.
"Lord Grey has stirred up a fire that it will be difficult to extinguish. It were as wise to kick over a hive of bees, when naked to the waist, as to set Wales in a ferment again. Had this proclamation been sent to me, only, I would have taken it upon myself to hold it over until I had, myself, made a journey north to see the king, and to submit to him my views on the subject; and to point out how dire might be the consequences, to the inhabitants of our marches, and how great would be the effort required, if Glendower should be supported by the whole of his countrymen, as I believe he will be. However, as it has been sent to all the keepers of the marches this cannot be done; and I shall, at once, send orders to the sheriffs of Shropshire, and Hereford, to warn the militia that they may be called out at any moment, and must hold themselves in preparedness, having every man his arms and accoutrements in good condition, and fit for service, according to the law. I shall also issue orders to my own tenants to be ready to take up arms, and to drive their herds away, and bring their wives and families into the castle, as soon as the beacon fire is lighted on the summit of the keep."
This was said to Oswald, to whom Sir Edmund had taken a strong liking, and to whom he spoke more freely than he might have done to his own knights and officers, as being in Earl Percy's service, and having no personal interest in the matters in debate.
"You yourself have heard the tales that have been brought in to me, showing how greatly the people have been stirred by the belief in Glendower's powers of necromancy; how blue flames have been seen to issue from every window and loophole of his house; how red clouds, of various strange shapes, hover over it; and mysterious sounds are heard throughout the night. For myself, I believe not these tales, though I would not take upon myself to say they are false, since everyone knows that there are men who have dealings with the powers of darkness. Still, I should have, myself, to see these things, before I gave credence to them. That, however, makes no difference in the matter; true or not, they seem to be believed by the Welsh, and cannot but increase his power.
"Well, we shall soon hear what reply he makes to the proclamation, of which he will certainly hear, within a few hours of its posting."
The answer, indeed, was not long in coming; for, within a week, a copy of the reply sent by Glendower to the king appeared, side by side with every proclamation put up, none knowing who were daring enough to affix them. In this, Glendower no longer spoke of his grievance against Lord Grey; but declared that, with the will of the people, he had assumed the sovereignty of Wales, to which he was legally entitled, by his descent from her kings. He called upon every Welshman in England to resort, at once, to his standard.
"The die is cast, now," Sir Edmund said, as he read the paper affixed to the castle gate. "It is no longer a question whether Glendower is wrongfully treated by Lord Grey; it is a matter touching the safety of the realm, and the honour of our lord the king. There is, I have now learned, some foundation for Owen's claim to be the representative of the kings of Wales, through his mother, Elinor. She was the eldest daughter of Elinor the Red, who was daughter and heiress of Catharine, one of the daughters of Llewellyn, the last Prince of Wales. For aught I know, there may be others who have a better claim than he; but at least he has royal blood in his veins.
"At present, that matters little. He has usurped the title of King of Wales, and is evidently a most ambitious and dangerous fellow; and none can doubt that this scheme has not just sprung from his brain, but has long been prepared, and that his quarrel with Lord Grey has but hastened the outbreak.
"I shall myself ride to Ruthyn, and consult with Lord Grey as to the measures to be taken. It may be that our forces may be sufficient to crush the movement, ere it gains strength; though I greatly doubt it. Still, it would be well that we should act in concert.
"Sir John Burgon and Sir Philip Haverstone, do you take half a dozen men-at-arms, and ride through the country, bidding all the tenants assemble here, next Saturday, in their arms and harness, that I myself may inspect them. You may tell them that a third of their number must be in readiness tonight, and must ride hither by morning. The others must, on an alarm being given, gather in strong houses, selected by themselves as the most defensible in their district, with their wives and families, so as to repel any attack the Welsh may make; leaving behind them the boys and old men, to drive out their flocks and herds, either towards the nearest castle, or to Hereford or Shrewsbury, as may be nearest to them."
When the knights had left, messengers were sent out to all the owners of castles in Radnor, Hereford, and Shropshire; bidding them assemble, in four days' time, at Ludlow. On the day of the meeting, nearly three hundred tenants and vassals presented themselves. To them Sir Edmund, having first inspected them and their arms, explained the situation. Then, each man was asked how many he could bring into the field, in accordance with the terms of his holding, and it was found the total amounted to nigh eight hundred men.
"I know not when the affair is likely to begin; and will, therefore, call only for a quarter of your force. Send your sons and unmarried men. At the end of a month they can return to you and, if needs be, you can send as many more in their places. It may be that I shall not require these; but, possibly, every man may have to come out; but you must bear in mind it is not for the defence of this town and castle that men are required, for the garrison and burghers can hold out against any attack, but to save your homesteads from destruction."
The news had created a deep sensation. Although none of those present had experienced the horrors of border warfare, there was not one but had heard, from their fathers, tales of burning, massacre, and wholesale destruction by the Welsh forays. But so long a time had passed, since the last serious insurrection, that the news that Wales might shortly be in arms, again, came as a terrible blow to them. All agreed to send in their proportion of men, at once, and to see that the rest were all ready to assemble, immediately the summons came.
The next day some forty knights, owners of the castles thickly scattered through the border counties, assembled in Ludlow Castle. There was a long consultation. Arrangements were made for the despatch of messengers, by those nearest to the frontier, with news of any Welsh raid. Points were fixed upon where each should assemble, with what force he could gather; thence to march to any threatened place, or to assemble at Ludlow Castle, Mortimer being the warden of the marches along that line of the border.
On the following day Sir Edmund rode, with two of his knights, to hold council with Lord Grey, at Ruthyn. The distance was considerable, and he was absent six days from his castle. Before he returned, an event happened that showed Glendower was in earnest, and intended to maintain his pretensions by the sword.
At daybreak, on the third day after Mortimer had left, a messenger arrived at the castle; with news that a large body of Welsh had, the evening before, entered Radnor by the road across the hills from Llanidloes, and were marching towards Knighton, burning the villages as they went, and slaying all who fell into their hands.
The horn was at once sounded, and Sir John Wyncliffe and the other knights hastily assembled in the courtyard. Here, after a short consultation, it was determined that a mounted party should be, at once, despatched to endeavour to harass the advance of the Welsh; the troop consisting of Alwyn's men-at-arms, twenty men of the garrison, and fifty mounted men who formed part of the new levy. Four hundred footmen were to follow, at once.
Sir John Wyncliffe at first thought of taking the command himself, but it was pointed out to him that his presence would be required, in Ludlow, to marshal the forces that would speedily arrive from all the country round. Sir John Burgon, therefore, a valiant knight, who had greatly distinguished himself against the French, was unanimously chosen by his companions as leader of the whole party; while with him rode Sir Philip Haverstone, and Sir William Bastow.
"This reminds one of one's doings at home, Oswald," his uncle said, as he formed up his little troop. "I trust the Welsh will not retreat, until we have had a taste of their quality; but I doubt much if they will prove as formidable foes as the Scotch borderers."
For a considerable portion of the distance, the roads led through forests, which at that time covered the greater part of the country. Oswald, at the invitation of the knights, rode with them at the head of the cavalcade. The way was beguiled by anecdotes, that had been passed down from mouth to mouth, of the last Welsh war.
They reached Knighton by nine o'clock. The enemy had not, as yet, come within sight of the town; but, throughout the night, the sky to the west had been red with the flames of the burning villages and homesteads.
The male inhabitants were all under arms. Many had already sent their wives and children, in waggons, towards Ludlow; but, as the town had a strong wall, the men were determined upon making a stout defence.
They crowded round the newly arrived troops, with loud cheers; which were raised, again and again, when they heard that, by midday, four hundred footmen would arrive to their assistance. It had been arranged that Sir Philip Haverstone should remain in the town, to take charge of the defence; and that the mounted men should, under Sir John Burgon, endeavour to check the Welsh plundering parties in the open. Sir William Bastow was to remain, to assist Haverstone in the defence of the town. There was no great fear of this falling; as, before the day was out, four or five thousand men would be assembled at Ludlow, and would be able to march to its relief. These matters being arranged, Sir John Burgon led his little troop out of the town.
The accounts of the Welsh forces were very conflicting, but the balance of opinion was that there were not less than four or five thousand of them. Beyond the fact that they were skirting the hills, and advancing towards Knighton, the terrified fugitives could say nothing, save of their own experiences. It was evident, however, that the Welsh force was not keeping together; but, after crossing the border, had broken up and scattered over the country, burning and slaying. Some of the bands had approached to within five miles of the town; and they might, not improbably, come in contact with fresh bands of the enemy, crossing the hills near the source of the Severn. As soon as they had sallied from the castle, and left the town behind them, Sir John halted his party.
"Now, men," he said, "there is one thing that you should remember--these Welshmen are not to be despised. Doubtless you will be able to ride over them, but do not think that, when you have done so, you have defeated them. They will throw themselves down on the ground, leap up as you pass over them, stab your horses from below, seize your legs and try to drag you from your saddles, leap up on to the crupper behind you, and stab you to the heart. This is what makes them so dangerous a foe to horsemen, and at Crecy they did terrible execution among the French chivalry.
"Therefore be careful, and wary. Spit all you see on the ground, with your lances; and hold your swords ever in readiness, to strike them down as they rise up beside you. Keep in as close order as you can, for thus you will make it more difficult for them to rise from the ground, as you pass over."
He then formed his troop into two lines. In the centre of the front line he placed the twenty men-at-arms from the castle, with fifteen of the tenants on either hand. Oswald's troop formed the centre of the second line, with ten of the tenants on either flank. Another of the knights was in command in this line. They were to ride some fifty paces behind the first, to cut down all who rose to their feet after the first line had passed; and if the resistance were strong, and the first line brought to a stand, they were to ride up and reinforce them.
They had ridden some three miles, when they saw a column of smoke rise, half a mile away. The pace was quickened, and they had gone but a short distance when some panic-stricken men came running down the road.
"How many Welshmen have attacked your village?" Sir John asked.
"Hundreds of them, Sir Knight," one of the men panted out; "at least, so it seemed to me; but indeed, we were this side of the village when they rushed into it; and, seeing that nought could be done to resist them, we fled at once."
When within three hundred yards of the village they entered open ground, and at once formed up in the order the knight had directed. Oswald took his place by the side of his uncle, a couple of lengths in advance of their own troop.
Scarce a word was spoken in the ranks. Here and there dead bodies were scattered over the ground, showing that the pursuit of the fugitives had been maintained thus far. From the village the wild shouts of the triumphant Welsh sounded plainly; but mingled with these came, occasionally, a cry of pain, that seemed to show that either the work of slaughter was not yet completed, or that some of the villagers still held one of the houses, and were defending themselves until the last.
Every face was set and stern. The tenants knew that, at any moment, similar scenes might be enacted in their own villages; while the men-at-arms were eager to get at the foe, and take vengeance for the murders they had perpetrated.
"Be sure you keep your ranks," Sir John said; "remember that any who straggle may be attacked by a score of these wild men, and slain before others can come to their help. Ride forward in perfect silence, till we are within striking distance."
At a gallop, the troop swept down upon the village. As they reached the first houses, they saw that the road was full of wild figures. Some were emerging from the houses, laden with such spoil as could be gathered there, chiefly garments; others, with torches, were setting fire to the thatched roofs; while, in the middle of the village, a number were attacking a house somewhat larger and more massively built than the rest.
Sir John raised his sword, with the shout of "A Mortimer! A Mortimer!"
The shout was re-echoed by his followers, and a moment later they dashed into the midst of the Welsh. At first they swept all before them; but speedily the mountaineers, running out from the houses, gathered thickly on each side of the road and, as the first line passed, closed in behind it; and, running even more swiftly than the charging horses, strove to leap up behind. Some struck at the horses with their swords, hamstringing several of them, and slaying their riders as they fell.
"Ride, ride!" the knight in command of the second line shouted, and at even greater speed than before his followers rode hotly forward; and came, ere long, on the struggling mass, for the first line were now endeavouring to turn, so as to face their assailants.
With a great shout, the second line fell upon them, the war cries of "A Percy! A Percy!" being mingled with those of "A Mortimer!" Their approach had been unnoticed by the Welsh, and their onslaught was irresistible. The Welsh were hurled to the ground by the impetus of the charge, and the two lines joined hands.
"Forward again!" Sir John shouted, and the troop, dashing forward, were soon hotly engaged with the enemy, who were in strong force at the point where they were attacking the house. The orders of their commander were now impossible to follow. It was a fierce melee, where each fought for himself.
"Face round!" Oswald shouted. "Now, men, lay about you.
"A Percy! A Percy!"
The active little horses swung round instantly, and faced the crowd surging up against them. This was the style of fighting to which the border men were accustomed. Active as the Welsh were, the border ponies were as quick in their movements, wheeling and turning hither and thither, but keeping ever within a short distance of each other. The troopers hewed down the foe with their heavy swords; and, being partly protected by their armour, they possessed a great advantage over their opponents.
Oswald and his uncle fought slightly in advance of the others, lending a helping hand to each other, when the pressure was greatest. On one occasion a Welshman seized Alwyn's leg, while he was engaged with a foeman on the other side, and strove to throw him from his horse. Oswald wheeled his pony, and with a sweeping blow rid his uncle of his foe; but, at the same moment, a man leapt up behind him, while two others assailed him in front.
The Welshman's sinewy arms prevented him from again raising his sword, and he would have been slain by those in front, had he not, at the moment, slipped his right foot from his stirrup and thrown himself from his horse, his leg sweeping off the man who held him behind, and hurled him to the ground beneath him.
The Welshman's grasp instantly relaxed; but, as Oswald tried to rise, a blow fell upon his helmet, and four Welshmen threw themselves upon him. He threw his arms around two of them, and rolled over and over with them, thereby frustrating the efforts of their companions to strike or stab him, through some unguarded point in his armour; when suddenly there was a mighty shout, two tremendous blows were struck in quick succession, then there was a shout, "Hold them still, Master Oswald, hold them still!"
Oswald tightened his grasp on his assailants, who were now striving to rise. There was another crashing blow, and then his last opponent slipped from his grasp, and fled.
"Thanks, Roger," he said, as he leapt to his feet, "you were but just in time; another minute, and those fellows would have got their knives into me."
"I have had my eye upon you, master, all the time; and while doing a little on my own account, have kept myself in readiness to come to your aid, if need be."
Roger was fighting with a heavy mace, and the number of men lying round, with their skulls crushed in, showed with what terrible effect he had been using it. Oswald again leapt on to his horse, which had been too well trained to leave his master's side; and had indeed in no small degree aided him, by kicking furiously at the Welsh, as they strove to aid their comrades on the ground.
By this time the combat was well-nigh over. The protection afforded by Alwyn's band, against any attack on their rear, had enabled Sir John's men-at-arms and the tenants to clear the street in front of them; but the Welsh, though unable to hold their own in open fight, had now betaken themselves to their bows and arrows, and from behind every house shot fast.
The door of the house that had still resisted had been thrown open, and eight men had come out, followed by some twenty women and children.
"Do each of you leap up behind one of us!" Sir John shouted.
"Help the women up, men, then right-about, and ride out of the village. It is getting too hot for us, here."
The order was quickly obeyed and, placing the horses carrying a double burden in the centre, the troop rode out in a compact body. The Welsh poured out into the road behind them.
"Level your spears!" Alwyn shouted to his men; who had, by his orders, fallen in in the rear of the others.
The long spears were levelled and, with a shout, the twenty men rode down on their pursuers, bursting their way through them as if they had been but a crowd of lay figures; then, wheeling, they returned again, none venturing to try to hinder them, and rejoined the main body.
"Well done, indeed!" Sir John Burgon exclaimed, "and in knightly fashion. Verily, those long border spears of yours are right good weapons, when so stoutly used."
Once outside the village, the troop rode quietly on to the spot at which they had first charged. Then the villagers dismounted.
"You made a stout defence, men," Sir John said. "It was well that you had time to gain that house."
"It was agreed that all should take to it, Sir Knight," one of the men said; "but the attack was so sudden that only we, and these women, had time to reach it before they were on us; and, had it not been for your arrival, they must soon have mastered us, for they were bringing up a tree to burst in the door; and as none of us had time to catch up our bows and arrows, we had no way of hindering them. Still, methinks many would have fallen, before they forced their way in."
The men now fell in again. Their numbers were counted. The losses were by far the heaviest in the front line. Five of the castle men-at-arms, and fourteen of the levy were killed. Several others had gashes from the long knives and light axes of the Welsh. Five of the tenants in the second line had fallen, but none of Alwyn's band, although most of the latter had received wounds, more or less serious, in their combat with the Welsh.
"The loss is heavy," Sir John said, "but it is as nought to that inflicted upon the Welsh. I did not count them, as we rode back, but assuredly over a hundred have fallen, not counting those who were slain in that last charge of yours, Alwyn. Truly your men have fought gallantly, as was shown by the pile of dead, where your men-at-arms defended our rear.
"The Welsh will be moving, ere long. Half the village is already burning, and you may be sure that there is nothing left to sack, in the other houses. If they come this way we must fall back, for in the forest we shall be no match for them. If they move across the open country, we may get an opportunity of charging them, again."
He told two of his men to dismount, and to crawl cautiously along, one on each side of the burning village; and to bring back news, the moment the Welsh began to leave it. In twenty minutes both returned, saying that the enemy were streaming out at the other end of the village, laden with plunder of all kinds. There seemed to be no order or discipline among them, each trooping along at his pleasure.
"Good!" the knight said. "We will give them another lesson, and this time on more favourable terms than the last."
The troops formed into column, and galloped at a canter through the burning village. At the other end they came upon a number of stragglers, who were at once killed. Then they emerged into the fields beyond, and formed line. The plain was dotted with men, the nearest but a hundred yards away, the farthest nearly half a mile.
In a single line the horsemen swept along. The rearmost Welshmen turned round at the tramp of the horses, and at once, throwing to the ground the bundles that they carried, took to their heels with shouts of warning. As these were heard, the alarm spread among the rest, who, believing that their foes had ridden away through the forest, were taken completely by surprise.
A panic seized them. Leaders in vain shouted orders, their voices were unheard among the cries of the men. Some, indeed, gathered together as they ran; but the greater portion fled in various directions, to escape the line of spears vengefully following them.
Those unable to avoid the charge stood at bay, like wild animals. First shooting their arrows, they drew their short axes or their knives, as the horsemen came within a short distance of them. Few had a chance of striking, most of them falling, pierced through and through by the spears. Those who, by swiftness of eye, escaped this fate, sprung at the horses like wildcats, clinging to the saddles, while they strove to bury their knives in the riders' bodies.
Their back pieces now served the troopers in good stead, as did their superior personal strength. Some beat their assailants down on to the pommel of their saddles, and throttled or stabbed them; while in many cases, where they were hard pressed, the sword of a comrade rid them from their foes.
So the line held on its way, until they reached the head of the body of fugitives. Then in obedience to the shout of Sir John Burgon they turned, broke up into small bodies, and scoured the plain, cutting down the flying foe; and did not draw bridle, until what remained of the enemy had gained the shelter of the wood. Then, at the sound of their leader's trumpet, they gathered around him in the centre of the plain.
Two or three had fallen from the Welsh arrows, and not a few had received ugly slashes from their knives; but, with these exceptions, all had come scatheless through the fray. At least two hundred dead Welshmen were scattered on the plain.
"You have done your work well, men," Sir John said, "and taught them a lesson that they will not forget. Now, let us ride back to Knighton, and see how matters go there."
On arriving at the little town, they found that all was quiet, and that no bodies of Welsh had approached the town. The party of horse were again sent out, in various directions, the smoke serving them as a guide. The villages were found to be entirely deserted; but, pushing farther on, many fugitives came out from hiding places.
Their reports were all of the same character. The Welsh were in full retreat for their own country.
By the time the troops returned with the news to Knighton, the footmen from Ludlow had marched in, and were being entertained by the inhabitants; who, now that the danger had passed, had returned.
"Retired have they, Sir John?" his two fellow knights said, as he arrived with his following. "It was but a raid for plunder, then, and not an invasion. Doubtless, Glendower merely wished to warm their blood, and to engage them so far in his enterprise that they could no longer draw back. They must have carried off some hundreds of cattle and sheep, to say nothing of other plunder; and, had it not been for our having the news soon enough to get here before they retired, they would have got off scatheless. As it is, they have learned that even a well-planned foray cannot be carried out with impunity; but the loss of three hundred lives will not affect them greatly, when it is clear that they have murdered twice that number, as well as enriched themselves with plunder."
"I think not that we shall hear of them, again," Sir John said. "Glendower has shown us, without doubt, what are his intentions; and he may now wait to see what comes of last night's work. I expect that he will keep among the hills, where he can fight to better advantage; for horsemen are of little use, where there are mountains and forests."
After a consultation between the knights, it was agreed that two hundred of the footmen were to remain, for two or three days, at Knighton; in case the retreat of the Welsh might be a feigned one, intended to lull the inhabitants into a state of security, and then to make a sudden night attack upon the walls. The whole force remained until the next morning, and then, leaving Sir Philip Haverstone in command of the party remaining at Knighton, the rest, horse and foot, marched back to Ludlow.
"Your band have indeed distinguished themselves, Oswald," Sir John had said, on the previous evening, as they talked on the events of the day. "Truly they are as stout men as I have ever seen fighting. And you have escaped without a wound, though I marked that your armour and clothes were covered with mire, as if you had been rolling in the road."
"That is just what I have been doing, Sir John. One of them leaped on to the horse behind me, and pinioned my arms; while two or three others made at me, with axes and staves. The clasp of the fellow was like an iron band and, seeing that my only chance was to rid myself of him, I slung my leg over my horse, and we came down together, he undermost. Whether the fall killed him or not, I cannot say, but his arms relaxed. Half a dozen sprang on me, and in another minute I should have been killed, had not that big trooper of mine come to my aid, and with a mighty mace dashed out their brains, well-nigh before they knew that they were attacked."
"A stout fellow, indeed," Sir John said, "and one I should like to have to ride behind me, on the day of battle. I had marked him before, and thought that I had never seen a more stalwart knave; though methinks that he would look better, did he not crop his hair so wondrously short."
Oswald laughed.
"He does it not to beautify himself, Sir John, but to hide the fact that the hair on his crown is but of six weeks' growth."
And then he related the circumstances under which Roger came to be a member of his troop.
"By my faith, he has done well!" Sir John said. "A man with such sinews as that is lost in a cloister. He is a merry fellow, too. I have often marked him at the castle, and his laugh is a veritable roar, that would sound strange echoing along the galleries of a monastery. The abbot did well to let him go, for such a fellow might well disturb the peace and quiet of a whole convent.
"You say that he has skill in war?"
"Yes, Sir John. He has been the instructor in arms of the lay brothers, and of some of the monks, too; and he led the contingent of the abbey at Otterburn; and, although the day went against the English, he and his followers greatly distinguished themselves."
"If you would part with him, I would better his condition, Master Oswald; for, on my recommendation, Sir Edmund would, I am sure, make him captain of a company."
"I should be sorry, indeed, to part with him, Sir John, and the more so since he has saved my life today; but, even were I willing, I feel sure he would not leave me, as we have gone through some adventures together, and he believes that it is to me that he owes his escape from the convent."
"What were these adventures, Oswald?"
"It was a matter touching the Earl of March--not Sir Edmund's nephew, now in the care of the king, but the Scottish earl, George, Earl of Dunbar, also bearing the title of Earl of March. Now that he has taken the oath to King Henry, there is no reason why I should not speak of it."
And he then gave them an account of his visit to Dunbar, and of his escape.
"And why did the earl wish to keep you?"
"Maybe, sir, that he had not then made up his mind, and thought that affairs might yet have been accommodated between himself, Douglas, and the Scottish king."
"Perhaps that was so," Sir John agreed. "He is a crafty, as well as a bold man. However, you were well out of Dunbar, and you and your monk managed the affair well. Think you that the earl is to be trusted?"
"I should say so. These great Scottish nobles deem themselves well-nigh the king's equal, and carry on their wars against each other as independent lords. His castle of Dunbar is in the hands of his bitterest enemy, and Douglas will come into no small portion of his estates. Without the aid of England he could not hope to recover them, and his interests, therefore, are wholly bound up with ours."
"'Tis strange that there should be two Earls of March, of different families and names; and, now that Dunbar has become a vassal of the king, it will make the matter stranger. However, at present no mistakes can arise, seeing that the one is an able warrior, and the other a mere boy. But in the future, were the two Earls of March at the same time at the court of our king, mistakes might well be made, and strange complications take place.
"Doubtless you are aware that Sir Edmund's nephew is, by right of birth, King of England. He was, you know, sprung from the Duke of Clarence, the elder brother of the Duke of Lancaster. The duke died without male issue, and his rights fell to Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, the husband of his daughter Philippa. From their marriage was born the Roger Mortimer who was lord lieutenant of Ireland, during a part of King Richard's reign, and was killed in the wars of that country. He left two sons, of whom the elder was but eight or nine years old, when Richard was dethroned; and he and his brother are now living at Windsor, and are well treated there by the king.
"Had my lord's nephew attained the age of manhood, at the deposition of Richard, many would doubtless have supported his right to the throne; but for a child of eight to rule this realm, and keep in check the turbulence of the great lords, would be so absurd that no one even mentioned his name; and Henry, of course, ascended the throne as if by right of conquest."
"I have heard something of this before, Sir John; but as the Percys were among the chief supporters of Henry, the fact that there was one who had greater rights to the throne was never talked of, at Alnwick; although, by Percy's marriage with Sir Edmund's sister, he became uncle of the young Earl of March."
"I can understand that, and indeed Sir Edmund himself has never, in the most intimate conversation with us, expressed any opinion that the young earl would, if he had his rights, be King of England." _