The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First by George Manville Fenn (classic romance novels .TXT) đź“•
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- Author: George Manville Fenn
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“Here, hi! fellow! clear the road,” shouted Mark; and he essayed to stop. But now, the way being good, the cob was anxious to get on and reach its stable, passing Ralph quickly enough, and enraging its rider more and more.
“Oh, you brute, you brute!” he muttered. “Now he can’t help thinking I’m afraid of him. If I only had a whip.”
For the moment Mark felt disposed to turn in the saddle, and make some insulting gesture at the lad behind—one that would make him, if he had any courage within, come running rapidly in pursuit. But the act would have seemed too weak and boyish, when he wanted to be manly; and he refrained, contenting himself with dragging hard at the rein, till a hundred yards farther the ground grew stony again, and the pony dropped into a walk, and picked its way in and out more slowly than ever.
This had the result that Mark desired, for a glance back showed him that Ralph was coming on fast, and in a few minutes he had overtaken him, just as he sprang off his pony and faced round.
“Oh, it is you,” said Mark haughtily.
“Yes,” said Ralph, meeting his eyes boldly.
“I thought it was. Well, you are not lame now?”
“No.”
“And I see you have a sword.”
“Yes, I have my sword.”
“Then as we are equal now, and if you are not afraid, we may as well have a little conversation with them.”
“Fight?” said Ralph quietly. “Why?”
“Ha-ha!” laughed Mark, with his face flushing. “Why? Because we are gentlemen, I suppose; because we have been taught to use our swords; at least I have; and it’s the worse for you if you have not.”
“But I have,” said Ralph firmly, his own cheeks beginning to look hot; “but I don’t see that this is a reason why we two should fight.”
“Then I’ll give you another,” cried Mark; “because you are a Darley, and I am an Eden, and we cannot meet without drawing swords. Your people were always a set of cut-throats, murderers, robbers, and thieves.”
“It’s a lie,” cried Ralph hotly. “My people were always gentlemen. It was your people who always insulted ours, as you are insulting me now, and did a few minutes ago, when you passed me going quietly on my way.”
“That’s enough,” said Mark sharply. “Out of the way, beast,” and he drew his sword and struck the cob sharply on the flank, sending it trotting onward at the risk of breaking its knees.
“This is your doing,” said Ralph quietly, as he threw down his rod, and passed the strap of his creel over his head, to swing it after.
“Bah! don’t talk,” cried Mark hotly. “This place will do. It is as fair for you as for me.”
He made a gesture with his sword toward a tolerably level spot, and Ralph bowed his head.
“Then draw,” cried Mark, throwing down his cap.
Ralph followed his example, and the next moment his own bright blade leaped from its sheath, and without further preliminary, they crossed their trusty blades, which emitted a harsh grating noise as they played up and down, flashing in the paling evening light, each awaiting the other’s attack.
Mark, in the fear that his enemy would doubt his prowess, began the attack; and in defending himself from his adversary’s thrusts Ralph soon showed him that he had learned the use of his thin rapier from a master the equal of his own teacher, thus making the hot-headed youth more cautious, and ready to turn aside the thrusts which followed when he ceased his own.
They fenced equally well, and for a few minutes no harm was done. Then all at once, in response to a quick thrust, a spot appeared high up above the russet leather boot which came half-way up Mark’s thigh, and Ralph leaped back with a strange feeling of compunction attacking him that he could not understand.
“Nothing,” cried Mark angrily; “a scratch,” as he pressed his teeth upon his nether lip; and they crossed swords once more, with the wounded lad commencing the attack with as much vigour as before. And now, forgetful of everything but the desire to lay one another hors de combat, they thrust and parried for the next minute, till Ralph uttered a faint cry, as his adversary’s sword passed through his doublet, between his right arm and ribs, a sharp pang warning him that the blade had pierced something more than the velvet he wore.
Mark dropped the point of his blade, for at that moment a whistle rang out, and he looked inquiringly in the direction from which it had come, leaving himself quite open to any treacherous attack had it been intended.
But none was meant, Ralph standing with his left hand pressing his side, just below the armpit, as another whistle was heard from a fresh direction. Others followed, and the adversaries looked sharply at each other.
“Not birds,” said Ralph quickly.
“Don’t look like it,” said Mark bitterly, as he drew his breath with a hissing noise, as if in pain.
“We’re surrounded,” cried Ralph excitedly, as they saw six or seven men appearing from different directions, and evidently all making the spot where the lads now stood the centre for which they aimed.
“You coward!” cried Mark bitterly—“a trap—your father’s men. En garde!” he shouted. “You shall pay for this!”
“My father’s men?” cried Ralph angrily, as he ignored the other’s preparations for a fresh attack. “You’re mad; can’t you see they’re those scoundrels who came to us—Captain Purlrose and his men. Look, there he is—up yonder by that hole.”
“What do they mean, then?” cried Mark, dropping the point of his weapon.
“Mischief to us,” cried Ralph.
“Or me,” said Mark suspiciously.
“To us, I tell you,” cried Ralph.—“You won’t give in?”
“No; will you?”
“Not if you’ll stand by me.”
“And I will,” cried Mark excitedly.
“But you are wounded.”
“So are you.”
“I don’t feel it now.”
“No more do I. Hurrah, then; let them come on!”
But the men did not come on, and the two lads, now breathing hard from their exertions, had time to think as well as recover their breath, for the men, after carefully approaching singly from different directions, so as to surround the combatants, now halted as if by one consent a good fifty yards away, each looking upward from time to time at the burly cloaked figure high above them, and now standing upon a big block of stone, making signals by waving his arms and pointing.
In answer to one of these signals, the men all took off the long cloaks they wore; and in a moment the thought flashed through Mark Eden’s brain that these men must have been seen seated round their fire, somewhere above, and hence had arisen the rumours of witches on the mountain slope, the cloaks being their long gowns.
And now, as the men stood fast, in spite of several signs from above, Ralph suddenly said:
“Perhaps they’ve only come to see us fight, and are waiting for us to begin again.”
“Not they,” cried Mark excitedly. “I know: they mean to take us prisoners, and keep us till we’re ransomed.”
“Perhaps. That is why we have heard of so many robberies,” said Ralph, whose hot anger against his enemy was fast cooling down.
“Yes, that’s it. The dogs!” cried Mark. “I know there’s a big cave up there that you go in through a narrow crack. I saw it once. They couldn’t get my father to have them up at the Tor, and so they’ve taken possession of the cavern and turned robbers. Well, my father will soon rout them out of there.”
“If yours don’t, mine will,” replied Ralph. “But they don’t seem disposed to interfere. Are they stopping to see us fight?”
“If they are,” cried Mark hotly, “they’ll have to wait a long time. I’m not going to make a raree-show of myself to please them.”
“Nor I neither,” cried Ralph. “But,” he added hastily, “you know I’m not afraid?”
“Say you know that I’m not afraid either, and I’ll say the same.”
“Oh, I’ll say that,” replied Ralph, “because I know it.”
“That’s right, then,” said Mark; “and we can finish having it out another time.”
“Of course. I say, though, your leg’s bleeding a good deal.”
“Oh, never mind that. So’s your arm.”
“Can’t be deep,” said Ralph, “because it only smarts a bit. I say, look there! That’s Captain Purlrose upon the stone, and he’s making signals again.”
The wide ring of men saw the signs made by the burly figure above, and they all wrapped their cloaks round their left arms, and then drew their swords.
“Then they do mean to fight,” cried Mark excitedly.
“Yes, but they don’t come on. I say: you’re not going to let them take you prisoner, are you?”
“I’m not going to run away,” said Mark sturdily.
“But they are six to one,” said Ralph.
“Yes, if you stand still and look on. If you won’t let them take you, they’ll only be three to one.”
“I’m going to make a dash for it,” said Ralph, setting his teeth hard, for his wound smarted a good deal, and there was a peculiar warm feeling as of something trickling down his sleeve.
“What, run away?”
“Who said I was going to run away?” cried Ralph. “Look here: in war two kings who hate one another often join together against an enemy.”
“Of course,” said Mark.
“I hate you and all your family, but we don’t want any one else to set up here, near our homes, do we?”
“No,” said Mark sharply.
“Then I’ll stand by you like a trump,” cried Ralph; “if you’ll stand by me now. It’s long odds, but we’ve got right on our side.”
“Shake hands on it then,” cried Mark— “No, we can’t do that, because it’s like making friends, when we’re enemies and hate one another.”
“No, we can’t shake hands,” said Ralph warmly, “but we can make our swords kiss hilts, and that’s joining together for the fight.”
“Agreed,” cried Mark; and the lace steel shells of their rapiers clinked together, making the men, who were watching them intently, exchange glances. “I say,” said Mark hastily, “wasn’t that a mistake?”
“What?”
“Joining like that. It’s making our swords friends.”
“Only till this skirmish is over,” said Ralph.
“Oh yes; of course. We can make the blades kiss then. Here, what’s that Captain what-you-may-call-him doing, waving his arms like that?”
“Means for them to come on and attack. He’s savage because they don’t,” said Ralph.
“Yes, that’s it. I believe they’re afraid of getting more holes in their jerkins.”
“Ha-ha!” laughed Ralph; “and they have no room, I suppose. Look here, let’s have a dash for it.”
“What! run away? That I won’t, from them, so long as I’ve got a sword.”
“Run away! No!” cried Ralph, who was bubbling over with excitement, the slight wound he had received acting as a spur to his natural desire to punish some one for his pain. “Can’t you see that if we make a dash at them on one side, we shall only have two to fight for a bit till the others can come up; and we might wound the first two if we’re quick, before their companions could attack.”
“Well said, general,” cried Mark excitedly. “That’s right. Let’s look sharp then, for my leg hurts as if it was getting stiff.”
“Never mind your leg. Hallo! hark!”
“Why don’t you come on yourself, then?” shouted one of the men, in answer to a good deal of gesticulation from the captain. “Take care you don’t get a hole in your skin.”
“Hurrah!” cried Mark; “they are afraid. Ready?”
“Yes; come on!” cried Ralph; and the two lads made a rush at the men who stood in their homeward way, astonishing them so that they turned and ran before the attacking party had gone half-a-dozen paces.
But a yell of execration rose from the others, as they now made a rush after the lads, who became pursuers and pursued as well.
A savage yell, too, came from high up the mountain slope, the captain being joined
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