When at last they came to the end of the dark woods the sun was over the tree-tops and everything looked delightfully bright and cheering. They raced across the wide stretch of turf that separated them from the nice friendly-looking forest on the other side, and they were soon resting in a warm spot just at the outskirts of some spreading oaks, far from the horrible house and the haunted woods.
Baldry said it was best to stay exactly where they were and keep a good look out for Gorbo, who would certainly chase after them as soon as he came back and found they were gone. Of course if Golithos or the old hag came out first it would be necessary to hide closer, and he looked round and found a nice place, deep in a thicket of bracken, where fifty people could be safely hidden, and to which they could do a bolt at a moment’s notice.
But now that they had their minds at rest to some degree, the conversation turned on things to eat and drink; there is nothing like exercise and fright to give one an appetite. Sylvia said how nice it would be to have a hot cup of tea with plenty of milk, and Baldry, who belonged to mediæval times and therefore did not know of tea, asked if it was anything like hot spiced ale. This led the talk to hot ham, to eggs cooked in various ways, and buttered toast. And the result was they got ravenous.
Baldry was knitting his brow over the question of how to get breakfast when suddenly they heard clanging sounds and the clump of horses’ feet. And looking about them they saw a cavalcade of some ten or twelve men-at-arms, coming along the green ride with much pomp and glittering of steel and high stepping of fine horses. Baldry stared earnestly at them and then he gave a satisfied chortle.
“These blokes,” he said (blokes is not the word he used of course, but it is the nearest I can get to it in translation), “are the same ones who rode up to the castle yesterday and frightened dear Percy away. But they didn’t see us, because we got away so quickly, so I think we had better see if they can spare us a trifle. Men-at-arms generally have some bits of food about their persons—cold fried fish and sausage and the like—and they’re generally good-natured on a fine morning. And if they give us some little pieces of money instead we can buy some breakfast somewhere—if there’s a house anywhere in these wild parts.”
“All right,” said Joe, starting up. “Come along, Sylvia.”
“No, wait a bit,” said Baldry, “this wants thinking out. To make this thing a success we have to appeal to them in some quaint way. I’ve got it! You go first, Joe, turning somersaults; that will make them stop and wonder. Then you go next, Sylvia, and drop a nice little curtsey and smile at them; that will put them in a good humour. Then I’ll come along walking on my hands, and that will make it a sure thing and they should unbelt at once. First of all let’s make ourselves look nice.”
The children were highly interested and Sylvia asked him if he had a comb. But he had not, so she fluffed out her curls with her fingers and then knelt over a little forest pool close by to make sure that she looked rather fetching. (She was her mother’s daughter all right enough.) Joe tucked his shirt in neatly and tightened his belt, and Baldry practised an expression of attractive mirth.
The horsemen approached at an easy walk and they could see the face of the leader, an able-looking person whose well-fitting and polished mail and golden spurs proclaimed him a knight in a prosperous line of business. He rode with his visor raised, talking to one whose plain steel spurs and armour devoid of fancy trimmings showed that he was as yet but a squire. In the still morning air their voices came clearly to the little waiting group.
“In sooth, good Baldwin,” he was saying, “there is now little chance of honourable adventure in the land. But yester morn I had hope of running a course with the scurril Sir Percival, who has dared to raise his lobster eyes to my mistress and to brag forsooth that she has sent him forth seeking advancement to grace her name. But the pestilent knave fled and my hope was dashed to the ground—which is a pity, because that’s what I meant to do to him.”
“Good, my lord,” said the squire, “’tis likely that the Lady Gwendoline did but tell him to chase himself. So at least went the gossip at the buttery hatch.”
“My lady has a pretty wit, and perchance she put her answer in such wise that the moth-eaten rascal has construed it to his own undoing—or at least to his grievous waste of time. But what mummery have we here, good Baldwin?”
It was Joe, turning brisk somersaults, and the leader halted his horse and stared down at him. Joe sprang at him and clasped his mailed leg with his arms, as Baldry had told him to, and loudly asked for charity.
“Unhand my left leg, thou wanton!” cried the leader. “Who told you to behave like this?--But whom else have we here?”
This was Sylvia, who came tripping up and dropped a dainty curtsey, smiling very prettily at him.
“By my hilt, a right winsome little lass! Is she not, Baldwin?”
“Ay, my lord, she has hair like ripe corn and merry blue eyes, and her cheeks are like rose leaves in the morn. A pretty maid—and a saucy, I warrant me.”
“You silly thing!” said Sylvia, pretending to be coy; “I don’t believe you.” (This sort of behaviour came quite naturally to her.)
“Nay, little lass,” said the leader, smiling good-humouredly, “for the sake of your pretty looks I have here a silver groat”--he pulled off his mailed glove and fished about in a little steel pocket in his cuisses, or thigh armour—a quaint little pocket that shut with a spring. “I know I had a groat somewhere—Ah, here we have it!” He bent down and placed the coin in Sylvia’s little palm and patted her cheek. “And if you are hungered my good squire has half a fat capon which he borrowed—But whom else have we here?”
Whom else they had was of course Baldry, who came along, walking upside-down and singing “When woods are green and foules sing,” a truly difficult feat before breakfast you will say. When opposite the knight he sprang right side up and cut a dexterous caper—and then stared in horror.
“Scurril rogue!” roared the knight, catching him by the collar with a grip of iron. “At last we have thee who dared to put so scandalous a jest upon His Majesty! Ho, there, seize me this knave and loose him not till he be safe in the royal dungeon.”