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<h2> CHAPTER 2 </h2>
<p>From the time the family escaped from Falworth Castle that midwinter night
to the time Myles was sixteen years old he knew nothing of the great world
beyond Crosbey-Dale. A fair was held twice in a twelvemonth at the
market-town of Wisebey, and three times in the seven years old Diccon
Bowman took the lad to see the sights at that place. Beyond these three
glimpses of the outer world he lived almost as secluded a life as one of
the neighboring monks of St. Mary's Priory.</p>
<p>Crosbey-Holt, their new home, was different enough from Falworth or
Easterbridge Castle, the former baronial seats of Lord Falworth. It was a
long, low, straw-thatched farm-house, once, when the church lands were
divided into two holdings, one of the bailiff's houses. All around were
the fruitful farms of the priory, tilled by well-to-do tenant holders, and
rich with fields of waving grain, and meadow-lands where sheep and cattle
grazed in flocks and herds; for in those days the church lands were under
church rule, and were governed by church laws, and there, when war and
famine and waste and sloth blighted the outside world, harvests flourished
and were gathered, and sheep were sheared and cows were milked in peace
and quietness.</p>
<p>The Prior of St. Mary's owed much if not all of the church's prosperity to
the blind Lord Falworth, and now he was paying it back with a haven of
refuge from the ruin that his former patron had brought upon himself by
giving shelter to Sir John Dale.</p>
<p>I fancy that most boys do not love the grinding of school life—the
lessons to be conned, the close application during study hours. It is not
often pleasant to brisk, lively lads to be so cooped up. I wonder what the
boys of to-day would have thought of Myles's training. With him that
training was not only of the mind, but of the body as well, and for seven
years it was almost unremitting. "Thou hast thine own way to make in the
world, sirrah," his father said more than once when the boy complained of
the grinding hardness of his life, and to make one's way in those days
meant a thousand times more than it does now; it meant not only a heart to
feel and a brain to think, but a hand quick and strong to strike in
battle, and a body tough to endure the wounds and blows in return. And so
it was that Myles's body as well as his mind had to be trained to meet the
needs of the dark age in which he lived.</p>
<p>Every morning, winter or summer, rain or shine he tramped away six long
miles to the priory school, and in the evenings his mother taught him
French.</p>
<p>Myles, being prejudiced in the school of thought of his day, rebelled not
a little at that last branch of his studies. "Why must I learn that vile
tongue?" said he.</p>
<p>"Call it not vile," said the blind old Lord, grimly; "belike, when thou
art grown a man, thou'lt have to seek thy fortune in France land, for
England is haply no place for such as be of Falworth blood." And in
after-years, true to his father's prediction, the "vile tongue" served him
well.</p>
<p>As for his physical training, that pretty well filled up the hours between
his morning studies at the monastery and his evening studies at home. Then
it was that old Diccon Bowman took him in hand, than whom none could be
better fitted to shape his young body to strength and his hands to skill
in arms. The old bowman had served with Lord Falworth's father under the
Black Prince both in France and Spain, and in long years of war had gained
a practical knowledge of arms that few could surpass. Besides the use of
the broadsword, the short sword, the quarter-staff, and the cudgel, he
taught Myles to shoot so skilfully with the long-bow and the cross-bow
that not a lad in the country-side was his match at the village butts.
Attack and defence with the lance, and throwing the knife and dagger were
also part of his training.</p>
<p>Then, in addition to this more regular part of his physical training,
Myles was taught in another branch not so often included in the military
education of the day—the art of wrestling. It happened that a fellow
lived in Crosbey village, by name Ralph-the-Smith, who was the greatest
wrestler in the country-side, and had worn the champion belt for three
years. Every Sunday afternoon, in fair weather, he came to teach Myles the
art, and being wonderfully adept in bodily feats, he soon grew so quick
and active and firm-footed that he could cast any lad under twenty years
of age living within a range of five miles.</p>
<p>"It is main ungentle armscraft that he learneth," said Lord Falworth one
day to Prior Edward. "Saving only the broadsword, the dagger, and the
lance, there is but little that a gentleman of his strain may use.
Neth'less, he gaineth quickness and suppleness, and if he hath true blood
in his veins he will acquire knightly arts shrewdly quick when the time
cometh to learn them."</p>
<p>But hard and grinding as Myles's life was, it was not entirely without
pleasures. There were many boys living in Crosbey-Dale and the village;
yeomen's and farmers' sons, to be sure, but, nevertheless, lads of his own
age, and that, after all, is the main requirement for friendship in
boyhood's world. Then there was the river to bathe in; there were the
hills and valleys to roam over, and the wold and woodland, with their
wealth of nuts and birds'-nests and what not of boyhood's treasures.</p>
<p>Once he gained a triumph that for many a day was very sweet under the
tongue of his memory. As was said before, he had been three times to the
market-town at fair-time, and upon the last of these occasions he had
fought a bout of quarterstaff with a young fellow of twenty, and had been
the conqueror. He was then only a little over fourteen years old.</p>
<p>Old Diccon, who had gone with him to the fair, had met some cronies of his
own, with whom he had sat gossiping in the ale-booth, leaving Myles for
the nonce to shift for himself. By-and-by the old man had noticed a crowd
gathered at one part of the fair-ground, and, snuffing a fight, had gone
running, ale-pot in hand. Then, peering over the shoulders of the crowd,
he had seen his young master, stripped to the waist, fighting like a
gladiator with a fellow a head taller than himself. Diccon was about to
force his way through the crowd and drag them asunder, but a second look
had showed his practised eye that Myles was not only holding his own, but
was in the way of winning the victory. So he had stood with the others
looking on, withholding himself from any interference and whatever
upbraiding might be necessary until the fight had been brought to a
triumphant close. Lord Falworth never heard directly of the redoubtable
affair, but old Diccon was not so silent with the common folk of
Crosbey-Dale, and so no doubt the father had some inkling of what had
happened. It was shortly after this notable event that Myles was formally
initiated into squirehood. His father and mother, as was the custom, stood
sponsors for him. By them, each bearing a lighted taper, he was escorted
to the altar. It was at St. Mary's Priory, and Prior Edward blessed the
sword and girded it to the lad's side. No one was present but the four,
and when the good Prior had given the benediction and had signed the cross
upon his forehead, Myles's mother stooped and kissed his brow just where
the priest's finger had drawn the holy sign. Her eyes brimmed bright with
tears as she did so. Poor lady! perhaps she only then and for the first
time realized how big her fledgling was growing for his nest. Henceforth
Myles had the right to wear a sword.</p>
<p>Myles had ended his fifteenth year. He was a bonny lad, with brown face,
curling hair, a square, strong chin, and a pair of merry laughing blue
eyes; his shoulders were broad; his chest was thick of girth; his muscles
and thews were as tough as oak.</p>
<p>The day upon which he was sixteen years old, as he came whistling home
from the monastery school he was met by Diccon Bowman.</p>
<p>"Master Myles," said the old man, with a snuffle in his voice—"Master
Myles, thy father would see thee in his chamber, and bade me send thee to
him as soon as thou didst come home. Oh, Master Myles, I fear me that
belike thou art going to leave home to-morrow day."</p>
<p>Myles stopped short. "To leave home!" he cried.</p>
<p>"Aye," said old Diccon, "belike thou goest to some grand castle to live
there, and be a page there and what not, and then, haply, a
gentleman-at-arms in some great lord's pay."</p>
<p>"What coil is this about castles and lords and gentlemen-at-arms?" said
Myles. "What talkest thou of, Diccon? Art thou jesting?"</p>
<p>"Nay," said Diccon, "I am not jesting. But go to thy father, and then thou
wilt presently know all. Only this I do say, that it is like thou leavest
us to-morrow day."</p>
<p>And so it was as Diccon had said; Myles was to leave home the very next
morning. He found his father and mother and Prior Edward together, waiting
for his coming.</p>
<p>"We three have been talking it over this morning," said his father, "and
so think each one that the time hath come for thee to quit this poor home
of ours. An thou stay here ten years longer, thou'lt be no more fit to go
then than now. To-morrow I will give thee a letter to my kinsman, the Earl
of Mackworth. He has thriven in these days and I have fallen away, but
time was that he and I were true sworn companions, and plighted together
in friendship never to be sundered. Methinks, as I remember him, he will
abide by his plighted troth, and will give thee his aid to rise in the
world. So, as I said, to-morrow morning thou shalt set forth with Diccon
Bowman, and shall go to Castle Devlen, and there deliver this letter which
prayeth him to give thee a place in his household. Thou mayst have this
afternoon to thyself to make read such things as thou shalt take with
thee. And bid me Diccon to take the gray horse to the village and have it
shod."</p>
<p>Prior Edward had been standing looking out of the window. As Lord Falworth
ended he turned.</p>
<p>"And, Myles," said he, "thou wilt need some money, so I will give thee as
a loan forty shillings, which some day thou mayst return to me an thou
wilt. For this know, Myles, a man cannot do in the world without money.
Thy father hath it ready for thee in the chest, and will give it thee
to-morrow ere thou goest."</p>
<p>Lord Falworth had the grim strength of manhood's hard sense to upbear him
in sending his son into the world, but the poor lady mother had nothing of
that to uphold her. No doubt it was as hard then as it is now for the
mother to see the nestling thrust from the nest to shift for itself. What
tears were shed, what words of love were spoken to the only man-child,
none but the mother and the son ever knew.</p>
<p>The next morning Myles and the old bowman rode away, and no doubt to the
boy himself the dark shadows of leave-taking were lost in the golden light
of hope as he rode out into the great world to seek his fortune.</p>
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