The Winning of the Golden Spurs by Percy F. Westerman

Author:Percy F. Westerman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781620134696
Publisher: Duke Classics

Chapter XII - The Journey Perilous

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LONG before the grey morn began to dawn Redward and his son had covered a couple of leagues, and were at the foot of a long range of hills. Slowly they began the ascent, and, ere the summit was reached, the light was sufficient for them to see their grotesque and horrible garb.

"A safe disguise," exclaimed Raymond, "yet right glad will I be when we can doff these garments."

"A safe disguise enough, should the barber not play us false," replied his father. "I liked not his looks, though I trow he is in no ways to blame for the cut of his face."

"But dost think that he will play us false?"

"'Tis not unlikely; so the more leagues we place between us and St. Brieuc the better. Canst get at thy sword-hilt?"

"Not easily. Wherefore dost thou ask?"

"Danger might come apace and at any time. See, I have cut a slit in my gown so that I can grasp my sword without delay. I pray thee do likewise."

On the brow of the first hill was a long farmstead, sheltered more or less by a clump of stunted pinetrees. Behind the house was an orchard, its branches laden with fruit, while amongst the trees were several cows, their heads tethered to their forefeet, after the manner of those parts, so that the animals could not tear down the branches of the fruit-trees.

"A sight to gladden the eyes of an old campaigner!" exclaimed the master-bowman, and, taking his steel cap from beneath his cowl, he stole cautiously towards the cattle, Raymond waiting behind a sheltering tree.

With the deftness born of old experience Redward did his work, and soon returned with his casque filled to the brim with warm milk. Having drunk their fill, the travellers helped themselves to a bounteous supply of fruit, and proceeded on their way, the fruit, together with some dry bread they had brought with them, making a passable breakfast.

At the bottom of the hill they entered a small village. Although still early, most of the inhabitants were astir, and the Englishmen had their first experience of the efficacy of their disguise. For directly they rattled their barillets the villagers ran hither and thither to avoid the supposed sufferers, save a horseman and an old woman. The former passed them at a distance of a few paces, throwing them a couple of deniers. With his usual presence of mind Redward stooped, picked up the coins, and louted to the donor. The woman threw them a rusk loaf, and this was caught and quickly concealed beneath the sheltering cloaks.

Once clear of the village they mended their pace, and, with the exception of a pair of shepherds, and a peasant clattering along in his heavy sabots, not a soul did they meet till close on midday, when the travellers arrived at a cross-road, where the monotony of the outlook was broken by four avenues of trees.

"I would fain have rested here awhile," exclaimed Redward. "But with that

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