“Help ­help ­help!”

This cry, growing feebler at each repetition, was borne by the evening breeze to the ears of a traveller who was picking his way along the dark mazes of Epping Forest one cool, fresh October day.  Instinctively he drew rein and listened, laying his band unconsciously upon the hilt of his poniard.

“A woman’s voice,” he said half aloud, as he spurred more rapidly onward in the direction whence the cry proceeded.  “A woman set upon, no doubt, by some band of these marauders who are desolating the country and disgracing humanity.  Cowards!  I wonder how many of them there are?  A solitary traveller has not much chance against a gang of them; but at least I can sell my life dear.  I have little enough to live for now; and it would be a stain for ever upon my father’s fame were I to pass by unheeding the cry of a damsel in distress.

“Forward, then, good Sultan; there is work for both of us before we can think of food or lodging after our weary day of travel.  Forward, good horse.”

The coal-black charger, who, despite his jaded air and look of neglect, had evidently come of a good stock, and had both blood and mettle of the true soldier sort in him, pricked his ears, arched his neck, and appeared to be fully aware of what was required of him by his loved master.  He broke into a gentle canter, and despite the roughness of the ground, maintained that pace for several hundred yards, until the hand of the traveller upon his rein warned him to moderate his pace.

The shades of evening were falling fast, but a young moon rode high in the sky, and helped to light up the expanse of broken ground and piled-up tree trunks which suddenly became visible to the traveller as he reached a clearing in the forest, through which the rough trail or path he was pursuing led.  And here in this clearing he came upon the object of his search, and saw that his surmise as to the cause of the cries he had heard was only too correct.  Four big burly men, all armed with the weapons of the day ­bills, maces, and even the handgun, which was beginning to find a place amongst the more time-honoured arms of offence and defence ­were surrounding the struggling figure of a woman, a young woman the traveller fancied, from her slimness and the cat-like agility which she displayed in struggling with her captors.

It appeared as if the men did not desire to hurt her if they could avoid doing so, but rather wished to make of her a prisoner; whilst she was making the most frantic efforts to escape from their restraining hands, and was uttering strangled cries for help, which were so deadened by the thick folds of the heavy driving cloak, which had been wrapped about her head, as to be barely audible even at a short distance.

“Let her fight and struggle,” said a tall, broad-shouldered man with a darkly sinister face, who stood a little apart all this while, keeping, however, a very close watch upon the group.  “She will soon tire herself out, and then we can carry her away peacefully.  Don’t hurt her.  Let her have her fling ­it won’t last long ­and she will be all the tamer afterward.”

The traveller, who was but a stripling himself, set his teeth hard as he heard these words spoken.  Something in the cool arrogance of the man, who appeared to be a leader of the rest, stirred his blood and made his hands tingle to be at his throat.

But it would not do to act rashly in an encounter with four stalwart men, all armed to the teeth, and plainly well used to the practice of arms.  The youth saw that he must husband his strength and use his opportunity with every care.  His best chance lay in taking the party by surprise.

He examined his weapons with a keen eye.  He too possessed one of the handguns of the period, and was a good marksman to boot.  He had, too ­and glad enough was he of it at that moment ­the deadly guisarme, that old-fashioned weapon that combined a spear and scythe, and was used with horrible effect in the charges of the day.  Then there was the short battle-axe, slung across his saddlebow, which at close quarters would be a formidable weapon, and the poniard in his belt had in its time done deadly work before this.

But although he had plenty of weapons for offence, he had not much defensive armour upon him.  Only a cloth cap protected his head, and although his jerkin was of the tough leather which often defied the thrust of a dagger almost as successfully as mail, it might not prove a defence against the combined attack of a number of enemies; and his legs were unprotected save by the long leather riding boots laced up the front, and ornamented with silken tassels, now much faded and stained.

Altogether, he appeared hardly equipped for so desperate an encounter as the one that lay before him; but it was plain that he did not on that account shrink from it.  His appearance upon the scene had not been observed by any of the robbers ­for such they plainly were ­and he was thus able to take his time and weigh his chances carefully.

The girl was suffering no injury from her captors; but what her fate might be if rescue did not come was what no one could say.  It was plain that it was the desire of the leader of the band to possess her as a captive.  It was he who was the leading spirit in the attack.  He was just as determined to carry her off as he was wishful to accomplish the capture without inflicting injury.

The stripling astride the good warhorse ­who seemed to scent battle in the air, and stood perfectly still, quivering with excitement ­unslung his handgun from his shoulder, and levelled it at the leader of the band.  The next instant a sharp report rang through the silent forest.  The robber chief flung up his hands with a stifled cry and sank down upon the ground; whilst the other men, astonished beyond measure at this sudden attack from they knew not what quarter, ceased to heed their prisoner, and turned round with loud exécrations, laying their hands upon their weapons.

But before they had time to draw these the horseman was upon them.  He had his battle-axe in his hand ­a light small axe, but one of exquisite temper and workmanship ­and dashing through the group, he dealt such a blow with it upon the head of one of the ruffians as cleft his skull in two; and the man dropped with never a groan, a dead corpse upon the ground.

“Two done for,” quoth the youth to himself as he wheeled about for a second encounter.  “Well, a mounted man should be a match for two on foot.

“Ha! what is that?” for even as he spoke he felt a sharp, stinging pain in one shoulder, and simultaneously the report of firearms rang out once more.  His adversaries had not been slow to avenge the death of their comrade, and their aim was as true as his own.  The traveller knew that his only chance was now to close with his foes and grapple with them before they could load their piece again.

His right arm was partially disabled, as he felt in a moment.  He could no longer swing the trusty little axe which had done good service before; but there was the deadly guisarme at his side.  Sultan could be trusted to carry him straight to the foe without any guidance beyond that of the pressure of knee and foot; and grasping the weapon in both hands, he gallantly charged back upon the men, who stood grimly awaiting his next movement with every intention of unhorsing and slaying him.

The odds were heavy against him.  The two ruffians who stood to bar his way were stalwart, powerful fellows, well inured to this kind of warfare; and the chief, who though wounded was not killed, had struggled to his feet, and was plainly endeavouring, though with difficulty, to reach the handgun and reload it.  The girl was still encumbered by the heavy cloak which had been knotted about her head and hands, and was not at once thrown off.  The traveller plainly saw that there was no time to be lost if he was to escape with his own life, or save the damsel from a fate perhaps worse than death.

“Forward, Sultan!” he cried.

And the good horse dashed back upon the enemy; and the youth, holding his weapon in both hands, strove as he passed to deal a deadly blow to one of his assailants.  But the man was quick, and his own strength impaired by the injury he had received.  The lance-like point of the weapon inflicted a deep gash upon the face of one of his adversaries, causing him to yell with rage and pain, but no vital injury had been inflicted upon either; whilst a savage blow from the other upon the youth’s left arm had broken the bone, and he felt as if his last moment had surely come.

But it did not occur to him even then to save himself by flight, as he could well have done, seeing that he was mounted and that the robbers were on foot.  Disabled as he was, he wheeled about once more, and half maddened by pain and the desperation of his case, rode furiously upon the only man who had not yet received some injury.  The robber awaited his charge with a smile of triumph upon his face; but he triumphed a little too soon.

Sultan was a horse of remarkable intelligence and fidelity.  He had known fighting before now ­had carried his rider through many a skirmish before this; and his fidelity and affection equalled his intelligence.  With the wonderful instinct that seems always to exist between horse and rider who have known each other long, he appeared to divine that his master’s case was somewhat desperate, and that he needed an ally in his cause.  And thus when the pair bore down upon the robber, who was coolly awaiting the charge, Sultan took law into his own hands, and overthrew the plan both of attack and defence by a quick movement of his own.  For he swerved slightly as he approached the man, and rising suddenly upon his hind legs, brought down all the weight of his iron shoe with tremendous force upon the head of the adversary, who fell to the ground with a low groan, and lay as helpless as his former comrade.

But excellent as this manoeuvre was in one aspect, it disconcerted the rider by its suddenness; and when as the horse reared the second robber sprang upon the rider to try and drag him from his seat, the effort was only too successful.  The traveller was easily pulled away from the saddle, and fell heavily to the ground; whilst the foe uttered a savage exclamation of triumph, and knelt with his knee upon the chest of the fallen man, his bloody and distorted visage bent over him in evil triumph.  He was feeling in his belt for his dagger; and the young man closed his eyes and tried to mutter a prayer, for he knew that his hour had come at last.

He had sold his life dear, but sold it was, and the next moment he felt certain would be his last; when all in a moment there was another of those loud reports of the gun.  The man kneeling upon his chest fell suddenly backwards; and the youth, starting to his feet, was confronted by the spectacle of the maiden he had rescued, white and trembling, and almost overcome by her own deed, holding in her hand the still smoking gun, whilst her eyes, dilated with horror, were fixed upon the helpless creature in the dust.

“Is he dead?” she asked in a hollow voice.

“I cannot tell,” answered the youth hastily.  “It were better not to linger longer here.  Their own band will come and look to them if they return not by sundown.  Let us to horse and away before any of the gang come.  Sultan will carry the pair of us well, and you will tell us which course to steer; for the night will be upon us ere long, and I am a stranger to these dark forests.”

Whilst thus speaking, the traveller was throwing keen glances round him, and saw that the men, though wounded, were not all dead ­though one certainly was, and the other, whom Sultan had attacked, was scarce likely to look again upon the light of day.  The leader of the band had fallen again to the earth, and was enveloped in the folds of the heavy cloak, from which he appeared to be feebly struggling to disentangle himself.  The girl followed the direction of the youth’s glance, and explained the matter in a few short words.

“He was loading the gun when I freed myself.  I knew that he was going to shoot you.  I am very strong, and I saw that he was bleeding and wounded.  I sprang upon him and threw him down, and tied the cloak about him, as he had bidden his men bind it about me, By that time you were unhorsed, and I saw that the robber was about to kill you.  The gun was loaded, and I took it and shot him.  I never killed a man before.  I hope it is not wicked; but he would have killed you else.  And you had risked your life a dozen times to save me.”

“It was well and bravely done for me and for yourself,” answered the stranger, as he mounted the docile Sultan and assisted the girl to spring up behind him.

Wounded and spent as he was, the excitement of the encounter had not yet subsided, and he was only vaguely conscious of his hurts, whilst he was very much in earnest in his desire to get away from this ill-omened spot before others of the band should return in search of their missing comrades, and take a terrible vengeance upon those who had slain or wounded them.

His companion was no less anxious than he to be gone; and as the good horse picked his way in the dim light through the intricate forest paths pointed out by the girl, who was plainly a native of the neighbourhood, she told him in whispers of the men from whom she had escaped, and of the fate which had so narrowly overtaken her.

“They are the robbers of Black Notley,” she said.  “There are two rival bands of robbers here ­one at White Notley and one at Black Notley.  We call them the Black or the White Robbers, to distinguish between them.  The White are not so fierce or so lawless as the Black; but both are a terror to us, for we never know what violence we shall not hear of next.”

“And these Black Robbers would have carried you away with them, by what I gathered from their words, at least from the words of him they looked to as their leader?”

The girl shuddered strongly.

“Once he lived in our village ­Much Waltham, as it is called.  He was no robber then; but a proper youth enough; and although I was but a little maid, not grown to womanhood, he asked my hand of my father in marriage.”

“And what said your father to his suit?”

“Why, that I was too young to be betrothed as yet; but that if he were a steady youth, as time went on perchance it might be even as he wished.  But instead of growing up to the plough or the anvils as other youths of our village do, he must needs go off to see somewhat of the wars; and when he returned it was as a swashbuckler and roisterer, such as my father and mother cannot abide sight of.  When he came to Figeon’s to ask me in marriage, he was turned from the door with cold looks and short words; but he would ever be striving to see me alone, and swear that he loved me and would wed me in spite of all.  I had liked him when I was but a child, but I grew first to fear and then to hate him; and at last I spoke to Will Ives, the smith’s son, of how he troubled me and gave me no peace of my life.  And forthwith there was a great stir through the village; and Will Ives set upon him and beat him within an inch of his life, for all he was so proud of his skill and strength.  And the good brothers spoke to him seriously of his evil courses, and I know not what besides.  So the end was that he ran away once more and joined himself to the Robbers of Black Notley, and was taken in such favour by the captain of the band that he is half a captain himself; and many is the time he has ridden through our village, robbing his old neighbours, and doing more harm in a night than months of hard work will put right; and often when I have chanced to meet him he has given me a look that has frozen the blood in my veins.  I have always lived in fear of him all my life; but I was never in such peril before today.”

“Peril enough, in all sooth,” said the traveller.  “How came it, pretty maiden, that you chanced to be all alone in the wood so near to the haunts of the robbers?”

“Nay, I was far enough away from their regular haunts.  I had but come a short cut through the wood to see a sick neighbour, and I tarried beside her longer than I well knew.  I will never do the like again, but I have been used from childhood to roam these forest paths unharmed.  The wood is thick, and if I hear the sound of horse or man I always slip aside and hide myself.  But today, methinks, they must have tracked me and were lying in wait; for the wood was silent as the church till I reached the clearing, and then the whole four sprang up from behind the pile of felled trees and set upon me.  Had you not been at hand, by good providence; I should ere this have been their helpless captive;” and again the girl shuddered strongly.

By this time the trees were growing somewhat thinner, and lights began to twinkle here and there, showing that some village was nigh at hand.  A bell for vespers began to ring forth, and the traveller was glad enough to think his toilsome journey nearly at an end.  Hardy as he was, and well inured to fatigues and hardship of all kinds, he was growing exhausted from his day’s travel and his sharp fighting.  He was wounded, too, and although there was no great effusion of blood, his hurt was becoming painful, and his left arm, which was undoubtedly broken, required some skilled attention.

“Is it here that you live, fair maid?” he asked.  “I know not how you are named; but I gather that you are directing our course to your own home.”

“My name is Joan Devenish,” she answered, “and the lights you see yonder are those of Much Waltham, and it is our church bell that you hear ringing out so sweetly.  My father’s farm is a mile beyond.  But I beseech you ride thither with me.  My mother would be ill pleased did I not bring home the gallant stranger who had saved me from my foes.  And Figeon’s will be proud to shelter such a guest.”

“I give you humble thanks, Mistress Joan, and gladly would I find so hospitable a shelter.  I am but a poor traveller, however, roaming the world in search of the fame and fortune that come not.  I am one of those who have ever followed the failing fortunes of the Red Rose of Lancaster, and sorry enough has often been my plight.  But if rumour speaks true, and the great Earl of Warwick has placed King Henry once again on his throne, then perchance I may retrieve the fallen fortunes of my house.  My father and brothers laid down their lives for his cause; his foes took possession of our fair lands, and I was turned adrift on the wide world.  But tell me, ere we journey farther, which Rose you and your house favour; for I would not bring trouble upon any, and my roving life has taught me that the House of Lancaster has many bitter foes.”

“O sir, be not afraid,” answered Joan eagerly; “we country folk are quiet and peaceable, and care little who wears the crown, so as we may till our land in peace, and be relieved from the hordes of robbers and disbanded soldiers who have swarmed the country so long.  We have called ourselves Yorkists these past years, since King Edward has been reigning; but I trow if what men say is true, and he has fled the country without striking a blow for his crown, and the great earl has placed King Henry on the throne again, that we shall welcome him back.  I know little of the great matters of the day.  My father bids me not trouble my head over things too hard for me.  I tend the poultry and the young calves, and let the question of kings alone.”

The traveller smiled at this; but his companion was evidently something of a talker, and endued with her full share of feminine curiosity.

“I would gladly know your name, fair sir,” she said shyly, “for I shall have to present you to my good father ere long.”

“My name is Paul Stukely,” he answered.  “I am the youngest and only surviving son of one of King Henry’s knights and loyal adherents.  My parents are both dead, and I have long been alone in the world.  I have little to call my own save my good horse and trusty weapons.  But I sometimes hope that there may be better days in store, if the rightful king gets back his own again.”

At that moment the travellers were passing by the village forge, and a bright gleam of light streamed across their path, revealing to a brawny young fellow at the door the weary horse and its double burden.  He came one step nearer, and exclaimed: 

“Why, Joan, what means this?  You riding pillion fashion with a stranger!  What, in the name of all the saints, has befallen you?”

Sultan had paused of his own accord at the forge, and Joan was eagerly telling her story to a little crowd of listeners, and making so much capital out of the heroism of her gallant rescuer that all eyes were turned upon the battered stranger; and whilst deep curses went up from the lips of many of the men as they heard of the last attempt of the Black Robbers upon one of their own village maidens, equal meed of praise and thanks was showered upon Paul, who leaned over his saddlebow in an attitude that bespoke exhaustion, though he answered all questions, and thanked the good people for their kindly reception of him, whilst trying to make light of his own prowess, and to give the credit of their final escape to Joan, to whom, indeed, it was due.

But the elder smith, John Ives, pushed his way through the little group round the black horse, and scattered them right and left.

“Good neighbours,” he said, “can you not see that this gentleman is weary and wounded, and that his good horse is like to drop as he stands?

“Go to, Will.  Lift down the maid, and lead her yourself up to Figeon’s.  I will conduct the gentleman thither, and tend his hurts myself.

“For, good sir, I know as much about broken bones as any leech in the countryside; and if you will but place yourself in my hands, I’ll warrant you a sound man again before another moon has run her course.  ’Tis a farrier’s trade to be a bit of a surgeon; and the Iveses have been farriers in Much Waltham longer than any can mind.

“On then, good horse.  ’Tis but a short mile farther; and a good stable and a soft bed, and as much fodder as you can eat, you will find at Figeon’s Farm.”

Paul was glad enough to have matters thus settled for him; and even Sultan seemed to understand the promise made him, for he pricked up his ears, dropped his nose for a moment into the kindly hand of the smith, and with the guiding hand upon his rein stepped briskly forward up the dark rough lane, through the thick belt of trees on either side.  For in the days of which I write the great forest of Epping extended almost all over the county of Essex, the villages were scarcely more than small clearings in the vast wood, and only round the farms themselves were there any real fields worth calling by the name.

Will and Joan tripped on ahead more rapidly than Sultan or his master cared to go.  Paul did not trouble himself any longer about the road he was traversing, leaving himself entirely in the kindly care of the smith.  He even dozed a little in the saddle as the horse picked his way steadily through the darkness, and was only fully roused up again by the sight of lanterns dancing, as it seemed, over the ground, by the sound of rough yet pleasant voices, and the glimmer of steadier light through the latticed windows of some building near at hand.  The next minute he was before the hospitable door of the old farmhouse.

A ruddy blaze streamed out through that open door.  Friendly hands assisted him to alight, and guided him to a rude oak settle placed within the deep inglenook, which was almost like a small inner chamber of the wide farm kitchen.  Some hot, steaming drink was held to his lips; and when he had drunk, the mist seemed to clear away from his eyes, and he saw that he was the centre of quite a group of simple rustics; whilst the pretty, dark-eyed Joan, in her gown of blue serge, with its big sleeves of white cloth, was eagerly watching him, all the time pouring out her story, which everybody appeared to wish to hear again and again.

“Just to think of it!” cried a burly man, whose dress bespoke him a farmer no less than his ruddy cheeks and horny hands.  “Would that I had been there!  He should not then have escaped with his life.

“Child, why didst thou not stab him to the heart as he lay?

“Well has he been called Devil’s Own by his former comrades and playfellows.  A defenceless girl ­my daughter!  By good St. Anthony, if he crosses my path again it shall be for the last time.  I will ­”

“Hush, I pray you, good husband,” said his wife more gently, though from the way in which she clasped her daughter to her breast it was plain she had been deeply moved by the story of her peril.  “Remember what the Scriptures say:  ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ ‘Vengeance is mine,’ and many like passages ­”

But the woman stopped suddenly short, silenced by the grip of her husband’s hand upon her arm.  A quick look was exchanged between them, and she lapsed into silence.

The farmer glanced round him, and dismissed the serving wenches and labourers who had gathered round to their own quarters, and indeed in many cases to their beds; for early hours were all the fashion in those days.  The farmer’s wife beckoned her daughter, and went to prepare for the lodging of their guest; and before very long Paul found himself in a bed which, however rude according to our notions, was luxury itself to the weary traveller.

The smith soon saw to his hurts, pronounced them only trifling, and bound them up as cleverly as a leech would have done.  Indeed, he was the regular doctor for most kinds of hurts, and could practise the rude surgery of the day with as much success as a more qualified man.

Paul had been weary enough half-an-hour before, but the good food he had taken and the hot spiced wine had effectually aroused him.  He was very tough and well seasoned, and although glad enough to lie still in bed, was not particularly disposed for sleep; and when the smith was preparing to depart, he begged him to stay a while longer, and tell him something about the place and about the people he had come amongst.  The worthy man was ready enough to chat, though he had little notion of imparting information.  Still, he answered questions with frankness, and Paul was able to pick up a good deal of gossip as to public opinion in those parts and the feeling of the people round.

But what he heard did not give him pleasure.  He had been in the north when he had heard of Warwick’s sudden desertion of the Yorkist cause, and before he had been able to reach London he had heard the glad news that Henry of Lancaster was again on the throne, placed there by the power of the King Maker, who had dethroned him but a few years back.  Glad as Paul was, he yet wished that any other hand had been the one to place the crown upon the gentle monarch’s head.  He could not but distrust Warwick, and he was eager to learn the feeling of the country, and to know whether or not the people welcomed back the sovereign so long a captive.

But in this place, at least, it seemed as if there was no pleasure in Henry’s restoration.  The smith shook his head, and said he had no faith in his keeping the crown now he had got it.  It seemed as if the love borne by Londoners to Edward of York had extended as far as this remote village:  the people had been enjoying again, under the later years of his reign, something of the blessings of peace, and were loath that their calm should be disturbed.

The feeling might not be patriotic, but it was natural, and Paul admitted with a sigh that the cause of the Red Rose was not likely to find favour here.  A king who could fight and who could govern, and hold his kingdom against all comers, was more thought of than one who appeared a mere puppet in the hands of a designing noble or a strong-willed queen.  The sudden desertion of Warwick from his banner had caused a momentary panic in Edward’s army, and the king had fled with his followers beyond the sea; but, as the hardy smith remarked with a grim smile, he would not be long in coming back to claim his kingdom.  And if the country were again to be plunged into the horrors of civil war, it would be better for the whole brood of Lancaster to seek exile or death.

Paul had not energy to argue for his cause, and fell asleep with these sinister words ringing in his ears.