Ten days thereafter, we bore home the Champion of Mountjoy in a sumptuous litter, which had been the gift of the King himself. Near the gentle palfrey which bore its van, I rode on my faithful little mare, for now we had no fear of lurking enemies. By the open side of the litter, and oft in gay and heartening speech with him who lay on the silken pillows within, rode Cedric of Pelham Wood, on the captured war-horse of Carleton and wearing, full well and bravely, a new-made suit of the Mountjoy purple and gold. CHAPTER V—THE FESTIVAL OF THE ARCHERS Young Cedric, the forester, who was now my constant companion, was walking with me on the path that led by the Millfield. There, since the raising of the siege of Castle Mountjoy, Old Marvin, the archer, and his gray-haired dame had had their cottage and half dozen acres of mowing and tillage. ’Twas on a fair December morning, when yet no snow had come. The hoar frost still covered all the western slopes, and the wood-smoke that came down from a clearing in the forest above did sweeten the air more to my liking than all the scents and powders that the traders bring from Araby. We had had an hour at the foils, wherein I was master, and another with the cross-bow. And at this good sport Cedric did show such skill that once more I spoke my wonder at the magic of it. He had no more than my own sixteen years; and when ’mongst men and soldiers, he but seldom lifted his voice; but his handling of this weapon would honor any man of middle life who had spent more years with the bow in his hands than Cedric could count, all told. “Cedric,” I cried, “methinks Old Marvin himself could not best thee; and for thirty years he of all the Mountjoy archers hath borne the palm.” Cedric smiled, but shook his head. “Mayhap Old Marvin knoweth a many things anent the placing of his bolt that have not yet come to me. My father, Elbert of Pelham Wood, who taught me what I know, hath often told me that with the long-bow one man and one only in all of England could best him,—and that one no other than Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest; but with the cross-bow, Marvin of Mountjoy could ever lesson him. And did not thou tell me that ’twas Old Marvin who laid low the Gray Wolf of Carleton, at the siege? ’Tis one thing to strike a fair bull’s-eye on target, in broad daylight and quiet air, and another far to strike the throat of one’s enemy in battle and by torchlight.” “Aye, and ’twas thou, Cedric, who struck down young Lionel of Carleton and two of his robber hounds of men-at-arms, in our fray in the woods but six weeks gone. Thy bolts did not then fly by guess or by luck, I trow.” Cedric smiled again, but had no words for this; and I went quickly on: