Geoffrey of Carleton had gained much in the two years just past in breadth of shoulder and length of arm; and could now dispute with me on almost even terms with the foils or the wooden targes and broadswords of our martial play. I had already the height and reach of my father who had a name for bone and brawn and feats of knightly strength; and Cedric, though a handsbreadth shorter, had the shoulders and thighs of a smith. He could hang by one arm from a bough, and draw himself up to the chin; and I have seen him crumple a gold coin in his hand by way of making good his word when he had declared it over thin and light. Though Cedric was born and had lived till his sixteenth year in the woodland cottage of his father, the forester of Pelham, his speech was not as that of the churls around us; and at Castle Mountjoy he had learned the ways of gentleness as readily as one of noblest blood. My lady mother was never aweary of lessoning such a pupil in the manners of a knight and gentleman; and now had reason to look with pride on her work. Withal Cedric ne’er forgot the class from which he sprung nor carried himself as a lord over them when given authority. We made but a short night of it at Hardiston. By three o’ the clock we were in saddle again, and pricking forward toward the plain of Wallingham. By sun-up we were within three leagues of the castle, and the Constable had sent forward light-armed scouts to bring us word of the siege. Then spake my father, with the freedom of an old comrade of the Constable’s and veteran of many a hard campaign: “Methinks, my lord, that Rhys and his Welsh rabble will ne’er await our coming on Wallingham Plain where they must needs fight with the castle in their rear and the danger of a sortie of the garrison. Beshrew me if they do not fly again across the Marches when they hear of our coming in force, and await another time to strike at undefended lands.” “By’r Lady! Mountjoy,” returned the Constable, “I believe thou’rt right, and Rhys will never risk his thieving crew on a good wide field where sword and lance decide the day. But what would’st thou suggest? Can we do aught but ride for Wallingham as hard as may be?” “Aye, my lord. There is a fork o’ the road a bowshot hence where one track leads to Wallingham and the other to Egbert’s Ford o’er a wide stream a league from the castle. ’Tis on the road to the Marches; and if we ride and hold it, we may there intercept the Welsh and cut them off from their retreat. If they leave not Wallingham, we can ride from thence and take them at vantage.” “Well said, Mountjoy, i’ faith!” cried De Lacey, “prithee, Sir Richard of Mountjoy, ride forward and give the word to the vanguard to take the right turning. We’ll come between the rogues and their retreat, and fight, mayhap, with the river at our backs. There’ll be full many of them, I trust, that will never ride again for robbery and burning.”