The Herd Boy and His HermitYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
General
The Herd Boy and His Hermit
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Clifford, Henry de Clifford, 14th lord, 1455?-1523 -- Fiction; Henry VI, King of England, 1421-1471 -- Fiction
‘Ay, sir, he is strong enow, I wis; we have done our best for him,’
responded Hob, while Hal stood shy and shamefaced; but there was
something about his bearing that made Sir Lancelot observe, ‘Ay, ay, he
shows what he comes of more than his mother made me fear. Only thou must
not slouch, my fair son. Raise thy head more. Put thy shoulders back.
So! so! Nay.’
Poor Hal tried to obey, the colour mounting in his face, but he
only became more and more stiff when he tried to be upright, and his
expression was such that Sir Lancelot cried out, ‘Put not on the visage
of one of thine own sheep! Ah! how shalt thou be trained to be a worthy
knight? I cannot take thee to mine house, for I have men there who might
inform King Edward that thy mother harboured thee. And unless I could
first make interest with Montagu or Salisbury, that would be thy death,
if not mine.’
The boy had nothing to say to this, and stood shy by, while his
stepfather explained his designs to Hal. It was needful to remove the
young Baron as far as possible from the suspicion of the greater part
of Sir Lancelot Threlkeld’s household, and the present resting-place,
within a walk of his castle, was therefore unsafe; besides that,
freebooters might be another danger, so near the outskirts of the wood,
since the northern districts of moor and wood were by no means clear of
the remnants of the contending armies, people who were generally of the
party opposite to that which they intended to rob.
But on the banks of the Derwent, not far from its fall into the sea, Sir
Lancelot had granted a tenure to an old retainer of the De Vescis,
who had followed his mistress in her misfortunes; and on his lands Hob
Hogward might be established as a guardian of the herds with his family,
which would excite no suspicion. Moreover, he could train the young
Baron in martial exercises, the only other way of fitting him for his
station unless he could be sent to France or Burgundy like his brother;
but besides that the journey was a difficulty, it was always uncertain
whether there would be revengeful exiles of one or other side in the
service of their King, who might wreak the wrongs of their party on
Clifford’s eldest son. There was reported to be a hermit on the coast,
who, if he was a scholar, might teach the young gentleman. To Sir
Lancelot’s surprise, his stepson’s face lighted up more at this
suggestion than at that of being trained in arms.
Hob had done nothing in that way, not even begun to teach him the
quarterstaff, though he avouched that when there was cause the young
lord was no craven, no more than any Clifford ever was--witness when he
drove off the great hound, which some said was a wolf, when it fell upon
the flock, or when none could hold him from climbing down the Giant’s
Cliff after the lamb that had fallen. No fear but he had heart enough to
make his hand keep his own or other folks’ heads.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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