The Robber Baron of Bedford Castle

ect consequences of his evil deeds were still acutely felt, and nowhere more than in Bedfordshire, where the scene of our story is laid. The co

ok its winding, sluggish course from southwest to north-east across the county, twisting strangely, and in many places turning back upon itself as though loath to leave Bedfordshire. Some fifteen miles from point to point would have taken it

ney past, as she

aider course imme

g gyves doth whi

e and there, back,

n girl, oft doub

turns and twin

e rich field

aid, for here was centred the life of the county, in those castles whic

les, breathing

y walls, where Rui

was clad only in the ordinary riding dress of the period; for these were troublous times, and the country round by no means secure. At Bedford Castle, Sir Fulke de Breauté

r with many a broad manor in the county. His son, Pain, had reared the strong keep on the lofty mound which to this day overlooks the Ouse, and from which Cuthwulf the Saxon had driven the Britons in 572, pursuing them far south into the Thames valley. Later on, the Danes, sailing up the Ouse, had burned the Saxon Burh; but the Norman keep, though it had surrendered, had never yet been taken by assault. Eight years before the time

ted at the castle of Eaton Socon, lower down the river, he had, as it were, been rewarded by nature with more than a compensating share of the graces of face and form. He was, moreover, a proficient in those exercises of the tilt-yard which formed an important part of a knightly education, and which were as dear to young men in the thirteenth century as are their athletic pursuits to those of the present day

fair France. Neither did he seem in any dread of Fulke de Breauté's myrmidons, for the valley was clear of such as far as eye could reach, though it was then in great measure overflowed by the waters of the Ouse. As was not unusual then in winter-time, the broad river had risen above its low-lying

ned the watery waste before him, for his keen eye had caught sight of something dark being whirled down the rushing torrent. For an instant he doubted as to whether it were not some snag or tree-branch torn from the wil

I can give him a helping hand! 'Tis but a chance.--But come up, my lady," he added, admonishing his good gray

, which seemed to be encumbered with heavy clothing. The current, turgid and lead-coloured, swirled violently round the stout steed, who had enough to do to keep on her feet against it, weighted as she was with her stalwart rider. Further and further Ralph forced her with voi

drowning man should be swept down towards him. Then, quick as thought, he gripped with an iron grasp at the black frock in which the figure was c

eathe his horse, and to look at the half-unconscious man he had rescued,

fed his wet face and hands, and pres

he muttered, "and to you, Sir Knight!

hose and jerkin and woollen surcoat. "But how came you to venture alone, and without a guide, across the ford at flood tim

have even crossed it in worse seasons than this. But that was before I took upon me this habit, and I trow our holy founder did not

further to go yet?"

letsoe," replied

swered Ralph, "and together we will take ou

of my body, for I was brought up on his banks. My father is one of the retainers of my Lord de Pateshulle, and lives just between my lord's house and the river. Moreover, it will be best for me to trudge along

from her gallant struggle in the water, remounted,

ght, "how came you to be struggling in the O

of St. Albans, and I am but just now escaped from greater danger than that which you beheld

ce to knighthood--the treacherous rob

ead in obeisance to his companion when he recognized that he was in the presence of one of the family of De Beauchamp, he proceede

rs ran to the gate-house, and looking forth from the upper windows, beheld a terrible sight. In front of the gate the soldiers and men-at-arms had formed a half-circle, and in the midst were a great crowd of townsfolk--men, women, and children--all with their arms bound behind their backs, buffeted, kicked, and mocked by the villains who guarded them. And against the gate there was a huge fire kindled, in order that the gate itself might, if possible, be destroyed. And by the fire stood that arch-fiend Fulke himself,

the bailiff into th

t he had witnessed. The gray mare started, spurred unconsciously in his wrath by

t me hear the whole o

brother

fers the sum of one hundred pounds, not more, not less, or, by my soul, the whole town shall be sacked, and the burgesses served as their bailiff!' Then some of my lord's court waxed wroth, and one of them, a young noble, and a dear friend of

-bravely done," interr

f--I saw the deed with my own eyes. We could not get us back into the abbey, for the brethren had closed the gate behind us. We fled, or tried to flee, in all directions. I myself made my way by force of my right arm and my club through the soldiers where the line was the weakest. Whether my comrades

ercurrent of muttered curses on Fulke de Breauté and his followe

rch has despoiled us of a good soldier here! But, say, how comes it that you make yo

town. How could I tell but that some of De Breauté's men might not have already returned to the castle, and be ready to fall on any one clad in Benedictine habit, and crossing the bridge from the direction of St. Alban's? The rest, Sir Knight, you know. I suppose I was weak and weary with my fighting and my journeying, and when I missed the ford, had not str

the part of Sir Ralph for the destruction of Fulke and his "nest of the devil," occupied our travellers till they reached the village of Bletsoe. There the knight saw the