



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Young Castellan, by George Manville Fenn.

________________________________________________________________________
A Castellan is a person in charge of a castle, and that is what young
Roy Royland has become, while his father, Sir Granby, is away defending
his king.  For the time is about 1640, and there is a move afoot in the
country of England to do away with the monarchy.  In the castle most of
its old defences have not been used for many years, perhaps centuries,
and old Ben Martlet sets about restoring them, cleaning up the armour,
teaching young Roy the arts of self-defence, by putting him through a
course of fencing, by restoring the portcullis and draw-bridge, and by
training the men from the neighbouring farms to be soldiers.

But eventually, through treachery, the Roundheads, as those who oppose
the monarchy, are called, manage to take the castle, and to make Roy and
his mother, along with old Ben Martlet and the other defenders,
prisoner.  This can't do the management of the tenant farms much good.

Eventually Sir Granby, Roy's father, appears on the scene, and the
Roundheads are chased away.  As we know from our history books, the
Monarchy was restored, and peace spreads again through the land of
England.

________________________________________________________________________
THE YOUNG CASTELLAN, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.



CHAPTER ONE.

IN THE OLD ARMOURY.

"See these here spots o' red rust, Master Roy?"

"I should be blind as poor old Jenkin if I couldn't, Ben."

"Ay, that you would, sir.  Poor old Jenk, close upon ninety he be; and
that's another thing."

"What do you mean?" said the boy addressed.

"What do I mean, sir?  Why, I mean as that's another thing as shows as
old England's wore out, and rustin' and moulderin' away."

"Is this Dutch or English, Ben?" said the manly-looking boy, who had
just arrived at the age when dark lads get teased about not having
properly washed the sides of their faces and their upper lips, which
begin to show traces of something "coming up."  "I don't understand."

"English, sir," said the weather-beaten speaker, a decidedly ugly man of
about sixty, grizzly of hair and beard, deeply-lined of countenance, and
with a peculiar cicatrice extending from the upper part of his left
cheek-bone diagonally down to the right corner of his lips, and making
in its passage a deep notch across his nose.  "English, sir; good old
honest English."

"You're always grumbling, Ben, and you won't get the rust off that
morion with that."

"That I shan't, sir; and if I uses elber grease and sand, it'll only
come again.  But it's all a sign of poor old England rustin' and
moulderin' away.  The idea!  And at a place like this.  Old Jenk, as
watch at the gate tower, and not got eyes enough to see across the moat,
and even that's getting full o' mud!"

"Well, you wouldn't have father turn the poor old man away because he's
blind and worn-out."

"Not I, sir," said the man, moistening a piece of flannel with oil,
dipping it into some fine white sand, and then proceeding to scrub away
at the rust spots upon the old helmet, which he now held between his
knees; while several figures in armour, ranged down one side of the low,
dark room in which the work was being carried on, seemed to be looking
on and waiting to have their rust removed in turn.

"Then what do you mean?" said the boy.

"I mean, Master Roy, as it's a pity to see the old towers going down
hill as they are."

"But they're not," cried the boy.

"Not, sir?  Well, if you'll excuse me for saying as you're wrong, I'll
say it.  Where's your garrison? where's your horses? and where's your
guns, and powder, and shot, and stores?"

"Fudge, then!  We don't want any garrison nowadays, and as for horses,
why, it was a sin to keep 'em in those old underground stables that used
to be their lodging.  Any one would think you expected to have some one
come and lay siege to the place."

"More unlikely things than that, Master Roy.  We live in strange times,
and the king may get the worst of it any day."

"Oh, you old croaker!" cried Roy.  "I believe you'd like to have a lot
more men in the place, and mount guard, and go on drilling and
practising with the big guns."

"Ay, sir, I should; and with a place like this, it's what ought to be
done."

"Well, it wouldn't be bad fun, Ben," said the boy, thoughtfully.

"Fun, sir?  Don't you get calling serious work like that fun.--But look
