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""Tis-'tis the Welshman's new game, sire," responded a second attendant.

"Game? Game? What sort of a game? Are ye all dumb? Fetch the Welshman here!"

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An attendant sprang to obey. few moments later the squat form of the Welsh attendant appeared at the wall gate. Under his arm he bore the queer oval.

"Sir David, what means this?" demanded the king.

The Welshman bowed low. "A native pastime, your Majesty. One that requires no little skill and strength to play. It is called Foote Ball." The king looked puzzled. "Foote ball?" he inquired. "Explain it."

"Well, sire, this is a boar's hide. 'Tis inflated with a calf's bladder. 'Tis light but tough and can be hefted by either the boot or hand. To play ye game, men gather on a great field in full armor and array themselves on opposite sides of ye line. 'Tis called ye line of scrimmage."

"Aye," quoth the king, now interested.

The Welshman continued: "One side takes ye boar's hide, and the other arms itself with wooden drillswords. Ye side with the boar's hide endeavors, by strategy and phalanx, to advance into ye other's territory. Ye defenders resist with broadswords. Should either side outfight or outwit the other so far as to cross the other's dead-line, it scores ye touchdown."

"By the saints!" exclaimed the king enthusiastically. ""Twould be a lively sport. What think ye, nobles?"

Their reply expressed more relief at the king's happy temper than

warmth for the game itself. "Aye aye, sire; 'twould be lively indeed." Said the Welshman suavely: "If my people find it a fitting sport, how much more fitting would it be for such mighty hunters and men of arms as his Majesty and his noble attendants of the courts! Allow me, sire, to present this boar's hide to his Highness in return for his recognition of my country's noble sport."

The king accepted the boar-hide eagerly. "It could be hefted with the boot, ye said?" he inquired.

"Aye, sire,” replied the Welshman. "With his Majesty's permission I shall strive to show how it is done."

Henry and his attendants drew near as the Welshman took the boarhide in his two hands, impressed his left foot firmly into the ground, then dropped the oval evenly and caught it squarely with his right foot, booting it high into the air. It spiraled perfectly and sailed to the farther end of the grounds, some ten rods away (or fifty yards, my dear modern reader).

His Majesty was enraptured.

"By all the saints, 'tis a royal sport indeed! Here, Sir David, heft me the hide. Stand back, nobles, back against the wall. Prithee, I'll heft it afar! If Sir David boots it ten rods, then I should boot it fifteen."

His Majesty dug his left foot firmly into the turf, tossed the ball slightly outward, instead of dropping it downward, and struck his right foot outward with a vicious chop. The result was disastrous. His foot missed the ball entirely, and the momentum of the kick jerked the left foot from beneath him.

His Majesty catapulted with a

thud.

The court attendants stood aghast. Their sovereign's sensitiveness over his one-time athletic prowess was too acute to endure chagrin. But the Welshman rose to the occasion.

""Twas a divine accident, sire," he exclaimed. "None other than ye Most High could have saved it!"

"Ye speak in riddles, Sir David," quoth the king tartly as he arose unsteadily with the aid of two attendants.

"Why, sire, had ye boot struck the hide 'twould have split it! Boar's hide and calf's bladder could not withstand so mighty a blow. Many great players have I seen in my native Wales, but never before, sire, have mine eyes beheld so mighty a booter! Pray thee, lessen the force next time. There's not a boar's hide in the kingdom that such a blow would not rend. Ye witnessed it, nobles of the courte. Am I right?"

"Aye, aye, Sir David. "Twas a mighty blow indeed," responded one of those gentlemen, both surprised and pleased at the king's mollified

countenance.

Then spoke his Majesty. "Right glad I am ye like it, nobles. To-morrow shall we skirmish in armor. Meanwhile shall ye dine at the palace to-night and hear more from Sir David upon the art of playing. So ye, Sir George, before the sun sets, see to it that we shall soon have a dozen boar's hides and as many calf's bladders. Swords ye may have at the royal ordnance."

His Majesty limped toward the palace. "Next time I shall aim my boot straighter," he observed sagely.

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sion. The heralded day for the exhibition of the new royal sport had arrived. The king and his chosen attendants were to defend their prowess against a visiting team from York.

Just how the sportsmen of York had learned of the new game no one at the moment quite knew. Rumor had it that perhaps two fortnights after Sir David had brought the sport into the king's palace, an itinerant Welshman appeared at the castle of the young Duke of York bearing the news of the royal favor bestowed upon his national game. He had offered to teach the game to the duke and his knights, suggesting also that a game with his Majesty the King might be arranged. The young duke was a powerful athlete, and the new sport appealed to him. Even more appealing was the idea of a friendly combat with his sovereign and cousin the king. So the bargain was made. If there was any curiosity as to the coincidence, it was soon lost amid the enthusiasm for the oncoming contest.

The game was to start at midafternoon. Long before the hour Richmond Park was crowded. Nobles from afar, clergymen, knights of the shire, and freemen—all thronged the grounds. Her Majesty the Queen graced the royal box. Even more glittering were the combatants. In the field they were gathered in full armor. Plumed helmets-purple for the king and gray for the dukewaved before the wind. Shining armor flashed in the sunlight. Here and there a black coat of mail caught the eye.

Since outside officials familiar with the new game could not be had, it

was agreed that the two Welshmen were to serve, Sir David for the first half and his countryman from York for the last half. At mid-afternoon, Sir David silenced the throng.

"Hear ye!" he cried. "Ye affray shall begin." Conversation among the spectators ceased. A hush spread over the great crowd.

"Ye Majesty's Purpled Plumed men aline to the north. Ye Duke's Gray Plumed men to the south. His Majesty's phalanx advances the boar's hide."

When the plumed and armored lines had formed, the Welshman's voice again rang out: "Are ye ready? Then be off!"

The plumed and armored lines reformed. Again the Purple Plumed spokesman barked: "Eleven-eighteen-thirty-three. Draw swords! Lower helmets! Charge!"

Again the boar-hide was snapped to his Majesty, the full-back. This time it struck him squarely in the breastplate. He seized it and pinioned it under his arm. His Purple Plumed half-back, Sir George, shouted, "Follow me, sire"; and with sword upraised he charged forward to meet the onrushing Gray Plumed end. Sword clashed upon armor, and Sir George went down, but in the instant of delay Henry eluded his opponent and charged ahead.

"Eleven-eighteen-thirty-three," Ten years of accumulated weight and

barked the Purpled Plumed spokesman. "Draw swords! Lower helmets! Charge!"

The Purpled Plumed center shot the boar-hide to his full-back-none other than the king himself. The pass went high. Henry grabbed and missed! The boar-hide rolled away to the rear. For a brief moment the future of the new royal sport teetered in the balance. Would Henry fail? Could he recover in time? Defeat he might bear like a sportsman, but chagrin left him in insane wrath. Heaven preserve the kingdom from that! The spectators held their breath. An old duke, the veteran of half a dozen campaigns, groaned aloud. A venerable clergyman lifted his eyes heavenward.

But the Welsh referee had seen what other eyes had missed.

"Hear ye!" he bellowed above the din of clanking swords and armor. "Ye Gray Plumed men were off side! "Tis one rod ye forfeit!" He seized the boar-hide and paced off the rod.

all the softness of self-indulgence seemed to fall away in an instant. Once more he was the mighty athlete of his youth. The Gray Plumed tackle he bore down by sheer weight and speed and smashed on across the line. Five other Gray Plumed men disengaged themselves and made off after this imperial battering-ram. The first one he butted over with his helmet; the second he sidestepped, and as that surprised gentleman went hurtling past, his Majesty dropped him with a neat stiff-arm from behind.

The other three finally closed around and bore the armored charger to the ground. The crowd was in an uproar of excitement and applause.

"Hear ye!" shouted the Welshman. "Ye Majesty's phalanx gain three rods and ye first down on a right-wing charge. Ye Majesty's ball again."

22

The game was three-quarters over. Twice in the first half his Majesty smashed through opposing sword and

armor for touch downs and truly had earned the title bestowed by the excited spectators of Ye Imperial Battering-Ram. But overweight and under-exercise had told at last, and as the game continued his assaults had weakened. The Duke of York's Gray Plumed combatants gained courage and in the second half began an assault that made down three times in succession and ended with a magnificent sweeping charge around left wing, carrying the boarhide four rods for a touch down. Another touch down would tie the game! Two would win it! With the Purple Plumed men's strength spent by their supreme effort in the first half, and with his Majesty's endurance almost entirely gone and yet a whole quarter of the game ahead, the odds were veering in favor of the Gray Plumed fighters.

They took full advantage of their opportunity. A series of brilliant offensives followed one upon the other, each charge putting the boarhide nearer the Purple goal-line. Their speedy quarter-back, the young Duke of York, was their tower of strength. Again and again his black coat of mail could be seen cutting deep into the Purple ranks. Another touch down was certain, and a second probable. Despair sank deep into the hearts of the Purple Plumed followers.

The king was no quitter; he had the heart of a fighter. With every ounce of his strength he strove to stay the impending defeat. But his But his great strength was spent, and his muscles refused to respond. The once mighty athlete, it seemed, must go down in defeat; age must bow before youth.

The keen-eyed Welshman, Sir David, who had yielded the task of refereeing in the second half to his countryman from York, saw it from the side-lines and understood. "If only the game could be delayed for a few minutes!" he thought. "Even one minute's minute's rest might allow Henry's superb strength to rally and stem the tide."

Closer and closer the relentless Gray Plumed phalanx battered their way to the Purple goal-line. With each charge the hopes of the Gray Plumed rooters rose higher and higher and those of the Purple sank lower and lower, until finally with a smashing charge the Gray Plumed captain carried the boar-hide to within one rod of the goal-line. It was a black moment for wearers of the Purple and a tense one for wearers of the Gray as the two lines reformed for the crucial charge.

Suddenly there arose a great cry from the queen's box: "The queen has fainted! The queen has fainted!" The whole throng caught it up and swelled. From one end of the grounds to the other went up a mighty tumult: "Long live the queen! Long live the queen!"

The Welshman from York, now refereeing the game, heard the tumult. "Hear ye!" he cried. "Ye time is out!"

The weary Purple Plumed knights welcomed the unexpected relief. All, save one, sank to the ground in exhaustion. But the king's fears for the queen overcame his spent muscles, and he stumbled toward the queen's box. Within a few paces he met Sir David.

"It is not serious, sire," he said. "Her Majesty partook of some fruit

that disagreed with her stomach. That and the sun made her dizzy. 'Twill pass shortly. Meanwhile his Majesty will do well to stretch himself upon ye earthe and rest. Her Highness's discomforture might prove to be his Majesty's boon."

So saying he drew the half-resisting king back on the field and had him stretch out upon the ground, where attendants administered stimulants to him.

Five minutes later an announcement came from the queen's box that her Majesty was quite recovered and awaited the renewal of the game. Once more a great cry spread over the throng: "Long live the queen!"

The Gray and Purple Plumed lines reformed, and the game was renewed, but the Gray assault had lost much of its fierce drive. The delay had dulled its fighting edge. Three charges netted scarcely half of the single rod between them and the Purple goal-line. Half a rod to go! Could they make it? Followers of both the Purple and Gray sat in chilled silence.

The boar-hide was snapped to the gallant duke at quarter-back. Once more his black-mailed form flashed around end. Two men went down before him! The goal seemed won. But the massive armored form of the Purple Plumed full-back, his strength renewed by the brief rest, smashed through the phalanx and bore down upon the charging Gray Plumed captain. Armor crashed upon mail -the ground trembled with the impact and the two giants went down together into the dust. After a second that seemed an hour, the armored form slowly arose. The mailed form lay still.

Once more the referee called time out. Attendants rushed upon the field to care for the injured Gray Plumed captain. He was but momentarily stunned, however, and took the field after a few minutes. But the Grays had not only failed to make their touch down; they had also lost the ball. It now went to the Purple phalanx. Amid the shouts of their rooters and the stunned silence of the Gray rooters at this unexpected reversal of affairs, the combatants alined themselves to renew the struggle. Evidently the Purple Plumed men intended to kick the boar-hide. Their ends went out and the half-backs crouched near the line of scrimmage. The royal fullback stood behind his goal-line to receive the pass from center. The Grays had one faint hope. If there should be a slip somewhere-if the center should pass wide, or Henry should fumble

For a moment the line crouched; then the ball was shot to the giant full-back. As the Gray Plumed linesmen, sword in hand, charged toward him, he dropped the ball straight, met it with a terrific blow from his right foot, and drove it high into the air over their heads. Higher and higher it spiraled! Farther and farther it sailed down the field and over the head of the frantic Gray Plumed safety. Fifteen rods! Three fourths of the length of the whole field! On the side-lines the Welshman gazed in amazement. A mighty kick! And from a man who, only three fortnights ago, had kicked at the ball and missed it entirely!

The game ended with the boar's hide in mid-field. Henry's Purple Plumed knights had won by a touch

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