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diff --git a/3696-h/3696-h.htm b/3696-h/3696-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e67c76 --- /dev/null +++ b/3696-h/3696-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7655 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Prince and the Page, by Charlotte M. Yonge</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .5em; + text-decoration: none;} + span.red { color: red; } + body {background-color: #ffffc0; } + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Prince and the Page, by Charlotte M. +Yonge, Illustrated by Adrian Stokes + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Prince and the Page + A Story of the Last Crusade + + +Author: Charlotte M. Yonge + + + +Release Date: July 28, 2019 [eBook #3696] +[This file was first posted July 24, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1909 Macmillan and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/cover.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/cover.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1><span class="GutSmall">THE</span><br /> +PRINCE AND THE PAGE</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">A STORY OF +THE LAST CRUSADE</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY THE +AUTHOR OF</span><br /> +“THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE,”<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">ETC.</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY ADRIAN +STOKES</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED<br /> +ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1909</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall"><span +class="smcap">Richard Clay and Sons</span></span><span +class="GutSmall">, </span><span class="GutSmall"><span +class="smcap">Limited</span></span><span +class="GutSmall">,</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BREAD STREET HILL, E.C. AND</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall"><i>First +Edition printed</i></span><span class="GutSmall"> 1865 +(</span><span class="GutSmall"><i>Pott</i></span><span +class="GutSmall"> 8</span><span +class="GutSmall"><i>vo</i></span><span class="GutSmall">). +</span><span class="GutSmall"><i>Reprinted</i></span><span +class="GutSmall"> 1873, 1875, 1877, 1878, 1881</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">(</span><span +class="GutSmall"><i>Globe</i></span><span class="GutSmall"> +8</span><span class="GutSmall"><i>vo</i></span><span +class="GutSmall">), </span><span class="GutSmall"><i>March and +November</i></span><span class="GutSmall"> 1883, 1886. +</span><span class="GutSmall"><i>Second Edition</i></span><span +class="GutSmall"> 1891 (</span><span +class="GutSmall"><i>Crown</i></span><span class="GutSmall"> +8</span><span class="GutSmall"><i>vo</i></span><span +class="GutSmall">)</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><i>Reprinted</i></span><span +class="GutSmall"> 1893, 1898, 1899, 1901, 1903, 1906, +1909.</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><i>Shilling Edition</i></span><span +class="GutSmall">, 1908.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Frontispiece" +title= +"Frontispiece" + src="images/fps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> these days of exactness even a +child’s historical romance must point to what the French +term its <i>pièces justficatives</i>. We own that +ours do not lie very deep. The picture of Simon de Montfort +drawn by his wife’s own household books, as quoted by Mrs. +Everett Green in her Lives of the Princesses, and that of Edward +I. in Carte’s History, and more recently in the Greatest of +the Plantagenets, furnished the two chief influences of the +story. The household accounts show that Earl Simon and +Eleanor of England had five sons. Henry fell with his +father at Evesham. Simon and Guy deeply injured his cause +by their violence, and after holding out Kenilworth against the +Prince, retired to the Continent, where they sacrilegiously +murdered Henry, son of the King of the Romans—a crime so +much abhorred in Italy that Dante represents himself as meeting +them in torments in the <i>Inferno</i>, not however before Guy +had become the founder of the family of the Counts of Monforte in +the Maremma. Richard, the fourth son, appears in the +household books as possessing dogs, and having garments bought +for him; but his history has not been traced after his mother +left England. The youngest son, Amaury, obtained the +hereditary French possessions of the family, and continued the +line of Montfort as a French subject. Eleanor, the only +daughter, called the Demoiselle de Montfort, married, as is well +known, the last native prince of Wales, and died after a few +years.</p> +<p>The adventure of Edward with the outlaw of Alton Wood is one +of the stock anecdotes of history, and many years ago the romance +of the encounter led the author to begin a tale upon it, in which +the outlaw became the protector of one of the proscribed family +of Montfort. The commencement was placed in one of the +manuscript magazines which are so often the amusement of a circle +of friends. It was not particularly correct in its details, +and the hero bore the peculiarly improbable name of Wilfred (by +which he has since appeared in the <i>Monthly Packet</i>). +The story slept for many years in MS., until further reading and +thought had brought stronger interest in the period, and for +better or for worse it was taken in hand again. Joinville, +together with the authorities quoted by Sismondi, assisted in +picturing the arrival of the English after the death of St. +Louis, and the murder of Henry of Almayne is related in all +crusading histories; but for Simon’s further career, and +for his implication in the attempt on Edward’s life at +Acre, the author is alone responsible, taking refuge in the +entire uncertainty that prevails as to the real originator of the +crime, and perhaps an apology is likewise due to Dante for having +reversed his doom.</p> +<p>For the latter part of the story, the old ballad of The Blind +Beggar of Bethnal Green, gives the framework. That ballad +is believed to be Elizabethan in date, and the manners therein +certainly are scarcely accordant with the real thirteenth +century, and still less with our notions of the days of +chivalry. Some liberties therefore have been taken with it, +the chief of them being that Bessee is not permitted to go forth +to seek her fortune in the inn at Romford, and the readers are +entreated to believe that the alteration was made by the +traditions which repeated Henry de Montfort’s song.</p> +<p>It was the late Hugh Millar who alleged that the huge stone +under which Edward sleeps in Westminster Abbey agrees in +structure with no rocks nearer than those whence the mighty +stones of the Temple at Jerusalem were hewn, and there is no +doubt that earth and stones were frequently brought by crusaders +from the Holy Land with a view to the hallowing of their own +tombs.</p> +<p>The author is well aware that this tale has all the +incorrectnesses and inconsistencies that are sure to attend a +historical tale; but the dream that has been pleasant to dream +may be pleasant to listen to; and there can be no doubt that, in +spite of all inevitable faults, this style of composition does +tend to fix young people’s interest and attention on the +scenes it treats of, and to vivify the characters it describes; +and if this sketch at all tends to prepare young people’s +minds to look with sympathy and appreciation on any of the great +characters of our early annals, it will have done at least one +work.</p> +<p><i>December</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1865.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER I<br /> +THE STATELY HUNTER</h2> +<blockquote><p>“‘Now who are thou of the darksome +brow<br /> + Who wanderest here so +free?’<br /> +“‘Oh, I’m one that will walk the green green +woods,<br /> + Nor ever ask leave of +thee.’”—S. M.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A <span class="smcap">fine evening</span>—six centuries +ago—shed a bright parting light over Alton Wood, +illuminating the gray lichens that clung to the rugged trunks of +the old oak trees, and shining on the smoother bark of the +graceful beech, with that sidelong light that, towards evening, +gives an especial charm to woodland scenery. The long +shadows lay across an open green glade, narrowing towards one +end, where a path, nearly lost amid dwarf furze, crested heather, +and soft bent-grass, led towards a hut, rudely constructed of +sods of turf and branches of trees, whose gray crackling foliage +contrasted with the fresh verdure around. There was no +endeavour at a window, nor chimney; but the door of wattled +boughs was carefully secured by a long twisted withe.</p> +<p>A halbert, a broken arrow, a deer-skin pegged out on the +ground to dry, a bundle of faggots, a bare and blackened patch of +grass, strewn with wood ashes, were tokens of recent habitation, +though the reiterations of the nightingale, the deep tones of the +blackbird and the hum of insects, were the only sounds that broke +the stillness.</p> +<p>Suddenly the silence was interrupted by a clear, loud, ringing +whistle, repeated at brief intervals and now and then exchanged +for the call—“Leonillo! Leon!” A +footstep approached, rapidly overtaken and passed by the rushing +gallop of a large animal; and there broke on the scene a large +tawny hound, prancing, bounding, and turning round joyfully, +pawing the air, and wagging his tail, in welcome to the figure +who followed him.</p> +<p>This was a youth thirteen years old, wearing such a dress as +was usual with foresters—namely, a garment of home-spun +undyed wool, reaching to the knee, and there met by buskins of +deer-skin, with the dappled hair outside; but the belt which +crossed one shoulder was clasped with gold, and sustained a +dagger, whose hilt and sheath were of exquisite +workmanship. The cap on his head was of gray rabbit-skin, +but a heron’s plume waved in it; the dark curling locks +beneath were carefully arranged; and the port of his head and +shoulders, the mould of his limbs, the cast of his features, and +the fairness of his complexion, made his appearance ill accord +with the homeliness of his garb. In one hand he carried a +bow over his shoulder; in the other he held by the ears a couple +of dead rabbits, with which he playfully tantalized the dog, +holding them to his nose, and then lifting them high aloft, while +the hound, perfectly entering into the sport, leapt high after +them with open mouth, and pretended to seize them, then bounded +and careered round his young master with gay short barks, till +both were out of breath; and the boy, flinging the rabbits on the +turf, threw himself down on it, with one arm upon the neck of the +panting dog, whose great gasps, like a sobbing of laughter, +heaved his whole frame.</p> +<p>“Ay, good Leonillo, take your rest!” said the boy: +“we have done yeoman’s service to-day, and shown +ourselves fit to earn our own livelihood! We are outlaws +now, my lion of the Pyrenees; and you at least lead a merrier +life than in the castle halls, when we hunted for sport, and not +for sustenance! Well-a-day, my Leon!”—as the +creature closed his mouth, and looked wistfully up at him with +almost human sympathy and intelligence—“would that we +knew where are all that were once wont to go with us to the +chase! But for them, I would be well content to be a bold +forester all my days! Better so, than to be ever vexed and +crossed in every design for the country’s +weal—distrusted above—betrayed beneath! Alack! +alack! my noble father, why wert thou wrecked in every +hope—in every aim!”</p> +<p>These murmurings were broken off as Leonillo suddenly crested +his head, and changed his expression of repose for one of intense +listening.</p> +<p>“Already!” exclaimed the boy, springing to his +feet, as Leonillo bounded forward to meet a stout hardy forester, +who was advancing from the opposite end of the glade. This +was a man of the largest and most sinewy mould, his face tanned +by sun and wind to a uniform hard ruddy brown, and his shaggy +black hair untrimmed, as well as his dark bristly beard. +His jerkin was of rough leather, crossed by a belt, sustaining +sword and dagger; a bow and arrows were at his back; a huge +quarter-staff in his hand; and his whole aspect was that of a +ferocious outlaw, whose hand was against every man.</p> +<p>But the youth started towards him gleefully, as if the very +sight of him had dispelled all melancholy musings, and shouted +merrily, “Welcome—welcome, Adam! Why so early +home? Have the Alton boors turned surly? or are the +King’s prickers abroad, and the neighbourhood unwholesome +for bold clerks of St. Nicholas?”</p> +<p>“Worse!” was the gruff mutter in reply. +“Down, Leon: I am in no mood for thy freaks!”</p> +<p>“What is it, Adam? Have the keepers carried their +complaints to the King, of the venison we have consumed, with +small thanks to him?”</p> +<p>“Prince Edward is at Alton! What think you of +that, Sir? Come to seek through copse and brake for the +arrant deer-stealer and outlaw, and all his gang!”</p> +<p>“Why, there’s preferment for you!” said the +boy, laughing. “High game for the heir of the +throne! And his gang! Hold up your head, Leonillo: +you and I come in for a share of the honour!”</p> +<p>“Hold up your head!” said the outlaw +bitterly. “You may chance to hold it as high as your +father’s is, for all your gibes and jests, my young Lord, +if the Longshanks gets a hold of you, which our Lady +forefend.”</p> +<p>“Nay, I think better of my Cousin Longshanks. I +loved him well when I was his page at Hereford: he was tenderer +to me than ever my brothers were; and I scarce think he would +hang, draw, and quarter me now.”</p> +<p>“You may try, if you are not the better +guided.”</p> +<p>“How did you hear these tidings?” inquired the +boy, changing his mood to a graver one.</p> +<p>“From the monk to whom you confessed a fortnight +back. Did you let him know your lineage?”</p> +<p>“How could I do otherwise?”</p> +<p>“He looked like a man who would keep a secret; and +yet—”</p> +<p>“Shame—shame to doubt the good father!”</p> +<p>“Nay, I do not say that I do; but I would have the +secret in as few men’s power as may be. Nevertheless, +I thank the good brother. He called out to me as he saw me +about to enter the town, that if I had any tenderness for my own +life, I had best not show myself there; and he went on to tell me +how the Prince was come to his hunting-lodge, with hawk and hound +indeed, but for the following of men rather than bird or +beast.”</p> +<p>“And what would you have me do?”</p> +<p>“Be instantly on the way to the coast, ere the search +begins; and there, either for love of Sir Simon the righteous or +for that gilt knife of yours, we may get ferried over to the Isle +of Wight, whence—But what ails the dog! Whist, +Leonillo! Hold your throat: I can hear naught but your +clamour!”</p> +<p>The hound was in fact barking with a tremendous lion-like +note; and when, on reiterated commands from his master and the +outlaw, he changed it for a low continuous growling like distant +thunder, a step and a rustling of the boughs became audible.</p> +<p>“They are upon us already!” cried the boy, +snatching up and stringing his bow.</p> +<p>“Leave me to deal with him!” returned the +outlaw. “Off to Alton: the good father will receive +you to sanctuary!”</p> +<p>“Flee!—never!” cried the boy. +“You teaching my father’s son to flee!”</p> +<p>“Tush!—’tis but one!” said the +outlaw. “He is easily dealt with; and he shall have +no time to call his fellows.”</p> +<p>So saying, the forester strode forward into the wood, where a +tall figure was seen through the trees; and with uplifted +quarter-staff, dealt a blow of sudden and deadly force as soon as +the stranger came within its sweep, totally without +warning. The power of the stroke might have felled an ox, +and would have at once overthrown the new-comer, but that he was +a man of unusual stature; and this being unperceived in the +outlaw’s haste, the blow lighted on his left shoulder +instead of on his head.</p> +<p>“Ha, caitiff!” he exclaimed; and shortening the +hunting-pole in his hand, he returned the stroke with interest, +but the outlaw had already prepared himself to receive the blow +on his staff. For some seconds there was a rapid exchange; +and all that the boy could detect in the fierce flourish of +weapons was, that his champion was at least equally +matched. The height of the stranger was superior; and his +movements, if less quick and violent, had an equableness that +showed him a thorough master of his weapon. But ere the lad +had time to cross the heather to the scene of action, the fight +was over; the outlaw lay stunned and motionless on the ground, +and the gigantic stranger was leaning on his hunting-pole, +regarding him with a grave unmoved countenance, the fair skin of +which was scarcely flushed by the exertion.</p> +<p>“Spare him! spare him!” cried the boy, leaping +forwards. “I am the prey you seek!”</p> +<p>“Well met, my young Lord,” was the stern +reply. “You have found yourself a worthy way of life, +and an honourable companion.”</p> +<p>“Honourable indeed, if faithfulness be honour!” +replied the boy. “Myself I yield, Sir; but spare him, +if yet he lives!—O Adam, my only friend!” he sobbed, +as kneeling over him, he raised his head, undid his collar, and +parted the black locks, to seek for the mark of the blow, whence +blood was fast oozing.</p> +<p>“He lives—he will do well enough,” said the +hunter. “Now, tell me, boy—what brought you +here?”</p> +<p>“The loving fidelity of this man!” was the prompt +reply:—“a Poitevin, a falconer at Kenilworth, who +found me sore wounded on the field at Evesham, and ever since has +tended me as never vassal tended lord; and now—now hath he +indeed died for me!” and the boy, endeavouring to raise the +inanimate form, dropped heavy tears on the senseless face.</p> +<p>“True,” rigidly spoke the hunter, though there was +somewhat of a quivering of the muscles of the cheek discernible +amid the curls of his chestnut beard: “robbery is not the +wonted service demanded of retainers.”</p> +<p>“Poor Adam!” said the youth with a flash of +spirit, “at least he never stripped the peaceful homestead +and humble farmer, like the royal purveyors!”</p> +<p>“Ha—young rebel!” exclaimed the +hunter. “Know you what you say?”</p> +<p>“I reck not,” replied the boy: “you have +slain my father and my brothers, and now you have slain my last +and only friend. Do as you will with me—only for my +mother’s sake, let it not be a shameful death; and let my +sister Eleanor have my poor Leonillo. And let me, too, +leave this gold with the priest of Alton, that my true-hearted +loving Adam may have fit burial and masses.”</p> +<p>“I tell thee, boy, he is in no more need of a burial +than thou or I. I touched him warily. Here—his +face more to the air.”</p> +<p>And the stranger bent down, and with his powerful strength +lifted the heavy form of Adam, so that the boy could better +support him. Then taking some wine from the hunting-flask +slung to his own shoulder, he applied some drops to the +bruise. The smart produced signs of life, and the hunter +put his flask into the boy’s hand, saying, “Give him +a draught, and then—” he put his finger to his own +lips, and stood somewhat apart.</p> +<p>Adam opened his eyes, and made some inarticulate murmurs; +then, the liquor being held to his lips, he drank, and with fresh +vigour raised himself.</p> +<p>“The boy!—where is he? What has +chanced? Is it you, Sir? Where is the rogue? +Fled, the villain? We shall have the Prince upon us +next! I must after him, and cut his story short! Your +hand, Sir!”</p> +<p>“Nay, Adam—your hurt!”</p> +<p>“A broken head! Tush, ’tis naught! +Here, your hand! Canst not lend a hand to help a man up in +your own service?” he added testily, as stiff and dizzy he +sat up and tried to rise. “You might have sent an +arrow to stop his traitorous tongue; but there is no help in +you!” he added, provoked at seeing a certain embarrassment +about the youth. “Desert me at this pinch! It +is not like his father’s son!” and he was sinking +back, when at sight of the hunter he stumbled eagerly to his +feet, but only to stagger against a tree.</p> +<p>“You are my prisoner!” said the calm deep +voice.</p> +<p>“Well and good,” said Adam surlily. +“But let the lad go free: he is a yeoman’s son, who +came but to bear me company.”</p> +<p>“And learn thy trade? Goodly lessons in falling +unawares on the King’s huntsmen, and sending arrows after +them! Fair breeding, in sooth!” repeated the +stranger, standing with his arms crossed upon his mighty breadth +of chest, and looking at Adam with a still, grave, commanding +blue eye, that seemed to pierce him and hold him down, as it +were, and a countenance whose youthfulness and perfect regularity +of feature did but enhance its exceeding severity of +expression. “You know the meed of robbery and +murder?”</p> +<p>“A halter and a bough,” said Adam readily. +“Well and good; but I tell thee that concerns not the +boy—since,” he added bitterly, “he is too meek +and tender so much as to lift a hand in his own cause! He +has never crossed the laws.”</p> +<p>“I understand you, friend,” said the hunter: +“he is a valued charge—maybe the son of one of the +traitor barons. Take my advice—yield him to the +King’s justice, and secure your own pardon.”</p> +<p>“Out, miscreant!” shouted Adam; and was about to +spring at him again, but the powerful arm collared him, and he +recognized at once that he was like a child in that grasp. +He ground his teeth with rage and muttered, “That a fellow +with such thews should give such dastardly counsel, and <i>he</i> +yonder not lift a finger to aid!”</p> +<p>“Wilt follow me,” composedly demanded the +stranger, “with hands free? or must I bind them?”</p> +<p>“Follow?” replied Adam, ruefully looking at the +boy with eyes full of reproach—“ay, follow to any +gallows thou wilt—and the nearest tree were the best! +Come on!”</p> +<p>“I have no warrant,” returned the grave +hunter.</p> +<p>“Tush! what warrant is needed for hanging a well-known +outlaw—made so by the Prince’s tender mercies? +The Prince will thank thee, man, for ridding the realm of the +robber who fell on the treasurer bearing the bags from +Leicester!”</p> +<p>And meanwhile, with uncouth cunning, Adam was striving to +telegraph by winks and gestures to the boy who had so grievously +disappointed him, that the moment of his own summary execution +would be an excellent one for his companion’s escape.</p> +<p>But the eye, so steady yet so quick under its somewhat +drooping eyelid, detected the simple stratagem.</p> +<p>“I trow the Prince might thank me more for bringing in +this charge of thine.”</p> +<p>“Small thanks, I trow, for laying hands on a poor +orphan—the son of a Poitevin man-at-arms—that I kept +with me for love of his father, though he is fitter for a convent +than the green wood!” added Adam, with the same sound of +keen reproach and disappointment in his voice.</p> +<p>“That shall we learn at Guildford,” replied the +stranger. “There are means of teaching a man to +speak.”</p> +<p>“None that will serve with me,” stoutly responded +Adam.</p> +<p>“That shall we see,” was the brief answer.</p> +<p>And he signed to his prisoners to move on before him, taking +care so to interpose his stately person between them, that there +should be no communication by word, far less by look.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II<br /> +THE LADY OF THE FOREST</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Behold how mercy softeneth still<br /> + The haughtiest heart that +beats:<br /> +Pride with disdain may he answered again,<br /> + But pardon at once +defeats!”—S. M.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> so-called forest was in many +parts mere open heath, thickly adorned by the beautiful purple +ling, blending into a rich carpet with the dwarf furze, and +backed by thickets of trees in the hollows of the ground.</p> +<p>Across this wild country the tall forester conducted his +captives in silence—moving along with a pace that evidently +cost him so little exertion, and was so steady and even, that his +companions might have supposed it slow, had they only watched it, +and not been obliged to keep up with it. Light of foot as +the youth was, he was at times reduced to an almost breathless +run; and Adam plodded along, with strides that worked his arms +and shoulders in sympathy.</p> +<p>After about three miles, when the boy was beginning to feel as +if he must soon be in danger of lagging, they came into a dip of +the ground where stood a long, low, irregular building, partly +wood and partly stone, roofed with shingle in some parts, in +others with heather. The last addition, a deep porch, still +retained the fresh tints of the bark on the timber sides, and the +purple of the ling that roofed it.</p> +<p>Sheds and out-houses surrounded it; dogs in couples, horses, +grooms, and foresters, were congregated in the background; but +around this new porch were gathered a troop of peasant women, +children, and aged men. The fine bald brow and profile of +the old peasant, the eager face of the curly-haired child, the +worn countenance of the hard-tasked mother, were all uplifted +towards the doorway, in which stood, slightly above them, a lady, +with two long plaited flaxen tresses descending on her shoulders, +under a black silken veil, that disclosed a youthful countenance, +full of pure calm loveliness, of a simple but dignified and +devotional expression, that might have befitted an angel of +charity. A priest and a lady were dispensing loaves and +warm garments to the throng around; but each gift was accompanied +by a gentle word from the lady, framed with difficulty to their +homely English tongue, but listened to even by uncomprehending +ears like a strain of Church music.</p> +<p>Adam had expected the forester to turn aside to the group of +servants, but in blank amazement saw him lead the way through the +poor at the gate; and advancing to the porch with a courteous +bending of his head, he said in the soft +Provençal—far more familiar than English to +Adam’s ears—“Hast room for another suppliant, +mi Dona?”</p> +<p>The sweet fair face lighted up with a sudden sunbeam of joy; +and a musical voice replied. “Welcome, my dearest +Lord: much did I need thee to hear the plaints of some of these +thy lieges, which my ears can scarce understand! But why +art thou alone? or rather, why thus strangely +accompanied?”</p> +<p>“These are the captives won by my single arm, whom, +according to all laws of chivalry, thine own true knight thus +lays at thy feet, fair lady mine, to be disposed of at thine own +gracious will and pleasure.”</p> +<p>And a smile of such sweetness lightened his features, that a +murmur of “Blessings on his comely face!” ran through +the assembly; and Adam indulged in a gruff startled murmur of +“’Tis the Prince, or the devil himself!” while +his young master, comprehending the gesture of the Prince, and +overborne by the lovely winning graces of the Princess, stepped +forward, doffing his cap and bending his knee, and signing to +Adam to follow his example.</p> +<p>“Thou hast been daring peril again!” said the +Princess, holding her husband’s arm, and looking up into +his face with lovingly reproachful yet exulting eyes. +“Yet I will not be troubled! Naught is danger to +thee! And yet alone and unarmed to encounter such a sturdy +savage as I see yonder! But there is blood on his +brow! Let his hurt be looked to ere we speak of his +fate.”</p> +<p>“He is at thy disposal, mi Dona,” returned Edward: +“thou art the judge of both, and shall decide their lot +when thou hast heard their tale.”</p> +<p>“It can scarce be a very dark one,” replied +Eleanor, “or thou wouldst never have led them to such a +judge!” Then turning to the prisoners, she began to +say in her foreign English, “Follow the good father, +friends—” when she broke off at fuller sight of the +boy’s countenance, and exclaimed in Provençal, +“I know the like of that face and mien!”</p> +<p>“Truly dost thou know it,” her husband replied; +“but peace till thou hast cleared thy present court, and we +can be private.—Follow the priest,” he added, +“and await the Princess’s pleasure.”</p> +<p>They obeyed; and the priest led them through a side-door, +through which they could still hear Eleanor’s sweet +Castillian voice laying before her husband her difficulties in +comprehending her various petitioners. The priest being +English, was hardly more easily understood than his flock; and +her lady spoke little but <i>langue d’oui</i>, the Northern +French, which was as little serviceable in dealing with her +Spanish and Provençal as with the rude +West-Saxon-English. Edward’s deep manly tones were to +be heard, however, now interrogating the peasants in their own +tongue, now briefly interpreting to his wife in Provençal; +and a listener could easily gather that his hand was as +bounteous, his heart as merciful, as hers, save where attacks on +the royal game had been requited by the trouble complained of; +and that in such cases she pleaded in vain.</p> +<p>The captives, whom her husband had surrendered to her mercy, +had been led into a great, long, low hall, with rudely-timbered +sides, and rough beams to the roof, with a stone floor, and great +open fire, over which a man-cook was chattering French to his +bewildered English scullion. An oak table, and settles on +either side of it, ran the whole length of the hall; and here the +priest bade the two prisoners seat themselves. They +obeyed—the boy slouching his cap over his face, averting +it, and keeping as far as possible from the group of servants +near the fire. The priest called for bread, meat, and beer, +to be set before them; and after a moment’s examination of +Adam’s bruise, applied the simple remedy that was all it +required, and left them to their meal. Adam took this +opportunity to growl in an undertone, “Does <i>he</i> there +know you?” The reply was a nod of assent. +“And you knew him?” Another nod; and then the +boy, looking heedfully round, added in a quick, undertone, +“Not till you were down. Then he helped me to restore +you. You forgive me, Adam, now?” and he held out his +hand, and wrung the rugged one of the forester.</p> +<p>“What should I forgive! Poor lad! you could not +have striven in the Longshanks’ grasp! I was a fool +not to guess how it was, when I saw you not knowing which way to +look!”</p> +<p>“Hush!” broke in the youth with uplifted hand, as +a page of about his own age came daintily into the hall, +gathering his green robe about him as if he disdained the +neighbourhood, and holding his head high under his jaunty tall +feathered cap.</p> +<p>“Outlaws!” he said, speaking English, but with a +strong foreign accent, and as if it were a great condescension, +“the gracious Princess summons you to her presence. +Follow me!”</p> +<p>The colour rushed to the boy’s temples, and a retort was +on his lips, but he struggled to withhold it; and likewise +speaking English, said, “I would we could have some water, +and make ourselves meeter for her presence.”</p> +<p>“Scarce worth the pains,” returned the page. +“As if thou couldst ever be meet for her presence! +She had rather be rid of thee promptly, than wait to be regaled +with thy May-day braveries—honest lad!”</p> +<p>Again the answer was only restrained with exceeding +difficulty; and there was a scornful smile on the young +prisoner’s cheek, that caused the page to exclaim angrily, +“What means that insolence, malapert boy?”</p> +<p>But there was no time for further strife; for the door was +pushed open, and the Prince’s voice called, “Hamlyn +de Valence, why tarry the prisoners?”</p> +<p>“Only, Sir,” returned Hamlyn, “that this +young robber is offended that he hath not time to deck himself +out in his last stolen gold chain, to gratify the +Princess!”</p> +<p>“Peace, Hamlyn,” returned the Prince: “thou +speakest thou knowest not what.—Come hither, boy,” he +added, laying his hand on his young captive’s shoulder, and +putting him through the door with a familiarity that astonished +Hamlyn—all the more, when he found that while both +prisoners were admitted, he himself was excluded!</p> +<p>Princess Eleanor was alone in another chamber of the sylvan +lodge, hung with tapestry representing hunting scenes, the floor +laid with deer-skins, and deer’s antlers projecting from +the wall, to support the feminine properties that marked it as +her special abode. She was standing when they entered; and +was turning eagerly with outstretched hand and face of +recognition, when Prince Edward checked her by saying, +“Nay, the cause is not yet tried:” and placing her in +a large carved oaken chair, where she sat with a lily-like grace +and dignity, half wondering, but following his lead, he +proceeded, “Sit thou there, fair dame, and exercise thy +right, as judge of the two captives whom I place at thy +feet.”</p> +<p>“And you, my Lord?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I stand as their accuser,” said Edward. +“Advance, prisoners!—Now, most fair judge, what dost +thou decree for the doom of Adam de Gourdon, rebel first, and +since that the terror of our royal father’s lieges, the +robber of his treasurers, the rifler of our Cousin +Pembroke’s jewellery, the slayer of our deer?”</p> +<p>“Alas! my Lord, why put such questions to me,” +said Eleanor imploringly, “unless, as I would fain hope, +thou dost but jest?”</p> +<p>“Do I speak jest, Gourdon?” said Edward, regarding +Adam with a lion-like glance.</p> +<p>“’Tis all true,” growled Adam.</p> +<p>“And,” proceeded the Prince, “if thy gentle +lips refuse to utter the doom merited by such deeds, what wilt +thou say to hear that, not content with these traitorous deeds of +his own, he fosters the treason of others? Here stands a +young rebel, who would have perished at Evesham, but for the care +and protection of this Gourdon—who healed his wounds, +guarded him, robbed for him, for him spurned the offer of +amnesty, and finally, set on thine own husband in Alton +Wood—all to shelter yonder young traitor from the hands of +justice! Speak the sentence he merits, most just of +judges!”</p> +<p>“The sentence he merits?” said Eleanor, with +swimming eyes. “Oh! would that I were indeed monarch, +to dispense life or death! What he merits he shall have, +from my whole heart—mine own poor esteem for his fidelity, +and our joint entreaties to the King for his pardon! Brave +man—thou shalt come with me to seek thy pardon from King +Henry!”</p> +<p>“Thanks, Lady,” said Adam with rude courtesy; +“but it were better to seek my young +lord’s.”</p> +<p>“My own dear young cousin!” exclaimed Eleanor, +laying aside her assumed judicial power, and again holding out +her hands to him, “we deemed you slain!”</p> +<p>“Yes, come hither,” said Edward, “my jailer +at Hereford—the rebel who drew his maiden sword against his +King and uncle—the outlaw who would try whether Leicester +fits as well as Huntingdon with a bandit life! What hast +thou to say for thyself, Richard de Montfort?”</p> +<p>“That my fate, be it what it may, must not stand in the +way of Adam’s pardon!” said Richard, standing still, +without response to the Princess’s invitation. +“My Lord, you have spoken much of his noble devotion to me +for my father’s sake; but you know not the half of what he +has done and dared for me. Oh! plead for him, +Lady!”</p> +<p>“Plead for him!” said Eleanor: “that will I +do with all my heart; and well do I know that the good old King +will weep with gratitude to him for having preserved the life of +his young nephew. Yes, Richard, oft have we grieved for +thee, my husband’s kind young companion in his captivity, +and mourned that no tidings could be gained of thee!”</p> +<p>It was not Richard who replied to this winning address. +He stood flushed, irresolute, with eyes resolutely cast down, as +if to avoid seeing the Princess’s sweet face.</p> +<p>Adam, however, spoke: “Then, Lady, I am indeed beholden +to you; provided that the boy is safe.”</p> +<p>“He is safe,” said Prince Edward. “His +age is protection sufficient.—My young cousin, thou art no +outlaw: thine uncle will welcome thee gladly; and a career is +open to thee where thou mayst redeem the honour of thy +name.”</p> +<p>The colour came with deeper crimson to the boy’s cheek, +as he answered in a choked voice, “My father’s name +needs no redemption!”</p> +<p>Simultaneously a pleading interjection from the Princess, and +a warning growl from De Gourdon, admonished Richard that he was +on perilous ground; but the Prince responded in a tone of deep +feeling, “Well said, Richard: the term does not befit that +worthy name. I should have said that I would fain help thee +to maintain its honour. My page once, wilt thou be so +again? and one day my knight—my trusty baron?”</p> +<p>“How can I?” said Richard, still in the same +undertone, subdued but determined: “it was you who slew him +and my brothers!”</p> +<p>“Nay, nay!” exclaimed the Princess: “the +poor boy thinks all his kindred are slain!”</p> +<p>“And they are not!” cried Richard, raising his +face with sudden animation. “They are +safe?”</p> +<p>“Thy brother Henry died with—with the Earl,” +said Eleanor; “but all the rest are safe, and in +France.”</p> +<p>“And my mother and sister?” asked Richard.</p> +<p>“They are likewise abroad,” said the Prince. +“And, Richard, thou art free to join them if thou +wilt. But listen first to me. We tarry yet two days +at this forest lodge: remain with us for that space—thy +name and rank unknown if thou wilt—and if thou shalt still +look on me as guilty of thy father’s death, and not as a +loving kinsman, who honoured him deeply, I will send thee safely +to the coast, with letters to my uncle, the King of +France.”</p> +<p>Richard raised his head with a searching glance, to see +whether this were invitation or command.</p> +<p>“Thou art my captive,” said Eleanor softly, coming +towards him with a young matron’s caressing manner to a boy +whom she would win and encourage.</p> +<p>“Not captive, but guest,” said Edward; but Richard +perceived in the tones that no choice was left him, as far as +these two days were concerned.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III<br /> +ALTON LODGE</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Ever were his sons hawtayn,<br /> +And bold for their vilanye;<br /> +Bothe to knight and sweyn<br /> +Did they vilanye.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Old Ballad of Simon de +Montforte</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">For</span> the first time for many a +month, Richard de Montfort lay down to sleep in a pallet bed, +instead of a couch of heather; but his heart was ill at +ease. He was the fourth son of the great Earl of Leicester, +Simon de Montfort; and for the earlier years of his life, he had +been under the careful training of the excellent chaplain, Adam +de Marisco, a pupil and disciple of the great Robert +Grostête, Bishop of Lincoln. His elder brothers had +early left this wholesome control; pushed forward by the sad +circumstances that finally drove their father to take up arms +against the King, and strangers to the noble temper that actuated +him in his championship of the English people, they became mere +lawless rebels—fiercely profiting by his elevation, not for +the good of the people, but for their own gratification.</p> +<p>Richard had been still a mere boy under constant control, and +being intelligent, spirited, and docile, had been an especial +favourite with his father. To him the great Earl had been +the model of all that was admirable, wise, and noble; deeply +religious, just, and charitable, and perfect in all the arts of +chivalry and accomplishments of peace—a tender and +indulgent father, and a firm and wise head of a +household—he had been ardently loved and looked up to by +the young son, who had perhaps more in common with him by nature +than any other of the family.</p> +<p>Wrongs and injuries had been heaped upon Montfort by the weak +and fickle King, who would far better have understood him, if, +like the selfish kinsmen who encircled the throne, he had +struggled for his own advantage, and not for the maintenance of +the Great Charter. Richard was too young to remember the +early days when his elder brothers had been companions, almost on +equal terms, to their first cousins, the King’s sons; his +whole impression of his parents’ relations with the court +was of injustice and perfidy from the King and his counsellors, +vehemently blamed by his mother and brothers, but sometimes +palliated by his father, who almost always, even at the worst, +pleaded the King’s helplessness, and Prince Edward’s +honourable intentions. Understanding little of the rights +of the case, Richard only saw his father as the maintainer of the +laws, and defender of the oppressed against covenant breakers; +and when the appeal to arms was at length made, he saw the white +cross assumed by his father and brothers, in full belief that the +war in defence of Magna Carta was indeed as sacred as a crusade, +and he had earnestly entreated to be allowed to bear arms; but he +had been deemed as yet too young, and thus had had no share in +the victory of Lewes, save the full triumph in it that was felt +by all at Kenilworth. Afterwards, when sent to be Prince +Edward’s page at Hereford, he was prepared to regard his +royal cousin as a ferocious enemy, and was much taken by surprise +to find him a graceful courtly knight, peculiarly gentle in +manner, loving music, romances, and all chivalrous +accomplishments; and far from the pride and haughtiness that had +been the theme of all the vassals who assembled at Kenilworth, he +was gracious to all, and distinguished his young page by treating +him as a kinsman and favourite companion; showing him indeed far +more consideration than ever he had received from his unruly +turbulent brothers.</p> +<p>When Edward had effected his escape, and had joined the +Mortimers and Clares, Richard had gone home, where his +expressions of affection for the Prince were listened to by his +father, indeed, with a well-pleased though melancholy smile, and +an augury that one day his brave godson would shake off the old +King’s evil counsellors, and show himself in his true and +noble colouring. His brothers, however, laughed and chid +any word about the Prince’s kindness. Edward’s +flattery and seduction, they declared, had won the young De Clare +from their cause. And in vain did their father assure them +that they had lost the alliance of the house of Gloucester solely +by their own over-bearing injustice—a tyranny worse than +had been exercised under the name of the King.</p> +<p>With Henry of Winchester in their hands, however, theirs +seemed the loyal cause; and Richard had, by the influence of his +elders, been made ashamed of his regard for the Prince, and +looked upon it as a treacherous rebellion, when Edward mustered +his forces, and fell upon Leicester and his followers. His +father had mournfully yielded to the boy’s entreaty to +remain with him, instead of being sent away with his mother and +the younger ones for security: an honourable death, said the +Earl, might be better for him than an outlawed and proscribed +life. And thus Richard had heard his father’s +exclamation on marking the well-ordered advance of the Royalists: +“They have learnt this style from me. Now, God have +mercy on our souls, for our bodies are the +Prince’s!”</p> +<p>And when Henry, his eldest son, spoke words of confidence, +entreating him not to despair, he had answered, “I do not, +my son; but your presumption, and the pride of thy brothers, have +brought me to this pass. I firmly believe I shall die for +the cause of God and justice.”</p> +<p>Richard had shared his father’s last Communion, received +his last blessing, and had stood beside him in the desperate +ring, which in true English fashion died on the field of battle, +but never was driven from it. Since that time, the +boy’s life had been a wandering amid outlaws and +peasants—all in one mind of bitter hatred to the court for +its cruel vexations and oppressions, and of intense love and +regret for their champion, Sir Simon the Righteous, of whose +beneficence tales were everywhere told, rising at every step into +greater wonder, until at length they were enhanced into miracles, +wrought by his severed head and hands. Each day had made +the boy prouder of his father’s memory, more deeply +incensed against the Court party that had brought about his fall; +and keen and bitter were his feelings at finding himself in the +hands of the Prince himself. He chafed all the more at +feeling the ascendency which Edward’s lofty demeanour and +personal kindness had formerly exerted over him, reviving again +by force of habit; he hated himself for not having at once +challenged his father’s murderer; so as, if he could not do +more, to have died by his hand; and he despised himself the more, +for knowing that all he could have said would have been +good-naturedly put down by the Prince; all he could have done +would have been but like a gnat’s efforts against that +mighty strength. Then how despicable it was to be sensible, +in spite of himself, that this atmosphere of courtly refinement +was far more natural to him—the son of a Provençal +noble, and of a princess mother—than the rude forest life +he had lately led. The greenwood liberty had its charms; +and he had truly loved Adam de Gourdon; but the soft tones and +refined accents were like a note of home to him; and though he +had never seen the Princess before—she having been sent to +the Court of St. Louis during the troubles—yet the whole of +the interview gave him an inexplicable sense of being again among +kindred and friends. He told himself that it was base, +resolved that he would show himself determined to cast in his lot +with his exiled brethren, and made up his mind to maintain a +dignified silence during these two days, and at the end of them +to leave with the Prince a challenge, to be fought out when he +should have attained manly strength and skill in arms.</p> +<p>In pursuance of this resolution, he appeared at the morning +mass and meal still grave and silent, and especially avoiding +young Hamlyn de Valence, who, as the son of one of the half +brothers of Henry III., stood in the same relationship to Prince +Edward and to Richard, whose mother was the sister of King +Henry. Probably Hamlyn had had a hint from the Prince, for +though he regarded young Montfort with no friendly eyes, he +yielded him an equality of precedence, which hardly consorted +with Richard’s rude forest garments.</p> +<p>The chase was the order of the day. The Prince rode +forth with a boar spear to hunt one of these monsters of the +wood, of which vague reports had reached him, unconfirmed, till +Adam de Gourdon had undertaken to show him the creature’s +lair. He had proposed to Richard to join the hunt; but the +boy, firm to his resolution of accepting no favour from him, that +could be helped, had refused as curtly as he could; and then, not +without a feeling of disappointment, had stood holding Leonillo +in, as the gallant train of hunters rode down the woodland glade, +and he figured to himself the brave sport in which they would +soon be engaged.</p> +<p>The most part of the day was spent by him in lying under a +tree, with his dog by his side, thinking over the scenes of his +earlier life, which had passed by his childish mind like those of +a drama, in which he had no part nor comprehension, but which +now, with clearer perceptions, he strove to recall and explain to +himself. Ever his father’s stately figure was the +centre of his recollections, whether receiving tidings of +infractions of engagements, taking prompt measures for action, or +striving to repress the violence of his sons and partizans, or it +might be gazing on his younger boys with sad anxiety. +Richard well remembered his saying, when he heard that his sons, +Simon and Guy, had been plundering the merchant ships in the +Channel: “Alas! alas! when I was more loyal to the law than +to the Crown, I little deemed that I was rearing a brood who +would scorn all law and loyalty!”</p> +<p>And well too did Richard recollect that when the proposal had +been made that he should become the attendant of the Prince at +Hereford, his father had told him that here he would see the +mirror of all that was knightly and virtuous; and had added, on +the loud outcry of the more prejudiced brothers: “It is +only the truth. Were it not that the King’s folly and +his perjured counsellors had come between my nephew Edward and +his better self, we should have in him a sovereign who might +fitly be reckoned as a tenth worthy. It is his very duty to +a misruled father that has ranged him against us.”</p> +<p>“Yet,” thought Richard, “on the man who thus +thought and spoke of him the Prince could make savage warfare; +nay, offer his senseless corpse foul despite. How can I +tarry these two days in such keeping? I had rather—if +he will still keep me—be a captive in his lowest dungeon, +than eat of his bread as a guest! By our Lady, I will tell +him so to his face! I will none of his favours! Alone +I will go to the coast—alone make my way to Simon and Guy, +with no letters to the French king! All kings, however +saintly they may be called, are in league, and make common cause; +as said my poor brother Henry, when the Mise of Lewes was to be +laid before this Frenchman! I will none of them! +Pshaw! is this the Princess coming? I trust she will not +see me. I want none of her fair words.”</p> +<p>He had prepared himself to be ungracious; but his courtly +breeding was too much of an instinct with him for him not to +rise, doff his cap, and stand aside, as Eleanor of Castille +slowly moved towards the woodland path, with her graceful Spanish +step, followed, but at some distance, by two of her women. +She turned as she was passing him, and smiled with a sweet +radiance that would have won him instantly, had he not heard his +elder brothers sneer at the cheap coin of royal smiles. He +only bowed; but Leonillo was more accessible, and started forward +to pay his homage of dignified blandishments to the queenly +sweetness that pleased his canine appreciation. Richard was +forced to step forth, call him in, and make his excuses; but the +Princess responded by praises of the noble animal, and caresses, +to which Leonillo replied with a grand gratitude, that showed him +as nobly bred as his young master.</p> +<p>“Thou art a gallant creature,” said Eleanor, her +hand upon the proud head; “and no doubt as faithful as +beautiful!”</p> +<p>“Faithful to the death, Lady,” replied Richard +warmly.</p> +<p>“He is thine own, I trow,” said the +Princess,—“not thy groom’s? I remember, +that when thy brave father brought my lord and me back from our +bridal at Burgos, he procured two hounds in the Pyrenees, of +meseems, such a breed.”</p> +<p>“True, Lady; they were the parents of my +Leonillo,” said Richard, gratified, in spite of +himself.</p> +<p>“How well I remember,” continued Eleanor, +“that first sight of the great Earl. My brothers had +teased me for going so far north, and told me the English were +mere rude islanders—boorish, and unlettered; but, child as +I was, scarce eleven years old, I could perceive the nobleness of +the Earl. ‘If all thy new subjects be like +him,’ said my brother to me, ‘thou wilt reign over a +race of kings.’ And how good he was to me when I wept +at leaving my home and friends! How he framed his tongue to +speak my own Castillian to me; how he comforted me, when the +Queen, my mother-in-law, required more dignity of me than I yet +knew how to assume; and how he chid my boy bridegroom for showing +scant regard for his girl bride!” said Eleanor, smiling at +the recollection, as the beloved wife of eleven years could well +afford to do. “I mind me well that he found me +weeping, because my Edward had tied the scarf I gave him on the +neck of one of those very dogs, and the fatherly counsel he gave +me. Ah, Leonillo, thy wise wistful face brings back many +thoughts to my mind! I am glad I may honour thee for +fidelity!”</p> +<p>“Indeed you may, Lady,” said Richard. +“It was he that above all saved my life.”</p> +<p>“Prithee let me hear,” said the Princess, who had +already so moved on, while herself speaking, as to draw Richard +into walking with her along the path that had been cleared under +the beech trees. “We have so much longed to know thy +fate.”</p> +<p>“I cannot tell you much, Lady,” returned +Richard. “The last thing I recollect on that dreadful +day was, that my father asked for quarter—for us—for +my brother Henry and me. We heard the reply: ‘No +quarter for traitors!’ and Henry fell before us a dead +man. My father shouted, ‘By the arm of St. James, it +is time for me to die!’ I saw him, with his sword in +both hands, cut down a wild Welshman who was rushing on me. +Then I saw no more, till in the moonlight I was awakened by this +dog’s cool tongue licking the blood from my face, and heard +his low whining over me.”</p> +<p>“Good dog, good dog!” murmured Eleanor, caressing +the animal. “And thou, Richard, thou wert sorely +wounded?”</p> +<p>“Sorely,” said Richard; “my side had been +pierced with a lance, a Welsh two-handed sword had broken through +my helmet, and well-nigh cleft my skull; and the men-at-arms, +riding over me I suppose, must have broken my leg, for I could +not move: and oh! I felt it hard that I had yet to die. +Then, Lady, came lights and murmuring voices. They were +Mortimer’s plundering Welsh robbers. I heard their +wild gibbering tongue; and I knew how it would be with me, should +they see the white cross on my breast. But, Lady, Leonillo +stood over me. His lion bark chased them aside; and when +one bolder than the rest came near the mound where we lay, good +Leonillo flew at his savage throat. I heard the struggle as +I lay—the growls of the dog, the howls of the man; and then +they were cut short. And next I heard de Gourdon’s +gruff voice commending the good hound, whose note had led him to +the spot, from the woods, where he was hiding after the +battle. The faithful beast sprang from him, and in a moment +more had led him to me. Then—ah, then, Lady! when +Adam had freed me from my broken helm, and lifted me in his arms, +what a sight had I! Oh, what a field that harvest moon +shone upon! how thickly heaped was that little mound! And +there was my father’s face up-turned in the white +moonlight! O Lady, never in hall or bower could it have +been so peaceful, or so majestic! I bade Adam lay me down +by his side, and keep guard through the night with Leonillo; but +he said that the plunderers would come in numbers too great for +him, and that he must care for the living rather than the dead; +and withstand him as I would, he bore me away. O Lady, +Lady, foul wrong was done when we were gone!”</p> +<p>“Think not on that,” said Eleanor; “it +bitterly grieved my lord that so it should have been. Thou +knowest, I hope, that he was the chief mourner when those +honoured limbs were laid in the holy ground at Evesham +Abbey. They told me, who saw him that day, that his weeping +for his godfather and his Cousin Henry overcame all joy in his +victory. And I can assure thee, dear Richard, that when, +three months after, I came to him at Canterbury, just after he +had been with thy mother at Dover, even then he was sad and +mournful. He said that the wisest and best baron in England +had been made a rebel of, and then slain; and he was full of +sorrow for thee, only then understanding from thy mother that +thou hadst been in the battle at all, and that nothing had been +heard of thee. He said thou wert the most like to thy +father of all his sons; and truly I knew thee at once by thine +eyes, Richard. Where wast thou all these months?”</p> +<p>“At first,” said Richard, “I was in an +anchoret’s cell, in the wall of a church. So please +you, Madame, I must not name names; but when Adam, bearing me +faint and well-nigh dying on his back, saw the twinkling light in +the churchyard, he knocked, and entreated aid. The good +anchoret pitied my need at first, and when he learnt my name, he +gave me shelter for my father’s sake, the friend of all +religious men. I lay on his little bed, in the chamber in +the wall, till I could again walk. Meanwhile, Adam watched +in the woods at hand, and from time to time came at night to see +how I fared, and bring me tidings. Simon was still holding +out Kenilworth, and we hoped to join him there; but when we set +forth I was still lame, and too feeble to go far in a day; and we +fell in with—within short, with a band of robbers, who +detained us, half as guests, half as captives. They needed +Adam’s stout arm; and there was a shrewd, gray, tough old +fellow, who had been in Robin Hood’s band, and was looked +up to as a sort of prince among them, who was bent on making us +one with them. Lady, you would smile to hear how the old +man used to sit by me as I lay on the rushes, and talk of +outlawry, as Father Adam de Marisco used to talk of +learning—as a good and noble science, decaying for want of +spirit and valour in these days. It was all laziness, he +said; barons and princes must needs have their wars, and use up +all the stout men that were fit to bend a bow in a thicket. +If the Prince went on at this rate, he said, there would soon be +not an honest outlaw to be found in England! But he was a +kind old man, and very good to me; and he taught me how to shoot +with the long bow better than ever our master at Odiham +could. However, I could not brook the spoiler’s life, +and the band did not trust me; so, as we found that Kenilworth +had fallen, as soon as my strength had returned to me, we stole +away from the outlaws, and came southwards, hoping to find my +mother at Odiham. Hearing that Odiham too was gone from us, +we have lurked in Alton Wood till means should serve us for +reaching the coast.”</p> +<p>“Till thou hast found the friend who has longed for +thee, and sought for thee,” replied Eleanor. +“What didst thou do, young Richard, to win my +husband’s heart so entirely in his captivity?”</p> +<p>“I know not, Lady, why he should take thought for +me,” bluntly said Richard, with a return of the sensation +of being coaxed and talked over.</p> +<p>“Methinks I can tell thee one cause,” returned the +Princess. “Was there not a time when thou didst +overhear him concerting with Thomas de Clare the plan of an +escape, and thou didst warn them that thou wast at hand; ay, and +yet didst send notice to thy father?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Richard with surprise; “I +could do no other.”</p> +<p>“Even so,” said Eleanor. “And thus +didst thou win the esteem of thy kinsman. ‘The +stripling is loyal and trustworthy,’ he has said to me; +‘pity that such a heart should be pierced in an inglorious +field. Would that I could find him, and strive to return to +him something of what his father’s care hath wrought for +me.’ Richard, trust me, it would be a real joy and +lightening of his grief to have thee with him.”</p> +<p>“Grief, Madame!” repeated Richard. “I +little thought he grieved for my father, who, but for him, would +be—” and a sob checked him, as the contrast rose +before him of the great Earl and beautiful Countess presiding +over their large family and princely household, and the scattered +ruined state of all at present.</p> +<p>“He shall answer that question himself,” said +Eleanor. “See, here he comes to meet us by the +beechwood alley.”</p> +<p>And in fact, a form, well suited to its setting within the +stately aisles of the beech trees, was pacing towards them. +The chase had ended, and hearing that his wife had walked forth +into the wood, the Prince had come by another path to meet her, +and his rare and beautiful smile shone out as he saw who was her +companion. “Art making friends with my young +cousin?” he said affectionately.</p> +<p>“I would fain do so,” replied Eleanor; “but +alas, my Lord! he feels that there is a long dark reckoning +behind, that stands in the way of our friendship.”</p> +<p>Richard looked down, and did not speak. The Princess had +put his thought into words.</p> +<p>“Richard,” said the Prince, “I feel the +same. It is for that very cause that I seek to have thee +with me. Hear me. Thou art grown older, and hast seen +man’s work and man’s sorrows, since I left thee on +the hill-side at Hereford. Thou canst see, perchance, that +a question hath two sides—though it is not given to all men +to do so. Hearken then.—Thy father was the greatest +man I have known—nay, but for the thought of my uncle of +France, I should say the holiest. He was my teacher in all +knightly doings, and in all kingly thoughts, such as I pray may +be with me through life. It was from him I learnt that this +royal, this noble power, is not given to exalt ourselves, but as +a trust for the welfare of others. It was the spring of +action that was with him through life.”</p> +<p>“It was,” murmured Richard, calling to mind many a +saying of his father’s.</p> +<p>“And fain would he have impressed it on all +around,” added Edward: “but there were others who +deemed that kingly power was but a means of enjoyment, and that +restraint was an outrage on the crown. They drew one way, +the Earl drew the other, and, as his noble nature prompted him, +made common cause with the injured. It skills not to go +through the past. Those whom he joined had selfish aims, +and pushed him on; and as the crown had been led to invade the +rights of the vassals, so the vassals invaded my father’s +rights. Oaths were extorted, though both sides knew they +could never be observed; and between violences, now on one side, +now on the other, the right course could scarce be kept. +The Earl imagined that, with my father in his hands, removed from +all other influences, he could give England the happy days they +talk of her having enjoyed under my patron St. Edward; but, as +thou knowest, Richard, the authority he held, being unlawful, was +unregarded, and its worst transgressors came out of his own +bosom. He could not enforce the terms on which I had +yielded myself—he could not even prevent my father from +being a mere captive; and for the English folk, their miseries +were but multiplied by the tyrants who had arisen.”</p> +<p>“It was no doing of his,” said Richard, with cheek +hotly glowing.</p> +<p>“None know that better than I,” said the Prince; +“but if he had snatched the bridle from a feeble hand, it +was only to find that the steed could not be ruled by him. +What was left for me but to break my bonds, and deliver my +father, in the hope that, being come to man’s estate, I +might set matters on a surer footing? I had hoped—I +had greatly hoped, so to rule affairs, that the Earl might own +that his training had not been lost on his nephew, and that the +Crown might be trusted not to infringe the Charter. I had +hoped that he might yet be my wisest counsellor. But, +Richard, I too had supporters who outran my commands. +Bitter hatred and malice had been awakened, and cruel resolves +that none should be spared. When I returned from bearing my +father, bleeding and dismayed, from the battle, whither he had +been cruelly led, it was to find that my orders had been +disobeyed—that there had been foul and cruel slaughter; and +that all my hopes that my uncle of Leicester would forgive me and +look friendly on me were ended!”</p> +<p>The Prince’s lip trembled as he spoke, and tears +glistened in his eyes; and the evident struggle to repress his +feelings, brought home deeply and forcibly the conviction to +Richard that his sorrow was genuine.</p> +<p>He could not speak for some seconds; then he added: “I +marvel not that I am looked on among you as guilty of his +blood. Simon and Guy regard me as one with whom they are at +deadly feud, and cannot understand that it was their own excesses +that armed those merciless hands against him. Even my aunt +shrank from me, and implored my mercy as though I were a ruthless +tyrant. But thou, Richard, thou hast inherited enough of +thy father’s mind to be able to understand how unwillingly +was my share in his fall, and how great would be my comfort and +joy in being good kinsman to one of his sons.”</p> +<p>The strong man’s generous pleading was most +touching. Richard bowed his head; the Princess watched him +eagerly. The boy spoke at last in perplexity. +“My Lord, you know better than I. Would it be +knightly, would it be honourable?”</p> +<p>The Princess started in some indignation at such a question to +her husband; but Edward understood the boy better, and said, +“That which is most Christian is most +knightly.” Then pausing: “Ask thine heart, +Richard; which would thy father choose for thee—to live in +such guidance as I hope will ever be found in my household, or to +share the wandering, I fear me freebooting, life of thy +brothers?”</p> +<p>Richard could not forget how his father had sternly withheld +him from going with Simon to besiege Pevensey. He knew that +these two brethren had long been a pain and grief to his father; +and began to understand that the nephew, with whom the +Earl’s last battle had been fought, was nevertheless his +truest pupil.</p> +<p>“Thou wilt remain,” said Edward decisively; +“and let us strive one day to bring to pass the state of +things for which thy father and I fought alike, though, alas! in +opposite ranks.”</p> +<p>“If my mother consents,” said Richard, his head +bent down, and uttering the words with the more difficulty, +because he felt so strongly drawn towards his cousin, who never +seemed so mighty as in his condescension.</p> +<p>“Then, Richard de Montfort,” said Edward gravely, +“let us render to one another the kiss of peace, as kinsmen +who have put away all thought of wrong between them.”</p> +<p>Richard looked up; and the Prince bending his lofty head, +there was exchanged between them that solemn embrace, which in +the early middle ages was the deepest token of amity.</p> +<p>And with that kiss, it was as though the soul of Richard de +Montfort were knit to the soul of Edward of England with the +heart-whole devotion, composed of affection and loyal homage to a +great character, which ever since the days of the bond between +the son of the doomed King of Israel and the youthful slayer of +the Philistine champion, has been one of the noblest passions of +a young heart.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV<br /> +THE TRANSLATION</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Now in gems their relics lie,<br /> +And their names in blazonry,<br /> +And their forms in storied panes<br /> +Gleam athwart their own loved fanes.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Lyra Innocentium</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">If</span> novelty has its charms, so has +old age, and to us the great abbey church of Westminster has +become doubly beloved by long generations of affection, and +doubly beautiful by the softening handiwork of time and of +smoke.</p> +<p>Yet what a glorious sight must it not have been when it was +fresh from the hands of the builder, the creamy stone clear and +sharp at every angle, and each moulding and flower true and +perfect as the chisel had newly left it. The deep archway +of the west front opened in stately magnificence, and yet with a +light loftiness hitherto unknown in England, and somewhat +approaching to the style in which the great French cathedrals +were then rising. And its accompaniments were, on the one +hand the palace and hall, on the other hand the monastery, with +its high walled courts and deep-browed cloisters, its noble +refectory and vaulted kitchen, the herbarium or garden, shady +with trees, and enriched with curious plants of Palestine, +sloping down to the broad and majestic Thames, pure and blue as +he pursued his silver winding way through emerald meadows and +softly rising hills clothed with copses and woods. To the +east, seated upon her hills, stood the crowned and battlemented +city, the massive White Tower rising above the +fortifications.</p> +<p>The autumn brilliance of October, 1269, never enlightened a +more gorgeous scene than when it shone upon the ceremony still +noted in our Calendar as the Translation of King Edward. +Buried at first in his own low-browed heavy-arched Norman +structure, which he had built, as he believed, at the express +bidding of St. Peter; the Confessor, whose tender-hearted and +devout nature had, by force of contrast with those of his fierce +foreign successors, come to assume a saintly halo in the eyes not +merely of the English, but of their Angevin lords themselves, +was, now to reign on almost equal terms with the great Apostle +himself, as one of the hallowing patrons of the Abbey—nay, +since at least his relics were entire and undoubted, as its chief +attraction.</p> +<p>The new chapel in his especial honour, behind the exquisite +bayed apsidal chancel, was at length complete; and on this day he +was to take possession of it. An ark of pure gold, chased +and ornamented with the surpassing grace of that period of +perfect taste, had received the royally robed corpse, which +Churchmen averred lay calm and beautiful, untainted by decay; and +this was now uplifted by the arms of King Henry himself, of +Richard King of the Romans his brother, and of the two princes, +Edward and Edmund.</p> +<p>It was a striking sight to see those two pairs of +brothers. The two kings, nearly of an age, and so fondly +attached that they could hardly brook a separation, till the +death of the one broke the wearied heart of the other, were both +gray-haired prematurely-aged men, of features that time instead +of hardening had rendered more feeble and uncertain. Their +faces were much alike, but Henry might be known from Richard by a +certain inequality in the outline of his eyebrows; and their +dress, though both alike wore long flowing gowns, the side seams +only coming down as far as the thigh so as to allow play for the +limbs, so far differed that Henry’s was of blue, with the +English lions embroidered in red and gold on his breast, and +Richard was in the imperial purple, or rather scarlet, and the +eagle of the empire on his breast testified to the futile +election which he had purchased with the wealth of his Cornish +mines. Both the elders together, with all their best will +and their simple faith in the availing merit of the action they +were performing, would have been physically incapable of +proceeding many steps with their burden, but for the support it +received from the two younger men who sustained the feet of the +saint, using some dexterity in adapting their strength so that +the coffin might be carried evenly.</p> +<p>One was the hunter we have already seen in Alton Wood. +His features wore their characteristic stamp of deep awe and +enthusiasm, and even as he slowly and calmly moved, sustaining +the chief of the weight with scarcely an effort of his giant +strength, his head towering high above all those around, his eyes +might be observed to be seeing, though not marking, what was +before them, but to be fixed as though the soul were in +contemplation, far far away. He did not see in the present +scene four princes rendering homage to a royal saint, who, from +personal connection and by a brilliant display of devotion, might +be propitiated into becoming a valuable patron amid intercessor; +still less did it present itself to him as a pageant in which he +was to bow his splendid powers, mental and bodily, to aid two +feeble-minded old men to totter under the gold-cased corpse of a +still more foolish and mischievous prince, dead two hundred years +back. No, rather thought and eye were alike upon the great +invisible world, the echo of whose chants might perchance be +ringing on his ear; that world where holy kings cast their crowns +before the Throne, and where the lamb-like spirit of the +Confessor might be joining in the praise, and offering these +tokens of honour to Him to whom all honour and praise and glory +and blessing are due.</p> +<p>Of shorter stature, darker browed, of less regular feature and +less clear complexion, so as to look as if he were the elder of +the brothers, Prince Edmund moved by his side, using much +exertion, and bending with the effort, so as to increase the +slight sloop that had led to his historical nickname of the +Crouchback, though some think this was merely taken from his +crusading cross. He bore the arms of Sicily, to which he +had not yet resigned his claim. His eye wandered, but not +far away, like that of his brother. It was in search of his +young betrothed, the Lady Aveline of Lancaster, the fair young +heiress to whom he was to owe the great earldom that was a fair +portion for a younger brother even of royalty.</p> +<p>All the four were bare-footed, and both princes were in robes +much resembling that of their father, except that upon the left +shoulder of each might be seen, in white cloth, the two lines of +the Cross, that marked them as pilgrims and Crusaders, already on +the eve of departure for the Holy Land.</p> +<p>The shrine where the golden coffin was to rest is +substantially the same in our own day, with its triple-cusped +arches below, the stage of six and stage of four above them, and +the twisted columns in imitation of that which was supposed to +have come from the Beautiful Gate of the Temple. But at +that time it was a glittering fabric of mosaic work, in gold, +lapis-lazuli, and precious stones, aided here and there by +fragments of coloured glass, the only part of the costly +workmanship that has come down to us. Around this shrine +the preceding members of the procession had taken their +places. Archbishop Boniface of Savoy was there, old age +ennobling a countenance that once had been light and frivolous, +and all his bishops in the splendour of their richest copes, +solidly embroidered with absolute scenes and portraits in +embroidery, with tall mitres worked with gold wire and jewels, +and crosiers of beauteous workmanship in gold, ivory, and +enamel. Mitred abbots, no less glorious in array, stood in +another rank; the scarlet-mantled Grand Prior of the Hospital, +and the white-cloaked Templar, made a link between the +ecclesiastic and the warrior. Priests and monks, selected +for their voices’ sake, clustered in every available space; +and, in full radiance, on a stage on the further side, were +seated the ladies of the court, mostly with their hair uncovered, +and surrounded by a garland of precious stones. Queen +Eleanor of Provence, still bent on youthfulness, looked somewhat +haggard in this garb; but it well became Beatrix von Falkmorite, +the young German girl whom Richard King of the Romans had wedded +in his old age for the sake of her fair face. Smiling, +plump, and rosy, she sat opening her wide blue eyes, wearing her +emerald and ruby wreath as though it had been a coronal of +daisies, and gazing with childish whisperings as she watched the +movements of her king, and clung for direction and help in her +own part of the pageant to the Princess Eleanor, who sat beside +her, little the elder in years, less beautiful in colouring, but +how far surpassing her in queenly pensive grace and +dignity! Leaning on Eleanor’s lap was a bright-eyed, +bright-haired boy of four years old, watching with puzzled looks +the brilliant ceremony, which he only half understood, and his +glances wandering between his father and the blue and white robed +little acolytes who stood nearest to the shrine, holding by +chains the silver censers, which from time to time sent forth a +fragrant vapour, curling round the heads of the nearest figures, +and floating away in the lofty vaultings of the roof.</p> +<p>The actual ceremony could only be beheld by a favoured few; +the official clergy, the many connections of royalty, and the +chief nobility, filled the church to overflowing, but the rest of +the world repaid itself by making a magnificent holiday. +Good-natured King Henry had been permitted by his son, who had +now, though behind the scenes, assumed the reins of government, +to spend freely, and make a feast to his heart’s +content. Roasting and boiling were going on on a fast and +furious scale, not only in the palace and abbey, but in booths +erected in the fields; and tables were spreading and rushes +strewing for the accommodation of all ranks. Near the +entrance of the Abbey, the trains of the personages within +awaited their coming forth in some sort of order, the more +reverent listening to the sounds from within, and bending or +crossing themselves as the familiar words of higher notes of +praise rose loud enough to reach their ears; but for the most +part, the tones and gestures were as various as the appearance of +the attendants. Here were black Benedictines, there white +Augustinians clustered round the sleek mules of their abbots; +there scornful dark Templars, in their black and white, sowed the +seeds of hatred against their order, and scarlet Hospitaliers +looked bright and friendly even while repelling the jostling of +the crowd. A hoary old squire, who had been with the King +through all his troubles, kept together his immediate attendants; +a party of boorish-looking Germans waited for Richard of +Cornwall; and the slender, richly-caparisoned palfreys of the +ladies were in charge of high-born pages, who sometimes, with +means fair or foul, pushed back the throng, sometimes themselves +became enamoured of its humours.</p> +<p>For not only had the neighbouring city of London poured forth +her merchants and artizans, to gaze, wonder, and censure the +extravagance—not only had beggars of every degree been +attracted by the largesse that Henry delighted to dispense, and +peasants had poured in from all the villages around, but no sort +of entertainment was lacking. Here were minstrels and +story-tellers gathering groups around them; here was the +mountebank, clearing a stage in which to perform feats of +jugglery, tossing from one hand to another a never-ending circle +of balls, balancing a lance upon his nose, with a popinjay on its +point; here were a bevy of girls with strange garments fastened +to their ankles, who would dance on their hands instead of their +feet, while their uplifted toes jangled little bells.</p> +<p>Peasant and beggar, citizen and performer, sightseer and +professional, all alike strove to get into the space before the +great entrance, where the procession must come forth to gratify +the eyes of the gazers, and mayhap shower down such bounty as the +elder mendicants averred had been given when Prince Edward (the +saints defend him!) had been weighed at five years old, and, to +avert ill luck, the counterbalance of pure gold had been thrown +among the poor to purchase their prayers.</p> +<p>His weight in gold at his present stature could hardly be +expected by the wildest imaginations, but hungry eyes had been +estimating the weight of his little heir, and discontented lips +had declared that the child was of too slender make to be ever +worth so much to them as his father. Yet a whisper of the +possibility had quickly been magnified to a certainty of such a +largesse, and the multitude were thus stimulated to furious +exertions to win the most favourable spot for gathering up such a +golden rain as even little Prince Henry’s counterpoise +would afford; and ever as time waxed later, the throng grew +denser and more unruly, and the struggle fiercer and more +violent.</p> +<p>The screams and expostulations of the weak, elbowed and +trampled down, mingled with more festive sounds; and the +attendants who waited on the river in the large and +beautifully-ornamented barges which were the usual conveyances of +distinguished personages, began to agree with one another that if +they saw less than if they were on the bank, they escaped a +considerable amount of discomfort as well as danger.</p> +<p>“For,” murmured one of the pages, “I suppose +it would be a dire offence to the Prince to lay about among the +churls as they deserve.”</p> +<p>“Ay, truly, among Londoners above all,” was the +answer of his companion, whom the last four years had rendered +considerably taller than when we saw him last.</p> +<p>“Not that there is much love lost between them. He +hath never forgotten the day when they pelted the Queen with +rotten eggs, and sang their ribald songs; nor they the day he +rode them down at Lewes like corn before the reaper.”</p> +<p>“And lost the day,” muttered the other page; then +added, “The less love, the more cause for +caution.”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, we know you are politic, Master Richard,” +was the sneering reply, “but you need not fear my +quarrelling with your citizen friends. I would not be the +man to face Prince Edward if I had made too free with any of the +caitiffs.”</p> +<p>“Hark! Master Hamlyn, the tumult is louder than +ever,” interposed an elderly man of lower rank, who was in +charge of the stout rowers in the royal colours of red and +gold. “Young gentlemen, the Mass must be ended; it +were better to draw to the stairs, than to talk of you know not +what,” he muttered.</p> +<p>Hamlyn de Valence, who held the rudder, steered towards the +wide stone steps that descended to the river, nearest to the apse +in which “St. Peter’s Abbey Church” terminated +before Henry VII. had added his chapel. At that moment a +louder burst of sound, half imprecation, half shriek, was heard; +there was a heavy splash a little way above, and a small blue +bundle was seen on the river, apparently totally unheeded by the +frantic crowd on the bank. No sooner was it seen by +Richard, however, than he threw back his mantle and sprang out of +the barge. There was a loud cry from the third page, a +little fellow of nine or ten years old; but Richard gallantly +swam out, battled with the current, and succeeded in laying hold +of a young child, with whom he made for the barge, partly aided +by the stream; but he was breathless, and heartily glad to reach +the boat and support himself against the gunwale.</p> +<p>“A pretty boat companion you!” said Hamlyn +maliciously. “How are we to take you in, over the +velvet cushions?”</p> +<p>The little page gave an expostulating cry.</p> +<p>“Hold the child an instant, John,” gasped Richard, +raising it towards his younger friend; “I will but recover +breath, and then land and seek out her friends.”</p> +<p>“How is this?” said a voice above them; and +looking up, they found that while all had been absorbed in the +rescue, the Prince, with his little son in his arms and his wife +hanging on his arm, had come to the stone stairs, and was looking +down. “Richard overboard!”</p> +<p>“A child fell over the bank, my Lord,” eagerly +shouted the little John, with cap in hand, “and he swam out +to pick it up.”</p> +<p>“Into the barge instantly, Richard,” commanded the +Prince. “’Tis as much as his life is worth to +remain in this cold stream!”</p> +<p>And truly Richard was beginning to feel as much. He was +assisted in by two of the oarsmen, and the barge then putting +towards the steps, the Princess was handed into her place, and +began instantly to ask after the poor child. It had not +been long enough in the water to lose its consciousness, though +it had hitherto been too much frightened to cry; but it no sooner +opened a wide pair of dark eyes to find itself in strange hands, +than it set up a lamentable wail, calling in broken accents for +“Da-da.”</p> +<p>“Let me take it ashore at once, gracious lady,” +said Richard, revived by a draught of wine from the stores +provided for the long day; “I will find its +friends.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” said the Princess, “it were frenzy to +take it thus in its wet garments; and frenzy to remain in thine, +Richard.” As she spoke, the Prince and the other +persons of the suite had embarked, and the barge was pushing away +from the steps. “Give the child to me,” she +added, holding out her arms, and disregarding a remonstrance from +one of her ladies, disregarding too the sobs and struggles of the +child, whom she strove to soothe, while hastily removing the +little thing’s soaked blue frock and hood, and wrapping it +up in a warm woollen cloak. “It is a pretty little +maiden,” she said, “and not ill cared for. Some +mother’s heart must be bursting for her!—Hush thee! +hush thee, little one; we will take thee home and clothe thee, +and then thou shalt go to thy mother,” she added, in better +English than she had spoken four years earlier in Alton +Wood. But the child still cried for her da-da, and the +Princess asked again, “What is thy father’s name, +little maid?”</p> +<p>“Père,” she answered, with a peculiar +accent that made the Prince say, “That is a +Provençal tongue.”</p> +<p>“They are Provençal eyes likewise,” added +Eleanor. “See how like their hue is to +Richard’s own;” and in Provençal she repeated +the question what the father’s name and the child’s +own might be. But “Père” again, and +“Bessee, pretty Bessee,” was all the answer she +obtained, the last in unmistakable English.</p> +<p>“I thought,” said Eleanor, “that it was only +my own children that scarce knew whether they spoke English, +Languédoc, or Languéd’ouì.”</p> +<p>“It was the same with us, Lady,” said +Richard. “Father Adam was wont to say we were a +little Babel.”</p> +<p>The child looked towards him on hearing his voice, and held +out her hands to go to him, reiterating an entreaty to be taken +to her father.</p> +<p>“She is probably the child of some minstrel or +troubadour,” said the Prince. “We will send in +search of him as soon as we have reached the Savoy.”</p> +<p>The Savoy Palace had been built for Queen Eleanor’s +obnoxious uncle, Prince Thomas of Savoy, and had recently been +purchased by the Queen herself, as a wedding gift for her son +Edmund; but in the meantime Edward and his family were occupying +it during their stay near Westminster, and their barge was +brought up to the wide stairs of its noble court. Richard +was obliged to give up the child to the Princess and her ladies, +though she shrieked after him so pertinaciously, that Eleanor +called to him to return so soon as he should have changed his +garments.</p> +<p>In a few minutes he again appeared, and found the little girl +dressed in a little garment of one of the royal children, but +totally insensible to the honour, turning away from all the +dainties offered to her, and sobbing for her father, much to the +indignation of the two little princes, Henry and John, who stood +hand in hand staring at her. She flew to him directly, with +a broken entreaty that she might be taken to her father. +Again they tried questioning her, but Richard, whether speaking +English or Provençal, always succeeded in obtaining +readier and more comprehensible replies than did the +Princess. Whether she recognized him as her preserver, or +whether his language had a familiar tone, she seemed exclusively +attracted by him; and he it was who learnt that she lived at +home—far off—on the Green near the red monks, and +that her father could not see—he would be lost without +Bessee to lead him. And the little creature, hardly three +years old if so much, was evidently in the greatest trouble at +her father having lost her guidance and protection.</p> +<p>Richard, touched and flattered by the little maiden’s +exclusive preference, and owning in her Provençal eyes and +speech something strangely like his own young sister Eleanor, +entreated permission to be himself the person to take her in +search of her friends. The Princess added her persuasions, +declaring it would be cruel to send the poor little thing with +another stranger, and that his Provençal tongue was needed +in order to discovering her father among the troubadours.</p> +<p>Edward yielded to her persuasion, adding, however, that +Richard must take two men-at-arms with him, and gravely bidding +him be on his guard. Nor would he permit him to be +accompanied by little John de Mohun, who, half page, half +hostage, had lately been added to the Princess’s train, and +being often bullied and teased by Hamlyn and his fellows, had +vehemently attached himself to Richard, and now entreated in vain +to go with him on the adventure. In fact, Prince Edward was +a stern disciplinarian, equally severe against either familiarity +or insolence towards the external world, and especially towards +any one connected with London. If Richard ever gave him any +offence, it was by a certain freedom of manner towards inferiors, +such as the Earl of Leicester had diligently inculcated on his +family, but which more than once had excited a shade of vexation +on the Prince’s part. Even after Richard had reached +the door, he was called back and commanded on no pretext to +loiter or enter on any dispute, and if his search should detain +him late, to sleep at the Tower, rather than be questioned and +stopped at any of the gates which were guarded at night by the +citizens.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V<br /> +THE OLD KNIGHT OF THE HOSPITAL</h2> +<blockquote><p>“The warriors of the sacred grave,<br /> + Who looked to Christ for +laws.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Lord Houghton</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Richard</span> summoned a small boat, and +with two stout men-at-arms, of whom Adam de Gourdon was one, +prepared again to cross the river. Leonillo ran down the +stone stairs with a wistful look of entreaty and it occurred to +both Richard and Adam, that, could the child only lead them to +the place where her father had sat, the dog’s scent might +prove their most efficient guide.</p> +<p>Little Bessee seemed quite comforted when on her way back to +her father, and sat on Richard’s knee, eating the comfits +with which the Princess had provided her, and making him cut a +figure that seemed somewhat to amaze the other boat-loads whom +they encountered on the river.</p> +<p>When they landed, the throng was more dispersed, but revelry +and sports of all kinds were going on fast and furiously; each +door of the Abbey was besieged by hungry crowds receiving their +dole, and Richard’s inquiries for a blind man who had lost +his child were little heeded, or met with no satisfactory +answer. Bessee herself was bewildered, and incapable of +finding her father’s late station; and Richard was becoming +perplexed, and doubtful whether he ought to take her back, as +well as somewhat put out of countenance by the laughter of Thomas +de Clare, and other young nobles, who rallied him on his strange +charge.</p> +<p>At last the little girl’s face lightened as at sight of +something familiar. “Good red monks,” she +said. “They give Bessee soup—make father +well.”</p> +<p>With a ray of hope, Richard advanced to a party of Brethren of +St. John, who were mounting at the Abbey gate to return to their +house at Spitalfields, and doffing his bonnet, intimated a desire +to address the tall old war-worn knight with a benevolent face, +who was adjusting his scarlet cloak, before mounting a gray Arab +steed looking as old and worthy as himself.</p> +<p>“Ha! a young Crusader, I perceive,” was the +greeting of the old knight, as his eye fell on the white cross on +Richard’s mantle. “Welcome, brother! Dost +thou need counsel on thy goodly Eastern way?”</p> +<p>“Thanks, reverend Sir,” returned Richard, +“but my present purpose was to seek for the father of this +little one, who fell into the river in the press. She +pointed to you, saying she had received your bounty.”</p> +<p>“It is Blind Hal’s child, Sir Robert!” +exclaimed a serving-brother in black, coming eagerly forward; +“the villeins on the green told me the poor knave was +distraught at having lost his child in the throng!”</p> +<p>“What brought he her there for?” exclaimed Sir +Robert. “Poor fool! his wits must have forsaken +him!”</p> +<p>“The child had a craving to see the show,” replied +the Brother, “so Hob the cobbler told me; and all went well +till my Lord of Pembroke’s retainers forced all right and +left to make way in the crowd. Hal was thrown down, and the +child thrust away till they feared she had fallen over the +bank. Hob and his wife were fain to get the poor man away, +for his moans and fierce words were awful: and he was not a +little hurt in the scuffle, so I e’en gave them leave to +lay him in the cart that brought up your reverence’s +vestments, and the gear we lent the Abbey for the +show.”</p> +<p>“Right, Brother Hilary,” said Sir Robert; +“and now the poor knave will have his best +healing.—He must have been a good soldier once,” he +added to Richard; “but he is a mere fragment of a man, +wasted in your Earl of Leicester’s wars.”</p> +<p>“Where dwells he?” asked Richard, keenly +interested in all his father’s old followers; “I +would fain restore him his child.”</p> +<p>“In a hut on Bednall Green,” answered the +serving-brother; “but twice or thrice a week he comes to +the Spital to have his hurts looked to.”</p> +<p>“Ay! we tell him his little witch must soon be shut +out! She turns the heads of all our brethren,” said +Sir Robert, smiling. “Wild work she makes with our +novices.”</p> +<p>“Wilder with our Knights Commanders, maybe, Sir,” +retorted, laughing, a fair open-faced youth in his +novitiate. “I shall some day warn Hal how our +brethren, the Templars, are said to play at ball with tender +babes on their lances.”</p> +<p>“No scandal about our brethren of the Temple, +Rayland,” said Sir Robert, looking grave for a +moment.—“Young Sir, it would be a favour if you would +ride with us; we would gladly show you the way to Bednall +Green.”</p> +<p>“I should rejoice to go, Sir,” returned Richard, +“but I am of Prince Edward’s household—Richard +Fowen; and my horse is on the other side of the river.”</p> +<p>“That is soon remedied,” said Sir Robert, who +seemed to have taken a great fancy to Richard, either for the +sake of his crossed shoulder, or of his kindness to the little +plaything of the Spital. “Our young brother, +Engelbert von Fuchstein, has leave to tarry this night with his +brother in the train of the King of the Romans, and his horse is +at your service, if you will do our poor Spital the favour to +tarry there this night, and ride it back in the morn to meet him +at Westminster.”</p> +<p>Richard knew that this invitation might be safely accepted +without danger of giving umbrage to the Prince, who was on the +best terms with the Knights of the Hospital. He therefore +dismissed Gourdon and the other man-at-arms with a message +explaining the matter; and warmly thanking the old Grand Prior, +laid one hand on the saddle of the great ponderous beast that was +led up to him, and vaulted on its back without touching the +stirrup.</p> +<p>“Well done, my young master,” said Sir Robert, +“it is easy to see you are of the Prince’s +household.”</p> +<p>“I cannot yet do as the Prince can,” said +Richard,—“take this leap in full armour.”</p> +<p>“No; and let me give you a bit of counsel, fair +Sir. Such pastimes are very well for the tiltyard, but they +should be laid aside in the blessed Land, and strength reserved +for the one cause and purpose.” He crossed himself; +and in the meantime, Bessee intimated her imperious purpose of +not riding before Brother Hilary, but being perched before +Richard on the enormous cream-coloured animal, whence he was +looking down from a considerable elevation upon Sir Robert on his +slender Arab.</p> +<p>“These are the German monsters that our brethren bring +over,” said Sir Robert. “Mark me, young +brother, cumber not yourself with these beasts of Europe, which +are good for nothing but food for foul birds in the East. +Purvey yourself of an Arab as soon as you land. There is a +rogue at Acre, one Ali by name, who will not cheat you more than +is reasonable, so you mention my name to him, Sir Robert Darcy, +at your service.”</p> +<p>“Thanks, reverend Father,” returned Richard, +“but I am but a landless page, and the Prince mounts +me. Said you this poor man had been wounded in the late +wars?”</p> +<p>“Ay, hacked and hewed worse than by the Infidels +themselves! Woeful it is that here, at home, men’s +blood should be wasted on your own petty feuds. This same +Barons’ war now hath cost as much downright courage as +would have brought us back to Jerusalem, and all thrown away, +without a cause, with no honour, no hope.”</p> +<p>“Not without a cause,” Richard could not help +saying.</p> +<p>“Nay,” said the old knight; “no cause is +worth the taking of a life, save the cause of the Holy +Sepulchre. What be these matters of taxes and laws to ask a +man to shed his blood for? Alack, the temper of the +cross-bearer is dying out! I pray I may not see this +Crusade end like half those I have beheld—and the cross on +the shoulder become no better than a mockery.”</p> +<p>“That may scarcely be with such leaders as the Prince +and the King of France,” said Richard.</p> +<p>“Well, well, the Prince is untried; and for King Louis, +he is as holy a man as ever lived since King Godfrey of blessed +memory, but he has bad luck, ever bad luck. The Saints +forefend, but I trow he will listen to some crazy counsel from +Rome, belike, or some barefooted hermit—very holy, no +doubt, but who does not know a Greek from a Saracen, or a +horse’s head from his tail—and will go to some +pestilential hole like that foul Egyptian swamp, where we stayed +till our skin was the colour of an old boot, in hopes of +converting the Sultan of Babylon, or the Old Man of the Mountain, +or what not, and there he will stay till the flower of his forces +have wasted away.”</p> +<p>“Were you in Egypt with King Louis?” eagerly +exclaimed Richard.</p> +<p>“Ay, marry, was I, and a goodly land it is; but I saw +many a good man-at-arms perish miserably in a marsh, who might +have been the saving of the Holy City. Why, I myself have +never been the same man since! Never could do a +month’s service out of the infirmary at Acre, though after +all there’s no work I like so well as the hospital +business, and for the last five years I have had to stay here +training young brethren! Oh, young man! I envy you +your first stroke for the Holy Sepulchre! Would that the +Grand-Master would hear my entreaty. I am too old to be +worth sparing, and I would fain have one more chance of dying +under the banner of the Order!—But I am setting you a bad +example, son Raynal; a Hospitalier has no will.—And look +you, young Sir Page, if you stay out at sunset in that clime, +’tis all up with you. And you should veil your helmet +well, or the sun smites on your head as deadly as a flake of +Greek fire.”</p> +<p>So rambled on good old Sir Robert Darcy, Grand Prior of +England, a perfect dragon among the Saracens, but everywhere else +the mildest and most benevolent of men; his discourse strangely +mingling together the deepest enthusiasm with a business-like +common-sense appreciation of ways and means, and with minute +directions, precautions, and anecdotes, gathered from his +practical experience both as captain in the field, priest in the +Church, and surgeon in the hospital, and all seen from the most +sunshiny point of view.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, they were riding along the Strand, a beautiful open +road, with grassy borders shelving down to the Thames. They +passed through the City of London. The Hospital lay beyond +the walls, but the Marshes of Moorfields that protected them were +not passable without a long circuit; and the fortified gates +stood open at Temple Bar, where the Hospitaliers, looking towards +the Round Church and stately buildings of the Preceptory, saluted +the white-cloaked figures moving about it, with courtesy grim and +distant in all but Sir Robert Darcy, who could not even hate a +Templar, a creature to the ordinary Hospitalier far more +detestable than a Saracen. On then, up ground beginning to +rise, below which the little muddy stream called the Flete +stagnated along its way, meandering to the Thames. Thatched +hovels and wooden booths left so narrow a passage that the +horsemen were forced to move in single file, and did not gain a +clearer space even when the stone houses of merchants began to +stand thick on Ludgate Hill, their carved wooden balconies so +projecting, that it would seem to have been an object with the +citizens to be able to shake hands across the street. The +city was comparatively empty and quiet, as all the world were +keeping holiday at Westminster; but even as it was, the +passengers seemed to swarm in the streets, and knots of persons +who had been unable to witness the spectacle, sat with gazing +children upon the stairs outside the houses, to admire the +fragments of the pageant that came their way. Acclamations +of delight greeted the appearance of the scarlet-mantled +Hospitaliers, such as Richard had often heard in his boyhood, +when riding in his father’s train, but far less frequently +since he had been a part of the Prince’s retinue. And +equally diverse was the merry nod and smile of Sir Robert to each +gaping shouting group of little ones, from the stately distant +courtesy with which Edward returned the popular +salutations. He could be gracious—he could not be +friendly except to a few.</p> +<p>They passed the capitular buildings of St. Paul’s, with +the beautiful cathedral towering over them, and in its rear, +numerous booths for the purchase of rosaries—recent +inventions then of St. Dominic, the great friend of +Richard’s stern grandfather, the persecutor of the +Albigenses. Sir Robert drew up, and declared he must buy +one for the little maid as a remembrance of the day, and then +found she was fast asleep; but he nevertheless purchased a +black-beaded chaplet, giving for it one of the sorely-clipped +coins of King Henry.</p> +<p>“Prithee let me have one likewise, holy Sir,” +quoth Richard, “in memory of the talk that hath taught me +so much of the import of my crusading vow.”</p> +<p>“Thou shalt bring me for it one of the olive of +Bethlehem,” said Sir Robert; “I have given away all I +brought from the East. They are so great a boon to our poor +sick folk that I wish I had brought twice as many, but to me they +have always a Saracen look. Your Moslem always fingers one +much of the same fashion as he parleys.”</p> +<p>Ludgate, freshly built, and adorned with new figures to +represent the fabulous King Lud, was not yet closed for the +night; and the party came forth beyond the walls, with the +desolate Moorfields to their left, and before them a number of +rising villages clustered round their churches.</p> +<p>The Hospital, a grand fortified monastery, was already to be +seen over the fields; but Sir Robert, sending home the rest of +his troop, turned aside with Richard and Brother Hilary towards +the common, with a border of cottages around it, which went by +the name of Bednall Green.</p> +<p>Brother Hilary knew the hut inhabited by Blind Hal, and led +the way to it. Low and mud-built, thatched, and with a +wattled door, it had a wretched appearance; but the old woman who +came to the door was not ill clad. “Blessings on you, +holy Father!” she cried; “do I see the child, my +lamb, my lady-bird! Would that she may come in time to +cheer her poor father!”</p> +<p>“How is it with him then, Gammer?” demanded Sir +Robert, springing to the ground with the alacrity of a doctor +anxious about his patient.</p> +<p>“Ill, very ill, Sir. Whether the horse’s +feet hurt his old wound, or whether it be the loss of the child, +he hath done nought but moan and rave, and lie as one dead ever +since they brought him home. He is lying in one of the dead +swoons now! It were not well that the child saw +him.”</p> +<p>But Bessee, awakening with a cry of joy, saw her borne, and +struggled to go to her father, whose name she called on with all +her might, disregarding the caresses of the old woman, and the +endeavour made by Richard to restrain without alarming her, while +Sir Robert went into the hut to endeavour to restore the +sufferer.</p> +<p>Suddenly a cry broke from within; and Richard, turning at the +voice, beheld the blind man sitting up on his pallet with arms +outstretched. “My child!—My Father! hast thou +brought her to visit me in limbo?” he cried.</p> +<p>“He raves!” said Richard, using his strength to +withhold the child, who broke out into a shriek.</p> +<p>“Nay, nay! she doth not abide here!” he +exclaimed. “Her spirit is pure! My sins are not +visited on her beyond the grave!”</p> +<p>“Thou art on the earthly side of the grave still, my +son,” said Sir Robert, at the same time as Bessee sprang +from Richard, and nestled on his breast, clinging to his +neck.</p> +<p>“My babe—my Bessee!” he exclaimed, gathering +her close to him. “Living, living, indeed! Yet +how may it be! Surely this is the other world. That +voice sounds not among the living!”</p> +<p>“It is the voice of the youth who saved thy +child,” said the Grand Prior.</p> +<p>“Speak again! Let him speak again!” implored +the beggar.</p> +<p>“Can I do aught for you, good man?” asked +Richard.</p> +<p>Again there was a strange start and thrill of amazement.</p> +<p>“Only for Heaven’s sake tell me who thou +art!”</p> +<p>“A page of Prince Edward’s good man. I am +called Richard Fowen! And who, for Heaven’s sake, are +you?” added Richard, as Leonillo, who had been smelling +about and investigating, threw himself on the blind man in a +transport of caresses. “Off, Leon—off!” +cried Richard. “It is but a dog!—Fear not, +little one!—Tell me, tell me,” he added, trembling, +as he knelt before the miserable object, holding back the eager +Leonillo with one arm round his neck, “who art thou, thou +ghost of former times?”</p> +<p>“Knowst me not, Richard?” returned a suppressed +voice in Provençal.</p> +<p>“Henry! Henry!” exclaimed Richard, and fell +upon the foot of the low bed, weeping bitterly. “Is +it come to this?”</p> +<p>“Ay, even to this,” said the blind man, +“that two sons of one father meet unknown—one with a +changed name, the other with none at all, neither with the +honoured one they were born to.”</p> +<p>“Alack, alack!” was all Richard could say at the +first moment, as he lifted himself up to look again at the +first-born of his parents, the head of the brave troop of +brethren, the gay, handsome, imperious young Lord de Montfort, +whose proud head and gallant bearing he had looked at with a +younger brother’s imitative deference. What did he +see but a wreck of a man, sitting crouched on the wretched bed, +the left arm a mere stump, a bandage where the bright sarcastic +eyes used to flash forth their dark fire, deep scars on all the +small portion of the face that was visible through the over-grown +masses of hair and beard, so plentifully sprinkled with white, +that it would have seemed incredible that this man was but eight +months older than the Prince, whose rival he had always been in +personal beauty and activity. The beautiful child, clasped +close to his breast, her face buried on his shoulder under his +shaggy locks, was a strange contrast to his appearance, but only +added to the look of piteous helplessness and desolation, as she +hung upon him in her alarm at the agitation around her.</p> +<p>Richard had long been accustomed to think of his brother as +dead; but such a spectacle as this was far more terrible to him, +and his cheek blanched at the shock, as he gasped again, +“Thou here, and thus! thou whom I thought slain!”</p> +<p>“Deem me so still,” said his brother, “even +as I deem the royal minion dead to me.”</p> +<p>“Nay, Henry, thou knowst not.”</p> +<p>“Who is present?” interrupted the blind man, +raising his head and tossing back his hair with a gesture that +for the first time gave Richard a sense that his eldest brother +was indeed before him. “Methought I heard another +voice.”</p> +<p>“I am here, fair son,” replied the old knight, +“Father Robert of the Hospital! I will either leave +thee, or keep thy secret as though it were thy shrift; but thou +art sore spent, and mayst scarce talk more.”</p> +<p>“Weariness and pain are past, Father, with my little one +again in my bosom,” said Henry; “and there are +matters that must be spoken between me and this young brother of +mine ere he quits this hut;” and his voice resumed its old +authoritative tone towards Richard. “Said you that he +had saved my child?”</p> +<p>“He drew me from the river, Father,” said Bessee +looking up. “There was nothing to stand on, and it +was so cold! And he took me in his arms and pulled me out, +and put me in a boat; and the lady pulled off my blue coat, and +put this one on me. Feel it, Father; oh, so pretty, so +warm!”</p> +<p>“It was the Princess,” said Richard; but Henry, +not noticing, continued,</p> +<p>“Thou hast earned my pardon, Richard,” and held +out his remaining hand, somewhere towards the height where his +brother’s used to be.</p> +<p>Sir Robert smiled, saying, “Thou dost miscalculate thy +brother’s stature, son.” And at the same moment +Richard, who was now little short of his Cousin Edward in height, +was kneeling by Henry, accepting and returning his embrace with +agitation and gratitude, such as showed how their relative +positions in the family still maintained their force; but Richard +still asserted his independence so as to say, “When you +have heard all, brother you will see that there is no need of +pardoning me.”</p> +<p>Henry, however, as perhaps Sir Robert had foreseen, instead of +answering put his hand to his side, and sank back in a paroxysm +of pain, ending in another swoon. The child stood by, quiet +and frightened but too much used to similar occurrences to be as +much terrified as was Richard, who thought his brother dying; but +calling in the serving-brother, the old Hospitalier did all that +was needed, and the blind man presently recovered and explained +in a feeble voice that he had been jostled, thrown down, and +trodden on, at the moment when he lost his hold of his little +daughter; and this was evidently renewing his sufferings from the +effect of an injury received in battle. “And what +took thee there, son?” said Sir Robert, somewhat +sharply.</p> +<p>“The harvest, Father,” answered Henry, rousing +himself to speak with a certain sarcasm in his tone. +“It is the beggars’ harvest wherever King Henry +goes. We brethren of the wallet cannot afford to miss such +windfalls.”</p> +<p>“A beggar!” exclaimed Richard in horror.</p> +<p>“And what art thou?” retorted Henry, with a sudden +fierceness.</p> +<p>“Listen, young men,” said Sir Robert, “this +I know, my patient there will soon be nothing if ye continue in +this strain. A litter shall bring him to the +infirmary.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” said Henry hastily, “not so, good +Father. Here I abide, hap what may.”</p> +<p>“And I abide with him,” said Richard.</p> +<p>“Not so, I say,” returned the Hospitalier, +“unless thou wouldst slay him outright. Return to the +Spital with me; and at morn, if he have recovered himself, +unravel these riddles as thou and he will.”</p> +<p>“It is well, Father,” said Henry. “Go +with him, Richard; but mark me. Be silent as the grave, and +see me again.”</p> +<p>And reluctant as he was, Richard was forced to comply.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI<br /> +THE BEGGAR EARL</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Along with the nobles that fell at that +tyde,<br /> +His eldest son Henrye, who fought by his syde,<br /> +Was felde by a blow he receivde in the fight;<br /> +A blow that for ever deprivde him of sight.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Old Beggar</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> chapel at the Spital was open +to all who chose to attend. The deep choir was filled with +the members of the Order, half a dozen knights in the stalls, and +the novices and serving-brothers so ranged as to give full effect +to the body of voice. Richard knelt on the stone floor +outside the choir, intending after early mass to seek his +brother; but to his surprise he found the blind man with his +child at his feet in what was evidently his accustomed place, +just within the door. His hair and beard were now arranged, +his appearance was no longer squalid; but when he rose to depart, +guided in part by the child, but also groping with a stick, he +looked even more helpless than on his bed, and Richard sprang +forward to proffer an arm for his support.</p> +<p>“Flemish cloth and frieze gown,” said the object +of his solicitude in a strange gibing voice; “court page +and street beggar—how now, my master?”</p> +<p>“Lord Earl and elder brother,” returned Richard, +“thine is my service through life.”</p> +<p>“Mine? Ho, ho! That much for thy +service!” with a disdainful gesture of his fingers. +“A strapping lad like thee would be the ruin of my +trade. I might as well give up bag and staff at +once.”</p> +<p>“Nay, surely, wilt thou not?” exclaimed Richard in +broken words from his extreme surprise. “The King and +Prince only long to pardon and restore, and—”</p> +<p>“And thou wouldst well like to lord it at Kenilworth, +earl in all but the name? Thou mayst do so yet without +being cumbered with me or mine!”</p> +<p>“Thou dost me wrong, Henry,” said Richard, much +distressed. “I love the Prince, for none so truly +honoured our blessed father as he, and for his sake he hath been +most kind lord to me; but thou art the head of my house, my +brother, and with all my heart do I long to render thee such +service as—as may lighten these piteous +sufferings.”</p> +<p>“I believe thee, Richard; thou wert ever an honest +simple-hearted lad,” said Henry, in a different tone; +“but the only service thou canst render me is to let me +alone, and keep my secret. Here—I feel that we are at +the stone bench, where I bask in the sun, and lay out my dish for +the visitors of the gracious Order.—Here, Bessee, child, +put the dish down,” he added, retaining his hold of his +brother, as if to feel whether Richard winced at this persistence +in his strange profession. The little girl obeyed, and +betook herself to the quiet sports of a lonely child, amusing +herself with Leonillo, and sometimes returning to her father and +obtaining his attention for a few moments, sometimes prattling to +some passing brother of the Order, who perhaps made all the more +of the pretty creature because this might be called an innocent +breach of discipline. “And now, Master Page,” +said Henry in his tone of authority, yet with some sarcasm, +“let us hear how long-legged Edward finished the work he +had began on thee at Hereford—made thee captive in the +battle, eh?”</p> +<p>Richard briefly narrated his life with Gourdon, and his +capture by the Prince, adding, “My mother was willing I +should remain with him; she bade me do anything rather than join +Simon and Guy; and verily, brother, save that the Prince is less +free of speech, his whole life seems moulded upon our blessed +father’s—”</p> +<p>“Speak not of them in the same breath,” cried +Henry hastily. “And wherefore—if such be his +honour to him whom he slew and mutilated—art thou to disown +thy name, and stand before him like some chance +foundling?”</p> +<p>“That was the King’s doing,” said +Richard. “The Prince was averse to it, but King +Henry, though he wept over me and called me his dear nephew, made +it his special desire that he might not hear the name of +Montfort; and the Prince, though overruling him in all that +pertains to matters of state, is most dutiful in all lesser +matters. I hoped at least to be called Fitz Simon, but some +mumble of the King turned it into Fowen, and so it has +continued. I believe no one at court is really ignorant of +my lineage; but among the people, Montfort is still a +trumpet-call, and the King fears to hear it.”</p> +<p>“Well he may!” laughed Henry. +“Rememberest thou, Richard, the sorry figure our good uncle +cut, when we armed him so courteously, and put him on his horse +to meet the rebels at Evesham—how he durst not hang back, +and loved still less to go onward, and kept calling me his loving +nephew all the time?”</p> +<p>“Ah! Henry—but didst thou not hear my father +mutter, when he saw the crowned helm under the standard, that it +was ill done, and no good could come of seething the kid in the +mother’s milk? And verily, had not the Prince been +carrying his father from the field, I trow the Mortimers had not +refused us quarter, nor had their cruel will of us.”</p> +<p>“Oh ho! thou art come to have opinions of thine +own!” laughed Henry, with the scoff of a senior unable to +brook that his younger brother should think for himself. +Yet this tone was so familiar to Richard’s ears, that it +absolutely encouraged him to a nearer step to intimacy. He +said, “But how scapedst thou, Henry? I could have +sworn that I saw thee fall, skull and helmet cleft, a dead +man!”</p> +<p>Instead of answering, Henry put his hand under the chin of his +child, who was leaning against him, and holding up her face to +his brother, said, “Thou canst see this child’s +face? Tell me what like she is.”</p> +<p>“Like little Eleanor, like Amaury. The home-look +of her eyes won my heart at once. Even the Princess +remarked their resemblance to mine. Think of Eleanor and +thy mind’s eye will see her.”</p> +<p>“No other likeness?” said the blind man wistfully; +“but no—thou wast at Hereford when she was at +Odiham.”</p> +<p>“Who?”</p> +<p>He grasped Richard’s hand, and under his breath uttered +the name “Isabel.”</p> +<p>“Isabel Mortimer!” exclaimed Richard, who had +been, of course, aware of his brother’s betrothal, when the +two families of Montfort and Mortimer had been on friendly terms; +“we heard she had taken the veil!”</p> +<p>“And so thou sawst me slain!” said Henry de +Montfort dryly.</p> +<p>“But how—how was it?” asked Richard +eagerly.</p> +<p>“Men sometimes tie knots faster than they intend,” +said Henry. “When Roger Mortimer took Simon’s +doings in wrath, and vowed that his sister should never wed a +Montfort, he knew not what he did. He and his proud wife +could flout and scorn my Isabel—they might not break her +faith to me. Thou knowst, perhaps, Richard, since thou art +hand and glove with our foes, that like a raven to the slaughter, +the Lady Mortimer came as near the battle-field as her care for +her dainty person would allow; and there was one whom she brought +with her. And, gentle dame, what doth she do but carry her +sister-in-law a sweet and womanly gift? What thinkst thou +it was, Richard?”</p> +<p>“I fear I know,” said Richard, choked; “my +father’s hand.”</p> +<p>“Nay, that was a choicer morsel reserved for my lady +countess herself. It was mine own, with our betrothal-ring +thereon. Now, quoth that loving sister, might Isabel resume +her ring. No plighted troth could be her excuse any longer +for refusing to wed my Lord of Gloucester. Then rose up my +love, ‘It beckons me!’ she said, and bade them leave +it with her. They deemed that it was for death that it +beckoned. So mayhap did she. I wot Countess Maud had +little grieved. But little dreamed they of her true +purpose—my perfect jewel of constant love—namely, to +restore the lopped hand to the poor corpse, that it might +likewise have Christian burial. Her old nurse, Welsh Winny, +was as true to her as she was to me; and forth they sped, +fearless of the spoilers, and made their way at nightfall even to +the Abbey Church, where Edward, less savage than the fair +countess, had caused us to be laid before the altar, awaiting our +burial in the vaults.”</p> +<p>“Thou wert senseless all this time?”</p> +<p>“Ay, and so continued. The pang when my hand was +severed had roused me for a few moments, but only to darkness; +and my effort to speak had been rewarded with as many Welsh +knives as could pierce my flesh at once.”</p> +<p>“And thou didst not bleed to death?”</p> +<p>“The swoon checked my blood. And the monks of +Evesham must have staunched and bandaged so as to make a decent +corpse of me. Had they had a man-at-arms among them, they +would have known that mine were not the wounds of a dead but of a +living man. The old nurse knew it, when my sweet lady would +needs unbind my wrist, to place my hand in its right place. +An old crone such as Welsh Winny never stirs without her cordial +potion. They poured it into my lips—and if I were +never more to awake to the light of day, I awoke to the sound +that was yet dearer to me—while, alas! it still was left to +me.”</p> +<p>He became silent, till Richard’s question drew him +on.</p> +<p>“What with their care and support, when once on my feet +I found strength to stumble out of the chapel and gain shelter in +the woods ere day; and I believe the monks got credit for their +zeal in casting out the excommunicate body.”</p> +<p>“Not credit,” said Richard; “the Prince was +full of grief, more especially as they all disavowed the +deed. But, brother, art thou excommunicate +still?”</p> +<p>“Far from it, most pious Crusader. If seas of holy +wells could assoil me, I should be pure enough. My sweet +Isabel deemed that some such washing might bring back mine +eyesight; and from one to another we wandered as my limbs could +bear it. And at St. Winifred’s there was a priest who +told us strange tales of the miracles wrought in the Mortimer +household by my father’s severed hand; nay, that it had so +worked on Lord Mortimer’s sister, that she had left the +vanities of the world, and gone into a nunnery. He seemed +so convinced of my father’s saintliness, and so honest a +fellow, that Isabel insisted on unbosoming ourselves to him under +seal of confession. No longer was the old nurse to be my +mother and she my sister; and the good man made no difficulties, +but absolved me, and wedded me to the truest, most loving wife +that ever blessed a man bereft of all else.”</p> +<p>“And you begged! O Henry, the noble +lady—”</p> +<p>“At first we had the knightly chain and spurs in which +the monks had kindly pranked me up. Isabel too had worn a +few jewels; but after all, a palmer need never hunger. My +father always said no trade was so well paid as begging, under +King Henry, and verily we found it so. She used at times to +gather berries and thread them for chaplets to sell at the holy +wells; but I trow sheer beggary throve better!”</p> +<p>“But wherefore? Even had pardon not been ready, +Simon held out Kenilworth for months.”</p> +<p>Henry laughed his dry laugh.</p> +<p>“Simple boy, dost think I would trust Simon with an +elder brother whose hand could no longer keep his +head?”</p> +<p>“And my mother—”</p> +<p>“She had always hated the Mortimers, even when the +contract was matter of policy. Would I have taken my sweet +Isabel to abide her royal scorn, it might be incredulity of our +marriage? Though for that matter it is more unimpeachable +than her own! Nay, nay, out of ken and out of reach was our +only security from our kin on either side, unless we desired that +my head should follow my hand as a dainty dish for Countess +Maud.”</p> +<p>“How could the lady brook it?”</p> +<p>“She dyed her fair skin with walnut, wore russet gown +and hood, and was a very nightingale for blitheness and sweet +song through that first year,” said Henry; “blither +than ever when that little one was born in the sunshiny days of +Whitsuntide. I tell thee, those were happier days than ever +I passed as Lord de Montfort at Kenilworth. But after that, +the bruised hurt in my side, which had never healed when the +cleaner gashes did, became more painful and troublesome. +Holy wells did nothing for it; and she wasted with watching it, +as though my pain had been hers. Naught would serve her but +coming here, because she had been told that the Knights of St. +John had better experience of old battle-wounds than any men in +the realm. Much ado had we to get here—the young babe +in her arms, and I well-nigh distraught with pain. We crept +into this same hut, and I had a weary sickness throughout the +winter—living, I know not how, by the bounty of the Spital, +and by the works of her fingers, which Winny would take out to +sell on feast-days in the city. Oh that eyes had been left +me to note how she pined away! but I had scarce felt how thin and +bony were her tender fingers ere the blasts of the cruel March +wind finished the work.”</p> +<p>“Alack! alack! poor Henry,” said Richard; +“never, never was lady of romaunt so noble, and so +true!”</p> +<p>“No more,” said Henry hastily, leaning his brow on +the top of his staff. “Come hither, Bessee,” he +added after a brief pause; “say thy prayer for thy blessed +mother, child.”</p> +<p>And holding out his one hand, he inclosed her two clasped ones +within it, as the little voice ran over an utterly unintelligible +form of childishly clipped Latin, sounding, however, sweet and +birdlike from the very liberties the little memory had taken in +twisting its mellifluous words into a rhythm of her own. +And there was catchword enough for Richard to recognize and +follow it, with bonnet doffed, and crossing himself.</p> +<p>“And now,” he said, “surely the need for +secrecy is ended. The land is tranquil, the King ruled by +the Prince, the Prince owning all the past folly and want of +faith that goaded our father into resistance. Wherefore not +seek his willing favour? Thou art ever a pilgrim. Be +with us in the crusade. Who knows what the Jordan waves may +effect for thee?”</p> +<p>“No, no,” grimly laughed Henry. “Dost +think any favour would make it tolerable to be wept over and +pitied by the King—pitied by <i>the King</i>,” he +repeated in ineffable disgust; “or to be the show of the +court, among all that knew me of old, when I <i>was</i> a +man? Hob the cobbler, and Martin the bagster, are better +company than Pembroke and Gloucester, and I meet with more +humours on Cheapside than I should at Winchester—more +regard too. Why, they deem me threescore years old at +least, and I am a very oracle of wisdom among them. Earl of +Leicester, forsooth! he would be nobody compared with Blind +Hal! And as to freedom—with child and staff the whole +country and city are before me—no shouts to dull retainers, +and jackanape pages to set my blind lordship on horseback, +without his bridle hand, and lead him at their will anywhere but +at his own.</p> +<p>“All this I can understand for thyself,” said +Richard; “but for thy child’s sake canst thou not be +moved?”</p> +<p>“My child, quotha? What, when her Uncle Simon is +true grandson to King John?”</p> +<p>Richard started. “I cannot believe what thou +sayest of Simon,” he answered in displeasure.</p> +<p>“One day thou wilt,” calmly answered Henry; +“but I had rather not have it proved upon the heiress of +Leicester and Montfort.”</p> +<p>“Leicester is forfeit—Simon an outlawed +man.”</p> +<p>“If the humour for pardon is set in, Cousin Edward is no +man to do things by halves. If he owned me at all, the +lands would be mine again, and such a bait would be smelt out by +Simon were he at the ends of the earth. Or if not, that +poor child would be granted to any needy kinsman or grasping +baron that Edward wanted to portion. My child shall be my +own, and none other’s. Better a beggar’s brat +than an earl’s heiress!”</p> +<p>“She is a lovely little maiden. I know not how +thou canst endure letting her grow up in poverty, an alien from +her birth and rank.”</p> +<p>“Poverty,” Henry laughed. “Little +knowest thou of the jolly beggar’s business! I would +fain wager thee, Richard, that pretty Bessee’s +marriage-portion shall be a heavier bag of gold than the Lady +Elizabeth de Montfort would gather by all the aids due to her +father from his vassals—and won moreover without +curses.”</p> +<p>“But who would be the bridegroom?”</p> +<p>“Her own choice, not the King’s,” answered +Henry briefly.</p> +<p>“And this is all,” said Richard, perceiving that +according to the previous day’s agreement the +cream-coloured elephant of a German horse was being led forth for +his use, and Sir Robert preparing to accompany him. +“I must leave thee in this strange condition?”</p> +<p>“Ay, that must thou. Betray me, and thou shalt +have the curse of the head of thine house. Had thy voice +not become so strangely like my father’s, I had never made +myself known to thee.”</p> +<p>“I will see thee again.”</p> +<p>“That will be as thou canst. I trow Edward hardly +gives freedom enough to his pages for them to pay visits +unknown,” replied Henry, with a strange sneering triumph in +his own wild liberty.</p> +<p>“If aught ails thee, if I can aid thee, swear to me that +thou wilt send to me.”</p> +<p>Henry laughed with somewhat of a tone of mockery, adding, +“Well, well—keep thou thy plight to me so long as I +want thee not, and I will keep mine to thee if ever I should need +thee. Now away with thee. I hear the horses impatient +for thee; and what would be the lot of the beggar if he were seen +chattering longer with a lordly young page than might suffice for +his plaint? I hear voices. Put a tester in my dish, +fair Sir, for appearance’ sake. Thou hast it not? +aha—I told thee I was the richer as well as the freer +man. What’s that? That is no ring of +coin.”</p> +<p>“’Tis a fair jewel, father, green and +sparkling,” cried Bessee.</p> +<p>“Nay, nay, I’ll have none of it. Some token +from thy new masters? Ha, boy?”</p> +<p>“From the Princess, on New Year’s Day,” +replied Richard. “But keep it, oh, keep it, Henry; it +breaks my heart to leave thee thus.”</p> +<p>“Keep it! Not I. What wouldst say to thy +dainty dame? Nor should I get half its value from the +Jews. No, no, take back thy jewel, Sir Page; I’ll not +put thee in need of telling more lies than becomes thine +office.”</p> +<p>Richard glowed with irritation; but what was the use of anger +with a blind beggar? And while Henry bestowed far more +demonstration of affection on Leonillo than on his brother, it +became needful to mount and ride off, resolving to tell the +Prince and Princess, what would be no falsehood, that the child +belonged to a Kenilworth man-at-arms, sorely wounded at Evesham, +and at present befriended by the Knights of St. John.</p> +<p>Old Sir Robert Darcy knew so much that it was needful to +confide fully in him; and he gave Richard some satisfaction by a +promise to watch over his brother as far as was possible with a +man of such uncertain vagrant habits; and he likewise engaged to +let him know, even in the Holy Land, of any change in the +beggar’s condition; and this, considering the wide-spread +connections of the Order, and that some of its members were sure +to be in any crusading army, was all that Richard could +reasonably hope.</p> +<p>“Canst write?” asked Sir Robert.</p> +<p>“Yea, Father.”</p> +<p>“I could once! But if there be need to send thee a +scroll, I’ll take care it is writ by a trusty +hand.”</p> +<p>More than this Richard could not hope. There had always +been a strange self-willed wildness of character about his eldest +brother, who, though far less violent and overbearing in actual +deed than the two next in age, Simon and Guy, had contrived to +incur even greater odium than they, by his mocking careless +manner and love of taunts and gibing. Simon de Montfort the +elder had indeed strangely failed in the bringing up of his +sons. Whether it were that their royal connection had +inflated them with pride, or that the King’s indulgence had +counteracted the good effects of the admirable education provided +for them at home, they had done little justice to their +parentage, or to their tutor, the excellent Robert +Grostête. Perhaps the Earl himself was too +affectionate: perhaps his occupation in public affairs hindered +him from enforcing family discipline. At any rate, neither +of the elder three could have been naturally endowed with his +largeness of mind, and high unselfish views. He was a man +before his age; not only deeply pious, but with a devoted feeling +for justice and mercy carried into all the details of life, till +his loyalty to the law overcame his loyalty to the King. +Simon and Guy, on the other hand, were commonplace young nobles +of the thirteenth century, heedless of all but themselves, and +disdaining all beneath them; and when their father had seized the +reins of government in order to enforce the laws that the King +would not observe, they saw in his elevation a means of +gratifying themselves, and being above all law. The cry +throughout England had been that Simon’s “sons made +themselves vile, and he restrained them not.”</p> +<p>Henry de Montfort had not indeed, like his brothers, plundered +the ships in the Channel, extorted money from peaceful yeomen, +nor insulted the poor old captive King to his face; but his +deference had been more galling than their defiance; his scornful +smiles and keen cutting jests had mortally offended many a +partizan; and when positive work was to be done, Simon with all +his fierceness and cruelty was far more to be depended on than +Henry, who might at any time fly off upon some incalculable +freak. To Richard’s boyish recollection, if Simon had +been the most tyrannical towards him in deed, Henry had been +infinitely more annoying and provoking in the lesser arts of +teasing.</p> +<p>And looking back on the past, he could understand how +intolerable a life of helplessness would be among the equals whom +Henry had so often stung with his keen wit, and that to a man of +his peculiar tone of mind there was infinitely more liberty in +thus sinking to the lowest depths, where his infirmities were +absolute capital to him, than in being hedged about with the +restraints of his rank. Any way, it was impossible to +interfere, even for the child’s sake, and all Richard could +do to console himself was to look forward to his return from the +Crusade an esquire or even a knight, with exploits that Henry +might respect—a standing in the Court that would give him +some right to speak—perhaps in time a home and lady wife to +whom his brother would intrust his child, who would then be +growing out of a mere toy. Or might not his services win +him a fresh grant of the earldom, and could he not then prove his +sincerity by laying it at the true Earl’s feet?</p> +<p>Pretty Bessee, too! Richard remembered stories current +in the family, of their grandmother, Amicia, Countess of +Leicester in her own right, being forced when a young girl to wed +the stern grim old persecuting Simon de Montfort, and how vain +had been her struggles against her doom. He lost himself in +graceful romantic visions of the young knight whose love he would +watch and foster, and whose marriage to his lovely niece should +be securely concluded ere her rank should be made known, when her +guardian uncle would yield all to her. And from that day +forth Richard looked out with keen eyes among the playfellows of +the little princes for Bessee’s future knight.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII<br /> +AMONG THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE</h2> +<blockquote><p>“But man is more than law, and I may have<br +/> +Some impress of myself upon the world;<br /> +One poor brief life, helping to feed the flame<br /> +Of chivalry, and keep alive the truth<br /> +That courage, honour, mercy, make a knight.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Queen Isabel</i>, <i>by S. +M.</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>“<span class="smcap">Land</span> in sight! Cheer +up, John, my man!” said Richard, leaning over a bundle of +cloaks that lay on the deck of a Genoese galley.</p> +<p>The cross floated high aloft, accompanied by the lions of +English royalty; the bulwark was hung round with blazoned +shields, and the graceful white sails were filled by a gay breeze +that sent the good ship dancing over the crested waves of the +Mediterranean, in company with many another of her gallant +sisters, crowded with the chivalry of England.</p> +<p>Woeful was however the plight of great part of that +chivalry. Merrily merrily bounded the bark, but her sport +felt very like death to many of her freight, and among others to +poor little John de Mohun.</p> +<p>His father, Baron Mohun of Dunster, had been deeply implicated +in the Barons’ Wars, and had been a personal friend of the +Earl of Leicester, from whom he had only separated himself in +consequence of the outrageous exactions and acts of insolence +perpetrated by the young Montforts. He had indeed received +a disabling wound while fighting on the Prince’s side at +Evesham; but his submission had been thought so insecure that his +son and heir had been required of him, ostensibly as page, but +really as hostage.</p> +<p>In spite of his Norman surname, little John of Dunster was, at +twelve years old, a sturdy thoroughgoing English lad, with the +strongest possible hatred to all foreigners, whom with grand +indifference to natural history he termed “locusts sucking +the blood of Englishmen.” Not a word or command would +he understand except in his mother tongue; and no blows nor +reproofs had sufficed to tame his sturdy obstinacy. The +other pages had teased, fagged, and bullied him to their +hearts’ content, without disturbing his determination to go +his own way; and his only friend and protector had been Richard, +whom, under the name of Fowen, he took for a genuine Englishman, +and loved with all his heart. If anything would ever cure +him of his wilful awkwardness and dogged bashfulness, it was +likely to be the kindness of Richard—above all, in the +absence of the tormentors, for Hamlyn de Valence alone of the +other pages had been selected to attend upon the Prince in this +expedition; and he, though scornful and peremptory, did not think +the boy worthy of his attention, and did not actively tease +him.</p> +<p>At present Hamlyn de Valence, as well as most others of the +passengers, lay prostrate; scarcely alive even to the assurance +of Richard, who had still kept his feet, that the outline of the +hills was quickly becoming distinct, and that they were fast +entering the gulf where lay the fleet that had brought the +crusaders of France and Sicily, whom they hoped to join in the +conquest and conversion of Tunis. On arriving at Aigues +Mortes, they had found that the French King had already sailed +for Sicily; and following him thither, learnt that his brother, +Charles of Anjou, had persuaded him to begin his crusade by a +descent on Tunis, to which the Sicilian crown was said to have +some claim; that he had sailed thither at once, and Charles had +followed him so soon as the Genoese transports could return for +the Sicilian troops.</p> +<p>“I see the masts!” exclaimed Richard; “the +bay is crowded with them! There must be a goodly +force. Yonder are two headlands; within them we shall have +smoother water—see—”</p> +<p>“What strikes thee so suddenly silent?” growled +one of the muffled figures stretched on deck.</p> +<p>“The ensigns are but half-mast high, my Lord,” +returned Richard in an awe-struck voice; “the lilies of +France are hung drooping downward.”</p> +<p>“These plaguy southern winds at their tricks,” +muttered at first Earl Gilbert of Gloucester, for he it was who +had spoken, though Richard had not known him to be so near; then +sitting up, he came to a fuller view: “Hm—it looks +ill! Thou canst keep thy feet, Fowen, or what do they call +thee? Down with thee to the cabin, and let the Prince +know.”</p> +<p>Stepping across the prostrate forms, and meeting with +vituperations as he trode, Richard made his way to the ladder +that led below, and notified his presence behind the curtain that +veiled the royal cabin. He was summoned to enter at +once. The Prince was endeavouring to write at a +swinging-table, the Princess lay white and resigned on a couch, +attended on by Dame Idonea (or more properly Iduna) Osbright, a +lady who had lost her husband in a former Crusade, and had ever +since been a sort of high-born head nurse in the palace. A +Danish skald, who had once been at the English court, had said +that she seemed to have eaten her namesake’s apple of +immortality, without her apple of beauty, for no one could ever +remember to have seen her other than a tiny dried-up old witch, +with keen gray eyes, a sharp tongue, an ever ready foot and hand, +and a frame utterly unaffected by any of the influences so +sinister to far younger and stronger ones. Devoted to all +the royal family, her special passion was for Prince Edmund, who, +in his mother’s repugnance to his deformity, had been left +almost entirely to her, and she had accompanied the Princess +Eleanor all the more willingly from her desire to look after her +favourite nursling.</p> +<p>“There, Lady,” said Edward to his wife, “the +tossing is all but over; here is Richard come to tell us that we +are nigh on land.”</p> +<p>“Even so, my Lord,” returned Richard; “we +are entering the gulf, but my Lord of Gloucester has sent me to +report to you that in all the ships the colours are +trailing.”</p> +<p>“Sayst thou?” exclaimed the Prince, hastily laying +aside his writing materials. “Fear not, <i>mi +Dona</i>, I will return anon and tell thee how it is. We +are in smoother water already.”</p> +<p>“So much smoother that I will come with thee out of this +stifling cabin,” said Eleanor. “O would that we +had been in time for thee to have counselled thine +uncles—”</p> +<p>“We will see what we have to grieve for ere we bemoan +ourselves,” said the Prince. “My good uncle of +France would put his whole fleet in mourning for one barefooted +friar!”</p> +<p>“Depend on it, my Lord, ’tis mourning for +something in earnest,” interposed Dame Iduna; “I said +it was not for nothing that a single pyot came and rocked up his +ill-omened tail while we were taking horse for this expedition, +and my Lady there was kissing the little ones at home, nor that a +hare ran over our road at Bagshot—”</p> +<p>“Well, Dame,” interposed the Prince +good-humouredly, seeing his wife somewhat affected by the list of +omens, “I know you have a horse-shoe in your luggage, so +you will come safe off, whoever does not!”</p> +<p>“And what matters what my luck is,” returned the +Dame, “an old beldame such as me, so long as you and your +brother come off safe, and find the blessed princes at home well +and sound? Would that we were out of this sandy hole, or +that any one would resolve me why we cannot go straight to +Jerusalem when we are about it!”</p> +<p>The Dame had delayed them while she spoke, in order to adjust +the Princess’s muffler over her somewhat dishevelled locks; +but Eleanor seeing that her husband was impatient, put a speedy +end to her operations, and took his arm.</p> +<p>Meantime the vessel had come within the Gulf of Goletta, and +others of the passengers had revived, and were standing on deck +to watch their entrance into the very harbour that two thousand +years before had sheltered the storm-tossed fleet of Æneas; +but if the Trojan had there found a wooded haven, the groves and +sylvan shades must long since have been destroyed, for to the +new-comers the bay appeared inclosed by spits of sand, though +there was a rising ground in front that cut off the view. +In the centre of the bay was a low sandy islet, covered with +remains of masonry, and with a fort in the midst. On this +was mounted the French banner, but likewise drooping; and all +around it lay the ships with furled sails and trailing ensigns, +giving them an inexpressibly mysterious look of woe, like living +creatures with folded wings and vailed crests, lying on the face +of the waters in a silent sleep of sorrow. There was an awe +of suspense that kept each one on the deck silent, unable to +utter the conjecture that weighed upon his breast.</p> +<p>A boat was already putting off, and its quick movements seemed +to mar the solemn stillness, as, impelled by the regular strokes +of a dozen dark handsome Genoese mariners with gaily-tinted caps, +it shot towards the vessel. A Genoese captain in graver +garb sat at the helm, and as they came alongside, a whisper, +almost a shudder, seemed to thrill upwards from the boat to the +crew, and through them to the passengers, “<i>Il +Rè</i>!” “<i>il Rè santo</i>,” +“<i>il Rè di Francia</i>.” It seemed to +have pervaded the whole ship even before the Genoese had had time +to take the rope flung to him and to climb up the ship’s +side, where as his fellow-captain greeted him, he asked hastily +for the <i>Principe Inglese</i>.</p> +<p>For Edward had not come forward, but was standing with his +back against the mainmast, with colourless cheek and eyes set and +fixed. Eleanor looked up to him in silence, aware that he +was mastering vehement agitation, and would endure no token of +sympathy or sorrow that would unnerve him when dignity required +firmness. To him, Louis IX., the husband of his +mother’s sister, had been the guiding friend and noble +pattern denied to him in his father; and Eleanor, intrusted to +his uncle’s care during the troubles of England, a maiden +wife in her first years of womanhood, had been formed and moulded +by that holy and upright influence. To both the loss was as +that of a father; and the murmur among the sailors was to them as +a voice saying, “Knowest thou that God will take away thy +master from thy head to-day?” For the moment, +however, the Princess’s sole thought was how her husband +would bear it, and she watched anxiously till the struggle was +over, in the space of a few seconds, and he met the Genoese with +his usual reserved courtesy; and returning his salutation, signed +to him to communicate his tidings.</p> +<p>They were however brief, for the captain had held by his ship, +and all he knew was that deadly sickness, fever, and plague had +raged in the camp. The Papal Legate was dead, and the good +King of France. His son was dead too, and many another +beside.</p> +<p>“Which son?”</p> +<p>“Not the eldest—he lay sick, but there were hopes +of him; but the little one—he had been carried on board his +ship, but it had not saved him.”</p> +<p>“Poor little Tristan!” sighed Eleanor; “true +Cross-bearer, born in one hapless Crusade to die in +another.”</p> +<p>“The King of Sicily?” demanded Edward between his +teeth.</p> +<p>“He had arrived the very day of his brother’s +death,” said the Genoese; “and when he had seen how +matters stood, he had concluded a truce with the King of Tunis, +and intended to sail as soon as the new King of France could bear +to be moved.”</p> +<p>In the meantime the vessel had been anchored, and preparations +were made for landing; but the Princes impatience to hear details +would not brook even the delay of waiting till his horse could be +set ashore. He committed to the Earl of Gloucester the +charge of encamping his men on the island, left a message with +him for his brother Edmund, who was in another ship, and +perceiving that Richard had suffered the least of all his suite, +summoned him to attend him in the boat which was at once +lowered.</p> +<p>This would have been a welcome call had not Richard found that +poor little John de Mohun had not revived like the other +passengers, but still lay inert and sometimes moaning. All +Richard could do was to beg the groom specially attached to the +pages’ service, to have a care of the little fellow, and +get him sheltered in a tent as soon as possible; but the Prince +never suffered any hesitation in obeying him, and it was needful +to hurry at once into the boat.</p> +<p>Without a word, the Prince with long swift strides, in the +light of the sinking sun, walked up the low hill, the same where +erst the pious Æneas climbed with his faithful Achates +following. From the brow the Trojan prince had beheld the +rising city in the valley—the English prince came on its +desolation. Yet nature had made the vale lovely—green +with well-watered verdure, fields of beauteous green maize, +graceful date palms, and majestic cork trees; and among them were +white flat-roofed Moorish houses; but many a black stain on the +fair landscape told of the fresh havoc of an invading army.</p> +<p>Utterly blotted out was Carthage. Half demolished, half +choked with sand, the city of Dido, the city of Hannibal, the +city of Cyprian—all had vanished alike, and nothing +remained erect but a Moorish fortress, built up with fragments of +the huge stones of the old Phoenicians, intermixed with the +friezes and sculptures of Græcising Rome, and the whole +fabric in the graceful Saracenic taste; while completing the +strange mixture of periods, another of those mournful French +banners drooped from the battlements, and around it spread the +white tents of the armies of France and the Two Sicilies, like it +with trailing banners; an orphaned plague-stricken host in a +ruined city.</p> +<p>While the Prince paused for a moment’s glance, a party +of knights came spurring up the hill, who had been ordered off to +meet him on the first intelligence that his fleet was in sight, +but had been taken by surprise by his alertness.</p> +<p>They met with bowed heads and dejected mien; and there was one +who hid his face and wept aloud as he exclaimed, “Ah! +Messire, our holy King loved you well!”</p> +<p>“Alas, beau sire Guillaume de Porçeles!” +was all that Edward could say, as with tears in his eyes he held +out his hand to the good Provençal knight, adding, +“Let me hear!”</p> +<p>The knight, leading his horse and walking by Edward’s +side, told how the King had been induced to make his descent on +Tunis, from some wild hope of the king’s conversion, which +had been magnified by Charles of Anjou, from his dislike to let +so gallant an army pass by without endeavouring to obtain some +personal advantage to his own realm of Sicily. Though a +vassal of Beatrix of Provence, the Sire de Porçeles was no +devoted admirer of her husband, Charles of Anjou, and spoke with +no concealment of the unhappy perversion of the Crusade. +Charles of Anjou was all-powerful with the court of Rome, and in +crusading matters Louis deemed it right absolutely to surrender +to the ecclesiastical power all that judgment which had made him +so prudent and wise a king at home, while his crusades were +lamentable failures. Thus in him it had been a piece of +obedient self-denial not to press forward to the Holy Sepulchre; +but to land in this malarious bay to fulfil aims that, had he but +used his common sense, he would have seen to be merely those of +private ambition. There it had been one scene of wasting +sickness. A few deeds of arms had been done to refresh the +spirits of the French, such as the taking of the fort of +Carthage, and now and then a skirmish of some foraging party; but +in general the Moors launched their spears and fled without +staying for combat. Many who had hid themselves in the +vaults and cellars of Carthage had been dragged out and put to +death, and their bodies had aided in breeding pestilence. +Name after name fell from the lips of the knight, like the roll +of warriors fallen in a great battle, when</p> +<blockquote><p>“They melted from the field like snow,<br /> +Their king, their lords, their mightiest low.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And the last foreign embassy that ever reached Louis IX. had +been that of the Greek Emperor Michael Palæologos, come to +set before him the savage barbarities perpetrated upon Christians +by this brother—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Who had spoilt the purpose of his +life.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was as Charles entered the port, that Louis, lying on a bed +of ashes, with his hands crossed upon his breast, and the words, +“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem!” entered not the Jerusalem +of his earthly schemes, but the Jerusalem of his true +aspirations.</p> +<p>“Shall we conduct you to my Lord the King of +Sicily?” asked De Porçeles.</p> +<p>“No!” said Edward, with bitter sternness; +“to my uncle of France.”</p> +<p>“Down, down, my Lord, and all of you instantly,” +shouted Porçeles suddenly, throwing himself face downwards +on the ground. Edward was too good a soldier not to follow +the injunction instantaneously, and Richard did the same, as well +as all the knights who had come up with Porçeles. +Even the horses buried their noses in the hot sandy soil. A +strange rushing roaring sound passed over them; there was a sense +of intense suffocation, then of heat, pricking, and +irritation. The Provençals were rising; and the +Prince and his page doing the same, shook off a plentiful load of +sand, and beheld, careering furiously away, between them and the +western sun, what looked like a purple column, reaching from +earth to heaven, and bespangled with living gold-dust, whirling +round in giddy spirals, and all the time fleeting so fast that it +was diminishing every moment, and was gone in a wink of the +eye.</p> +<p>“Is it enchantment?” gasped Richard to the squire +nearest him, as he strove to clear his eyes from the sand and +gaze after the wonder.</p> +<p>“Worse than enchantment,” quoth the squire; +“it is a sand whirlwind.”</p> +<p>They were soon crossing the ditch that had been dug around the +camp among the ruins, and passed through lanes of tents erected +among the thick foliage that mantled the broken walls; here and +there tracks of mosaic pavement; of temples to Dido or Anna +peeping forth beneath either the luxuriant vegetation or the +heavy sand-drifts; or columns of the new Carthage lying veiled by +acanthus; or remnants of churches destroyed by Genseric—all +alike disregarded by the sickly drooping figures that moved +feebly about among them, regarding them as little save +stumbling-blocks.</p> +<p>A Moorish house in the midst of a once well-laid-out garden, +now trampled and destroyed, was the place to which the +Provençal knight led the English Prince. Entering +the doorway of a court, where a fountain sparkled in the midst of +a marble pavement, they saw the richly-latticed stone doorway of +the house guarded by two figures in armour like iron statues; and +passing between them, they came into the principal chamber, +marble-floored, and with a divan of cushions round it; but full +in the midst of the room lay a coffin, covered with the lilied +banner, and the standard of the Cross; the crowned helmet, good +sword, knightly spurs, and cross-marked shield lying upon it; +solemn forms in armour guarded it, and priests knelt and chanted +prayers and psalms around it. Within were only the bones of +Louis, which were to be taken to St. Denis. The flesh, +which had been removed by being boiled in wine and spices, was +already on its way to Palermo in a vessel whose melancholy +ensigns would have announced the loss to the English had they not +passed it in the night.</p> +<p>Long did Edward kneel beside the remains of his uncle, with +his face hidden and thoughts beyond our power to trace. +Richard’s heart was full of that strange question +“Wherefore?” Wherefore should the best and +purest schemes planned by the highest souls fall over like a +crested wave and become lost? So it had been, he would have +said, with the Round Table under Arthur, so with England’s +rights beneath his own noble father, so with the Crusade under +such leaders as Edward of England and Louis of France. Did +he mark the answer in those Psalms that the priests were singing +around—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Qui seminant in lacrymis, in exultatione +metent,<br /> +Euntes ibant et flebant mittentes semina sua,<br /> +Venientes autem venient cum exultatione portantes manipulos +suos.” <a name="citation100"></a><a href="#footnote100" +class="citation">[100]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Surely we may believe that Simon of Leicester and Louis of +France were alike beyond grief at their marred visions, their +errors of deed or of judgment were washed away, and their true +purpose was accepted, both waiting the harvest when their works +should follow them, and it should have been made manifest that +the effect of what they had been and had suffered had told far +more on future generations than what they had wrought out in +their own lifetime.</p> +<p>It was at that moment that the sensation that an eye was upon +him caused Richard to raise his eyes from the floor. One of +the armed figures, who had hitherto stood as still as suits of +armour in a castle hall, had partially lowered the visor of the +helmet, and eyes, nose, and a part of the cheeks were +visible. Richard looked up, and they were those of his +father! was it a delusion of his fancy? He closed his eyes +and looked again. Again it was the deep brown Montfort eye, +the clearly-cut nose, the embrowned skin! He glanced at the +bearings on the shield. Behold, it was his own—the +red field and white lion rampant with a forked tail, which he had +not seen for so long.</p> +<p>Almost at the same moment another person entered the +chamber—a man with a sallow complexion, narrow French +features, sharp gray eyes, and a certain royal bearing that even +a cunning shrewdness of expression could not destroy. His +face was composed to a look of melancholy, and he crossed himself +and knelt down near Edward to await the conclusion of his +devotions. Edward, who knelt absorbed in grief, with his +cloak partly over his face, apparently did not perceive him, and +after two or three unheeded endeavours at attracting notice, he +at length rose and said in a low voice, “My fair +nephew.” For a moment the Prince lifted up his face, +and Richard had rather have died than have encountered that +glance of mournful reproof; then hiding his face in his hands +again, he continued his devotions.</p> +<p>When these were ended he rose from his knees; and when out of +the death-chamber bowed his bead and with grave courtesy +exchanged greetings with Charles of Anjou, asking at the same +time to see his young cousin Philippe, the new King of +France.</p> +<p>An inquiry from an attendant elicited that Philippe had just +dropped asleep under the influence of a potion from his +leech.</p> +<p>“Then, fair nephew,” said Charles of Sicily, +“be content with your old uncle, and come to my apartments, +where I will set before you the necessities that have led me to +conclude the truce that is baffling your eager desire of deeds of +arms.”</p> +<p>“Pardon me, royal uncle,” returned Edward, +“I must see my camp set up. It is already late, and I +must take order that my troops mingle not where contagion might +seize them. Another time,” he added, “I may +brook the argument better.”</p> +<p>Charles of Anjou did not press him further. There was +that in his face and voice which betokened that his fierce +indignation and overpowering grief were scarcely restrained, and +that a word of excuse in his present mood would but have roused +the lion.</p> +<p>Horses had been provided for him and his attendant. He +flung himself on his steed at once, and Richard was obliged to +follow without a moment’s opportunity of making inquiry +about the wonderful apparition he had seen in the chamber of +death.</p> +<p>For some distance Edward galloped rapidly over the sandy soil, +then drawing up his horse when he had come to the brow from which +he could see on the one side the valley of Carthage, on the other +the bay, he made an exclamation which Richard took for a summons, +and he came up asking if he were called. “No, boy, +no! I only spoke my thoughts aloud! Failure and +success! We’ve seen them both to-day—in the two +kings! What thinkst thou of them?”</p> +<p>“Better be wrecked than work the wreck, my Lord,” +said Richard.</p> +<p>“Ay! but why surrender the wit to the worker of the +wreck?” said Edward. Then knitting his brow, +“Two holy men have I known who did not blind their wit for +their conscience’ sake—two alone—did it fare +better with them? One was the good Bishop of +Lincoln—the other thou knowst, Richard! Well, one +goes after another—first good Bishop Grostête, then +the Lord of Leicester, and now mine uncle of France; and if earth +is to have no better than such as it pleases the Saints to leave +in it, it will not be worth staying in much longer.”</p> +<p>“My Lord,” said Richard, coming near, +“methought I saw my father’s face under a +visor—one of the knightly guards beside the holy +King.”</p> +<p>“Well might thy fancy call him up in such a +presence,” said Edward. “They twain had hearts +in the same place above, though they saw the world below on +different sides, and knew each other little, and loved each other +less, in life. That’s all at an end now! Well, +back to our camp to make the best of the world they have left +behind them!” And then in a tone that Richard was not +meant to hear, “While <i>mi dona</i> Leonor remains to me +there is something saintly and softening still in this +world! Heaven help me—ay, and all my foes—were +she gone from it too!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII<br /> +RICHARD’S WRAITH</h2> +<blockquote><p>“No distance breaks the tie of blood;<br /> +Brothers are brothers evermore;<br /> +Nor wrong, nor wrath of deadliest mood,<br /> +That magic may o’erpower.”—<i>Christian +Year</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was nearly dark when the Prince +and the Page landed on the island, and found the tents already +set up in their due order and rank, according to the discipline +that no one durst transgress where Edward was the commander.</p> +<p>Richard attended him to his pavilion, and being there +dismissed until supper-time, crossed the square space which was +always left around the royal banner, to the tent at the southern +corner, which was regularly appropriated to the pages’ +use. On lifting its curtain he was, however, dismayed to +see a kirtle there, and imagining that he must have fallen upon +the ladies’ quarters, he was retreating with an apology; +when the sharp voice of Dame Idonea called out, “Oh yes, +Master Page! ’tis you that are at home here. I was +merely tarrying till ’twas the will of one of you to come +in and look to the poor child.”</p> +<p>And little John of Dunster called from a couch of mantles, +“Richard, oh! is it he at last?”</p> +<p>“It is I,” said Richard, advancing into the light +of a brass lamp, hung by chains from the top of the tent. +“This is kind indeed, Lady! But is he indeed so ill +at ease?”</p> +<p>“How should he be otherwise, with none of you idle-pated +pages casting a thought to him?”</p> +<p>“I was grieved to leave him—but the Prince +summoned me,” began Richard.</p> +<p>“Beshrew thee! Tell me not of princes, as though +there were no one whom thou couldst bid to have a care of the +little lad!”</p> +<p>“I did bid Piers—,” Richard made another +attempt.</p> +<p>“Piers, quotha? Why didst not bid the Jackanapes +that sits on the luggage? A proper warder for a sick +babe!”</p> +<p>“I am no babe!” here burst out John; “I am +twelve years old come Martinmas, and I need no tendance but +Richard’s.”</p> +<p>“Ha, ha! So those are all the thanks we ladies +get, when we are not young and fair!” laughed Dame Idonea, +rather amused.</p> +<p>“I want no women, young or old,” petulantly +repeated John; “I want Richard.—Lift me up, Richard; +take away this cloak.”</p> +<p>“For his life, no!” returned the Dame; “he +has the heats and the chills on him, and to let him take cold +would be mere slaughter.”</p> +<p>“Alas!” said Richard, “I hoped nothing ailed +him but the sea, and that landing would make all well.”</p> +<p>“As if the sea ever made a child shiver and burn by +turns! Nay, ’tis the trick of the sun in these +parts. Strange that the sun himself should be a mere ally +of the Infidel! I tell thee, if the child is ever to see +Dunster again, thou must watch him well, keep him from the sun by +day and the chill by night; or he’ll be like the poor +creatures in the French camp out there, whom, I suppose, you +found in fine case.”</p> +<p>“Alack yes, Lady!”</p> +<p>“I’ve seen it many a time; and all their disorders +will be creeping into our camp next. Tell me, is it even as +they told us, one king dead and the other dying?”</p> +<p>Richard began to wonder whether he should ever get her out of +his tent, for she insisted on his telling her every possible +particular—who had died, who had lived, who was sick, who +well; and as from the close connection between the English, +French, and Sicilian courts, whose queens were all sisters, she +knew who every one was, and accounted for the history of each +person she inquired after, back to the last +generation—happy if it were not to the third—her +conversation was not quickly over. She ended at last, by +desiring Richard to give her patient some of a febrifuge, which +she had brought with her, every two hours, and when it was all +spent, or in case of any change in the boy’s state, to +summon her from the ladies’ tent; adding, however, +“But what’s the use of leaving a pert springald like +thee in charge? Thou wilt sleep like a very dormouse, +I’ll warrant! I’d best call Mother +Jugge.”</p> +<p>“Oh no, no!” cried John; to whom the attendance of +Mother Jugge would have been a worse indignity than the being +nursed by Dame Idonea; “let me have no one but +Richard! Richard knows all I want.—Richard, leave me +not again.”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay; a little lad ever hangs to a bigger, were he to +torture the life out of him. Small thanks for us women +after our good looks be past. But I’ll look in on the +child in early morn, thanks or no thanks; for I know his mother +well, and if I can help it, the hyenas shall not make game of his +bones, as I hear them doing by the French yonder.”</p> +<p>John strove to say that, indeed, he thanked her, and had been +infinitely comforted and refreshed by her care, and that all he +meant was to express his distaste to Mother Jugge, the lavender +(<i>i.e.</i> laundress), and his desire for Richard Fowen’s +company; but he was little attended to, and apparently more than +half offended, the brisk old lady trotted away.</p> +<p>That island was a dreary place; without a tree or any shelter +from the glare of sun and sea, whose combined influences +threatened blindness, sun-stroke, or at the very least blistered +the faces of those who stepped beyond their tents by day. +The Prince’s orders, however, strictly confined his army +within its bounds, except that at twilight parties were sent +ashore for water and provisions, under strict orders, however, to +hold no parley with any one from the French or Sicilian camps, +lest they should bring home the infection of the pestilence; and +always under the command of some trustworthy knight, able and +willing to enforce the command.</p> +<p>The Prince himself refused all participation in the counsels +of Charles of Anjou, and confined himself, like his men, entirely +to the fleet and island. Charles contrived to spread a +report, that his displeasure was solely due to his disappointment +at being balked of fighting with the Tunisians; and that instead +of indignant grief at the perversion of the wrecked Crusade, he +was only showing the sullenness of an aggrieved swordsman. +Even young Philippe le Hardi, a dull, heavy, ignorant youth, was +led to suppose this was the cause of his offence, and though +daily inquiries were sent through the Genoese crews for his +health, he made no demonstration of willingness to see his cousin +of England.</p> +<p>Thus Richard had no opportunity of ascertaining whether there +were any basis for the strange impression he had received in St. +Louis’s death-chamber. It would have been an act of +disobedience, not soon overlooked by the Prince, had one of his +immediate suite transgressed his commands, and indeed, so strict +was the discipline, that it would scarcely have been possible to +make the attempt. Besides, Richard’s time was +entirely engrossed between his duties in attending on the Prince, +and his care of little John of Dunster, who had a sharp attack of +fever, and was no doubt only carried through it by the +experienced skill of Dame Idonea Osbright, and by Richard’s +tender nursing. Somehow the dame’s heart was not won, +even by the elder page’s dutiful care and obedience to all +her directions. Partly she viewed him as a rival in the +affections of the patient—who, poor little fellow, would in +his companion’s absence be the child he was, and let her +treat him like his mother, or old nurse, chattering to her freely +about home, and his home-sick longings; whereas the instant any +male companion appeared, he made it a point of honour to be the +manly warrior and crusader, just succeeding so far as to be +sullen instead of plaintive; though when left to Richard, he +could again relax his dignity, and become natural and +affectionate. But besides this species of jealousy, Richard +suspected that Lady Osbright knew, or at least guessed, his own +parentage, and disliked him for it accordingly. She had +never forgotten the distress and degradation of his +mother’s stolen marriage, nor forgiven his father for it; +she had often stung the proud heart of his brother Henry, when he +shared the nursery of his cousins the princes; and her sturdy +English dislike of foreigners, and her strong narrow personal +loyalty, had alike resulted in the most vehement hatred of the +Earl of Leicester, whose head she would assuredly have welcomed +with barbarous exultation, worthy of her Danish ancestors. +Little chance, then, was there that she would regard with favour +his son under a feigned name, fostered in the Prince’s own +court and camp.</p> +<p>She was a constraint, and almost a vexation, to Richard, and +he heartily wished that the boy’s recovery would free his +tent from her. The boy did recover favourably, in spite of +all the discomforts of the island, and was decidedly convalescent +when, after nearly ten days’ isolation on the island, +Edward drew out his whole force upon the shore to do honour to +the embarkation of the relics of Louis IX. It was one of +the most solemn and melancholy pageants that could be +conceived. A wide lane of mailed soldiers was drawn up, +Sicilians and Provençals on the one side, and on the +other, English and the Knights of the two Orders. All +stood, or sat on horseback in shining steel, guarding the way +along which were carried the coffins. In memory, perhaps, +of Louis’s own words, “I, your leader, am going +first,” his remains headed the procession, closely followed +by those of his young son; and behind it marched his two +brothers, Charles and Alfonse, and his son-in-law, the King of +Navarre (the two latter already bearing the seeds of the fatal +malady), and the three English princes, Edward, Edmund, and Henry +of Almayne, each followed by his immediate suite. The long +line of coffins of French counts and nobles, whose lives had in +like manner been sacrificed, brought up the rear; and alas! how +many nameless dead must have been left in the ruins!</p> +<p>Each coffin when brought to the shore was placed in a boat, +and with muffled oars transplanted to the vessel ready to receive +it, while the troops remained drawn up on the shore. The +procession that ensued was almost more mournful. It was +still of biers, but these were not of the dead but of the living, +and again the foremost was the King of France, while next to him +came his sister, the Queen of Navarre. Edward went down to +his litter, as it was brought on the beach, and offered him his +arm as he feebly stepped forth to enter the boat. Philippe +looked up to his tall cousin, and wrung his hands as he murmured, +“Alas! what is to be the end of all this?” +Edward made kind and cheerful reply, that things would look +better when they met at Trapani, and then almost lifted the young +king into his boat. Poor youth, he had not yet seen the +end! He was yet to lose his wife, his brother-in-law, and +his uncle and aunt, ere he should see his home again.</p> +<p>Richard and Hamlyn de Valence, as part of the Prince’s +train, had moved in the procession; and they were for the rest of +the day in close attendance on their lord, conveying his numerous +orders for the embarkation of the troops on the morrow, on their +return to Sicily. It was not till night-fall that Richard +returned to his tent, where John of Dunster was sitting on the +sand at the door, eagerly watching for him. “Well, +Jack, my lad, how hast thou sped?” asked he, +advancing. “Couldst see our doleful array?”</p> +<p>“Is it thou, indeed, this time?” said the boy, +catching at his cloak.</p> +<p>“Why, who should it be?”</p> +<p>“Thy wraith! Thy double-ganger has been here +Richard.”</p> +<p>“What, dreaming again?”</p> +<p>“No no! I am well, I am strong. But this +<i>is</i> the land of enchantment! Thou knowst it is. +Did we not see a fleet of fairy boats sailing on the sea? and a +leaf eat up a fly here on this very tent pole? And did not +the Fay Morgaine show us towns and castles and churches in the +sea? Thou didst not call me light-headed then, Richard; +thou sawest it too!”</p> +<p>“But this wraith of mine! Where didst see +it?”</p> +<p>“In this tent. I was lying on the sand, trying if +I could make it hold enough to build a castle of it, when the +curtain was put back, and there thou stoodest, +Richard!”</p> +<p>“Well, did I speak or vanish?”</p> +<p>“Oh, thou spakest—I mean the <i>thing</i> spake, +and it said, ‘Is this the tent of the young Lord of +Montfort?’ How now—what have I said?”</p> +<p>“Whom did he ask for?” demanded Richard +breathlessly.</p> +<p>“Montfort—young Lord de Montfort!” replied +John; “I know it was, for he said it twice over.”</p> +<p>“And what didst thou answer?”</p> +<p>“What should I answer? I said we had no Montforts +here; for they were all dishonoured traitors, slain and +outlawed.”</p> +<p>Richard could not restrain a sudden indignant exclamation that +startled the boy. “Every one says so! My father +says so!” he returned, somewhat defiantly.</p> +<p>“Not of the Earl,” said Richard, recollecting +himself.</p> +<p>“He said every one of the young Montforts was a foul +traitor, and man-sworn tyrant, as bad as King John had been ere +the Charter,” repeated John hotly, “and their father +was as bad, since he would give no redress. Thou knowst how +they served us in Somerset and Devon!”</p> +<p>“I have heard, I have heard,” said Richard, +cutting short the story, and controlling his own burning pain, +glad that the darkness concealed his face. “No more +of that; but tell me, what said this stranger?”</p> +<p>“Thou thinkest it was really a stranger, and not thy +wraith?” said John anxiously. “I hope it was, +for Dame Idonea said if it were a wraith, it betokened that thou +wouldst not—live long—and oh, Richard! I could +not spare thee!”</p> +<p>And the little fellow came nestling up to his friend’s +breast in an access of tenderness, such as perhaps he would have +disdained save in the darkness.</p> +<p>“Did Dame Idonea see him?” asked Richard.</p> +<p>“No; but she came in soon after he had +vanished.”</p> +<p>“Vanished! What, like Fay Morgaine’s +castles? Tell me in sooth, John; it imports me to +know. What did this stranger, when thou spakest thus of the +House of Montfort?”</p> +<p>“He answered,” said John; “he did not answer +courteously—he said, that I was a malapert little ass, and +demanded again where this young Montfort’s tent was. +So then I said, that if a Montfort dared to show his +traitor’s face in this camp, the Prince would hang him as +high as Judas; for I wanted to be rid of him, Richard! it was so +dreadful to see thy face, and hear thy voice talking French, and +asking for dead traitors.”</p> +<p>“French!” said Richard. “Methought +thou knewst no French!”</p> +<p>“I—I have heard it long now, more’s the +pity,” faltered John, “and—and I’d have +spoken anything to be rid of that shape.”</p> +<p>“And wert thou rid? What befell then?”</p> +<p>“It cursed the Prince, and King, and all of them,” +said John with a shudder; “it looked black and deadly, and +I crossed myself, and said the Blessed Name, and no doubt it +writhed itself and went off in brimstone and smoke, for I shut my +eyes, and when I looked up again it was gone!”</p> +<p>“Gone! Didst look after him?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no! Earthly things are all food for a brave +man’s sword,” said Master John, drawing himself up +very valiantly, “but wraiths and things from +beneath—they do scare the very heart out of a man. +And I lay, I don’t know how, till Dame Idonea came in; and +she said either the foul fiend had put on thy shape because he +boded thee ill, or it was one of the traitor brood looking for +his like.”</p> +<p>“Tell me, John,” said Richard anxiously; +“surely he was not in all points like me. Had he our +English white cross?”</p> +<p>“I cannot say as to the cross,” said John; +“meseemed it was all you—yourself—and that was +all—only I thought your voice was strange and +hollow—and—now I think of it—yes—he was +bearded—brown bearded. And,” with a sudden +thought, “stand up, prithee, in the opening of the +tent;” and then taking his post where he had been sitting +at the time of the apparition, “He was not so tall as thou +art. Thy head comes above the fold of the curtain, and his, +I know, did not touch it, for I saw the light over it. Then +thou dost not think it was thy wraith?” he added +anxiously.</p> +<p>“I think my wraith would have measured me more exactly +both in stature and in age,” said Richard lightly. +“But how did Leonillo comport himself? He brooks not +a stranger in general; and dogs cannot endure the presence of a +spirit.”</p> +<p>“Ah! but he fawned upon this one, and thrust his nose +into his hand,” said John, “and I think he must have +run after him; for it was so long ere he came back to me, that I +had feared greatly he was gone, and oh, Richard! then I must have +gone too! I could never have met you without +Leonillo.”</p> +<p>By this time Richard had little doubt that the visitor must +have been one of his brothers, Simon or Guy, who were not +unlikely to be among the Provençals, in the army of +Charles of Anjou. He had not been thought to resemble them +as a boy, but he had observed how much more alike brothers appear +to strangers than they do to their own family; and he knew by +occasional observations from the Prince, as well as from his +brother Henry’s recognition of his voice, that the old +Montfort characteristics must be strong in himself. He +would not, however, avow his belief to John of Dunster. +Secrecy on his own birth had been enjoined on him by his uncle +the King; and disobedience to the old man’s most trifling +commands was always sharply resented by the Prince; nor was the +boy’s view of the House of Montfort very favourable to such +a declaration. Richard really loved the brave little +fellow, and trusted that some day when the discovery must be +made, it would be coupled with some exploit that would show it +was no name to be ashamed of. So he only told the boy that +he had no doubt the stranger was a foreign knight, who had once +known the old Leicester family; but bade him mention the +circumstance to no one. He feared, however, that the +caution came too late, since Dame Idonea was not only an +inveterate gossip, but was likely to hold in direful suspicion +any one who had been inquired for by such a name.</p> +<p>The personal disappointment of having missed his brother was +great. Richard was very lonely. The Princes, and +Hamlyn de Valence, were the only persons who knew his secret, and +both by Prince Edmund and De Valence he was treated with +indifference or dislike. Edward himself, though the object +of his fervent affection, and his protector in all essentials, +was of a reserved nature, and kept all his attendants at a great +distance. On very rare occasions, when his feelings had +been strongly stirred—as in the instance of his visit to +his uncle’s death-chamber—he might sometimes unbend; +and momentary flashes from the glow of his warm deep heart went +further in securing the love and devotion of those around him, +than would the daily affability of a lower nature; but in +ordinary life, towards all concerned with him except his nearest +relations, he was a strict, cold, grave disciplinarian, ever +just, though on the side of severity, and stern towards the +slightest neglect or breach of observance, nor did he make any +exception in favour of Richard. If the youth seldom +received one of his brief annihilating reproofs, it was because +they were scarcely ever merited; but he had experienced that any +want of exactitude in his duties was quite as severely visited as +if he had not been the Prince’s close kinsman, romantically +rescued by him, and placed near his person by his special +desire. And Eleanor, with all her gentle courtesy and +kindness, was strictly withheld by her husband from pampering or +cockering his pages; nor did she ever transgress his will.</p> +<p>The atmosphere was perhaps bracing, but it was bleak: and +there were times when Richard regretted his acceptance of the +Prince’s offer, and yearned after family ties, equality, +and freedom. Simon and Guy had never been kind to him, but +at least they were his brothers, and with them disguise and +constraint would be over—he should, too, be in +communication with his mother and sister. He was strongly +inclined to cast in his lot with them, and end this life of +secrecy, and distrust from all around him save one, and his loyal +love ill requited even by that one. It grieved him keenly +that one of his brothers should have been repulsed from his tent; +an absolutely famished longing for fraternal intercourse gained +possession of him, and as he lay on his pallet that night in the +dark, he even shed tears at the thought of the greeting and +embrace that he had missed.</p> +<p>Still he had hopes for the future. There must be +meetings and possibilities of inquiries passing between the three +armies, and he would let no opportunity go by. The next +day, however, there was no chance. The English troops were +embarked in their vessels, and after a short and prosperous +passage were again landed at Trapani, the western angle of +Sicily. The French had sailed first, but were not in +harbour when the English came in; and the Sicilians, who had +brought up the rear, arrived the next day, but still there was no +tidings of the French. Towards the evening, however, the +royal vessel bearing Philippe III. came into harbour, and all the +rest were in sight, when at sunset a frightful storm arose, and +the ships were in fearful case. Many foundered, many were +wrecked on the rocky islets around the port, and the French army +was almost as much reduced in numbers as it had been by the +Plague of Carthage.</p> +<p>Charles of Anjou remained himself in the town of Trapani, but +knowing the evils of crowding a small space with troops, he at +once sent his men inland, and Richard was again disappointed of +the hope of seeing or hearing of his brothers; for the Prince +still forbade all intercourse with the shattered remnant of the +French army, justly dreading that they might still carry about +them the seeds of the infection of the camp.</p> +<p>The three heads of the Crusade, however, met in the Castle of +Trapani to hold council on their future proceedings. The +place was the state-chamber of the castle.</p> +<p>Each prince had brought with him a single attendant, and the +three stood in waiting near the door, in full view of their +lords, though out of earshot. It was an opportunity that +Richard could not bear to miss of asking for his brothers, +unheard by any of those English ears who would be suspicious +about his solicitude for the House of Montfort. A +lively-looking Neapolitan lad was the attendant of King Charles; +and in spite of all the perils of attempting conversation while +thus waiting, Richard had—while the princes were greeting +one another, and taking their seats—ventured the question, +whether any of the sons of the English Earl of Leicester were in +the Sicilian army. Of Earl of Leicester the Italian knew +nothing; but Count of Montfort was a more familiar sound. +“Si, si, vero!” Sicily had rung with it; and +Count Rosso Aldobrandini, of the Maremma Toscana, had given his +only daughter and heiress to the banished English knight, Guido +di Monforte, who had served in the king’s army as a +Provençal.</p> +<p>Richard’s heart beat high. Guy a well-endowed +count, with a castle, lands, and home! He would have asked +where Guy now was, and how far off was the Maremma; but the +conference between the princes was actually commencing, and +silence became necessary on the part of their attendants.</p> +<p>They could only hear the murmur of voices; but could discern +plainly the keen looks and animated gestures of Charles of Anjou, +the sickly sullen indifference of Philippe, and the majestic +gravity of Edward, whose noble head towered above the other two +as if he were their natural judge. Charles was, in fact, +trying to persuade the others to sail with him for Greece, and +there turn their forces on the unfortunate Michael +Palæologos, who had lately recovered Constantinople, the +Empire that Charles hoped to win for himself, the favoured +champion of Rome.</p> +<p>Philippe merely replied that he had had enough of crusading, +he was sick and weary, he must go home and bury his father, and +get himself crowned. Charles might be then seen trying a +little hypocrisy; and telling Philippe that his saintly father +would only have wished to speed him on the way of the +Cross. Then that trumpet voice of Edward, whose tones +Richard never missed, answered, “What is the way of the +Cross, fair uncle?”</p> +<p>It was well known that Louis IX. had refused to crusade +against Christians, even Greek Christians, and Philippe soon +sheltered himself under the plea that had not at first occurred +to his dull mind. In effect, he laid particulars before his +uncle, that quickly made it plain that the French army was in too +miserable a condition to do anything but return home; and Charles +then addressed his persuasions to Edward—striving to +convince him in the first place of the sanctity of a war against +Greek heretics, and when Edward proved past being persuaded that +arms meant for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre ought not to be +employed against Christians who reverenced it, he tried to +demonstrate the uselessness of hoping to conquer the Holy Land, +even by such a Crusade as had been at first planned, far less +with the few attached to Edward’s individual banner. +Long did the king argue on. His low voice was scarcely +audible, even without the words; but Edward’s brief, +ringing, almost scornful, replies, never failed to reach +Richard’s ear, and the last of them was, “It skills +not, my fair uncle. For the Holy Land I am vowed to fight, +and thither would I go had I none with me but Fowen, my +groom!”</p> +<p>And withal his eye lit on Richard, with a look of certainty of +response; of security that here was one to partake his genuine +ardour, and of refreshment in the midst of his disgust with the +selfish uncle and sluggish cousin. That look, that half +smile, made the youth’s heart bound once more. Yes, +with him he would go to the ends of the earth! What was the +freedom of Guy’s castle, to the following of such a lord +and leader in such a cause?</p> +<p>Richard could have thrown himself at his feet, and poured +forth pledges of fidelity. But in ten minutes he was +following home the unapproachable, silent, cold warrior.</p> +<p>And the lack of any outlet for his aspirations turned them +back upon themselves, with a strange sense of bitterness and +almost of resentment. Leonillo alone, as the creature lay +at his feet, and looked up into his face with eyes of deep +wistful meaning, seemed to him to have any feeling for him; and +Leonillo became the recipient of many an outpouring of something +between discontent and melancholy. Leonillo, the sole +remnant of his home! He burnt for that Holy Land where he +was to win the name and fame lacking to him; but there was to be +long delay.</p> +<p>Fain would the Prince have proceeded at once to Palestine; but +the Genoese, from whom, in the abeyance of the English navy, he +had been obliged to hire his transports, absolutely refused to +sail for the East until after the three winter months; and he was +therefore obliged to remain in Sicily. King Charles invited +him to spend Christmas at the court at Syracuse or Naples, in +hopes, perhaps, of persuading him to the Greek expedition; but +Edward was far too much displeased with the Angevin to accept his +hospitality; recollecting, perhaps, that such a sojourn had been +little beneficial to his great-uncle Cœur de Lion’s +army. He decided upon staying where he was, in the remotest +corner of Sicily, and keeping his three hundred crusaders as much +to themselves and to strict military discipline as possible, +maintaining them at his own cost, and avoiding as far as he could +all transactions with the cruel and violent Provençal +adventurers, with whom Charles had filled the island.</p> +<p>Thus Richard found his hopes of obtaining further intelligence +about his brothers entirely passing away. He did, indeed, +venture on one day saying to the Prince, “My Lord, I hear +that my brother Guy hath become a Neapolitan count!”</p> +<p>“A Tuscan robber would be nearer the mark!” coldly +replied Edward.</p> +<p>“And,” added Richard, “methought, while the +host is in winter quarters, I would venture on craving your +license, my Lord, to visit him?”</p> +<p>“Thou hast thy choice, Richard,” answered the +Prince, with grave displeasure; “loyalty and honour with +me, or lawlessness and violence with thy brother. Both +cannot be thine!”</p> +<p>And returning to his study of the Lais of Marie de France, he +made it evident that he would hear no more, and left Richard to a +sharp struggle; in which hot irritation and wounded feeling would +have carried him away at once from the stern superior who +required the sacrifice of all his family, and gave not a word of +sympathy in return. It was the crusading vow alone that +detained the youth. He could not throw away his pledge to +the wars of the Cross, and it was plain that if he went now to +seek out Guy, he should never be allowed to return to the +crusading army. But that vow once fulfilled, proud Edward +should see, that not merely sufferance but friendliness was +needed to bind the son of his father’s sister to his +service. The brother at Bednall Green was right, this +bondage was worse than beggary. Nor, under the influence of +these feelings, had Richard’s service the alacrity and +affection for which it had once been remarkable: the Prince +rebuked his short-comings unsparingly, and thus added to the +sense of injury that had caused them; Hamlyn de Valence sneered, +and Dame Idonea took good care to point out both the +youth’s neglects and his sullenness, and to whisper +significantly that she did not wonder, considering the stock he +came of. A soothing word or gentle excuse from the +kind-hearted Princess were the only gleams of comfort that +rendered the present state of things endurable.</p> +<p>Just after Christmas arrived a vessel with reinforcements from +home. Among them came a small body of Hospitaliers, with +the novice Raynal at their head, now a full-blown knight, in +dazzling scarlet and white, as Sir Reginald Ferrers. +Richard at once recognized him, when he came to present himself +to the Prince, and was very desirous of learning whether he knew +aught of that other brother, so mysteriously hidden in +obscurity. Sir Raynal on his side seemed to share the +desire; he exchanged a friendly glance with the page, and when +the formality of the reception was over sought him out, saying, +“I have a greeting for you, Master Fowen.”</p> +<p>“From Sir Robert Darcy?” asked Richard. +“How fares it with the kind old knight?”</p> +<p>“Excellent well! Nay, nothing fares amiss with +Father Robert!” said the young knight, smiling. +“Everything is the very best that could have befallen +him—to hear him speak. He is the very sunshine of the +Spital, and had he been ordered on this Crusade, I think all the +hamlets round would have risen to withhold him.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” said Richard, hoping he was acting +indifference; “said he aught of the little maiden with the +blind father?”</p> +<p>“Pretty Bessee and Blind Hal of Bednall Green? +Verily, that was the purport of my message. The poor knave +hath been sorely sick and more cracked than ever this autumn; +insomuch that Father Robert spent whole nights with him; and +though he be better now, and as much in his senses as e’er +he will be, such another access is like to make an end of +him. Now, Father Robert saith that you, Sir Page, know who +the poor man is by birth, and that he prays you to send him word +what had best be done with the child, in case either of his death +or of his getting so frenzied as to be unable to take care of +her.”</p> +<p>“Send him word!” repeated Richard in +perplexity.</p> +<p>“We shall certainly have some one returning soon to the +Spital,” replied Sir Raynal. “Indeed, methinks +some of the princes will be like to return, for the old King of +the Romans is failing fast, and King Henry implored that the +Prince of Almayne would come to hearten him.”</p> +<p>“Then must I write to Sir Robert?” said Richard; +“mine is scarce a message for word of mouth.”</p> +<p>“So he said it was like to be,” returned the +knight, “and he took thought to send you a slip of +parchment, knowing, he said, that such things are not wont to be +found in a crusader’s budget. Moreover, if ink be +wanting, he bade me tell you that there’s a fish in these +seas, with many arms, and very like the foul fiend, that carries +a bag of ink as good as any scrivener’s.”</p> +<p>“I have seen the monster,” said Richard, who had +often been down to the beach to see the unlading of the +fishermen’s boats, and to share little John of +Dunster’s unfailing marvel, that the Mediterranean should +produce such outlandish creatures, so alien to his Bristol +Channel experiences.</p> +<p>And the very next time the boats came in, Richard made his way +to the shore, on the beautiful, rocky, broken coast; and +presently encountered a sepia, which fully justified Sir +Robert’s comparison, lying at the bottom of a boat. +The fisherman intended it for his own dinner, when all his +choicer fish should have gone to supply the Friday’s meal +of the English chivalry; and he was a good deal amazed when the +young gentleman, making his Provençal as like Sicilian as +he could, began to traffic with him for it, and at last made him +understand that it was only its ink-bag that he wanted.</p> +<p>The said ink, secured in a shell, was brought home by Richard, +together with a couple of the largest sea-bird’s quills +that he could find—and which he shaped with his dagger, as +best he might, in remembrance of Father Adam de Marisco’s +writing lessons. He meditated what should be the language +of his letter, which was not likely to be secure from the eyes of +the few who could read it; and finally decided that English was +the tongue known to the fewest readers, who, if they knew letters +at all, were sure to be acquainted with French and Latin.</p> +<p>On a strip of parchment, then, about nine inches long and +three wide, he proceeded to indite, in upright cramped letters, +with many contractions, nearly in such terms as these—</p> +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Reverend and Knightly +Father</span>,</p> +<p>The good ghostly father and knight, Sir Raynald Ferrers, hath +borne to me your tidings of my brother’s sickness, and of +all your goodness to him—whereof I pray that our blessed +Lady and good St. John may reward you, for I can only pray for +you. Touching his poor little daughter, in case of his +death or frenzy, which the Saints of their mercy forefend, I +would entreat you of your goodness to place her in some nunnery, +but without making known her name and quality until my return; so +Heaven bring me home safe. But an if I should be slain in +this Eastern land, then were it most for the little one’s +good to present her to the gracious lady Princess, by whom she +would be most lovingly and naturally cared for; and would be more +safe than with such as might shun to own her rights of blood and +heirship. Commend me to my brother, if so be that he cares +to hear of me; and tell him that Guy hath wedded the lady of a +castle in the land of Italy. And so praying you, ghostly +father, for your blessing, I greet you well, and rest your +grateful bedesman and servant,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Richard of +Leicester</span>.</p> +<p>Given at the Prince’s camp at Drepanum, in the realm of +Sicilia, on the octave of the Epiphany, in the year of grace +<span class="GutSmall">MCCLXX</span>.; and so our Lord have you +heartily in His keeping.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Letter-writing was a mighty task; and Richard’s +extemporary implements were not of the best. He laboured +hard over his composition, kneeling against a chest in the +tent. When at length he raised his head, he encountered a +face full of the most utter amazement. Little John of +Dunster had come into the tent, and stood gazing at him with open +eyes and gaping mouth, as if he were perpetrating an +incantation. Richard could not help laughing.</p> +<p>“Why, Jack, dost think I am framing a spell for +thee?”</p> +<p>“Writing!” gasped John, relieving his distended +mouth by at length closing it.</p> +<p>“Wherefore not? Did not I see the chaplain +teaching thee to write at Guildford?”</p> +<p>“Ay—but that was when I was a babe! +Writing! Why, my father never writes!”</p> +<p>“But the Prince does. Thou hast seen him +write. Come now,” added Richard: “if thou wilt, +I will help thee to write a letter to send thy greetings home to +Dunster. Thy father and mother will be right glad to hear +thou hast ’scaped that African fever.”</p> +<p>“They!—They’d think me no better than a +French monk!” said John. “And none of them +could read it either! I’ll never write! My +grandsire only set his cross to the great charter!”</p> +<p>And John retreated—in fear perhaps that Richard would +sully his manhood with a writing lesson!</p> +<p>The letter was rolled up in a scroll, bound with a silken +thread, and committed to the charge of Sir Raynald Ferrers, who +was going shortly to be commandery of his Order at Castel San +Giovanni, whence he had no doubt of being able to send the letter +safely to Sir Robert Darcy, at the Grand Priory.</p> +<p>It would perhaps have been more expeditious to have intrusted +the letter to one of the suite of Prince Henry of Almayne, who +had been recalled by the tidings of the state of his +father’s health; but Richard dreaded betraying his +brother’s secret too much to venture on confiding the +missive to any of this party—none of whom were indeed +likely to wish to oblige him. Hamlyn de Valence was going +with Henry as his esquire; and his absence seemed to Richard like +the beginning of better days.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX<br /> +ASH WEDNESDAY</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Mostrocci un ombra da l’ un canto +sola<br /> +Dicendo ‘Colui feese in grembo a Dio<br /> +Lo cuor che’n su Tamigi ancor si cola.’”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Dante</span>. <i>Inferno</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Shrovetide</span> had come, and the Prince +had, before leaving Trapani, been taking some share in the +entertainments of the Carnival. Personally, his grave +reserve made gaieties distasteful to him; and the disastrous +commencement of the Crusade weighed on his spirits. But +when state and show were necessary, he provided for them with +royal bounty and magnificence, and caused them to be regulated +with the admirable taste of that age of exceeding beauty in which +he lived.</p> +<p>Thus, in this festal season, banquets were provided, and +military shows took place, for the benefit of the Sicilian +nobility and of the citizens of Trapani, on such a scale, that +the English rose high in general esteem; and many were the secret +wishes that Edmund of Lancaster rather than Charles of Anjou had +been able to make good the grant from the Pope.</p> +<p>Splendid were the displays, and no slight toil did they +involve on the part of the immediate train of the Prince, few in +number as they were, and destitute of the appliances of the +resident court. Richard hurrying hither and thither, and +waiting upon every one, had little of the diversion of the +affair; but he would willingly have taken treble the care and +toil in the relief it was to be free from the prying mistrustful +eyes of Hamlyn de Valence. Looking after little John of +Dunster was, however, no small part of his trouble; the urchin +was so certain to get into some mischief if left to +himself—now treading on a lady’s train, now upsetting +a flagon of wine, now nearly impaling himself upon the point of a +whole spitful of ortolans that were being handed round to the +company, now becoming uncivilly deaf upon his French ear. +Altogether, it was a relief to Richard’s mind when he +stumbled upon the little fellow fast asleep, even though it was +in the middle of the Princess’s violet velvet and ermine +mantle, which she had laid down in order to tread a stately +measure with Sire Guillaume de Porçeles.</p> +<p>After all Richard’s exertions that evening, it was no +wonder that the morning found him fast asleep at the unexampled +hour of eight! His wakening was a strange one. His +little fellow-page was standing beside him with a strange +frightened yet important air.</p> +<p>“What is the matter, John? It is late? Is +the Prince gone to Mass? Has he missed me?” cried +Richard, starting up in dismay, for unpunctuality was a great +offence with Edward.</p> +<p>“He is gone to Mass,” said John, “but, +before he comes back,” he came near and lowered his voice, +“Hob Longbow sent me to say you had better flee.”</p> +<p>“Flee! Boy, why should I flee? Are +<i>your</i> senses fleeing?”</p> +<p>“O Richard,” cried John, his face clearing up, +“then it is not true! You are not one of the traitor +Montforts!”</p> +<p>“If I were a hundred Montforts, what has that to do with +it?”</p> +<p>“Then all is well,” exclaimed the boy. +“I said you were no such thing! I’ll tell Hob +he lied in his throat.”</p> +<p>“If he said I was a traitor, verily he did; but as to +being a Montfort—But, how now, John, what means all +this?”</p> +<p>“Then it is so! O Richard, Richard, you cannot be +one of them! You cannot have written that letter to warn +them to murder Prince Henry.”</p> +<p>“To murder Prince Henry!” Richard stood +transfixed. “Not the Prince’s little +son!”</p> +<p>“Oh no, Prince Henry of Almayne! At Viterbo! +Hamlyn de Valence saw it. He is come back. It was in +the Cathedral. O Richard—at the elevation of the +Host! Guy and Simon de Montfort fell on him, stabbed him to +the heart, and rushed out. Then they came back again, and +dragged him by the hair of his head into the mire, and shouted +that so their father had been dragged through the streets of +Evesham. And then they went off to the Maremma! +And,” continued the boy breathlessly, “Hob Long-bow +is on guard, and he bade me tell you, that for love of your +father he will let you pass; and then you can hide; if only you +can go ere the Prince comes forth.”</p> +<p>“Hide! Wherefore should I hide? This is most +horrible, but it is no deed of mine!” said Richard. +“Who dares to think it is?”</p> +<p>“Then you are none of them! You had no part in +it! I shall tell Hob he is a villain—”</p> +<p>“Stay,” said Richard, laying a detaining hand on +the boy. “Why does Hob think me in danger? Is +anything stirring against me?”</p> +<p>“They all—all of poor Prince Henry’s +meiné, that are come back with Hamlyn—say that you +are a Montfort too, and—oh! do not look so +fierce!—that you sent a letter to warn your brethren where +to meet, and fall on the Prince. And the murderers being +fled, they are keen to have your life; and, Richard, you know I +saw you write the letter.”</p> +<p>“That you saw me write a letter, is as certain as that +my name is Montfort,” said Richard, “but I am not +therefore leagued with traitors or murderers! In the +church, saidst thou? Oh, well that the Prince forbade me to +visit Guy!”</p> +<p>“Then you will not flee?”</p> +<p>“No, forsooth. I will stay and prove my +innocence.”</p> +<p>“But you are a Montfort! And I saw you write the +letter.”</p> +<p>“Did you speak of my having written the letter?” +asked Richard, pausing.</p> +<p>The boy hung his head, and muttered something about Dame +Idonea.</p> +<p>By this time, even if Richard had thought of flight, it would +have been impossible. Two archers made their presence +apparent at the entrance of the tent, and in brief gruff tones +informed Richard that the Prince required his presence. The +space between his tent and the royal pavilion was short, but in +those few steps Richard had time to glance over the dangers of +his position, and take up his resolution though with a certain +stunned sense that nothing could be before the member of a +proscribed family, but failure, suspicion, and ruin.</p> +<p>The two brothers, Edward and Edmund, with the Earl of +Gloucester, and their other chief councillors, were assembled; +and there were looks of deep concern on the faces of all, making +Edward’s more than ever like a rigid marble statue; while +Edmund had evidently been weeping bitterly, though his features +were full of fierce indignation. Hamlyn de Valence, and a +few other members of the murdered Prince’s suite, stood +near in deep mourning suits.</p> +<p>“Richard de Montfort,” said Prince Edward, looking +at him with a sorrowful reproachful sternness that went to his +heart, “we have sent for you to answer for yourself, on a +grave charge. You have heard of that which has +befallen?”</p> +<p>“I have heard, my Lord, of a foul crime which my soul +abhors. I trust none present here think me capable of +sharing in it! Whoever dares to accuse me, shall be +answered by my sword!” and he glanced fiercely at +Hamlyn.</p> +<p>“Hold!” said Edward severely, “no one is so +senseless as to accuse you of taking actual part in a crime that +took place beyond the sea; but there is only too much reason to +believe that you have been tampered with by your +brothers.”</p> +<p>Then, as his brother Edmund made some suggestion to him, he +added, “Is John de Mohun of Dunster here?”</p> +<p>“Yea, my Lord,” said the little boy, coming +forward, with a flush on his face, and a bold though wistful +look, “but verily Richard is no traitor, be he who he +may!”</p> +<p>“That is not what we wished to ask of you,” said +the Prince, too sad and earnest to be amused even for a +moment. “Tell us whom you said, even now, you had +seen in the tent you shared with him in Africa.”</p> +<p>“I said I had seen his wraith,” said John.</p> +<p>No smile lighted upon the Prince’s features; they were +as serious as those of the boy, as he commented, “His +likeness—his exact likeness—you mean.”</p> +<p>“Ay,” said the boy; “but Richard proved to +me after, that it had been less tall, and was bearded +likewise. So I hoped it did not bode him ill.”</p> +<p>“Worse, I fear, than if it had in sooth been his +double,” said Gloucester to Prince Edmund. The Prince +added the question whether this visitor had spoken; and John +related the inquiry for Richard by the name of Montfort, and his +own reply, which elicited a murmur of amused applause among the +bystanders.</p> +<p>The Prince, however, continued in the same grave manner to +draw from the little witness his account of Richard’s +injunction to secresy; and then asked about the letter-writing, +of which John gave his plain account. The Prince then said, +“Speak now, Hamlyn.”</p> +<p>“This, then, I have to add, my Lord, that I, as all the +world, remarked that Richard de Montfort consorted much with Sir +Reginald de Ferrières, who, as we all remember, is the son +of a family deeply concerned in the Mad Parliament. By Sir +Reginald, on his arrival at Castel San Giovanni, a messenger is +despatched, bearing letters to the Hospital at Florence, and it +is immediately after his arrival there, that the two Montforts +speed from the Maremma to the unhappy and bloody Mass at +Viterbo.”</p> +<p>“You hear, Richard!” said the Prince. +“I bade you choose between me and your brothers. Had +you believed me that you could not serve both, it had been better +for you. I credit not that you incited them to the +assassination; but your tidings led them to perpetrate it. +I cannot retain the spy of the Montforts in my camp.”</p> +<p>“My Lord,” said Richard, at last finding space for +speech, “I deny all collusion with my brothers. I +have neither seen, spoken with, nor sent to them by letter nor +word.”</p> +<p>“Then to whom was this letter?” demanded the +Prince.</p> +<p>“To Sir Robert Darcy, the Grand Prior of England,” +answered Richard.</p> +<p>A murmur of incredulous amazement was heard.</p> +<p>“The purport?” continued Edward.</p> +<p>“That, my Lord, it consorts not with my duty to +tell.”</p> +<p>“Look here, Richard,” interposed Gilbert of +Gloucester, “this is an unlikely tale. You can have +no cause for secresy, save in connection with these brothers; and +if you will point to some way of clearing yourself of being art +and part in this foul act of murder, you may be sent scot free +from the camp; but if you wilfully maintain this denial, what can +we do but treat you as a traitor? No obstinacy! What +can a lad like you have to say to good old Sir Robert Darcy, that +all the world might not know?”</p> +<p>“My Lord of Gloucester,” said Richard, “I am +bound in honour not to reveal the matters between me and Sir +Robert; I can only declare on the faith of a Christian gentleman +that I have neither had, nor attempted to have, any dealings with +either of my brothers, Guy or Simon; and if any man says I have, +I will prove his falsehood on his body.” And Richard +flung down his glove before the Prince.</p> +<p>At the same moment Hamlyn de Valence sprang forward.</p> +<p>“Then, Richard de Montfort, I take up the gage. I +give thee the lie in thy throat, and will prove on thy body that +thou art a man-sworn traitor, in league with thy false +brethren.”</p> +<p>“I commit me to the judgment of God,” said +Richard, looking upwards.</p> +<p>“My Lord,” said Hamlyn, “have we your +permission to fight out the matter?”</p> +<p>“You have,” said Edward, “since to that holy +judgment Richard hath appealed.”</p> +<p>But the Prince looked far from contented with the +appeal. He allowed the preliminaries of place and time to +be fixed without his interposition; and when the council broke +up, he fixed his clear deep eyes upon Richard in a manner which +seemed to the boy to upbraid him with the want of confidence, for +which, however, he would not condescend to ask. Richard +felt that, let the issue of the combat be what it would, he had +lost that full trust on the part of the Prince, which had +hitherto been his one drop of comfort; and if he were dismissed +from the camp, he should be more than ever desolate, for his soul +could scarce yet bring itself to grasp the horror of the crime of +his brothers.</p> +<p>The combat could not take place for two days—waiting, on +one, in order that Hamlyn might have time to rest, and recover +his full strength after his voyage, and the next, because it was +Ash Wednesday. In the meantime Richard was left solitary; +under no restraint, but universally avoided. The judicial +combat did not make him uneasy; the two youths had often measured +their strength together, and though Hamlyn was the elder, Richard +was the taller, and had inherited something of the Plantagenet +frame, so remarkable in those two</p> +<blockquote><p>Lords of the biting axe and beamy spear,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“wide conquering Edward” and “Lion +Richard”; and each believed in the righteousness of his own +cause sufficiently to have implicit confidence that the right +would be shown on his side.</p> +<p>In fact, Richard soon understood that though Prince Edward, +with a sense of the value of definite evidence far in advance of +the time, and befitting the English Justinian, had only allowed +the charge to be brought against him which could in a manner be +substantiated, yet that the general belief went much +further. Proved to be a Montfort, and to have written a +letter, he was therefore convicted, by universal consent, of a +league with his brothers for the revenge of their house; to have +instigated the assassination at Viterbo, and to be only biding +his time for the like act at Trapani. Even the Prince was +deeply offended by his silence, and imputed it to no good motive; +trust and affection were gone, and Richard felt no tie to retain +him where he was, save his duty as a crusader. Let him fail +in the combat, and the best he could look for would be to be +ignominiously branded and expelled: let him gain, and he much +doubted whether, though the ordeal of battle was always +respected, he would regain his former position. With keen +suffering and indignation, he rebelled against Edward’s +harshness and distrust. He—who had brought him +there—who ought to have known him better! Moreover, +there was the crushing sense of the guilt of his brothers; guilt +most horrible in its sacrilegious audacity, and doubly shocking +to the feelings of a family where the grim sanctity of the first +Simon de Montfort, and the enlightened devotion of the second, +formed such a contrast to the savage outrage of him who now bore +their name. Richard, as with bare feet and ashes whitening +his dark locks he knelt on the cold stones of the dark Norman +church at Trapani, wept hot and bitter tears of humiliation over +the family crimes that had brought them so low; prayed in an +agony for repentance for his brothers; and for himself, some +opening for expiating their sin against at least the generous +royal family. “O! could I but die for my Prince, and +know that he forgave and they repented!”</p> +<p>Only when on his way back to the camp was he sensible of the +murmurs of censure at his hypocrisy in joining the penitential +procession at all. Dame Idonea, in a complete suit of +sackcloth, was informing her friends that she had made a vow not +to wash her face till the whole adder brood of Montfort had been +crushed; and that she trusted to see the beginning of justice +done to-morrow. She had offered a candle to St. James to +that effect, hoping to induce him to turn away his patronage from +the family.</p> +<p>Every one, knight or squire, shrank away from Richard, if he +did but look towards them; and he was seriously discomfited by +the difficulty of obtaining a godfather for the combat. No +one chose even to be asked, lest they might be suspected of +approving of the murder of Prince Henry; and the unhappy page +re-entered his tent with the most desolate sense of being +abandoned by heaven and man.</p> +<p>Fastened upon the pole of the tent by an arrowhead, a small +scroll of parchment met his eyes. He read in +English—“A steed and a lance are ready for the +lioncel who would rather avenge his father than lick the +tyrant’s feet. A guide awaits thee.”</p> +<p>Some weeks since, this might have been a tempting summons; but +now the sickening sense of the sacrilegious murder, and of the +life of outlawry utterly unrestrained, passed over Richard. +Yet, if he should not accept the offer, what was before +him? A shameful death, perhaps; if he failed in the ordeal, +disgrace, captivity, or expulsion; if he succeeded, bondage and +distrust for ever. Some new accusation! some deeper +fall!</p> +<p>There was a low growl from Leonillo; the hangings of the tent +were raised, and an archer bending his head said, “A word +with you, Sir.”</p> +<p>“Who art thou?” demanded Richard.</p> +<p>“Hob Longbow, Sir. Remember you not old +passages—in the forest, there—and Master +Adam?”</p> +<p>Richard did remember the archer in the days of his outlaw +life, in a very different capacity.</p> +<p>“You were grown so tall, Sir, and so hand and glove with +the Longshanks, that Nick Dustifoot and I knew not an if it were +yourself—but now your name is out, and the wind is in +another quarter”—he grinned, then seeing Richard +impatient of the approach to familiarity, “You did not know +Nick Dustifoot? He was one of young Sir Simon’s +men-at-arms, you see, and took to the woods, like other folk, +after Kenilworth was given up, till stout men were awanting for +this Crusade. And he knew Sir Guy when he came to the camp +yon by Tunis, and spake with him; moreover, he went in the train +of him of Almayne to Viterbo, and had speech again with Sir +Simon, who gave him this scroll. And if you will meet him +at the Syren’s Rock to-night, my Lord Richard, he will +bring you to those who will conduct you to Sir Guy’s brave +castle, where he laughs kings and counts to scorn! We have +the guard, and will see you safe past the gates of the +camp.”</p> +<p>The way to liberty was open: Richard deliberated. The +atmosphere of distrust and suspicion under the Prince’s +coldness was well-nigh unbearable. Danger faced him for the +next day! Disgrace was everywhere. Should he leave it +behind, where, at least, he would not hear and feel it? +Should he, when all had turned from him, meet a brotherly +welcome?</p> +<p>Then came back on him the thought of what Simon and Guy had +made themselves; the thought of his father’s grief at +former doings of theirs, which had fallen so far short of the +atrocity of this. He knew that his father had rather have +seen each one of his five sons slain, or helpless cripples like +the firstborn, than have been thus avenged. Nay, had he +this morning prayed for the pardon of a crime, to which he would +thus become a consenting party?</p> +<p>He looked up resolutely. “No, Hob Longbow. +Hap what hap, my part can never be with those who have stained +the Church with blood. Let my brothers know that my heart +yearned to them before, but now all is over between us. I +can only bear the doom they have brought upon me!”</p> +<p>It was not possible to remain and argue. A tent was a +dangerous place for secret conferences, and Hob Longbow could +only growl, “As you will, Sir. Now nor you nor any +one else can say I have not done my charge.”</p> +<p>“Alack, alack!” sighed Richard, “would that, +my honour once redeemed, Hamlyn might make an end of me! +But for thee, my poor Leonillo, I have no comforter or +friend!” and he flung his arms round the dog’s +neck.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X<br /> +THE COMBAT</h2> +<blockquote><p>“And now with sae sharp of steele<br /> +They ’gan to lay on load.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Sir Cauline</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Heavy</span>-hearted and pale-cheeked with +his rigidly observed fast, Richard armed himself in early +morning, and set forth to the chapel tent, where the previous +solemnities had to be observed. He had made up his mind to +make an earnest appeal to the Earl of Gloucester, for the sake of +the old friendship with his father, to become his godfather in +the combat, as one whose character stood too high to be injured +by connection with him. Even this plan was frustrated, for +Hamlyn de Valence entered, led by Earl Gilbert as his +sponsor. Should he turn to his one other friend, the Prince +himself? Nay, the Prince was umpire and judge. Never +stood warrior so lonely. Little John of Dunster crept up to +his side; and but for fear of injuring the child, he would almost +have asked him to be his sponsor. At that moment, however, +the tramp of horses’ feet was heard, and Sir Reginald de +Ferrières, with his squires, galloped up to the tent.</p> +<p>The young Hospitalier held out his hand cordially. +“In time, I hope,” said he; “I have ridden ever +since Lauds at Castel San Giovanni, hoping to be with you, so as +to stand by you in this matter.”</p> +<p>“It was kindly done of you,” said Richard, tears +of gratitude swelling in his eyes, as he wrung Sir +Raynald’s hand. “I have not even a godfather +for the fight! How could you know of my need?”</p> +<p>“Some of our brethren came over from the camp, for our +Ash Wednesday procession, and spoke of the stress you were +in—that your Montfort lineage was out, and that you were +thought to have writ a letter—but stay, there’s no +time for words; methinks here’s the Prince and all his +train.”</p> +<p>Sir Raynald went through the solemnity of presenting Richard +de Montfort as about to fight in defence of his own +innocence. The Prince coldly accepted the +presentation. Richard knew that Sir Raynald was deemed +anything but a satisfactory sponsor; but the young knight’s +hearty sympathy, a sort of radiance caught from good old Sir +Robert, was too comforting not to be reposed on.</p> +<p>Each champion then confessed. Raynald heard +Richard’s shrift, and nearly wept over it—it was the +first the young priestly knight had received, and he could +scarcely clear his voice to speak the words of absolution. +Even as they left the confessional, he grasped Richard’s +hand and said, “Cast in thy lot with us! St. John +will find thee father and home and brethren!”</p> +<p>And a gleam of joy and hope flashed on the youth’s +heart, and shone brighter as he participated in the solemn Mass +in preparation for the combat. This over, each champion +made oath of the justice of his quarrel in the hands of his +godfather before the Prince: Hamlyn de Valence swearing that to +the best of his belief, Richard de Montfort was a traitor, in +league with his brothers, and art and part in the murder of +Prince Henry of Almayne, and offering to prove it on his body; +while on the other hand Richard swore that he was a true and +faithful liegeman to the King, free from all intercourse with his +brethren, and sackless of the death of Prince Henry.</p> +<p>Then each mounted on horseback, the trumpets sounded, the +sponsors led them to their places, and the Prince’s clear +voice exclaimed, “And so God show the right.” +One glance of pitying sympathy would have filled Richard’s +arm with fresh vigour.</p> +<p>The two youths closed with shivered lances, and horses reeling +from the shock. Backing their steeds, each received a fresh +lance. Again they met; Richard felt the point of +Hamlyn’s lance glint against his breastplate, glide down, +enter, make its way into his flesh; but at the same instant his +lance was pushing, driving, bearing on Hamlyn before him; the +sheer force in his Plantagenet shoulders was telling now, the +very pain seemed as it were to add to the energy with which he +pressed on—on, till the hostile spear dropped from his own +side, and Hamlyn was borne backwards over the croup of the +staggering horse, till he fell with crashing ringing armour upon +the ground. Little John clapped his hands, and shouted for +joy; but no one responded.</p> +<p>Richard leapt down in another second, and stood over +him. “Yield thee, Hamlyn de Valence. Confess +that thou hast slandered me with an ungrounded +accusation.”</p> +<p>Hamlyn had no choice. “Let me rise,” he said +sullenly; “I will confess, so thou letst me open my +visor.”</p> +<p>And Richard standing aside, Hamlyn spoke out in a dogged +formal tone. “I hereby own, that by the judgment of +Heaven, Richard de Montfort hath cleared himself of all share in +the foul murder of Lord Henry, whose soul Heaven assoilzie. +Also that he hath disproven the charge of leaguing with his +brethren.”</p> +<p>Richard was the victor, but where were the gratulations? +Young John’s hearty but slender hurrah was lost in the +general silence.</p> +<p>The Prince reared his stately form, and said, “The +judgment of Heaven is final. Richard de Montfort is +pronounced free of all penalty for treason in the matter of the +death of our dear cousin, and is free to go where he +will.”</p> +<p>Cold as ice was the Prince’s face. That Richard +meant murder to Henry, he had never believed; but that he had +hankered after his brothers, and held dangerous communings with +them, was evidently still credited and unforgiven. The very +form of words was a dismissal—and the youth’s heart +was wrung.</p> +<p>He stood, looking earnestly up as the Prince moved from his +place, without a glance towards him. The next moment +Raynald’s kind hand was on his shoulder, and his voice +saying, “Well fought, brother, a brave stroke! Come +with me, thou art hurt.”</p> +<p>“Would it were to the death!” murmured Richard +dreamily, as Raynald, throwing his arm round him, led him away; +but before they had reached the tent there was a plunging rush +and scampering behind them, and John of Dunster came dashing +up. “I knew it! I knew it!” he +cried. “I knew he would overset spiteful +Hamlyn! Hurrah! They can’t keep me away now, +Richard—now the judgment of Heaven has gone for +you!”</p> +<p>Richard smiled, and put his gauntleted hand caressingly on the +boy’s shoulder.</p> +<p>“I was afraid,” added John, “that you would +think me like the rest of them. Miscreants, all! Not +one would shout for you—you, the victor! They +don’t heed the judgment of Heaven one jot. And +that’s what they call being warriors of the Cross! If +the Prince were a true-born Englishman, he would be ashamed of +himself. But never heed, Richard. Why don’t you +speak to me? Are you angered that I told of the +letter? Indeed, I never guessed—”</p> +<p>“Hush, varlet,” said Sir Raynald, “see you +not that he has neither breath nor voice to speak? If you +wish to do him a service, hie to our tents—down yonder, to +the east, where you see the eight-pointed cross—”</p> +<p>“I know, Sir,” said John, perfectly civil on +hearing accents as English as his own.</p> +<p>“And bring up Brother Bartlemy, he is a better +infirmarer than I. Bid him from me bring his salves and +bandages.”</p> +<p>Richard was barely conscious when he reached the tent, as much +from rigid fasting and sleeplessness as from the actual loss of +blood. His friend disarmed him tenderly, and revived him +with bread and wine, silencing a half-murmured scruple about +Lenten diet with the dispensation due to sickness. The +wound was not likely to be serious or disabling, and the cares of +the Hospitalier and his infirmarer had presently set their +patient so much at ease that he dropped into a sound sleep, +having scarcely said a word, beyond a few faintly uttered thanks, +since he had fought the combat.</p> +<p>At first his sleep was profound, but by and by the +associations of blows and wounds carried him back to the field of +Evesham. The wild <i>mêlée</i> was renewed, he +heard the voice of his father, but always in that strange +distressing manner peculiar to dreams of the departed, always far +away, and just beyond his reach, ever just about to give him the +succour he needed, but ever withheld. The thunderstorm that +broke over the contending armies roared again in his ears; and +then again recurred the calm still night, when he had lain +helpless on the battle-field; even the caress of Leonillo, and +his low growl, were vividly repeated; but as the dog moved, it +was to Richard as if the form of his father rose up in its armour +from the dark field, and said in a deep hollow voice, “Well +fought, my son; I will give thee knighthood.” Then +Richard thought he was kneeling before his father, and hearing +that same voice saying, “My son, be true and loyal. +In the name of God and St. James. I dub thee knight of +death!” and looking up, he beheld under the helmet, not +Simon de Montfort’s face but the Prince’s. He +awoke with a start of disappointment—and there stood Edward +himself, leaning against the tent-pole, looking down at him!</p> +<p>He sprang on his feet, scarcely knowing whether he slept or +woke; but Edward said, in that voice that at times was so +ineffably sweet, “Be still, Richard; I fear me thou hast +suffered a wrong, and I am come to repair it, as far as I +can! Lay thee down again.”</p> +<p>And the Prince seated himself on the oaken chest; while +Richard, after a few words, sat down on his couch.</p> +<p>“Is this the letter about which there has been such a +coil?” said Edward, giving him the scroll in its sepia +ink.</p> +<p>“It is!” replied Richard in amazement and +dismay.</p> +<p>“The only letter thou didst write?”</p> +<p>“The only one,” repeated Richard.</p> +<p>“And,” added Edward, “it concerns thy +brother Henry.”</p> +<p>Richard turned even paler than before, and could not suppress +a gasp of dismay. “My Lord, make me not +forsworn!”</p> +<p>“Listen to me, Richard,” said Edward. +“My sweet lady gave me no rest about thee. She held +that I had withdrawn my trust over lightly, for what was no blame +to thine heart; and that having set thee here apart from thy +natural friends, we owed thee more notice than I have been wont +to think wholesome for untried striplings. Others, and I +among them, held that Raynald Ferrers’ friendship and +countenance showed thee stubbornly set on old connections, and +many thought the letter to the Grand Prior Darcy a mere +excuse. But when Hamlyn fell, and I still held that thou +wert merely cleared from wilful share in the deadly crime of +which I had never held thee guilty, then she spake more +earnestly. She of her own will sent for Raynald Ferrers to +our tent, and called me to speak with him, sure that, even though +his family had been our foes, he was too honourable a knight to +have espoused thy cause without good reason. Then it was +that he told us of thine interest for the blind beggar whose +child thou didst save, and of the Grand Prior’s +message. Also, as full exculpation of thee, he gave me the +letter, which, having failed to find a home-bound messenger at +San Giovanni, he had brought back to the camp. And now, +Richard, what can I say more, than that I did thee wrong, and +pray thee to give me thy hand in pardon?”</p> +<p>Richard hid his face and sobbed, completely overwhelmed by the +simple dignity of the humility of such a man as Edward. He +held the Prince’s hand to his lips, and exclaimed, +“Oh, how—how could I have ever felt discontent, or +faltered? not in truth—oh, no—but in trust and +patience? Oh! my Lord, that I could die for you!”</p> +<p>“Not yet,” said Edward, smiling; “we have +much to do together first. And now tell me, Richard, this +beggar is indeed Henry?”</p> +<p>Richard hung his head.</p> +<p>“What, thou mayst not betray him?”</p> +<p>“I am under an oath, my Lord.”</p> +<p>“Nay, I know well-nigh all, Richard. I did indeed +see my dear old comrade laid in Evesham Church, so as it broke my +heart to see him, bleeding from many wounds, and even his hand +lopped by the savage Mortimers. Then, as I bent down, and +gave his brow a last kiss, it struck me, for a moment, that the +touch was not that of a dead man’s skin. But I looked +again at the deadly wounds of head and breast, and thought it +would be but cruelty to strive to bring back the glimmer of life +only to—to see the ruin of his house; and all that he could +not be saved from. O Richard, to no man in either host +could the day of Evesham have been so sore, as to me, who had to +sit in the gate, to gladden men’s hearts, like holy King +David, when he would fain have been weeping for his son! +But in early morning came Abbot William of Whitchurch to my +chamber, and with much secrecy told me that the corpse of Henry +de Montfort had been stolen from the church by night, praying me +to excuse that the monks, wearied out with the day of alarms, and +the care of our wounded, had not kept better watch. Then +knew I that some one had been less faithless than I, and I hoped +that poor Henry was at least dying in peace; I had never deemed +that he could survive. But when I saw thy billet, and heard +Ferrers’ tale, I had no further doubt, remembering likewise +how strangely familiar was the face of that little one at +Westminster.”</p> +<p>“Yes, my Lord, it was even as a strange, wild, wilful, +blind beggar that I found poor Henry; and heavy was the curse he +laid me under, should I make him known to you. He calls +himself thus a freer and happier man than he could be even were +he pardoned and reinstated; and he can indulge his vein of +mockery.”</p> +<p>“I dare be sworn that consoles him for all,” said +Edward, nearly laughing. “So long as he could utter +his gibe, Henry little recked which way the world passed round +him; and I trow he has found some mate of low degree, that he +would be loth to produce in open day.”</p> +<p>“Not so, my Lord: it is so wild a tale of true love that +I can sometimes scarce believe a minstrel did not sing it to +me!” And Richard told the history of Isabel +Mortimer’s fidelity. The Prince was deeply touched, +and then remembered the marked manner in which the Baron of +Mortimer had replied to his inquiry, in what convent he had +bestowed Henry de Montfort’s betrothed. “She is +dead, my Lord, dead to us.” Then he added suddenly, +“So that black-eyed babe is the heiress of Leicester and +all the honours of Montfort!”</p> +<p>“It is one of the causes for Henry’s resolve to be +secret,” said Richard. “I thought it harsh and +distrustful then, but he dreaded Simon’s knowledge of +her.”</p> +<p>“We will find a way of securing her from Simon,” +said the Prince. “But fear not, Richard, +Henry’s secret shall be safe with me! I have kept his +secrets before now,” he added, with a smile. +“Only, when we are at home again—so it please the +Saints to spare us—thou shalt strive to show him cause to +trust my Lady with his child, if he doth not seek to breed her up +to scrip and wallet. I see such is thy counsel in this +scroll, and it is well.”</p> +<p>“How could I say other?” said Richard, “and +now, more than ever! I long to thank the gracious Princess +this very evening.”</p> +<p>“Thy wound?’ said the Prince.</p> +<p>“My wound is naught, I scarce feel it.”</p> +<p>“Then,” said the Prince, “unless the leech +gainsay it, it would be as well to be at our pavilion this +evening, that men may see thou art not in any disgrace. +Rest then till supper-time.” And as he spoke he rose +to depart, but Richard made a gesture of entreaty. +“So please your Grace, grant me a few farther words. +I sware, and truly, that I had heard nothing from my brothers +when I was accused of writing that letter to them. But see +here, what yester-morn was pinned to that tent-pole.”</p> +<p>He gave Edward the scroll, at which the Prince looked half +smiling. “So! A dagger in store for me too, is +there? Well, my cousins have a goodly thirst for +vengeance! Hast thou any suspicion how this billet came +here?”</p> +<p>“Ay, my Lord; and for that cause I would warn you +against two of the archers, one of whom was in Simon’s +troop, and went with the late prince to Viterbo. I gave +them no promise of silence.”</p> +<p>“You spoke with them?”</p> +<p>“With one, who was charged to let me through the +outposts to a spot where means were provided for bringing me to +Guy.”</p> +<p>“And thou,” said Edward, smiling, “didst +choose to bide the buffet?”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said Richard, “I did indeed long +after my brethren when Guy had been so near me in Africa; but +now, I would far rather die than cast in my lot with +them.”</p> +<p>“Thou art wise,” said Edward; “not merely +right, but wise. I have sent Gloucester to my uncle of +Sicily with such messages that he will scarce dare to leave them +scatheless! Then, at supper-time we meet again—in +thine own name, Richard, and as my kinsman and esquire. +Thou shalt bear thine own name and arms. I will cause a +mourning suit to be sent to thee—thou art equally of kin +with myself to poor Henry—and shalt mourn him with Edmund +and me at the requiem to-morrow. So will it best be +manifest to the camp, that we exempt thee from all +blame.” Again he was departing, when Richard +added—“The archers, my Lord—were it not good to +dismiss them?”</p> +<p>“Tush,” said Edward; “tell me not their +names. So soon as the wind veers, they will be beyond +Guy’s reach; and if I were to stand on my guard against +every man who loved thy father better than mine, what good would +my life do me? The poor knaves will be true enough when +they see a Saracen before them!”</p> +<p>And away went Edward, to be glanced at as he passed through +the camp, as a severe, hard, cruel tyrant. Had he only been +gay, open-hearted, and careless, he might have hung both the +guilty archers, and a dozen innocent ones into the bargain, and +yet have never won the character for harshness and unmercifulness +that he had acquired even while condoning many a dire offence, +simply from his stern gravity, and his punctilious exactitude in +matters of discipline. But the evils of a lax and +easy-going court had been so fatal, and had produced such +suffering, that it was no marvel that he had adopted a rule of +iron; and in the pain and distress of seeing his closest friends, +the noblest subjects in the realm, pushed into a rebellion where +he had himself to maintain his father’s cause, and then to +watch, without being able to hinder, the mean-spirited revenge of +his own partizans, his manner had acquired that silent reserve +and coldness which made him feared and hated by the many, while +intensely beloved by the few. Even towards those few it was +absolutely difficult to him to unbend, as he had done in this +hour of effusion towards Richard; and the youth was +proportionably moved and agitated with fervent gratitude and +affection.</p> +<p>He had scarcely had so happy an evening since he had been a +boy at Odiham. He was indeed feeble and dizzy at times, but +with a far from painful languor; and the Princess, enjoying the +permission to follow the dictates of her own heart, was kind to +him with a motherly or sisterly kindness, could not bear to +receive from him his wonted attendance, but made him lie upon the +cushions at her feet, and when out of hearing of every one, +talked of the faithful Isabel, and of “pretty +Bessee,” on whom she already looked as the companion of her +little Eleanor, whom she had left at home.</p> +<p>It might be questioned whether Richard did not undergo more in +watching little John de Mohun’s endeavours at waiting than +he would have suffered from doing it himself. And not a few +dissatisfied glances were levelled at the favoured stripling, +besides the literally as well as figuratively sour glances of +Dame Idonea.</p> +<p>Edward, being of course unable to betray his real grounds for +acquitting Richard, had only deigned to inform Prince Edmund that +he knew all, and was perfectly satisfied. Now Prince +Edmund, as well as all the old court faction, deemed +Edward’s regard for the Barons’ party an unreasonable +weakness that they durst not indeed combat openly, but which +angered them as a species of disaffection to his own cause. +The outer world thought him a tyrant, but there was an inner +world to whom he appeared weakly good-natured and generous; and +this inner world thought Richard had successfully hoodwinked +him!</p> +<p>Therefore Edmund of Lancaster desired to adopt Hamlyn de +Valence as his own squire, to save him from association with +Richard; and both prince and squire, and all the rest of the +train, made it perfectly evident to the young Montfort that he +was barely tolerated out of respect for the Prince.</p> +<p>But Richard in his joy could have borne worse than this, for +the Prince had not relaxed in his kindness, and made his young +cousin’s wound an excuse for showing him more tenderness +and consideration than he would otherwise have thought +befitting. Moreover, an esquire, as Richard had now become, +might be in much closer relations of intimacy with his master +than was possible to a page; and the day that had begun so sadly +was like the dawn of a brighter period.</p> +<p>Sir Raynald Ferrers had been invited to the Prince’s +pavilion, but the rules of his Order did not permit his joining a +secular entertainment in Lent, and he did not admit either the +camp life or the gravity of the Prince’s mourning household +as a dispensation. However, when Richard, leaning fondly on +little John’s ready shoulder, crossed to his own tent, he +found his good friend waiting there to attend to his wound, which +Sir Raynald professed to regard as an excellent subject to +practise upon, and likewise to hear whether all had been cleared +up, and had gone right with him.</p> +<p>“Though,” he said, “I could not doubt of it +when that fair and lovely Princess had taken your matters in +hand. Tell me, Richard, have you secular men many such +dames as that abroad in the world?”</p> +<p>“Not many such as she,” said Richard, smiling.</p> +<p>“Well, I have not spoken to a female thing, save perhaps +pretty Bessee, since I went into the Spital, ten years ago; and +verily the sound of the lady’s voice was to me as if St. +Margaret had begun talking to me! And so wise and clear of +wit too. I thought women were feather-pated wilful beings, +from whom there was no choice but to shut oneself up! I +trow, that now all is well with thee, thou wilt scarce turn a +thought again towards our brotherhood, where to glance at such a +being becomes a sin.” And Raynald crossed himself, +with an effort to recall his wonted asceticism.</p> +<p>“Ladies’ love is not like to be mine,” said +Richard, laughing, as one not yet awake to the force of the +motive. “No! Gladly would I be one of your +noble brotherhood, where alone have I met with +kindness—but, Sir Raynald, my first duty under Heaven must +be to redeem my father’s name, by my service to the +Prince. My brothers think they uphold it by deadly +revenge. I want to show what a true Montfort can be with +such a master as my father never had! And, Raynald, I +cannot but fear that further schemes of vengeance may be +afloat. The Prince is too fearless to take heed to himself, +and who is so bound to watch for him as I?”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI<br /> +THE VIEW FROM CARMEL</h2> +<blockquote><p>“On her who knew that love can conquer +death;<br /> + Who, kneeling with one arm about her king,<br /> +Drew forth the poison with her balmy breath,<br /> + Sweet as new buds in +spring.”—<span class="smcap">Tennyson</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A <span class="smcap">year</span> had elapsed since the +crusaders had landed in Palestine; Nazareth had been taken, and +the Christian host were encamped upon the plain before Acre, +according to their Prince’s constant habit of preferring to +keep his troops in the open field, rather than to expose them to +the temptations of the city—which was, alas! in a state +most unworthy of the last stronghold of Latin Christianity in the +Holy Land.</p> +<p>It was on a scorching June day, Whitsun Tuesday, in the +exquisite beauty of an early summer in the mountains of the +Levant—when “the flowers appear on the earth, the +time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle +is heard in our land; the fig tree putteth forth her green figs, +and the vines with the tender grape give a good +smell,”—that Richard de Montfort was descending the +wooded sides of Mount Carmel.</p> +<p>Anxious tidings had of late come from England respecting the +health of the little Prince John; and Princess Eleanor was +desirous of offering gifts and obtaining prayers on his behalf, +on the part of the good Fathers of the convent associated with +the memory of the great Prophet who had raised the dead child to +life. She herself, however, was at the time unfit for a +mountain ride; and Prince Edward, who was a lay brother of the +Carmelite order, and had fully intended himself to go and offer +his devotions for his child, was so unwell on that day, from the +feverish heat of the summer, that he could not expose himself to +the sun; and Richard was therefore despatched on the part of the +royal pair. He had ascended in the cool of the morning, +setting forth before sunrise, and attending the regular +Mass. The good Fathers would fain have detained him till +the heat of the day should be past; but his anxiety not to +overpass in the slightest degree the time fixed by the Prince, +made him resolved on setting out so soon as his errand was +sped.</p> +<p>Unspeakably beautiful was his ride—through rocky dells +filled with copsewood, among which jessamine, lilies, and +exquisite flowers were peeping up, and the coney, the fawn, and +other animals, made Leonillo prick his ears and wistfully seek +from his master’s eye permission to dash off in +pursuit. Or the “oaks of Carmel,” with many a +dark-leaved evergreen, towered in impenetrable thicket, and at an +opening glade might be beheld on the north-east, “that +goodly mountain Lebanon” rising in a thick clothing of +wood; and beyond, in sharp cool softness, the white cone of +rain-distilling Hermon. Far to the west lay the glorious +glittering sheet of the Mediterranean; but nearer, almost beneath +his feet, was the curving bay and harbour of Ptolemais, filled +with white sails, the white city of Acre full of fortresses and +towers; while on the plain beside it, green with verdure as +Richard’s own home greenwood of Odiham, lay the white tents +of the Christian army, in so clear an atmosphere that he could +see the flash of the weapons of the men on guard, and almost +distinguish the blazonry of the banners.</p> +<p>Richard dismounted to gather some roses and jessamine for the +Princess, and to collect some of the curious fossil echini, which +he believed to be olives turned to stone by the Prophet Elijah, +as a punishment to a churlish peasant who refused him a +meal. He thought that such treasures would be a welcome +addition to the store he was accumulating for the good old Grand +Prior. He gave his horse to Hob Longbow, his only attendant +except a young Sicilian lad. This same Longbow had stuck to +him with a pertinacity that he could not shake off, and in truth +had hitherto justified the Prince’s prediction that he +would be a brave and faithful fellow when his allegiance was no +further disturbed by the proximity of the outlawed +Montforts. There had been nothing to lead Richard to think +he ought to indicate either him or Nick Dustifoot to the Prince +as the persons who had been connected with Guy in Italy.</p> +<p>Presently Leonillo bounded forward, and Richard became aware +of the figure of a man in light armour standing partly hidden +among the brushwood, but looking down intently into the Christian +camp. The dog leapt up, fawning on the stranger with +demonstrations of rapture; and he, turning in haste, stood face +to face with Richard.</p> +<p>“Here!” was his exclamation, and a grasp was +instantly laid upon his sword.</p> +<p>“Simon!” burst from Richard’s lips at the +same moment, “dost not know me?”</p> +<p>“Thou, boy?” and the hold was relaxed. +“What lucky familiar sent thee hither? +What—thou art grown such a huge fellow that I had well-nigh +struck thee down for Longshanks himself, had it not been for thy +voice. Thou hast his very bearing.”</p> +<p>“Simon!” again repeated Richard, in his extremity +of amazement. “What dost thou? How camest thou +here? Whence—?”</p> +<p>“That thou shalt soon see,” said Simon. +“A right free and merry home and company have we up +yonder,”—and he pointed towards Mount Lebanon.</p> +<p>“Thou and Guy?”</p> +<p>“No, no; Guy turned craven. Could not endure our +wanderings in the marshes and hills, pined for his wife forsooth, +fell sick, and must needs go and give himself up to the Pope; so +he sings the penitential psalms night and day.”</p> +<p>“And we heard thou wast dead at Siena.”</p> +<p>“Thou hearest many a false tale,” said +Simon. “Of my death thou shalt judge, if thou wilt +turn thy horse and ride with me to our hill-fort of Ain Gebel, in +Galilee. They say ’tis the very one which King David +or King Herod, whichever it was, could only take by letting down +his men-at-arms in boxes! I should like to see the boxes +that we could not send skimming down the abyss! And a +wondrous place they have left us—vaults as cool as a +convent wine-cellar, fountains out of the rock, marble +columns.”</p> +<p>“But, brother, for whom do you hold it? For the +King of Cyprus or—?”</p> +<p>“For myself, boy! For King Simon, an it like you +better! None can touch me or my merry band there, and a +goodly company we are—pilgrims grown wiser, and runaway +captives, and Druses, and bold Arabs too: and the choicest of +many a heretic Armenian merchants’ caravan is ours, and of +many a Saracen village; corn and wine, fair dames, and Damascus +blades, and Arab steeds. Nothing has been wanting to me but +thee and vengeance, and both are, I hope, on the way!”</p> +<p>“Not I, certainly!” said Richard, shrinking back +in horror: “I—a sworn crusader!”</p> +<p>“Tush, what are we but crusaders too, boy? +’Tis all service against the Moslem! Thy patron saint +sent thee to me to-day from special care for thy +safety.”</p> +<p>“How so!” exclaimed Richard. “If peril +threaten my Lord, I must be with him at once.”</p> +<p>“Much hast thou gained by hanging on upon him,” +said Simon scornfully, glancing at Richard’s heels; +“not so much as a pair of gilt spurs! Creeping after +him like a hound, thou hast not even the bones!”</p> +<p>“I have all I seek,” said Richard. “I +have his brotherly kindness. I have the opportunity of +redeeming my name. Nay, I should even regret any honour +that took me from the services I now perform. Simon, didst +thou but know his love for our father!”</p> +<p>“Silence, base caitiff!” thundered Simon; “I +know his deeds, and that is enough for me! Look here, +mean-spirited as thou wert to be taken with his hypocrisy, I have +pity on thee yet. I would spare thee what awaits thee in +the camp!”</p> +<p>“For heaven’s sake, Simon, dost know of any attack +of the Emir? The Princess must at once be conveyed into the +town! As thou art a man, a Christian, speak +plainly!”</p> +<p>“Foolish lad, the infidels are quiet enough! No +peril threatens the camp! Only if thou wilt run thy head +into it, thou art like to find it too hot to hold +thee!”</p> +<p>“I am afraid of no accusations,” said Richard; +“my Lord knows and trusts me.”</p> +<p>Simon laughed a loud ringing scornful laugh.</p> +<p>“Wilful will to water,” he said. +“Well, thou besotted lad, if it be not too late when thou +getst into the hands of Crookbacked Edmund and Red Gilbert, +remember the way to Galilee, that is all!”</p> +<p>“I tell thee, Simon,” said Richard, turning round +and fully facing him; “I would rather perish an innocent +man by the hands of the Provost Marshal, than darken my soul with +thy counsels of blood. O Simon! What thy purpose may +be I know not; but canst thou deem it faithfulness to our father, +saint as he was, to live this dark wild life, so utterly +abhorrent to him?”</p> +<p>“Let those look to that who slew him, and made me such +as I am,” returned Simon, turning from him, and gazing +steadfastly down into the camp. Suddenly a gleam of fierce +exultation lighted up his face, and again facing Richard he +exclaimed, “Yes, go home, tame cringing spaniel, and see +whether a Montfort is still in favour below there! See if +proud Edward is still ready to meet thy fawning with his scornful +patronage! See if the honour of a murdered father has not +been left in better hands than thine! And when thou hast +had thy lesson, find the way to Ain Gebel, or ask Nick +Dustifoot.”</p> +<p>Richard, with a startled exclamation, looked down, but could +discern nothing unusual in the camp. The royal banner hung +in heavy folds over the Prince’s pavilions, and all was +evidently still in the same noontide repose, or rather +exhaustion, to which the Syrian sun reduced even the hardy active +Englishmen. “What mean you?” he began; but +Simon was no longer beside him. He called, but echo alone +answered; and all he could do was to throw himself on his horse, +and hurry down the mountain side, with a vague presentiment of +evil, and a burning desire to warn his lord or share his +peril.</p> +<p>He understood Simon’s position. Many of the almost +inaccessible rocks, where the sons of Anak had built their +Cyclopean fortresses, and which had been abodes of almost +fabulous beauty and strength in the Herodian days, had been +resorted to again by the crusaders, and had served as isolated +strongholds whence to annoy the enemy. Frightfully lawless +had, in too many instances, been the life there led, more +especially by the Levant-born sons of Europeans; and in the +universal disorganization of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, that took +place in consequence of the disputed rights of Cyprus and +Hohenstaufen, most of them had become free from all +control. If the garrisons bore the Christian name at all, +it chiefly was as an excuse for preying on all around; but too +often they were renegades of every variety of nation, drawn +together by the vilest passions, commanded by some reckless +adventurer, and paying a species of allegiance to any power that +either endangered them, or afforded them the hopes of +plunder. Bloodthirsty and voluptuous alike, they were +viewed with equal terror by the Frank pilgrim, the Syriac +villager, the Armenian merchant, and the Saracen +hadji—whose ransom and whose spoil enriched their chambers, +with all that the licentious tastes of East and West united could +desire. There were comparatively few of these nests of +iniquity in these latter days of the Crusades, but some still +survived; and Richard had seen some of their captains with their +followers at the siege of Nazareth, where the atrocities they had +committed had been such as to make the English army stand +aghast. As a member of such a crew, Simon could hardly fail +to find means of attempting that revenge on which it was but too +evident that he was still bent; and Richard, as every possible +risk rose before him, urged his horse to perilous speed down the +steep descent, and chid every obstacle, though in fact the +descent which ordinarily occupied two hours, for men who cared +for their own necks, was effected by him in a quarter of the +time. He came to the entrenched camp. The entrance, +where the Prince made so strict a point of keeping a sentinel, +was completely unguarded. The foremost tents were empty, +but there was a sound as of the murmuring voices of numbers +towards the centre of the camp. The next moment he met +Hamlyn de Valence riding quickly, and followed by two +attendants.</p> +<p>“Hamlyn! a moment!” he gasped. “Has +aught befallen the Prince?”</p> +<p>“You were aware of it, then!” said Hamlyn, +checking his horse, and looking him full in the face.</p> +<p>“Answer me, for Heaven’s sake! Is all well +with the Princes?”</p> +<p>“As well as your house desires—or it may be +somewhat better,” said Hamlyn; “but let me +pass. I am on an errand of life or death.”</p> +<p>So saying, Hamlyn dashed forwards; and Richard, in double +alarm, made his way to the space in the centre of the camp, where +he found himself on the outskirts of a crowd, talking in the +various tongues of English, French, and Lingua Franca. +“He lives—the good Princess—the dogs of +infidels—poison—” were the words he +caught. He flung himself from his horse, and was about to +interrogate the nearest man, when John of Dunster came hurrying +towards him from the tents, and threw himself upon him, sobbing +with agitation and dismay.</p> +<p>“What is it? Speak, John! The +Prince!”</p> +<p>“Oh, if you had but been there! It will not cease +bleeding. O Richard, he looks worse than my father when he +came home!”</p> +<p>“Let me hear! Where? How is he +hurt?”</p> +<p>“In the arm and brow,” said the boy.</p> +<p>“The arm!” said Richard, much relieved.</p> +<p>“Ah, but they say the dagger is poisoned! Stay, +Richard, I’ll tell you all. Dame Idonea turned me out +of the tent, and she will not let any one in. It was +thus—even now the Prince was lying on the day-bed in his +own outer tent, no one else there save myself. I believe +everybody was asleep, I know I was—when Nick Dustifoot +called me, and bade me tell the Prince there was a messenger from +the Emir of Joppa, asking to see him. So the Prince roused +himself up, and bade him come in. He was one of those +quick-eyed Moorish-looking infidels, in the big turbans and great +goat’s hair cloaks; and he went down on his knees, and hit +the ground with his forehead, and said Salam +aleikum—traitor that he was—and gave the Prince a +letter. Well, the Prince muttered something about his head +aching so sorely that he could scarce see the writing, and had +just put up his hand to shade his eyes from the light, when the +dog was out with a dagger and fell on him! The +Prince’s arm being raised, caught the stroke, you see; and +that moment his foot was up,” said John, acting the kick, +“and down went the rogue upon his back! And I—I +threw myself right down over him!”</p> +<p>“Did you, my brave little fellow? Well done of +you!” cried Richard.</p> +<p>“And the Prince wrested the dagger out of the +rogue’s hand, only he tore his own forehead sorely, as the +point flew up with the shock—and then stabbed the villain +to the heart—see how the blood rushed over me! Then +the Prince pulled me up, and called me a brave lad, and set me on +my feet, and asked me if I were sure I was not hurt. And by +that time the archers were coming in, when all was over; and Long +Robin must needs snatch up a joint stool and have a stroke at the +Moor’s head. I trow the Prince was wrath with the +cowardly clown for striking a dead man. He said I alone had +been any aid!”</p> +<p>“‘Well?” anxiously asked Richard, gathering +intense alarm as he saw that the boy’s trouble still +exceeded his elation, even at such commendation as this.</p> +<p>“But then,” said John sadly, “even while he +called it nothing, there came a dizziness over him. And +even then the Princess had heard the outcry, and came in haste +with Dame Idonea. And so soon as the Dame had picked up the +dagger and looked well at it, and smelt it, she said there was +poison on it. No sooner did the Princess hear that, than, +without one word, she put her lips to his arm to suck forth the +venom. He was for withholding her, but the Dame said that +was the only safeguard for his life; and she looked—oh, so +imploring!”</p> +<p>“Blessings on the sweet Princess and true wife!” +cried the men-at-arms, great numbers of whom had gathered round +the little eye-witness to hear his account.</p> +<p>“And so is he saved?” said Richard, with a long +breath.</p> +<p>“Ah! but,” said John, his eyes beginning to fill +with tears, “there is the Grand Master of the Templars come +now, and he says that to suck the poison is of no avail; and that +nothing will save him but cutting away the living flesh as I +would carve the wing of a bustard; and Dame Idonea says that is +just the way King Cœur de Lion died, and the Princess is +weeping, and the wound will not stop bleeding; and Hamlyn is gone +to Acre for a surgeon, and they are all wrangling, and Dame +Idonea boxed my ears at last, and said I was gaping +there.” The boy absolutely burst into sobs and tears, +and at the same moment a growl arose among the archers, of +“Curses on the Moslem hounds! Not one shall +escape! Death to every captive in our hands!”</p> +<p>“Nay, nay,” exclaimed Richard, looking up in +horror; “the poor captives are utterly guiltless! Far +more justly make me suffer,” murmured he sadly.</p> +<p>“All tarred with the same stick,” said the +nearest; “serve them as they deserve.”</p> +<p>“Think,” added Richard, “if the Prince would +see no dishonour done to the dead carcase of the murderer +himself, would he be willing to have ill worked on living men, +sackless of the wrong? English turning butchers—that +were fit work for Paynims.”</p> +<p>“No, no, not one shall live to laugh at our +Edward’s fall,” burst out the men; and a voice among +them added, “Sure the young squire seems to know a vast +deal about the guilty and the guiltless—the Montfort! +Ay! Away with all foes to our Edward—”</p> +<p>“Best withdraw yourself, Sir,” said Hob Longbow; +“their blood is up. Baulk them of their prey, and +they will set on you next.”</p> +<p>Richard just then beheld a person from whose interposition he +had much greater hopes, namely the Earl of Gloucester, who, +though still a young man, was the chief English noble in the +camp, and whose special charge the Saracen captives were. +He hurried towards him, and asked tidings of the Prince.</p> +<p>“Ill tidings, I trow,” said the Earl, +bitterly. “Ay, Richard de Montfort, you had best take +heed to yourself, he was your best friend; and a sore lookout it +is for us all. Between the old dotard his father and the +poor babes his children, England is in woeful plight. Would +that your father’s wits were among us still! +There’s some curse on this fools’ errand of a +Crusade, for here is the sixth prince it hath slain, and well if +we lose not our Princess too. But what is all this +uproar!”</p> +<p>“The men-at-arms, my Lord,” said Richard, +“fierce to visit the crime on the captives.”</p> +<p>“A good riddance!” said Earl Gilbert; “the +miscreants eat as much as ten score yeomen, and my knaves are +weary with guarding them. If this matter brings all the +pagans in Palestine on our hands, we shall have enough to do +without looking after this nest of heathens.”</p> +<p>“But would the Prince have it so?”</p> +<p>“I fear me the Prince is like to have little will in the +matter! No, no, I’m not the man to order a butchery, +but if the honest fellows must needs shed blood for blood, +I’m not going to meddle between them and the heathen +wolves.”</p> +<p>Assuredly nothing was to be done with the Red de Clare, and +Richard pushed on, with throbbing dismayed heart, to the tent, +dreading to behold the condition of him whom he best loved and +honoured on earth. The tent was crowded, but +Richard’s unusual height enabled him to see, over the heads +of those nearest, that Edward was sitting on the edge of his +couch, his wife and Dame Idonea endeavouring to check the flow of +blood from his wound. The elbow of his other arm was on his +knee, and his head on his hand, but the opening of the curtain +let in the light; he looked up, and Richard saw how deathly white +his face had become, and the streaks of blood from the scratch +upon his brow. He greeted Richard, however, with the look +of recognition to which his young squire had now become +used—not exactly a smile, but a well-satisfied welcome; and +though he spoke low and feebly to his brother who stood near him, +Richard caught the words with a thrill of emotion.</p> +<p>“Let him near me, Edmund. He hath a ready hand, +and may aid thee, sweet wife. Thou art wearying +thyself.” Then, as Richard approached, “Thou +hast sped well! I looked not for thee so soon.”</p> +<p>“Alack, my Lord!” said Richard, “I hurried +on to warn you. Ah! would I had been in time!”</p> +<p>“Thy little pupil, John, did all man could do,” +said Edward, languidly smiling. “But what—hast +aught in charge to say to me? Be brief, for I am strangely +dizzy.”</p> +<p>“My Lord,” said Richard, “the archers and +men-at-arms are furiously wrath with the Saracens. They +would wreak their vengeance on the prisoners, who at least are +guiltless!”</p> +<p>“The knaves!” exclaimed Edward promptly. +“Why looks not Gloucester to this?”</p> +<p>“My Lord, the Earl saith that he would not command the +slaughter, but that he will not forbid it.”</p> +<p>“Saints and angels!” burst forth the Prince, and +to the amazement of all, he started at once on his feet, and +striding through the bystanders to the opening of the tent, he +looked out on the crowd, who were already rushing towards the +inclosure where their victims were penned. Raising his +mighty voice as in a battle-day, he called aloud to them to halt, +turn back, and hear him. They turned, and beheld the lofty +form in the entrance of the tent, wrapped in a long loose robe, +which, as well as his hair, was profusely stained with blood, his +wan face, however, making that marble dignity and sternness of +his even more awful and majestic as he spoke aloud. +“So, men, you would have me go down to my grave +blood-stained and accursed by the death of guiltless +captives? And I pray you, what is to be the lot of our +countrymen, now on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, if you thus deal with +our prisoners, taken in war? Senseless bloody-minded hounds +that ye are, mark my words. The life of one of you for the +life of a Saracen captive; and should I die, I lay my curse on ye +all, if every man of them be not set free the hour my last breath +is drawn. Do you hear me, ye cravens?”</p> +<p>Unsparing, unconciliatory as ever, even when most merciful and +generous, Edward turned, but reeled as he re-entered the tent, +and his dizziness recurring, needed the support of both his +brother and Richard to lay him down on the couch.</p> +<p>The Grand Master of the Temple renewed his assurance that this +was a token of the poison, and Eleanor was unheeded when she +declared that her dear lord had been affected in the same manner +before his wound, ever since indeed the Whit Sunday when he had +ridden home from the great Church of St. John of Acre in the full +heat of the sun.</p> +<p>Dame Idonea was muttering the mediæval equivalent for +fiddlesticks, as plain as her respect for the Temple would allow +her.</p> +<p>At that moment the leech whom Hamlyn had been sent into the +town to summon, made his appearance, and fully confirmed the +Templar’s opinion. Neither the wizened Greek +physician, nor the dignified Templar, considered the soft but +piteous assurance of the wife that the venom had at once been +removed by her own lips as more than mere feminine folly, and +Dame Idonea’s real experience of knights thus saved, and on +the other hand of the fatal consequences of rude surgery in such +a climate, were disregarded as an old woman’s babble. +Her voice waxed shrill and angry, and her antagonists’ +replies in Lingua Franca, mixed with Arabic, Latin, and Greek, +rang through the tent, till the Prince could bear it no +longer.</p> +<p>“Peace,” he said, with an asperity unlike his +usual stern patience, “I had liefer brook your knives than +your tongues! Without further jangling, tell me clearly, +learned physician, the peril of either submitting or not +submitting to your steel.”</p> +<p>The Greek told, with as little tergiversation as was in his +nature, that he viewed a refusal as certain death, but several +times Dame Idonea was bursting out upon him, and Edward had to +hold up his finger to silence her.</p> +<p>“Now, kind lady,” quoth he, “let me hear the +worst you foretell for me from your experience.”</p> +<p>Dame Idonea did not spare him either the fate of Cœur de +Lion, the dangers of fever and pain, and above all “of that +strange enchantment that binds the teeth together and forbids a +man to swallow his food.” Poor Eleanor looked at him +imploringly all the time, but as none of them had ever heard of +the circulation of the blood, they could not tell that her simple +remedy had been truly efficacious, and that if it had been +otherwise the incisions would now come too late. Thus the +balance of prudence made itself appear to be on the side of the +physician, and for him the Prince decided. “Mi +Doña,” he said, ever his most caressing term for +her, “it must be so! I think not lightly of what thou +hast done for me, but, as matters stand, too much hangs upon this +life of mine for me not to be bound to run no needless risk for +fear of a little pain. If I live and speak now, next to +highest Heaven it is owing to thee; and when we came on this holy +war, sweet Eleanor, didst thou not promise to hinder me from +naught that a true warrior of the Cross ought to undergo? +And is this the land to shrink from the Cross?”</p> +<p>Alas! to Eleanor the pang was the belief in the uselessness of +his suffering and danger. She never withstood his will, but +physically she was weak, and her weeping was piteous in its +silence. Edward bade his brother lead her away; and Edmund, +after the usual fashion, vented his own perplexity and distress +upon the most submissive person in his way. He assumed more +resistance on the part of his gentle sister-in-law than she made, +and carrying her from the tent, roughly told her, silent as she +was, that it was better that she should scream and cry than all +England wail and lament.</p> +<p>And so Eleanor’s devoted deed, the true saving of her +husband, has lived on as a mere delusive tradition, weakly +credited by the romantic, while the credit of his recovery has +been retained by the Knight-Templars’ leech. Not a +sound was uttered by the Prince while under those hands; but when +his wife was permitted to return to him, she found him in a dead +faint, and the silver reliquary she had left with him crushed +flat and limp between his fingers.</p> +<p>Richard had given his attendance all the time, and for several +hours afterwards, during which the Princess hung over her +husband, endeavouring to restore him from the state of exhaustion +in which he scarcely seemed conscious of anything but her +presence. Late in the evening, some one came to the +entrance of the tent, and beckoned to the young squire; he came +out expecting to receive some message, but to his extreme +surprise found himself in the grasp of the Provost Marshal.</p> +<p>“On what charge?” he demanded, so soon as he was +far enough beyond the precincts of his tent not to risk a +disturbance.</p> +<p>“By the command of the council. On the charge of +being privy to the attempt on the Prince’s life.”</p> +<p>“By whom preferred?” asked Richard.</p> +<p>“By the Lord Hamlyn de Valence.”</p> +<p>Richard attempted not another word. In effect the +condition of the Prince seemed to him so hopeless that his most +acute suffering at the moment was in the being prevented from +ministering to him, or watching for a last word or look of +recognition. He had no heart for self-vindication, even if +he had not known its utter futility with men who had been +prejudiced against him from the outset. Nor had he the +opportunity, for the Provost Marshal conducted him at once to the +tent where he was to be in ward for the night, a heap of straw +for him to lie upon, and a guard of half a dozen archers outside; +and there was he left to his despairing prayers for the +Prince’s life. He could dwell on nothing else, there +was no room in his mind for any thought but of that glory of +manhood thus laid low, and of the anguish of the sweet face of +the Princess.</p> +<p>“Sir—!” there was a low murmur near +him—“now is the time. I have brought an +archer’s gown and barrett, and we may easily get past the +yeomen.” These last words were uttered, as on hands +and knees a figure whose dark outline could barely be discerned, +crept under the border of the tent.</p> +<p>“Who art thou?” hastily inquired Richard.</p> +<p>“You should know me, Sir,—I have done you many a +good turn, and served your house truly.”</p> +<p>“Talk not of truth, thou traitor,” said Richard, +recognizing Dustifoot’s voice. “Knowst thou +that but for the Prince’s clemency thou hadst a year ago +been out of the reach of the cruel evil thou hast now shared +in.”</p> +<p>“Nay, now, Lord Richard,” returned the man, +“you should not treat thus an honest fellow that would fain +do you service.”</p> +<p>“I need no service such as thine,” returned +Richard. “Thy service has made my brothers murderers, +and brought ruin and woe unspeakable upon the land.”</p> +<p>“Beshrew me,” muttered the man, “but one +would have thought the young damoiseau would have had more +feeling about his father’s death! But I swore to do +Sir Simon’s bidding, so that is no concern of mine; and he +bade me, if any one strove to lay hands on you, Sir, to lead you +down to Kishon Brook, where he will meet us with a plump of +spears.”</p> +<p>“Meet him then,” said Richard, “and say to +him that if from his crag above, on Carmel, he sees me hung on +the gallows tree as a traitor, he may count that I am willingly +offered for our family sin! Ay, and that if he thinks an +old man’s hairs brought down to the grave, a broken-hearted +wife, helpless orphans, and a land without a head, to be a +grateful offering to my father, let him enjoy the thought of how +the righteous Earl would have viewed all the desolation that will +fall on England without the one—one scholar who knew how to +value and honour his lessons.”</p> +<p>“Hush! Sir,” hastily interposed Dustifoot; +but it was too late, the murmur of voices had already been caught +by the guard, and quick as he was to retreat, their torches +discovered him as he was creeping out, and he was dragged back by +the feet, and the light held up to his face, while many voices +proclaimed him as the rogue who had been foremost in admitting +the assassin to the royal tent. It was from the tumult of +voices that Richard first understood that on examining the body +of the murderer, it had been ascertained that he was neither a +Bedouin nor one of the assassins belonging to the Old Man of the +Mountain, but an European, probably a Provençal; and this, +added to Hamlyn’s representation of Richard’s words, +together with what the Earls of Lancaster and Gloucester +recollected, had directed the suspicion upon himself. And +here was, as it seemed, undeniable evidence of his connection +with the plot!</p> +<p>The miserable Dustifoot, vainly imploring his intercession, +was tied hand and foot, and the guard returned to the outside of +the tent, except one archer, who thought it needful to bring in +his torch, and keep the prisoners in sight.</p> +<p>The night passed wearily, and with morning Dustifoot was +removed to a place of captivity more befitting his degree; but of +the Prince, Richard only heard that he continued to be in great +danger. No attempt on the part of the council was made to +examine their prisoner; and Richard suspected, as time wore on, +that no one chose to act in this time of suspense for fear of +incurring the lion-like wrath of Edward in the event of his +recovery, but that in case of his death, small would be his own +chances of life. Death had fewer horrors for the lonely boy +than it would have had for one with whom life had been +brighter. In battle for the Cross, or in shielding his +Prince’s life, it would have been welcome, but death, +branded with vile ingratitude, as a traitor to that master, was +abhorrent. Shrunk up in the corner of the tent, half asleep +after the night’s vigil, yet too miserable for the entire +oblivion of rest, Richard spent the day in dull despair, +listening for sounds without with an intensity of attention that +seemed to pervade every limb, and yet with snatches of sleep that +brought dreams more intolerable than the reality which they yet +seemed to enhance.</p> +<p>At last, however, the sultry closeness of the day subsided, +the Angelus bell sounded far off from the churches and convents +of Acre, and near from the chapel tent, and the devotions that it +proclaimed were not ended when Richard heard the cry of the +crusading watch—“Remember the Holy +Sepulchre.”</p> +<p>Yes, the Holy Sepulchre might not be recovered and reached by +the English army, but it might still be remembered, and therein +be laid down all struggles of the will, all rebellious agony, at +the being misunderstood, misused, vituperated, all suffering +might there be offered up; nor could the most ignominious death +stand between him and the thought of that Holy Tomb, and of the +joy beyond.—Son of a man who, sorely tried, had drawn his +sword against his king, brother of wilful murderers, perhaps to +die innocent was the best fate he could hope; and in accordance +with the doctrine of his time, he hoped that his death might +serve as a part of a sacrifice for the family guilt. Nay, +the Prince gone, wherefore should he wish to live?</p> +<p>“Don’t you see? The Prince’s +signet! He said I should bring him! Clown that thou +art, hast no eyes nor ears? What, don’t you know +me? I am the young lord of Dunster, the Prince’s +foot-page. It is his command.”</p> +<p>And amid some perplexed mutterings from the guard, little John +of Dunster burst into the tent. “Up, up,” he +cried, “you are to come to the Prince instantly.”</p> +<p>“How fares he?”—Richard’s one question +of the day.</p> +<p>“Sorely ill at ease,” said the boy, “but he +wants you, he calls for you, and no one would tell him where you +were, so I spoke out at last, and he bade me take his ring and +bring you, for ’tis his pleasure. Come now, for the +Earl of Lancaster and Hamlyn are gone to take the Princess to +Acre, and my Lord of Gloucester has taken his red head off to +sleep, and no one is there but old Raymond and some of the +grooms.</p> +<p>“The Princess gone!”</p> +<p>“Ay, and Dame Idonea with her. So we shall hear no +more of King Cœur de Lion. Hamlyn swears she was on +his crusade. Do you think she was, Richard? nobody knows +how old she is.”</p> +<p>Richard was a great deal too anxious to ask questions himself, +to be able to answer this query. And as the yeomen let him +pass them, only begging him to bear him out with the Princes, he +hastily gathered from the boy all that he could tell. The +Prince had, it appeared, been in a most suffering state from pain +and fever all the night and the ensuing day, and had hardly +noticed any one but his devoted wife, who had attended him +unremittingly, until with the cooler air of evening she saw him +slightly revived, but was herself so completely spent, and so +unwell, as to be incapable of opposing his decision that she +should at once be carried into the city to receive the succours +her state demanded. When she was gone, Edward, who had +perhaps sought to spare her the sight of his last agony, had +roused himself to make his will, and choose protectors for his +father and young children; and it was after this that his +inquiries became urgent for Richard de Montfort. He was at +length answered by the indignant little foot-page; and greatly +resenting the action of the council, he had, as John said, +“frowned and spoken like himself,” and sent the +little fellow in quest of the young esquire.</p> +<p>The tent was nearly dark, and Richard could only see the +outline of the tall form laid prostrate, but the voice he had +feared never to hear again, spoke, though slowly and wearily, and +a hand was held out. “Welcome, cousin,” he +said. “Poor boy, they must needs have at thee ere the +breath was out of my body; but for that, at least, they shall +wait, and longer if my word and will can avail after I am +gone. What has given them occasion against thee, +Richard?”</p> +<p>“Alas! my Lord, you are too ill at ease to vex yourself +with my matters.”</p> +<p>“Nay, but I must see thee righted, Richard; there are +services for thee to do to me. Hark thee! I have +bequeathed thee thy mother’s lands at Odiham, which my +father gave to me. So mayest thou do for Henry +whate’er he will brook,” he added, with a languid +smile, holding Richard’s hand in such a manner as to +impress that though his words came very tardily, he did not mean +to be interrupted. “Methinks Henry will not grudge a +kindly thought and a few prayers for his old comrade. And, +Richard, strive to be near my poor boys; strive that they be bred +in strict self-rule, and let them hear of the purposes thy father +left to me: I think thou knowst them or canst divine them better +than any other near me. Thou <i>shall</i> be with them +if—if Heaven and the blessed Saints bear my sweet wife +through this trouble. She will love and trust +thee.”</p> +<p>Edward’s voice broke down in a half-strangled sob +between grief and pain; he could not contemplate the thought of +his wife, and weakness had broken down much of his power over +himself. He did not speak at once, or invite an answer; and +when he did, his words were an exclamation of despairing +weariness at the trumpet of a gnat that hovered above him.</p> +<p>Richard presently understood that the thin goats’ hair +curtains which even the crusaders had learnt to adopt from their +Oriental neighbours as protections against these enemies, being +continually disarranged to give the Prince drink or to put cool +applications to his wound, the winged foes were sure to enter, +and with their exasperating hum further destroy all chance of +rest. The Prince had not slept since he had been wounded, +and was well-nigh distraught with wakefulness, and with the +continual suffering, which was only diminished at the first +moment that a cold lotion touched his arm. The Hospitaliers +had sent in some ice from Mount Hermon, but no one knew how to +apply it, and even Dame Idonea had despised it.</p> +<p>Fortunately, however, Richard had spent a few weeks on his +first arrival in the infirmary of the Knights of St. John, and +before his recovery had become familiar with their treatment of +both ice and mosquito curtains; and when Edmund of Lancaster came +into the tent cautiously in early dawn, he could hardly credit +his eyes, for the squire whom he believed to be in close custody +was beside his brother, holding the cold applications on the arm, +and it was impossible to utter inquiry or remonstrance, for the +Prince was in the profoundest, most tranquil slumber.</p> +<p>Nor did he awake till the camp was astir in the morning with +the activity that in this summer time could only be exerted +before the sun had come to his full strength. Then, when at +length he opened his eyes, he pronounced himself to be greatly +refreshed; and the physician at the same time found the state of +the wound greatly improved. A cheerful answer was returned +by the patient to the message of anxious inquiry sent from his +Princess at Acre and then looking up kindly at Richard, he said, +“Boy, if my wife saved my life once, I think thou hast +saved it a second time.”</p> +<p>“Brother!” here broke in the Earl of Lancaster, +“I would not grieve you, but for your own safety you ought +to know of the grave suspicion that has fallen on this +youth.”</p> +<p>“I know that you all have suspected him from the first, +Edmund,” returned the Prince coolly, “but I little +expected that the first hour of my sickness would be spent in +slaking your hatred of him.”</p> +<p>“You do not know the reasons, brother,” said +Edmund, confused; “nor are you in a state to hear +them.”</p> +<p>“Wherefore not?” said Edward. “Thanks +to him, I have my wits clear and cool, and ere the day is older +his cause shall be heard. Fetch Gloucester, fetch the rest +of the council, and let me hear your witnesses against him! +What! do you think I could rest or amend while I know not whether +I have a traitor or not beside me?”</p> +<p>There could be no doubt that Edward was fully himself after +his night’s rest, determined and prompt as ever. No +one durst withstand him, and Edmund went to take measures for his +being obeyed. Meantime, the Prince grasped Richard by the +wrist, and looking him through with the keen blue eyes that +seemed capable of piercing any disguise, he said, “Boy, +hast thou aught that thou wouldst tell to thy kinsman Edward in +this strait, that thou couldst not say to the Prince in +council?”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said Richard, with choking voice, “I +was on my way to give that very warning, when I found that the +blow had fallen. My Lord,” he added, lowering his +tone, as he knelt by the Prince’s couch, “Simon +lives; I met him on Mount Carmel.”</p> +<p>“I thought so,” muttered the Prince. +“And this is his work?”</p> +<p>Richard hurriedly told the circumstances of the encounter, a +matter on which he had the less scruple as Simon was entirely out +of reach. He had hardly completed his narration when Prince +Edmund returned, and with him came others of the council. +Edmund was followed by his squire, Hamlyn; and some of the +archers were left without. Richard had told his tale, but +had had no assurance of how the Prince would act upon it, nor how +far the brand of shame might be made to rest on him and his +unhappy house. He had avowed his brother’s guilt to +the Prince; alas! must it again be blazoned through the camp?</p> +<p>The greetings and inquiries of the new arrivals were hastily +got over by the Prince, who lay—holding truly a bed of +justice—partly raised by his cushions, with bloodless +cheeks indeed, but with flashing eyes, and lips set to all their +wonted resoluteness.</p> +<p>“Let me hear, my Lords,” he said, +“wherefore—so soon as I was disabled—you +thought it meet to put mine own body squire and kinsman in +ward?”</p> +<p>“Sir,” said the Provost Marshal, “these +knaves of mine have let an accomplice escape who peradventure +might have been made to tell more.”</p> +<p>“An accomplice? Of whom?” demanded the +Prince.</p> +<p>“Of the—the assassin, my Lord, on whom your own +strong hand inflicted chastisement. This Dustifoot, who was +the yeoman on guard by your tent, and introduced him to your +presence, was seized by the villains at night, endeavouring to +hold converse with this gentleman, and was by them taken into +custody, whence, I grieve to say, he hath escaped.”</p> +<p>“Give his guard due punishment!” said Edward +shortly. “But how concerns this the Lord Richard de +Montfort’s durance?”</p> +<p>“Sir,” added the Earl of Gloucester, “is it +known to you that the dog of a murderer was yet no +Moslem?”</p> +<p>“What of that?” sharply demanded Edward.</p> +<p>“There can scarcely be a doubt,” continued the +red-haired Earl, “that an attempt on your life, my Lord, +could only come from one quarter.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” dryly replied Edward, “good cause for +you to be willing that the Saracen captives should be +massacred.”</p> +<p>“Sir, I did not then know that the miscreant was not of +their faith,” said Gloucester. “I now believe +that the same revenge that caused the death of Lord Henry of +Almayne has now nearly quenched the hope of England, that if you +will not be warned, my Lord, worse evil may yet +betide.”</p> +<p>Gloucester spoke with much feeling, but Edward did not show +himself touched; he only said, “All this may be very well, +but my question is not answered—Why was my squire put in +ward?”</p> +<p>“Speak, Hamlyn,” said Edmund of Lancaster; +“say to the Prince what thou didst tell me.”</p> +<p>Hamlyn stood forth, excusing himself for the painful task of +accusing his kinsman, but seeing the Prince’s impatient +frown, he came to the point, and declared that Richard de +Montfort, on meeting him speeding to Acre, had eagerly asked him +if aught had befallen the Prince, and had looked startled and +confused on being taxed with being aware of what had taken +place.</p> +<p>“Well!” said Edward.</p> +<p>Gloucester next beckoned a yeoman forward, who, much confused +under the Prince’s keen eye, stammered out that he did not +wish to harm the young gentleman, but that he had seemed mighty +anxious to spare the Pagan hounds of prisoners, and had even been +heard to say that their revenge would better fall on himself.</p> +<p>“And is this all for which you had laid hands on +him?” said the Prince, looking from one to the other.</p> +<p>“Nay, brother,” said Edmund. “It might +have been unmarked by thee, but in the first hour myself and +others heard him speak of having made speed to warn thee, but +finding it too late. Therefore did we conclude that it were +well to have him in ward, lest, as in the former unhappy matter, +he should have been conversant with traitors, and thus that we +might obtain intelligence from him. Remember likewise the +fellow who was found in the tent.”</p> +<p>“So!” said Edward, “an honourable youth hath +been treated as a traitor, because of another springald’s +opinion of his looks, and because a few yeomen thought he seemed +over-anxious to save a few wretched captives, whom they knew to +be guiltless. Will there ever come a time when Englishmen +will learn what <i>is</i> witness?”</p> +<p>“His name and lineage, brother,” began Edmund.</p> +<p>“That, gentles, is the witness upon which the wolf slew +the lamb for fouling the stream.”</p> +<p>“Then you will not examine him?” asked +Gloucester.</p> +<p>“Not as a suspected felon,” said Edward. +“One who by your own evidence was heedless of himself in +seeking to save the helpless—nay, who spake of hasting to +warn me—scarce merits such usage. What consorts with +his honour and my safety, I can trust to him to tell me as true +friend and liegeman!” and the confiding smile with which he +looked at Richard was like a sunbeam in a dark cloud.</p> +<p>“My Lord Prince,” objected Gloucester, “we +cannot think that this is for your safety.”</p> +<p>“See here, Gloucester,” said Edward. +“Till my arm can keep my head again, double the guards, and +search all envoys, under whatever pretext they may enter; but +never for the rest of thy life brand a man with imprisonment till +you have reasonable proof against him. Thanks for your care +of me, my Lords, but I can scarce yet brook long converse. +The council is dismissed.”</p> +<p>Richard, infinitely relieved, could hardly wait till he could +safely speak to the Prince to express his gratitude and joy that +he had been not only defended, but freed from all examination, so +as to have been spared from denouncing his brother, and that the +family had been spared from this additional stigma. Edward, +who like all reserved men could not endure the expression of +thanks, even while their utter omission would have been wounding, +cut him short.</p> +<p>“Tush, boy, Simon is as much my cousin as thy brother, +and I would not help to throw fresh stains on the name that, but +for my father’s selfish counsellors, would stand highest at +home! Besides,” he added, as one half ashamed of his +generosity and willing to qualify it, “supposing it got +abroad that he had aimed this stroke at the heir of +England—why, then England’s honour would be +concerned, and we should have stout Gilbert de Clare and all the +rest of them wild to storm Simon in his Galilean fastness, +without King Herod’s boxes, I trow. Then would all +the Druses, and the Maronites, and the Saracens, and the +half-breeds, the worst of the whole, come down on them in some +impassable gorge, and the troops I have taken such pains to keep +in health and training would leave their bones in those doleful +passes; and not for the sake of the Holy Sepulchre, but of my +private quarrel. No, no, Richard, we will keep our own +counsel, and do our best that Simon may not get another chance, +before I can move within the walls of Acre; and then we will +spread our sails, and pray that the Holy Land may make a holier +man of him.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII<br /> +THE GARDEN OF THE HOSPITAL</h2> +<blockquote><p>“And who is yon page lying cold at his +knee?”—<span class="smcap">Scott</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Edward</span> differed from Cœur de +Lion in this, that he was one of the most abstemious men in his +army, and disciplined himself at least as rigidly as he did other +people. And it was probably on this account that he did not +fulfil Dame Idonea’s predictions, but recovered favourably, +and by the end of a fortnight was able, in the first coolness of +early morning, to ride gently into the city of Acre, where a few +days previously the Princess Eleanor had given birth to a +daughter. She was christened Joan on the day of her +father’s arrival, and afterwards became the special spoilt +favourite of Edward, whose sternness gave place to excessive +fondness among his children. Moreover, she in the end +became the wife of that same red-haired Earl Gilbert of +Gloucester, who at this time stood holding his wax taper, and +looking at the small swaddled morsel of royalty with all a +bachelor’s contempt for infancy, and little dreaming that +he beheld his future Countess.</p> +<p>Prince Edward had accepted the invitation of Sir Hugh de +Revel, Grand Master of the Order of St. John, to take up his +quarters in the Commandery of the brotherhood; and Richard was +greatly relieved to have him there, since no watch or ward in the +open camp could be so secure as this double fortress, protected +in the first place by the walls of the city, and in the second by +those of the Hospital itself, with its strict military and +monastic discipline.</p> +<p>A wonderful place was that Hospital—infirmary, +monastery, and castle, all in one, and with a certain Eastern +grace and beauty of its own. The deep massive walls, heavy +towers, and portcullised gateway, were in the most elaborate and +majestic style of defensive architecture; and the main building +rose to a great height, filled with galleries of small, bare, +rigid-looking cells, just large enough for a knight, his pallet, +and his armour. Below was a noble vaulted hall, the walls +hung with well-tried hawberks, and shields and helmets which had +stood many a dint; captured crescents and green banners waved as +trophies over crooked scymetars and Damascus blades inlaid with +sentences from the Koran in gold, and twisted cuirasses rich with +barbaric gold and gems; the blazoned arms of the noblest families +of France, Spain, England, Germany, and Italy, decked the panels +and brightened the windows; while the stone pulpit for the reader +showed that it was still a convent refectory.</p> +<p>The chapel was grave and massive, but at the same time +gorgeous with colouring suited to eyes accustomed to Oriental +brightness of hue; the chancel walls were inlaid with the +porphyry, jasper, and marble, of exquisite tints, that came from +the mountains around; the shrines were touched with gold, and the +roofs and vaultings painted with fretwork of unapproachable +brilliance and purity of tints; yet all harmonizing together, as +only Eastern colouring can harmonize, and giving a sense of rest +and coolness.</p> +<p>Within those huge thick walls, whose windows, sunk deep into +their solid mass, only let in threads of jewelled light, under +their solemn circular richly carved brows, between those marble +pillars; the elder ones, round and solid, with Romanesque mighty +strength; the new graceful clusters of shining blood-red marble +shafts, surrounding a slender white one, all banded together with +gold, under the vaults of the stone roof, upon the mosaic +floor—there was always a still refreshing coolness, like +the “shadow of a great rock in a weary land.” +One transept had a window communicating with the upper room of +the Infirmary, so that the sick who there lay in their beds might +take part in the services in the chapel.</p> +<p>The outer court, with the great fortified gateway towards the +street, was a tilt-yard, where martial exercises took place as in +any other castle; but pass through the great hall to the inner +court, of which the chapel formed one side, and where could such +cloisters have been found in the West? Their heavy columns +and deep-browed arches clinging against the thick walls, afforded +unfailing shelter from the sun, and their coolness was increased +by the marble of the pavement, inlaid in rich intricate +mosaics.</p> +<p>Extending around the interior of the external wall, they +enclosed an exquisite Eastern garden, perfumed with flowering +shrubs, shady with trees, and lovely with tall white lilies, +hollyhocks, purple irises, stars of Bethlehem, and many another +Eastern flower, which would send forth seeds or roots for the +supply of the trim gardens of Western convents. The soft +bubbling of fountains gave a sense of delicious freshness; doves +flew hither and thither, and their soft murmuring was heard in +the branches; and at certain openings in their foliage might be +seen the azure of the Mediterranean, which little John of Dunster +persisted in calling too blue—why could it not be a sober +proper-coloured sea like his own Bristol Channel?</p> +<p>Richard was very happy here. There was something of the +same charm as in modern days is experienced in staying at a +college. The brethren were thorough monks in religious +observance, but they were also high-bred nobles, and had seen +many wild adventures, and hard-fought battles, and moreover, had +entertained in turn almost every variety of pilgrim who had +visited the Holy Land; so that none could have been found who had +more of interest to tell, or more friendly hospitable kindness +towards their guests. Richard was a favourite there, not +only as a friend of Reginald Ferrers, but as acquainted with the +Grand Prior, Sir Robert Darcy, whose memory was still green in +Palestine. Tales of his feats of mighty strength still +lingered at Acre; how he had held together, by his single arm, +the gates of a house in the retreat from Damietta, against a +whole troop of Mamelukes, until every Christian had left it on +the other side, and then had slowly followed them, not a Moslem +daring to attack him; how he had borne off wounded knights on his +back, and on sultry marches would load himself with the armour of +any one who was exhausted, and never fail to declare it was +exactly what he liked best! More than once it had been +intimated that Richard de Montfort would be gladly accepted as a +brother of the Order; and he often thought over the offer, but +not only was he unwilling to separate himself from the Prince, +but he felt it needful at any rate to return to England to judge +of the condition of his brother Henry, ere becoming one of an +Order where he could no longer dispose of himself.</p> +<p>He was resolved never to quit the Prince till he had seen him +beyond the reach of any machination of his brother’s, nor +indeed was it easy to think of parting at all, for Edward, who +had relaxed all coldness of manner towards him ever since the +affair at Trapani, had now become warmly affectionate and +confidential. The Prince was still far from having regained +his usual health, his arm was still in a scarf, and was often +painful, and the least exposure to the sun brought on violent +headache, which some attributed to the poison in the scratch on +his forehead, but the Hospitaliers, more reasonably, ascribed to +a slight sun-stroke. Their character of infirmarers +rendered them especially considerate hosts, and they never +overwhelmed their guest with the stiff formalities of courtesy +for his rank’s sake, but allowed him to follow his +inclination, and this led him to spend great part of his time in +a pavilion, a thoroughly Eastern erection, which stood in the +garden, at the top of the white marble steps leading to a +fountain of delicious sparkling water, and sheltered from the sun +by the dark solid horizontal branches of a noble Cedar of +Lebanon, which tradition connected with the visit of the Empress +Helena. Here, lying upon mats placed on the steps, the +convalescent Prince would rest for hours, sometimes holding +converse with the Grand Master, or counsel with his visitors from +the camp; but more often in the dreamy repose of recovery, silent +or talking to Richard of matters that lay deep within his heart; +but which, perhaps, nothing but this softening species of waking +dream would have drawn from him. He would dwell on those +two hero models of his boyhood, so diverse, yet so closely +connected together by their influence upon his character, Louis +of France, and Simon of Leicester; and of the impression both had +left, that judgment, mercy, faith, and the subject’s +welfare, were the primary duties of a sovereign—an idea +only now and then glimpsed by the feudal sovereigns, who thought +that the people lived for them rather than they for the +people. And when, as in England, the King’s +good-nature had been abused by swarms of foreign-born relations, +who had not even his claims on the people, no wonder the yoke had +been galling beyond endurance. Of the end Edward could not +bear to think—of the broken friendships—the enmity of +kindred—the faults on either side that had embittered the +strife, till he had been forced to become the sword in the hands +of the royal party to liberate his father—and with +consequences that had so far out-run his powers of controlling +them. To make England the land of law, peace, and order, +that Simon de Montfort would fain have seen it, was his present +aspiration; and then, he said, when all was purified at home, it +might yet be permitted to him to return and win back the Holy +City, Jerusalem, to the Christian world. In the meantime, +as a memorial of this, his earnest longing, he was causing, at +great expense and labour, one of the huge stones of the Temple to +be transported over the hills, and embarked on board a ship, to +carry home with him. Richard, meantime, learnt to know and +love his Prince with a more devoted love, if that were possible, +and to grieve the more at the persistent hatred of his brothers, +who, utterly uncomprehending their father’s high purposes +themselves, sought blindly to slake their vengeance for the ruin +they had themselves provoked, and upon one who mourned him far +more truly than they could ever do.</p> +<p>A few days had thus passed, when Richard was one day called by +his friend, Sir Raynald, into the Infirmary, to speak a few kind +words to a dying English pilgrim, who had come from his native +country, and confided to him his dearly-purchased palm and +scallop shell, to be conveyed to his aged mother.</p> +<p>As Richard was passing along the great lofty chamber, two rows +of beds were arranged; one of the patients rather hastily, as it +seemed to him, enveloped himself in his coverlet, leaving nothing +visible but a great black patch which seemed to cover the whole +side of his face.</p> +<p>“That is a strange varlet,” said Raynald, as they +passed him; “it is an old wound that the patch covers, not +what has brought him here; and what the nature of his ailment may +be, not one of our infirmarers can make out; his tongue is +purple, and he hath such strange shiverings and contortions in +all his limbs, that they are at their wits’ end, and some +hold that he must have undergone some sorcery in his passage +through the Infidel domains.”</p> +<p>“He came from the East, then?” asked Richard.</p> +<p>“Yea, verily. We have many more sick among the +returning than the out-going pilgrims.”</p> +<p>“And what is his nation?”</p> +<p>“Nay; all the scanty words he hath spoken have been in +Lingua Franca, and he hath been in such trances and trembling +fits that it hath not been easy to question him. Nor is it +our custom to trouble a pilgrim with inquiries.”</p> +<p>“How did he enter?” said Richard.</p> +<p>“Brother Antonio found him yester-eve cast down, gasping +for breath, by the gate of the Hospital, just able to entreat for +the love of St. John to be admitted. He had all the tokens +of a pilgrim about him, and seemed better at first, walked +lustily to bath and bed, and did not show himself helpless; but I +much suspect his disease is the work of the Arch Enemy, for he is +always at his worst if one of our Brethren in full orders comes +near him. You saw how he cowered and hid himself when I did +but pass through the hall. I shall speak to the Preceptor, +and see if it were not best to try what exorcism will +do.”</p> +<p>There was something in all this that made Richard vaguely +uneasy. After the recent attack upon the Prince, he +suspected all that he did not fully understand; and though in the +guarded precincts of the Hospital he had once dismissed his +anxiety, it returned upon him in redoubled force. He +thought of Nick Dustifoot, but that worthy was of a uniform tint +of whitey brown, skin, hair and all; and Richard had assured +himself that the strange patient had black hair and a brown skin, +but that was all that he could guess at. The exorcism +would, however, be an effectual means of disclosing the +“myster wight’s” person, and it sometimes +included measures so strong, that few pretences could hold out +against them. But it was too serious and complicated a +ceremony to be got up at short notice; and when they met in the +Refectory for supper, Raynald told Richard that the Grand Master +intended to make a personal inspection next day, before deciding +on using his spiritual weapons.</p> +<p>“And then!” cried John of Dunster, dancing round, +“you will let me be there! Pray, good Father, let me +be there! Oh, I hope there will be a rare smell of +brimstone, and the foul fiend will come out with huge claws, and +a forked tail. I don’t care to see him if he only +comes out like a black crow; I can see crows enough in the trees +at Dunster.”</p> +<p>“Peace, John; this is no place for idle talk,” +said Richard gravely. “Stand aside, here comes the +Prince.”</p> +<p>The Prince had spent a fatiguing day over the terms of the ten +years, ten months, ten weeks, ten days, ten hours, and ten +minutes’ truce with the Emir of Joppa; he ate little, and +after the meal, took Richard’s arm, and craved leave from +the Grand Master to seek the fresh air beneath the cedar +tree. And when there, he could not endure the return to the +closeness of his own apartment, but declared his intention of +sleeping in the pavilion. He dismissed his attendants, +saying he needed no one but Richard, who, since his illness, had +always slept upon cushions at his feet.</p> +<p>Where was Richard?</p> +<p>He presently appeared, carrying on one arm a mantle, and over +the other shoulder the Prince’s immense two-handled sword; +while his own sword was in his belt. Leonillo followed +him.</p> +<p>“How now!” said Edward, “are we to have a +joust? Dost look for phantom Saracens out of yonder +fountain, such as my Doña tells me rise out of the fair +wells in Castille, wring their hands and pray for +baptism?”</p> +<p>“You said your hand should keep your head, my +Lord,” said Richard; “this is but a lone +place.”</p> +<p>“What! amid all the guards of the good Fathers! +Well, old comrade,” as he took his sword in his right hand; +“I am glad to handle thee once more, and I hope soon to +grasp thee as I am wont, with both hands. Lay it down, +Richard. There—thanks—that is well. I +wonder what my father would have thought if one of his many +crusading vows had led him hither. Should we ever have had +him back again? How well this dreamy leisure would have +suited him! It would almost make a troubadour of a rough +warrior like me. See the towers and pinnacles against the +sky, and the lights within the windows—and the stars above +like lamps of gold, and the moonshine sparkling on the bubbles of +the water, ever floating off, yet ever in the same place. +Were the good old man here, how peacefully would he sing, and +pray, and dream, free from debts, parliament and barons. +Ah! had his kinsmen let him keep his vow, it had been happier for +us all.”</p> +<p>So mused the Prince, and with a weary smile resigned himself +to rest.</p> +<p>But Richard was too full of vague uneasiness to sleep. +He could not dismiss from his mind the thought of the unknown +pilgrim, and was resolved to relax no point of vigilance until +the full investigation should have satisfied him that his fears +were unfounded. He had been accustomed to watching and +broken rest during the Prince’s illness, and though he +durst not pace up and down for fear of disturbing the +sleeper—nay, could hardly venture a movement—he +strained his eyes into the twilight, and told his beads +fervently; but sleep hung on him like a spell, and even while +sitting upright there were strange dreams before him, and one +that he had had before, though with a variation. It was the +field of Evesham once more; but this time the strange pilgrim +rose in his dark wrappings before him, and suddenly developed +into that same shadowy form of his father, who again struck him +on the shoulder with his sword, and dubbed him again “The +Knight of Death.”</p> +<p>Hark! there was a growl from Leonillo; a footstep, a dark +figure—the pilgrim himself! Richard shouted aloud, +grasped at his sword, and flung himself forward.</p> +<p>“Montfort’s vengeance!” The sound rang +in his ears as a sharp pang thrilled through his side; the hot +blood welled up, and he was dashed to the ground; but even in +falling he heard the Prince’s “What treason is +this?” and felt the rising of the mighty form. At the +same moment the murderer was in the grasp of that strong right +hand, and was dragged forward into the full light of the lamp +that hung from the roof of the pavilion.</p> +<p>“Thou!” he gasped. +“Who—what?”</p> +<p>“Richard!” exclaimed the Prince, and relaxing his +hold, “Simon de Montfort, thou hast slain thy +brother!”</p> +<p>The sudden shock and awe had overwhelmed Simon, who was indeed +weaponless, since his dagger remained in Richard’s +wound. He silently assisted the Prince in lifting Richard +to the cushions of the couch, and the low groan convinced them +that he lived: looked anxiously for the wound. The dagger +had gone deep between the ribs, and little but the haft could be +seen.</p> +<p>“Poisoned?” Edward asked, looking up at Simon.</p> +<p>“No. It failed once. He may live,” +said Simon, with bent brows and folded arms.</p> +<p>“No, no. My death-blow!” gasped Richard, +with sobbing breath. “Best so, if—Oh, could I +but speak!”</p> +<p>The Prince raised him, supporting his head on his own broad +breast and shoulder, and signed to Simon to hold to his lips the +cup of water that stood near. Richard slightly revived, and +in this posture breathed more easily.</p> +<p>“He might yet live. Call speedy aid!” said +the Prince, who seemed to have utterly forgotten that he was +practically alone with his persevering and desperate enemy.</p> +<p>“Wait! Oh, wait!” cried Richard, holding out +his hand; “it would be vain; but it will be all joy did I +but know that there will be no more of this. Simon, he +loved my father—he has spared thee again and +again.”</p> +<p>“Simon,” said the Prince, “for this dear +youth’s sake and thy father’s, I raise no hand +against thee. Bitter wrong has been done to thy house, by +what persons, and how provoked, it skills not now to ask. +Twice thy fury has fallen on the guiltless. Enough blood +has been shed. Let there be peace henceforth.”</p> +<p>Simon stood moody, with folded arms, and Richard groaned, and +essayed to speak.</p> +<p>“Peace, boy,” tenderly said Edward; “and +thou, Simon, hear me. I loved thy father, and knew the +upright noble spirit that arrayed him against us. Heaven is +my witness that I would have given my life to have been able to +save him on yon wretched battle-field. But he fell in fair +fight, in helm and corselet, like a good knight. Peace be +with him! Surely in this land of pardon and redemption his +son and nephew may cease to seek one another’s blood for +his sake! Cheer thy brother by letting him feel his brave +deed hath not been fruitless. Free thou shalt go—do +what thou wilt; no word of mine shall betray that this deed is +thine.”</p> +<p>“Lay aside thy purpose,” entreated Richard. +“Bind him by oath, my Lord.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” said the Prince. “Here, on +foreign soil, the strife lies between the cousins, the sons of +Henry and of Eleanor; and if Simon must needs still slake his +revenge in my blood, he may have better success another +time. Or, so soon as I can wear my armour again, I offer +him a fair combat in the lists, man to man; better so than +staining his soul with privy murder—but I had far rather +that it should be peace between us—and that thou shouldst +see it.” And Edward, still supporting Richard on his +breast, held out his right hand to Simon, adding, “Let not +thy brother’s blood be shed in vain.”</p> +<p>Richard made a gesture of agonized entreaty.</p> +<p>“My father—my father!” he said. +“He forgave—he hated blood; Simon, didst but +know—”</p> +<p>“I see,” said Simon impatiently, “that +Heaven and earth alike are set against my purpose. Fear not +for his days, Richard, they are safe from me, and here is my hand +upon it.”</p> +<p>The tone was sullen and grudging, and Richard looked scarcely +comforted; but the Prince was in haste that he should be +succoured at once, and even while receiving Simon’s +unwilling hand, said, “We lose time. Speed near +enough to the Spital to be heard, and shout for aid. Then +seek thine own safety. I will say no more of thy share in +this matter.”</p> +<p>Simon lingered one moment. “Boy,” he said, +“I told thee thou wast over like him. Live, live if +thou canst! Alas! I had thought to make surer work +this time; but thou dost pardon me the mischance?”</p> +<p>“More than pardon—thank thee—since he is +safe,” whispered Richard, and as Simon bent over him the +boy crossed his brow, and returned a look of absolute joy.</p> +<p>Simon sped away; and the Prince, when left alone with Richard, +put no restraint upon the warmth of his feelings, and his tears +fell fast and freely.</p> +<p>“Boy, boy,” he said; “I little thought thou +wast to bear what was meant for me!” And then, with +tenderness that would have seemed foreign to his nature, he +inquired into the pain that Richard was suffering, tried to make +his position more easy, and lamented that he could not venture to +draw out the weapon until the leeches should come.</p> +<p>“It has been my best hope,” said Richard; +“and now that it should have been thus. With your +goodness I have nothing—nothing to wish. Sir Raynald +will be here—I have only my charge for Henry to give +him—and poor Leonillo!”</p> +<p>“I will bear thy charges to Henry,” said the +Prince. “Nor shall he think thou didst betray his +secret. I will watch over him so far as he will let me, and +do all I may for his child. Yet it may be thou wilt still +return. I hear the stir in the House. They will be +here anon. Thou must live, Richard, my friend, where I have +few friends. I thought to have knighted thee, boy, when +thou hadst won fame. Oh, would that I had shown thee more +of my love while it was time!”</p> +<p>“All, all I hoped or longed for I have,” murmured +Richard. “If you see Henry, my Lord, bear him my +greetings—and to poor Adam—yea, and my mother. +Oh! would that I could make them all know your kindness and my +joy—that it should be thus!”</p> +<p>By this time the whole Hospital was astir, and the knights and +lay brethren came flocking out in consternation and dread of +finding their royal host himself murdered within their +cloisters.</p> +<p>Great was the confusion, and eager the search for the +assassin, while others crowded round the Prince, who still would +not give up his post of supporting the sufferer in his arms, +while a few moments’ examination convinced the experienced +infirmarers that the wound was mortal, and that the extraction of +the dagger would but hasten death, which could not be other than +very near. Indeed, Richard already spoke with such +difficulty that only the Prince’s ear could detect his +entreaty that Raynald Ferrers might act as his priest. +Raynald was already near, only withheld by the crowd of knights +of higher degree who had thronged before him. Richard +looked up to him with a face that in all its mortal agony seemed +to ask congratulation. The power of making confession was +gone, and when Raynald would have offered to take him in his own +arms, both he and the Prince showed disinclination to the +move. So thus they still remained, while the young knightly +priest spoke the words of Absolution, and then, across the solemn +darkness of the garden, amid the light of tapers, the Host was +borne from the Chapel, while the low subdued chant of the +brethren swelled up through the night air. Poor little John +of Dunster, with his arms round Leonillo’s neck, to keep +him from disturbing his master, knelt, sobbing as though his +heart would break, but trying to stifle the sounds as the +priest’s voice came grave and full on the silent air, +responded to by the gathered tones of the brethren: the fountain +bubbled on, and the wakening birds began to stir in the +trees.</p> +<p>Once more Richard opened his eyes, looked up at his Prince, +and smiled. That smile remained while Edward kissed his +brow with fervour, laid him down on the cushions, and rising to +his feet, bowed his head to the Grand Master, but did not even +strive to speak, and gravely walked across the cloister, with a +slow though steady step, to his own chamber. No one saw him +again till the sun was high, when, with looks as composed as +ever, he went forth to lay his page’s head in the grave, +and thence visit and calm the fears of his Princess.</p> +<p>Search had everywhere been made for the assassin, but no +traces of him were found. Only the strange pilgrim had +vanished in the confusion; and the Prince never contradicted the +Grand Master in his indignation that a Moslem hound should have +assumed such a disguise.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII<br /> +THE BEGGAR AND THE PRINCE</h2> +<blockquote><p>“This favour only, that thou would’st +stand out of my sunshine.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Diogenes</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was the last week of August, +1274, the morrow of the most splendid coronation that England had +ever beheld, either for the personal qualities and appearance of +the sovereigns, or for the magnificence of the adornments, and +the bounteous feasting of multitudes.</p> +<p>A whole fortnight of entertainments to rich and poor had been +somewhat exhausting, even to the guests; and the suburbs of +London wore an unusually sleepy and quiescent appearance in the +hot beams of the August sun. Bethnal Green lay very silent, +parched, and weary, not even enlivened by its usual gabbling +flocks of geese, all of whom, poor things! except the patriarchal +gander, and one or two of his ladies, had gone to the +festival—but to return no more!</p> +<p>One of those who had been in the midst of the pageant, and had +returned unscathed, was Blind Hal of Bethnal Green. Many a +coin had gone into his scrip—uncontested king of the +beggars as he was; many a savoury morsel had been conveyed to him +and his child by his admiring brethren of the wallet; with many a +gibing scoff had he driven from the field presuming mendicants, +not of his own fraternity; and with half-bitter, half-amused +remarks, had he listened to the rapturous descriptions of the +splendours of king, queen, and their noble suite. And +pretty Bessee had clung fast to his hand, and discreetly guided +him through every maze of the crowd, with the strange dexterity +of a child bred up in throngs. And now tired out with the +long-continued festivities, the beggar sat in front of his hut, +basking in the sun, and more than half asleep; while Bessee, her +lap full of heather-blossoms and long bents of grass, was +endeavouring to weave herself chains, bracelets, and coronals, in +imitation of those which had recently dazzled her eyes.</p> +<p>She had just encircled her dark auburn locks with a garland of +purple heather, studded here and there with white or gold, when, +starting upon her little bare but delicately clean pink feet, she +laid her hand on her father’s lap, and said, “Father, +hark! I see two of the good red monks coming!”</p> +<p>“Well, child; and wherefore waken me? They are +after their own affairs, I trow. Moreover, I hear no +horses’ feet.”</p> +<p>“They are not riding,” said Bessee; “and +they are walking this way. They have a dog, too! Oh, +such a gallant glorious dog, father! Ah,” cried she +joyfully, “’tis the good Father Grand Prior!” +and she was about to start forward, but the blind man’s ear +could now distinguish the foot-falls; and holding her fast, he +almost gasped—“And the other, child—who is +he?”</p> +<p>“No knight at our Spital! A stranger, +father. So tall, so tall! His mantle hardly reaches +his knee his robe leaves his ankles bare. O father, they +are coming. Let me go to meet dear good Father +Robert! But what—Oh, is the fit coming? Father +Robert will stop it!”</p> +<p>“Hush thy prattle,” said the beggar, clutching her +fast, and listening as one all ear; and by this time the two +knights were close at hand, the taller holding the dog, straining +in a leash, while the good Grand Prior spoke. “How +fares it with thee, friend? And thou, my pretty one? +No mishaps among the throng?”</p> +<p>“None,” returned Hal; “though the King and +his suite <i>did</i> let loose five hundred chargers in the crowd +at their dismounting, to trample down helpless folk, and be +caught by rogues. Largesse they called it! Fair and +convenient largesse—easily providing for those that +received it!”</p> +<p>“No harm was done,” briefly but sharply exclaimed +the strange knight; and the blind man, who had, as little Bessee +at least perceived, been turning his acute ear in that direction +all the time he had been speaking, now let his features light up +with sudden perception.</p> +<p>But Sir Robert Darcy, thinking that he only now became aware +of the stranger’s presence, said, “A knight is here +from the East, who brings thee tidings, my son.”</p> +<p>Sir Robert would have said more, but the beggar standing up, +cut him short, by saying, “So, cousin, you have yet to +learn the vanity of disguises and feignings towards a blind +man.”</p> +<p>“Nay, fair cousin,” was the answer, “my +feigning was not towards you; but I doubted me whether you would +have the world see me visit you in my proper character. +Will not you give me a hand, Henry?”</p> +<p>“First say to me,” said Henry, embracing with his +maimed arm his staff, planted in front of him defiantly, and +still holding tight his little daughter in his hand, “what +brings you here to break into the peace of the poor remnant of a +man you have left?”</p> +<p>“I come,” said Edward patiently, “to fulfil +my last—my parting promise, to one who loved us +both—and gave his life for me.”</p> +<p>“Loved you, ay! and well enough to betray me to +you!” said Henry bitterly.</p> +<p>“No, Henry de Montfort, ten thousand times no!” +said Edward. “I would maintain in the lists the +honour and loyalty of my Richard towards you and me and all +others. His faithfulness to you brought him into peril of +death and disgrace in the wretched matter of poor Henry of +Almayne; and he would have met both rather than have broken his +faith.”</p> +<p>“Then,” said Henry, still with the same mocking +tone, “how was it that my worthless existence became known +to his Grace?”</p> +<p>“I knew of your having vanished from Evesham +Abbey,” returned Edward: “and thus knowing, I +understood a letter, the writing of which had brought suspicion +on Richard, and which was brought back to me when we were seeking +into—”</p> +<p>“Into the deed of Simon and Guy,” said +Henry. “Poor Henry! It was a foul crime; and +Father Robert can bear me witness that I did penance for it, when +that kindly heart of his was laid in St. Peter’s +Abbey.”</p> +<p>“Then, Henry, thou own’st thy kinship to us +still,” said Edward earnestly. “Give me thine +hand, man, and let me embrace my lovely little kinswoman—a +queen in her trappings. Ah, Henry! Heaven hath dealt +lovingly with thee in sparing thee thy child!”</p> +<p>“You have children left!” said Henry quickly, and +not withholding a hand—which, be it remarked, was as +delicately shaped and well kept as that which took it.</p> +<p>Twice had the beggar received a dole at Westminster at the +obsequies of Edward’s little sons; yea, though he and all +his brethren of the dish had all the winter before had alms given +them to purchase their prayers for the health of the last.</p> +<p>“Three—but three out of six,” answered +Edward; “nor dare I reckon on the life of the frail babe +that England hailed yesterday as my heir. I sometimes deem +that the blight of broken covenants has fallen on my +sons.”</p> +<p>“They were none of your breaking,” said Henry.</p> +<p>“Say’st thou so!” exclaimed Edward, looking +up, with the animation of a man hearing an acquittal from a +quarter whose sincerity he could thoroughly trust.</p> +<p>But Henry made no courtly answer. “Pshaw! no +living man that had to deal with or for your father could keep a +covenant. You were but the spear-point of the broken reed, +good cousin; and we pitied and excused you +accordingly.”</p> +<p>“Your father did,” said Edward hoarsely. He +could brook pity from the great Simon better than from the blind +beggar.</p> +<p>“Ay, marry, that did he,” returned Henry, +“as he closed his visor that last morn, after looking out +on that wild Welsh border scum that my fair brother-in-law had +marshalled against us. ‘By the arm of St. +James,’ said he, ‘if Edward take not heed, that +rascaille will deal with us in a way that will be worse for him +than for us!’”</p> +<p>“A true foreboding,” said the King. +“Henry, do thou come and be with me. All are +gone! Scarce a face that I left in England has welcomed me +on my return. Come, thou, in what guise thou +wilt—earl, counsellor, or bedesman—only be with me, +and speak to me thy father’s words.”</p> +<p>“Who—I, my Lord?” returned Henry. +“I am no man to speak my father’s words! They +flew high over my head, and were only caught by grave youths such +as yourself. I, who was never trusted with so much as a +convoy. No, no; all the counsel I shall ever give, is to +the beggars, which coat-of-arms is like to rain clipped silver, +and which honest round penny pieces! Poor Richard! he bore +the best brain of us all, and might have served your +purpose. Sit down, and tell me of the lad.—Bessee, +little one, bring out the joint-stool for the holy +Father.”</p> +<p>And Henry de Montfort made way on the rude bench outside his +hut, with all the ease and courtesy of the Earl of Leicester +receiving his kinsman the King. But meantime, the dog, +which had been straining in the leash, held by Edward throughout +the conference, leapt forward, and vehemently solicited the +beggar’s caresses. “Ah, Leonillo!” he +said, recognizing him at once, “thou hast lost thy +master! Poor dog! thou art the one truly loyal to thy +master’s blood!”</p> +<p>“It was Richard’s charge to take him to +thee,” said Edward: “but if he be burdensome to thee, +I would gladly cherish him, or would commit him to faithful +Gourdon, with whom he might be happier. Since he lost his +master the poor hound hath much pined away, and will take food +from none but me, or little John of Dunster.”</p> +<p>Leonillo, however, who seemed to have an unfailing instinct +for a Montfort, was willingly accepting the eager and delighted +attentions of the little girl; though he preferred those of her +father, and cowered down beneath his hand, with depressed ears +and gently waving tail, as though there were something in the +touch and voice that conferred what was as near bliss as the +faithful creature could enjoy without his deity and master.</p> +<p>Meantime, the Grand Prior discreetly removed his joint-stool +out of hearing of the two cousins, and called the little maid to +rehearse to him the Credo and Ave, with their English +equivalents—a task that pretty Bessee highly disapproved +after the fortnight’s dissipation, and would hardly have +performed for one less beloved of children than Father +Robert.</p> +<p>The good Grand Prior knew that the King would have much to say +that would beseem no ear save his kinsman’s; and in effect +Edward told what none besides would ever hear respecting the true +author of the attempts on his own life.</p> +<p>“Spiteful fox. Such Simon ever was!” was the +beggar’s muttered comment. “Well that he knows +not of my poor child! So, cousin, thou hast kept his +counsel,” he added in a different tone. “I +thank thee in the name of Montfort and Leicester. It was +well and nobly done.”</p> +<p>And Henry de Montfort held out his hand with the dignity of +head of the family whose honour Edward had shielded.</p> +<p>“It was for thy father’s sake and +Richard’s,” said Edward, receiving the acknowledgment +as it was meant.</p> +<p>“Ah, well,” said Henry, relapsing into his usual +half-scoffing tone; “in that boy our Montfort blood seems +to have run clear of the taint it got from the she-fiend of +Anjou.”</p> +<p>“Thy share was from a mocking fiend!” returned the +King.</p> +<p>“Ay, and a fair portion it is!” said the +beggar. “My jest and my song have borne me through +more than my sword and spurs ever did—and have been more to +me than English earldom or French county. Poor +Richard!” he added with feeling; “I told him his was +the bondage and mine the freedom!”</p> +<p>“Alas! I fear that so it was,” said +Edward. “My favour only embittered his foes. +Had I known how it would end, I had never taken him to me; but my +heart yearned to my uncle’s goodly son.”</p> +<p>“Maybe it is well,” said Henry. “Had +the boy grown up verily like my father, thou and he might have +fallen out; or if not—why, you knights and nobles ride in +miry bloody ways, and ’tis a wonder if even the best of you +does not bring his harness home befouled and besmirched—not +as shining bright as he took it out. Well, what didst thou +with the poor lad? Cut him in fragments? You mince +your best loved now as fine as if they were traitors.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Edward; “the boy lies sleeping in +the Church of St. John, at Acre. I rose from my sickbed +that I might lay him in his grave as a brother. Lights burn +round him, and masses are said; and the brethren were left in +charge to place his effigy on his tomb, in carven stone. +One day I trust to see it. My brother Alexander of +Scotland, Llewellyn of Wales, and I, have sworn to one another to +bring all within these four seas into concord and good order; and +then we may look for such a blessing on our united arms as may +bear us onward to Jerusalem! Then come with us, Henry, and +let us pray together at Richard’s grave.”</p> +<p>“I may safely promise,” said Henry, smiling, +“if this same Crusade is to be when peace and order are +within the four seas. Moreover, thou wilt have ruined my +trade by that time!”</p> +<p>“Nay, Henry, cease fooling. See—if thou wilt +not be thyself, I will find thee a lodge in any park of +mine. None shall know who thou art; but thou shalt have +free range, and—”</p> +<p>“And weary of my life! No, no, cousin. I am +in thy power now; and thou canst throw me into prison as the +attainted Lord de Montfort. Do so if thou wilt; but I were +fooling indeed to give up my free range, my power, my authority, +to be a poor suspected, pitied, maimed pensioner on thy +bounty. Park, quotha! with none to speak to from morn to +night. I can have my will of any park of thine I please, +whenever I choose!”</p> +<p>Edward would have persisted, but Henry silenced him +effectually, with a sarcastic hint that his favours had done +little for Richard. Then the King prayed at least that he +would consider his child; but to the proposal of taking her to +the palace, Henry returned an indignant negative: “He had +seen enough of the court ladies,” he said.</p> +<p>A hot glow of anger lighted Edward’s cheek, for he loved +his mother; but the blind beggar could not be the subject of his +wrath, and he merely said, “Thou didst not know my +wife!”</p> +<p>“Ay, I will believe the court as perfect as thou +thinkest to make the isle; but Bessee shall not bide there. +She is the blind beggar’s child, and such shall she +remain. Send me to a dungeon, as I said, and thou canst pen +her in a convent, or make her a menial to thy princesses, as thou +wilt; but while my life and my freedom are my own I keep my +child.”</p> +<p>“I could find it in my heart to arrest thee,” said +Edward, “when I look at that beautiful child, and think to +what thou wouldst bring her.”</p> +<p>“She is fair then,” said the beggar eagerly.</p> +<p>“Fair! She is the loveliest child mine eyes have +looked on: though some of mine own have been very lovely. +But she hath the very features of our royal line—though +with eyes deep and dark, like thy father’s, or my +Richard’s—and a dark glow of sunny health on her fair +skin. She bears her, too, right royally. Henry, thou +canst not wreck the fate of a child like that.”</p> +<p>“No, assuredly,” said Henry dryly. “I +have not done so ill by her hitherto, by thine own showing, that +I should not be trusted with her for the future.”</p> +<p>“The parting would be bitter,” began Edward +“but thou shouldst see her often.”</p> +<p>“Slay me, and make her a ward of the crown,” said +Henry. “Otherwise I will need no man’s leave +for seeing my daughter. But ask her. If she will go +with thee, I will say no more.”</p> +<p>King Edward was fond of children—most indulgent to his +own, and kind to all little ones, who, attracted by the sweetness +which his stern, grave, beautiful countenance would assume when +he looked at them—always made friends with him +readily. So he trusted to this fascination in the case of +the little Lady Elizabeth. He held out his hands to her, +and claimed her as his cousin; and she came readily to him, and +stood between his knees. “Little cousin,” he +said, “wilt thou come home with me, to be with my two +little maids, the elder much of thine age?”</p> +<p>“You are a red monk!” said Bessee, amazed.</p> +<p>“That’s his shell, Bessee,” said her father; +“he has come a-masking, and forgot his part.”</p> +<p>“I don’t like masking,” said Bessee, trying +to get away.</p> +<p>“Then we will mask no more,” said Edward. +“Thou hast looked in my face long enough with those great +black eyes. Dost know me, child?”</p> +<p>Bessee cast the black eyes down, and coloured.</p> +<p>“Dost know me?” he repeated.</p> +<p>“I think,” she whispered at last, “that you +are masking still. You are like—like the King that +was crowned at the Abbey.”</p> +<p>“Well said, little maid! And shall I take thee +home, and give thee pearls and emeralds to braid thy locks, +instead of these heath-bells?”</p> +<p>“Father,” said Bessee, trying to withdraw her +little hands out of Edward’s large one, which held both +fast. “O father, is he masking still?”</p> +<p>“No, child; it is the King indeed,” said +Henry. “Hear what he saith to thee.”</p> +<p>And again Edward spoke of all that would tempt a child.</p> +<p>“Father,” said Bessee, “if father +comes!”</p> +<p>“No, Bessee,” said her father; “I have done +with palaces. No places they for blind beggars.”</p> +<p>“Oh, let me go! let me go!” cried Bessee, +struggling. And as the King released her hands, she flew to +her father. “He would lose himself without me! +I must be with father. O King, go away! Father, +don’t let him take me! Let me cry for Jock of the +Wooden Spoon, and Trig One Leg, and Hedgerow Wat!”</p> +<p>“Hush, hush, Bess!” said Henry, not desirous that +his royal cousin should understand the strength of his body-guard +of honour. “The King here is as trusty and loyal as +the boldest beggar among us. He only gave thee thy choice +between him and me!”</p> +<p>“Thee, thee, father. He can’t want me. +He has two eyes and two hands, and a queen and two little girls; +and thou hast only me!” and she clung round her +father’s neck.</p> +<p>“Little one,” said Edward, “thou +need’st not shrink from me. I will not take thee +away. Thy father hath a treasure, and ’tis his part +to strive not to throw it away. Only should either thou or +he ever condescend so far as to seek for counsel with this poor +cousin of thine, send this token to me, and I will be with +thee.”</p> +<p>But it was full nine years ere Edward saw that jewel +again. Meantime he was not entirely without knowledge of +his kinsman. On every great occasion the figure, +conspicuous for the scrupulous cleanliness of the dark russet +gown, and the careful arrangement of the hair and beard, and the +fillet which covered the eyes, as well as for a lordly bearing, +that even the stoop of blindness could not disguise, was to be +seen dominating over all the other beggars, sitting on the steps +of church or palace gates, as if they had been a throne; +troubling himself little to beg, but exchanging shrewd remarks +with all who addressed him, and raising many a laugh among the +bystanders. Leonillo lay contented at his feet; but after +just enough time had elapsed to show that he cared not for the +King’s remonstrance, he ceased to be accompanied by his +little daughter, and was led by a boy in her stead.</p> +<p>The King, making inquiries of the Grand Prior, learnt that +pretty Bessee was daily deposited at the sisterhood of Poor +Clares, where she remained while her father was out on his +begging expeditions, and learnt such breeding as convents then +gave.</p> +<p>“In sooth,” said Sir Robert, “honest Hal +believes it is all for good-will and charity and love to the +pretty little wench; and so it is in great part: but methought it +best to give a hint to the mother prioress that the child came of +good blood. She is a discreet lady, and knows how to deal +with her; and truly she tells me their house has prospered since +the little one came to them. Every feast-day morn have they +found their alms-dish weightier with coin than ever she knew it +before.”</p> +<p>When Edward repeated this intelligence to his queen, she +recollected Dame Idonea’s gossiping information—that +brave Sir Robert, the flower of the House of Darcy, had only +entered the Order of St. John, when fair Alda Braithwayte, in the +strong enthusiasm of the Franciscan preaching, had pleaded a vow +of virginity against all suitors, and had finally become a Sister +of the Poor Clares. And after all his wars and wanderings, +the regulations of his Order had ended by bringing the +Hospitalier in his old age into the immediate neighbourhood of +Prioress Alda; and into that distant business intercourse that +the heads of religious houses had from time to time to carry on +together.</p> +<p>The world passed on. Eleanor de Montfort came from +France, and the King himself acted the part of a father to her at +her marriage with Llewellyn of Wales. He knew—though +she little guessed—that the beggar, by whom her jewelled +train swept with rustling sound, was the first-born of her +father’s house, and should have held her hand. Two +years only did that marriage last; Eleanor died, leaving an +infant daughter; and Llewellyn soon after was in arms against the +English. Perhaps Edward bethought him of his cousin’s +ironical promise to go with him to the East after the +pacification of the whole island, when he found himself obliged +to summon the fierce Pyrenean to pursue the wild Welsh in their +mountains.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV<br /> +THE QUEEN OF THE DEW-DROPS</h2> +<blockquote><p>“This is the prettiest low-born lass that +ever<br /> +Ran on a green sward.”—<i>Winter’s +Tale</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was the summer of 1283; the babe +of Carnarvon had been accepted as the native prince, speaking no +tongue but Welsh, and Edward had since been employed in +establishing his dominion over Wales. His Whitsuntide was +kept by the Queen’s special entreaty at St. +Winifred’s Well. Such wonders had been told her of +the miracles wrought by this favourite Welsh saint, that she +hoped that by early placing her little Welsh-born son under such +protection, she might secure for him healthier and longer life +than had been the share of his brethren.</p> +<p>So to Holy-well went the court and army. Some lodged in +the convent attached to the well; but many and many more dwelt in +tents, or lodged in cottages, or raised huts of boughs of +trees. Noble ladies of Eleanor’s suite were glad to +obtain a lodging in rude Welsh huts; and as the weather was +beautiful, there was plenty of gay feasting, dancing, and +jousting on the greensward, when the religious observances of the +day were over. Pilgrims thronged from all parts, attracted +both by the presence of the court and the unusual tranquillity of +Wales; and for nearly a mile around the Holy-well it was like one +great motley fair, resorted to by persons of all stations. +Beggars of course were there in numbers, and among them the +unfailing blind beggar of Bethnal Green, who always made a +pilgrimage in the summer to some station of easy access from +London, but whom some wondered to see at such a distance.</p> +<p>“Had he scented that the court was coming?” asked +the young nobles.</p> +<p>“Not he; he never haunted courts. He would have +kept away had he known that such a gabbling flock of popinjays +were on the wing thither!”</p> +<p>But the young gallants were chiefly bent on speculating on the +vision of loveliness that had flashed on the eyes of some early +visitants at the well. A maiden in a dark pilgrim dress, +and broad hat, which, however, could not entirely conceal a +glowing complexion, at once rich and pure; perfect features, +magnificent dark eyes and hair, and a tall form, which, though +very youthful, was of unmistakable dignity and grace. She +was always at the well exceedingly early in the morning, moving +slowly round it on her beautiful bare feet, and never looking up +from the string of dark beads—the larger ones of amber, +which she held in her fingers—as her lips conned over the +prayers connected with each. No ring was on the delicate +hand, no ear-ring in the ear; there was no ornament in the dress, +but such a garb was wont to be assumed by ladies of any rank when +performing a vow; and its simplicity at once enhanced her beauty, +and added to the general curiosity. Between four and six in +the dewy freshness of morning seemed to be her time for devotion; +and though the habits of the court were early, it was only the +first astir who caught a sight of this Queen of the Dew-drops, as +it was the fashion to call her. Late comers never caught +sight of her, and affected incredulity when the younger and more +active knights and squires raved about her. Then it was +reported that the King himself had been seen speaking to her; and +thereupon excitement grew the more intense, because +Edward’s exclusive devotion to his Queen had been such, +that from his youth up the most determined scandal had never +found a wandering glance to note in him.</p> +<p>She was the Princess of France—of Navarre—of +Aragon—in disguise; nay, at the Whit-Sunday banquet there +were those who cast anxious glances to the door, expecting that, +in the very land of King Arthur, she would walk in like his +errant dames at Pentecost, to demand a champion. And when a +joust was given on the sward, young Sir John de Mohun, the Lord +of Dunster, announced his intention of tilting in honour of no +one save the Queen of the Dew-drops. The ladies of the +court were rather scandalized, and appealed to the King whether +the choice of an unknown girl, of no acknowledged rank, should be +permitted; but the King, strict punctilious man as he was, only +laughed, and adjudged the Queen of the Dew-drops to be fully +worthy of the honour.</p> +<p>After this, early rising became the fashion of +Holy-well. All the gentlemen got up early to look at the +Queen of the Dew-drops; and all the ladies got up early to see +that the gentlemen did not get into mischief; and the +maiden’s devotions became far from solitary; but she moved +on, with a sort of superb unconcern, never lifting the dark +fringes that veiled the eyes so steadily fixed on the beads that +dropped through her fingers, until, as she finished, she raised +up her head with a straightforward fearless look at the way she +was going, so completely self-possessed that no one ventured to +accost her, and to follow her at less than such a respectful +distance, that she was always lost sight of in the wood.</p> +<p>At last, late one evening, there was a sudden start of +exultant satisfaction among some of the young men who were +lounging on the green; for the most part not the nobles of the +court, but certain young merchants of London and Bristol, who had +followed the course of pilgrimage by the magnetism of fashionable +resort. The Queen of the Dew-drops was seen, carrying a +pitcher! Up started four or five gallants, offering +assistance, and standing round her, wrangling with one another, +and besetting her steps.</p> +<p>“Let me pass, gentles,” she said with dignity, +“I am carrying wine in haste to my father.”</p> +<p>“Nay, fair one, you pass not our bounds without +toll,” said the portliest of the set.</p> +<p>“Hush, rudesby; fair dames in disguise must be treated +after other sort.”</p> +<p>Every variety of half-insulting compliment was pouring upon +her; but she, with head erect, and steady foot, still quietly +moved on, taking no notice, till a hand was laid on her +pitcher.</p> +<p>“Let go!” then she said in no terrified +voice. “Let go, Sir, or I can summon help.”</p> +<p>And as if to realize her words, the intrusive hand was thrust +aside by a powerful arm, and a voice exclaimed—</p> +<p>“This lady is to pass free, Sir! None of your +insolence!”</p> +<p>“A court-gallant,” passed round the hostile +bourgeoise; “none of your court airs, Sir.”</p> +<p>“No airs—but those of an honest Englishman, who +will not see a woman cowardly beset!”</p> +<p>“Will Silk-jerkin not bide a buffet!” quoth the +bully of the party, clenching his fist.</p> +<p>“As many as thou wilt,” returned Silk-jerkin, +“so soon as I have seen the lady safe home!”</p> +<p>“Ho! ho!—a fetch that!” and the fellow, a +coarse rude-looking man, though rather expensively dressed, +flourished his fist in the face of the young man, but was +requited that instant with a round blow that levelled him with +the ground. The others fell back from the tall +strong-limbed, open-faced youth, and the girl took the +opportunity of moving forward, swiftly indeed, but so steadily as +to betray no air of terror. Meantime, the young +gentleman’s voice might be heard, assuring his adversaries +that he was ready to encounter one or all of them so soon as he +had escorted the lady safe home. Perhaps she hoped that +another attack would delay him; but if so, her expectations were +disappointed, for in a second or two his quick firm tread +followed her, and just as she had gained the mazy wood-path, he +was beside her.</p> +<p>“Thanks, Sir,” she said, “for the service +you have done me, but I am now in safety.”</p> +<p>“Nay, Lady, do me the grace of letting me bear your +load.”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” again she said; “but I feel no +weight.”</p> +<p>“But my knighthood does, seeing you thus +laden.”</p> +<p>“Spare your knighthood the sight, then,” she said +smiling, and looking up with a glance of brightness, such as her +hitherto sedate face had never before revealed to him.</p> +<p>“That cannot be!” he exclaimed with +fervency. “You bid me in vain leave you till I see +you safe; and while with you, all laws of courtesy call on me to +bear your burthen! So, Lady—”</p> +<p>And he laid his hand upon the leathern thong that sustained +the pitcher; but at that moment three or four heaps of rags, that +had been lying under the trees by the woodland path, erected +themselves, and one in especial, whom the young knight had +observed as a frightful cripple seated by day near the well, now +came forward brandishing his crutch in a formidable manner, and +uttering a howl of defiance. But the lady silenced him at +once—</p> +<p>“Peace, good Trig, nothing is amiss! It is only +this gentleman’s courtesy. He hath done me good +service on the green yonder!”</p> +<p>And as her strange body-guard retreated growling, she, perhaps +to show her confidence, resigned her pitcher into the +knight’s hand.</p> +<p>“So, fair Queen of the Dew-drops,” he said, half +bewildered, “thou dost work miracles!”</p> +<p>“Ay, when the dew is on the grass, and the nightingale +sings,” she returned gaily; “by day the enchantment +is over.”</p> +<p>By this time they had reached a low turf hut; and the maiden, +turning at the door, held out her hand, and said, “Thanks, +fair Sir, I must enter my enchanted palace alone; but grammercy +for thy kind service, and farewell.”</p> +<p>The maiden and the pitcher vanished. The knight watched +the rude door in vain—he only saw a few streaks of light +through the boards. Then he bethought him of questioning +her guards, but when he reached their tree they were gone. +It was fast growing dark, and he was one of the King’s +personal attendants, and subject to the strict regulations of his +household; so, dazed and bewildered as he was, he walked hastily +back to the hospice, where the King and Queen lodged. +Supper had already begun, and the glare of lights dazzled his +eyes. In his bewilderment, he served the King with mustard +instead of honey from the great silver ship full of condiments, +in the centre of the table.</p> +<p>“How’s this, Sir John?” said the King, who +always had a kindly corner in his heart for this young +knight. “Are these the idle days of thy Crusade come +again?”</p> +<p>“I could well-nigh think so!” half-whispered Sir +John.</p> +<p>“He looks moonstruck!” cried that spoilt ten years +old damsel, Joan of Acre, clasping her hands with mischievous +fun. “Oh! has he seen the Queen of the +Dew-drops?”</p> +<p>“What dost thou know of the Queen of the Dew-drops, my +Lady Malapert?” said King Edward, marking the red flush +that mounted to the very brow of the downright young knight.</p> +<p>“Oh, I know that she is at the well every morning, and +is as lovely as the dawn! Ay, and vanishes so soon as the +sun is up; but not ere she has bewitched every knight of them +all! And did not my Lord of Dunster hold the field in her +honour against all comers? No wonder she appears to +him.—Oh! tell us, Sir John! what like was she?”</p> +<p>“Hush, Joan,” said Queen Eleanor, bending forward, +“no infanta in my time ever said so much in a +breath.”</p> +<p>“No, Lady-mother; because you had to speak whole +mouthfuls of grave Castillian words. Now, good English can +be run off in a breath. Reyna del Rocio—that’s +more majestic, but not so like fairyland as Queen of the +Dew-drops!”</p> +<p>Princess Joan’s mouth was effectually stopped this +time.</p> +<p>The adventure of the evening had led to the discovery of the +hut of the Queen of the Dew-drops. The young knight had as +usual been betimes at the well, but the maiden did not appear +there. Then he questioned the cripple—who by day was +an absolute helpless cripple—but the man utterly denied all +knowledge of any such circumstance. He, why, poor wretch +that he was, he never hobbled further than the shed close behind +the well; he would give the world if he could get as far as the +wood—he knew nothing about ladies or pilgrims—such a +leg as his was enough to think about. And the display to +which he forthwith treated the Knight of Dunster was highly +convincing as to his incapacity.</p> +<p>Into the wood wandered the much-confused knight, recognizing, +step by step, the path of the night before. The turf hut +was before him—the door was open—and in the doorway +sat the maiden herself, spinning, the distaff by her side, the +spindle dancing on the ground, and the pilgrim’s hat no +longer hiding her beauteous brow and wealth of dark braided +hair. But, intolerable sight, seven or eight of last +night’s loungers were dispersed hither and thither in the +bushes, gazing with all their eyes, endeavouring to attract her +attention; some by conversations with one another; one +richly-dressed Gascon squire, of the train of Edward’s +ally, the Count de Béarn, by singing a Provençal +love ditty; while a merchant of Bristol set up a counter attempt +with a long doleful English ballad. All the time the fair +spinster sat in the doorway, with the utmost gravity, twisting +her thread and twirling her spindle; but it might be observed +that she had so placed herself as to have full command of the +door, and to be able to shut herself in whenever she chose.</p> +<p>No one had yet ventured to accost her. There was +something in her air that rendered it almost impossible for any +one to force himself upon her, and a sort of fear mingled with +the impression she made. However, the young knight, +although a bashful man by nature, had one advantage in his court +breeding, and another in the acquaintance he had made last +night. He walked straight up, and doffing his velvet cap, +began, “Greet you well, fair Queen. I could not but +take your challenge to see whether your power lasted when the dew +was off.”</p> +<p>The damsel rose with due courtesy as he approached, but ere +she had attempted an answer, nay, even before the words were out +of his mouth, the Gascon was shouting in French that this was no +fair play, he had stolen a march; and the merchant had sprung +forward saying, “Girl, beware, court gallants mean not well +by country wenches.”</p> +<p>“Thou liest in thy throat,” burst forth the +knight. “Discourteous lubber, to call such a queen of +beauty a country wench!”</p> +<p>“Listen to me, girl.”</p> +<p>“Lady, hear me.”</p> +<p>“Hearken not to the popinjay foreigner.”</p> +<p>These, and many more tumultuary exclamations, threats, and +entreaties, crowded on one another, and the various speakers were +laying hand on staff or sword, and glaring angrily on one +another, when the word “Peace,” in the maiden’s +clear silvery notes, sounded among them. They all turned as +she stood in the doorway, drawn up to her full height.</p> +<p>“Peace,” she said; “I can have no brawling +here! My father was grievously sick yesterday, and is still +ill at ease. One by one speak your business, and +begone. You first, Sir,” to the Gascon, she said in +French.</p> +<p>“Ah! fair Lady, what business could be mine, save to +tell you how lovely you are?”</p> +<p>“You have said,” she answered, without a blush, +waving him aside. “Now you, Sir,” to the +tuneful merchant of Bristol.</p> +<p>“I told you, Madam, he meant not well. Those +aliens never do.”</p> +<p>“You too have said,” she answered.</p> +<p>The merchant would have persisted, but a London merchant, a +much more substantial and considerable character, pushed him +aside, and the numbers being all against him, he was forced to +give way.</p> +<p>“Young woman,” said the merchant, “you are +plainly of better birth and breeding than you choose to +affect. Now I am thinking of getting married. I have +ships at sea, and stuffs and jewels coming from Venice and Araby; +and I am like to be Lord Mayor ere long; but there’s that I +like in your face and discreet bearing, and I’ll make you +my wife, and give you all my keys—your father +willing!”</p> +<p>“Your turn’s out, old burgher,” said a big, +burly, and much younger man, pressing forward. +“Pretty wench! I’m not like to be Lord Mayor, +nor nothing of that sort; but I’m a score of years nigher +thine age, and a lusty fellow to boot, that could floor any man +at single-stick, within the four seas. Ay, and have been +thought comely too, though Joyce o’ the haugh did play me +false; and I come o’ this pilgrimage just to be merry and +forget it. If thou wilt take me, and come back to spite +Joyce, thou shalt be hostess of the Black Bull, at Brentford, +where all the great folk from the North ever put up when they +come to town; the merriest and richest hostel, and will have the +comeliest host and hostess round about London town!”</p> +<p>The lady bowed her head. Perhaps those rosy lips were +trying hard to keep from laughing.</p> +<p>“A hostel’s no place for a discreet dame to bide +in,” put forth an honest voice. “Maiden, I know +not who or what you are, but I came o’ this pilgrimage to +please my old mother, who said I might do my soul good, and bring +home a wife—better over the moor than over the +mixen—and I know she would give thee a right good +welcome. I’m Baldric of the Cheddar Cliff, and we +have held our land ever since the old days, or ever the Norman +kings came here. Three hundred kine, woman, and seven score +swine, and many an acre of good corn land under the +hill.”</p> +<p>The lady had never looked up while these suitors were +speaking. When Baldric of Cheddar had done, she gave one +furtive glance through her long eyelashes, as if to see if there +were any more, and then her cheek flushed. There still +remained the knight. Some others had slunk away when +brought to such close quarters, but he stepped forth more +hesitatingly, and said, “Lady, I know not whether the bare +rock and castle I have to offer can weigh against the ships, the +hostel, or the swine. I have few of either; I am but a poor +baron, but such as I am, I am wholly yours. Thine eyes have +bound me to you for ever, and all I seek is leave to make myself +better known, and to ask that your noble father may not deem me +wholly unworthy to be your suitor.”</p> +<p>The lady trembled a little, but she held her place in the +doorway. “Gentles,” she said, “I thank ye +for the honour ye have done me, but I may not dispose of mine own +self. My father is ill at ease, and can see no one; but he +bids me tell you that he will meet all who have aught to say to +him, under the trysting tree at Bethnal Green, the day after the +Midsummer feast.”</p> +<p>With these words she retired into her hut, and closed the +door. She was seen again no more that day; and on the next +the hut stood open, empty, and deserted.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV<br /> +THE BEGGAR’S DOWRY</h2> +<blockquote><p>“‘But first you shall promise and have +it well knowne<br /> +The gold that you drop shall all be your owne;’<br /> +With that they replyed, ‘Contented we bee;’<br /> +‘Then here’s,’ quoth the beggar, ‘for +pretty Bessee.’”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Old Ballad</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> day after Midsummer had come, +and towards the fine elm tree that then adorned the centre of +Bethnal Green, three horsemen were wending their way. Each +had his steed a good deal loaded: each looked about him +anxiously.</p> +<p>“By St. Boniface,” said one, “the +girl’s father is not there. Saucy little baggage, was +she deluding us all?”</p> +<p>“Belike he is bringing too long a train of mules with +her dowry to make much speed,” quoth the merchant. +“He will think it needful to collect all his gear to meet +the offers of Master Lambert of Cripple-gate. Ha! Sir +Knight, well met! You are going to try your +venture!”</p> +<p>“I must! So it were not all enchantment,” +said the knight, almost breathlessly, gazing round him. +“Yet,” he said, almost to himself, “those eyes +had a soul and memories that ne’er came out of +fairyland!”</p> +<p>“Ha!” exclaimed the innkeeper, +“there’s old Blind Hal under the tree! +I’ll tell him to get out of our way. Hal!” he +shouted, “here’s a tester for thee, but thou’st +best keep out of the way of the mules.”</p> +<p>“What mules, Master Samson?” coolly demanded Hal, +who had comfortably established himself under the tree with his +back against the trunk.</p> +<p>“The mules that the brave burgess is going to bring his +daughter’s dowry on. They are cranky brutes, Hal; bad +customers for blind men—best let me give thee a hand out of +the way.”</p> +<p>“But who is this burgess that you talk of?” asked +the beggar.</p> +<p>“The father of the pilgrim lass that prayed at St. +Winifred’s Well,” said Samson.</p> +<p>“And was called Queen of the Dew-drops?”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay, old fellow! Thou knowest every bird that +flies! She is to be my wife, I tell thee, and a right warm +corner shall she keep for thee at the Black Bull, for thou canst +make sport for the guests right well.”</p> +<p>“I hope she will keep a warm corner for me,” said +the beggar; “for no man will treat for her marriage save +myself.”</p> +<p>“Thou! Old man, who sent thee here to insult +us?” cried the merchant.</p> +<p>“None, Master Lambert. I trysted you to meet me +here if you purposed still to seek my child in +marriage.”</p> +<p>“Thy child?” cried all three, vehemently.</p> +<p>“My child!” answered the beggar. “Mine +own lawful child.”</p> +<p>There was a silence. Presently Samson growled, “I +mind me he used to have a little black-eyed brat with +him.”</p> +<p>“Caitiff!” exclaimed the merchant; +“I’ll have thy old vagabond bones in the Fleet for +daring so to cheat his Grace’s lieges.”</p> +<p>“If you can prove a cheat against me I will readily abye +it, Sir,” returned the beggar.</p> +<p>“Palming a beggar’s brat off for a noble +dame.”</p> +<p>“So please you, Sir,” interrupted the beggar, +“keep truth with you. What did the child or I ever +profess, save what we were? No foul words here. I +trysted you to meet me here, anent her marriage. Have you +any offers to make me?”</p> +<p>“Aye, of a cell in the Fleet if you persist in your +insolence!” cried the merchant.</p> +<p>“Thanks,” quietly said the beggar. +“And you, Master Samson?”</p> +<p>“’Tis a sweet pretty lass,” said Samson, +ruefully; “and pity of her too, but you see a man like me +must look to his credit. I’ll give her twenty marks +to help her to a husband, Hal, only let her keep out of my sight +for ever and a day.”</p> +<p>“I thought I heard another voice,” said the +beggar. “I trow the third suitor has made off without +further ado.”</p> +<p>“Not so, fair Sir,” said a voice close to him, +thick and choked with feeling. “Your daughter is too +dear to me for me thus to part, even were mine honour not +pledged.”</p> +<p>“Sir knight,” interfered the merchant, “you +will get into a desperate coil with your friends.”</p> +<p>“I am my own master,” answered the knight. +“My parents are dead. I am of age, and, Sir, I offer +myself and all that is mine to your fair daughter, as I did at +Saint Winifred’s Well, as one bound both by honour and +love.”</p> +<p>“It is spoken honourably,” said Hal; “but, +Sir, canst thou answer me with her dowry? Tell down coin +for coin.”</p> +<p>He held up a heavy leathern bag. The knight, who had +come prepared, took down another such bag from his +saddle-bow. Down went one silver piece from the +knight. Down went another from the beggar.</p> +<p>“Stay, stay,” cried Samson. “I can +play at that game too.”</p> +<p>“No, no, Master Samson,” said the beggar; +“your pretensions are resigned. Your chance is +over.”</p> +<p>Mark after mark—crown after crown—all the Dunster +rents; all the old hoards, with queer figures of Saxon kings, lay +on the grass, still for each the beggar had rained down its +fellow, and inexhaustible seemed the bags that he sat upon. +Samson bit his lips, and the merchant muttered with +vexation. It could not be fairly come by: he must be the +president of a den of robbers; it should be looked to.</p> +<p>The last bag of the knight lay thin and exhausted; the beggar +clutched one bursting with repletion.</p> +<p>“I could not put the lands and castle of Dunster into a +bag and add thereto,” said the knight, at last. +“Would that I could, my sword, my spurs, and knightly blood +to boot, and lay them at your daughter’s feet.”</p> +<p>“Let them weigh in the balance,” said the beggar; +“and therewith thy truth to thy word.”</p> +<p>“And will you own me?” exclaimed the knight. +“Will you take me to your daughter?”</p> +<p>“Nay, I said not so,” returned Blind Hal. +“I am not in such haste. Come back on this day week, +when I shall have learnt whether thou art worthy to match with my +child.”</p> +<p>“Worthy!” John of Dunster chafed and bit his lips +at such words from a beggar.</p> +<p>“Ay, worthy,” repeated the beggar, guessing his +irritation. “I like thee well, as a man of thy word, +so far, but I must know more of him who is to mate with my pretty +Bessee.”</p> +<p>It was that evening that a page entered the royal apartments, +and giving a ring to the King, informed him that a blind beggar +had sent it in, and entreated to speak with him.</p> +<p>“Pray him to come hither,” said the King; +“and lead him carefully. Thou, Joan, hadst better +seek thy mother and sister.”</p> +<p>“O sweet father,” cried Joan, “don’t +order me off. This can be no state business. Prithee +let me hear it.”</p> +<p>“That must be as my guest pleases, Joan,” he +answered; “and thou must be very discreet, or we shall have +him reproaching me for trying to rule the realm when I cannot +rule my own house.”</p> +<p>“Father, I verily think you are afraid of that +beggar! I am sure he is as mysterious as the Queen of the +Dew-drops!” cried the mischievous girl.</p> +<p>The curtain over the doorway was drawn back, and the beggar +was led into the chamber. The King advanced to meet him, +and took his hand to lead him to a seat. “Good morrow +to thee,” he said; “cousin, I am glad thou art come +at last to see me.”</p> +<p>“Thanks, my Lord,” said the beggar, with more of +courtly tone than when they had met before, and yet Joan thought +she had never seen her father addressed so much as an equal; +“are any here present with you?”</p> +<p>“Only my wilful little crusading daughter, Joan,” +said Edward, beckoning to her, and putting her proud reluctant +fingers into the hand of the beggar, who bent and raised them to +his lips—as the fashion then was—while the maiden +reddened and looked to her father, but saw him only smiling; +“she shall leave us,” he added, “if thy matters +are for my private ear. In what can I aid thee?”</p> +<p>“In this matter of daughters,” answered the +beggar; “not that I need aid of yours, but counsel. I +would know if the heir of old Reginald Mohun—John, I think +they call him—be a worthy mate for my wench.”</p> +<p>Joan had in the meantime placed herself between her +father’s knees, where she stood regarding this wonderful +beggar with the most unmitigated astonishment.</p> +<p>“John of Dunster!” said the King, stroking down +Joan’s hair, “thou knowst his lineage as well as I, +cousin.”</p> +<p>“His lineage, true,” replied Henry; “but +look you, my Lord, my child, the light of mine eyes, may not go +from me without being assured that it is to one who will, I say, +not equal her in birth, but will be a faithful and loving lord to +her.”</p> +<p>“Hath he sought her?” asked the King.</p> +<p>“Even so, my liege. The maid is scarce sixteen; I +thought to have kept her longer; but so it was—old Winny, +her mother’s old nurse, fell sick and died in the winter; +and the Dominican, who came to shrive her, must needs craze the +poor fool with threats that she did a deadly sin in bringing my +sweet wife and me together; and for all the Grand Prior, who, +monk as he is, has a soldier’s sense, could say of the love +that conquered death, nothing would serve the poor woman to die +in peace till my Bessee had vowed to make a six weeks’ +station at her patroness’s well, where we were wedded, and +pray for her soul and her blessed mother’s. So there +we journeyed for our summer roaming; and all had been well, had +you not come down on us with all the idle danglers of the court +to gaze and rhyme and tilt about the first fair face they +saw. Even then so discreet was the girl that no more had +befallen, but as ill-luck would have it, my old Evesham +keepsake,” touching his side, “burst forth again one +evening, and left me so spent, that Bessee sent the boy to get me +a draught of wine. The boy—mountebank as he +is—lost her groat, and played truant; and she, poor wench, +got into such fear for me that she went herself, and fell in with +a sort of insolent masterful rogues, from whom this young knight +saved her. I took her home safe enough after that, and +thought to be rid of the knaves when they saw my wallet; and so +truly I am, all save this lad!”</p> +<p>“O father! it is true love!” whispered Joan.</p> +<p>“What hast to do with true love, popinjay? And so +John of Dunster came undaunted to the breach, did he, +Henry?”</p> +<p>“Not a whit dismayed he! Now either that is making +light of his honour, or ’tis an honour higher than most +lads understand. Cousin, I would have the child be loved as +her father and mother loved! And methinks she affects this +blade. The child hath been less like my merry lark since we +met him. A plague on the springalds! But you know +him. Has he your good word?”</p> +<p>“John of Dunster?” said the King. +“Henry, didst thou not know for whose sake I had loved and +proved him? He was Richard’s pupil. I was +forced to take the child with me, for old Sir Reginald had been +unruly enough, and I thought would be the less troublesome to my +father were his son in my keeping. But I half repented when +I saw what a small urchin it was, to be cast about among grooms +and pages! But Richard aided the little uncouth varlet, +nursed him when sick, guarded him when well, trained him to be +loyal and steadfast. The little fellow came bravely to my +aid in my grapple with the traitor before Acre; and when the blow +had fallen on Richard, the boy’s grief was such that I +loved him ever after. And of late I have had no truer +trustier warrior. I warrant me he was too shy to tell thee +that I knighted him last year in the midst of some of the best +feats of arms I ever beheld against the Welsh! Whatever +John de Mohun saith is sooth, and I would rather mate my daughter +with him than with many a man of fairer speech.”</p> +<p>“Then shall he have my pretty Bessee!” said the +beggar, lingering over the words. “But one boon I +would further ask, cousin; that thou breathe no word to him of my +having sought thee.”</p> +<p>The young Lord of Dunster had not been noted for choiceness of +apparel; but when he repaired to the trysting-tree, none could +have found fault with the folds of his long crimson tunic, worked +with the black and gold colours of his family, nor with the sit +of the broad belt that sustained his sword, assuredly none with +his beautiful sleek black charger.</p> +<p>But under the tree stood not the blind beggar, but the +beggar’s boy.</p> +<p>“Blind Hal bids you meet him at the Spital, at your good +pleasure,” said the boy; and like the mountebank he was, +tumbled three times head over heels.</p> +<p>John de Mohun looked round and about, and saw no alternative +but to obey. All his love was required to endure so strange +a father-in-law, who did not seem in the least grateful for the +honour intended to his daughter; but the knight’s word was +pledged, and he rode towards the Hospital.</p> +<p>The court of the Hospital was full of steeds and +serving-men. A strange conviction came over John that he +saw the King’s strong white charger—ay, and the +palfreys of the elder princesses; and he asked the lay-brother +who offered to take his horse, if the King were there. The +brother only replied by motioning him towards the inner +quadrangle.</p> +<p>He passed on accordingly, and as he went, the bells broke +forth into a merry peal. On the top of the steps leading to +the arched doorway, he saw a scarlet cluster of knights, and +among them the Grand Prior, robed as for Mass. A space was +clear within the deep porch, and there stood the beggar in his +russet suit.</p> +<p>“Sir John de Mohun of Dunster,” he said, +“thou art come hither to espouse my daughter?”</p> +<p>“I hope, so, Sir,” said John, somewhat taken by +surprise.</p> +<p>“Come hither, maiden,” said her father.</p> +<p>The cluster of knights opened, and from within the church +there appeared before the astonished bridegroom the stately form +of King Edward, leading in his hand the dark-tressed, dark-haired +maiden, dressed in spotless white, the only adornment she wore a +circlet of diamonds round her flowing dark hair—the Queen +indeed of the Dew-drops. And behind her walked with calm +dignity the beautiful Princess Eleanor, now nearly a woman, +holding with a warning hand the merry mischievous Joan.</p> +<p>Well might John of Dunster stand dazzled and amazed, but +hesitation or delay there was none. Then and there, by the +Grand Prior himself, was the ceremony performed, without a word +of further explanation. The rite over, when the bridegroom +took the bride’s hand to follow, as all were marshalled on +their way, he knew not whither, she looked up to him through her +dark eyelashes, and murmured, “They would not have it +otherwise!”</p> +<p>“Deem you that I would?” said the knight +fervently, pressing her hand.</p> +<p>“I deemed that you should know all—who I +am,” she faltered.</p> +<p>“My wife, the Lady of Dunster. That is all I need +to know,” replied Sir John, with the honest trustworthy +look that showed it was indeed enough to secure his heart-whole +love and reverence.</p> +<p>The great hall of the Spital was decked for the bridal +feast. The bride and bridegroom were placed at the head of +the table, and the King gave up his place beside the bride to her +blind father. All the space within the cloister without was +strewn with rushes, where sat and feasted the whole fraternity of +beggars; and well did the Grand Prior and his knights do their +part in the entertainment.</p> +<p>Then when the banquet was drawing to its close, the blind +beggar bade the boy that waited near him fetch his harp. +And, as had often before been his practice, he sang in a deep +manly voice, to the boy’s accompaniment on his harp. +But the song that then he sang had never been heard before, nor +was its exact like ever heard again; though tradition has handed +down a few of the main features, and (as may be seen by this +veracious narration) somewhat vulgarized them:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“A poore beggar’s daughter did dwell +on a greene,<br /> +Who might for her faireness have well been a queene;<br /> +A blithe bonny lasse and a dainty was she,<br /> +And many one callèd her pretty Bessee.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Even the King, who had so well guarded the secret, was +entirely unprepared to hear the Montfort parentage thus publicly +avowed; and the bride, who had as little known of her +father’s intentions, sat with downcast eyes, blushing and +tearful, while the beggar’s recitative went briefly and +somewhat tremulously over his resuscitation, under the hands of +the fair and faithful Isabel. Her hand was held by her +bridegroom from the first, with a pressure meant to assure her +that no discovery could alter his love and regard; but when the +name of Montfort sounded on his ear, the hand wrung hers with +anxiety; and when the entire tale had been told, and the last +chord was dying away, he murmured, “Look up at me, my +loveliest. Now I know why I first loved thine eyes. +Thou art dearer to me than ever, for the sake of my first and +best friend!”</p> +<p>His words were only for herself. The King was saying +aloud,</p> +<p>“Well sung, fair cousin! A health, my Lords and +Knights, for Sir Henry de Montfort, Earl of Leicester.”</p> +<p>“Not so, Lords and Knights!” called this strange +personage, the only one who would thus have contradicted the +King; “the Earl of Leicester has long ago been dead, as you +have heard. If you drink, let it be to Blind Hal of Bethnal +Green.”</p> +<p>Nor could all the entreaties of daughter, son-in-law, nor +King, move him from his purpose of living and dying as Blind Hal, +the beggar. He had tasted too long of liberty, he said, to +put himself under constraint. To live in Somersetshire, as +his daughter wished, would have been banishment and solitude to +one used to divert himself with every humour of the city; and to +be, as he declared, a far more complete king of the beggars than +ever his cousin Edward was over England. All he would +consent to, was that a room in a lodge in Windsor Park should be +set apart for him under charge of Adam de Gourdon, who had been +present at this scene, and was infinitely rejoiced at the sight +of a scion of the House of Montfort. For the rest, he bade +every one to forget his avowal, which, as he said, he had only +made that the blanch lion might share with the Mohun cross; and +as he added to Princess Eleanor, “that you court dames may +never flout at pretty Bessee! Had the Cheddar Yeoman been +the true man, none had ever known that she was a +Montfort.”</p> +<p>“Would you have given her to the Cheddar Yeoman?” +burst out Joan furiously.</p> +<p>“That he will say so, to anger thee, is certain, +Joan,” said the King. “Farewell, Henry. +Remember, I hold thee bound to be my comrade when I can return to +the Holy War.”</p> +<p>“Ay, when you have tamed Scotland, even as you have +tamed Wales,” returned Henry.</p> +<p>“No fear of my good brother Alexander’s realm +needing such taming. Heaven forbid!” said Edward.</p> +<p>But the beggar parted from him with a laugh.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI<br /> +THE PAGE’S MEMORY</h2> +<blockquote><p>The pure calm picture of a blameless friend.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Lyra Apostolica</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Ten</span> years later, King Edward was +walking in the park at Windsor with slow and weary steps. +His rich dark brown hair and beard were lined with gray, his face +was not only grave but worn and melancholy, and more severe than +ever. The sorrow of his life, his queen’s death, had +fallen on him, and with her had gone much of softening influence; +the only son who had been spared to him was, though a mere child, +grieving him by the wayward frivolities not of a strong but of a +weak nature; he had wrought much for his country’s good, +but had often been thwarted and never thanked; his mercies and +benefits were forgotten, his justice counted as harshness, and +hatred and opposition had met him everywhere. Above all, +and weighting him perhaps most severely, was that his first step +beyond his just bounds had been taken in the North. John +Baliol was indeed king, but Edward in his zeal for discipline had +bound Scotland with obligations—for her good indeed, but +beyond his just right to impose; and the sense of aggression was +embittering him against the Scottish resistance, while at the +same time adding to his sadness.</p> +<p>A knight came forth from one of the paths that led into that +along which he was pacing with folded arms, and unwilling to +break upon his mood, stood waiting, till Edward himself looked up +and asked impatiently, “So, Sir John, what now? +Another outbreak of those intolerable Scotch?”</p> +<p>“Not so, my Lord; but the Bailiff of Acre awaits to see +you.”</p> +<p>“Bailiff of Acre! What is the Bailiff of Acre to +me? I cannot hear all their importunities for a +crusade! Heaven knows how gladly I would hasten to the Holy +War, if these savage Scots would give me peace at home. I +am weary of their solicitations. Cannot you tell him I +would be private, John?”</p> +<p>“My Lord, he says he has matter for your private ear, +concerning one whom you met in Palestine—and, my Lord, you +will sure remember him—Sir Reginald Ferrers.”</p> +<p>“The friend of Richard!” said Edward, with a +changed countenance. “Bring him with you to your +father-in-law’s lodge, John. If there be aught to +hear of the House of Montfort, it concerns him and you +likewise. I was on my way thither.”</p> +<p>In a short time the woodland lodge, in one of the most +beautiful glades of Windsor Forest, beheld the King seated on a +bench placed beneath a magnificent oak, standing alone in its own +glade, and beside him the Blind Beggar in his russet suit; far +less changed than his royal cousin during these years. +Since Edward’s great sorrow, Henry de Montfort had held +less apart from him; and whenever the King was at leisure to +snatch a short retirement at one of his hunting lodges, he always +sent an intimation to the beggar, who would journey down on a +sober ass, and under the care of De Gourdon, now the chief of the +hunting staff, would meet the King in some sylvan glade. +Why it was a comfort to Edward to be with him, it would be hard +to say; probably from the habit of old fellowship, for +Henry’s humour had not grown more courtly or less +caustic.</p> +<p>From under the trees came John de Mohun, now a brave, stout, +hearty-looking English baron; and with him, wrapped in a battered +and soiled scarlet mantle, a war-worn soldier, his complexion +tanned to deep brown, his hair bleached with toil and sun, a scar +on his cheek, a halt on his step—altogether a man in whom +none would have recognized the bright, graceful, high-spirited +young Hospitalier of twenty years since. Only when he +spoke, and the smiling light beamed in his eye, could he be known +for Sir Reginald Ferrers.</p> +<p>He would have bent his knee, but Edward took his hand, and +bowing his own bared head said, “It is we who should crave +a blessing from you, holy Father, last defender of the sacred +land.”</p> +<p>“Alas, my Lord,” said Sir Raynald, as he made the +gesture of blessing; “Heaven’s will he done! +Had we but been worthier! Sir,” he added, “I am +in no guise for a royal presence, but I have been sent home from +Cyprus to recover from my wounds; and I had a message for you +which I deemed you would gladly hear before I had joined mine +Order.”</p> +<p>“A message?” said Edward.</p> +<p>“A message from a dying penitent, craving pardon,” +replied Sir Raynald.</p> +<p>“If it concerns the House of Montfort, speak on,” +said Edward. “None are so near to it as those present +with me!”</p> +<p>“Thou hast guessed right, my Lord King!” replied +Sir Raynald. “It does concern that House. Have +I your license to tell my tale at some length?”</p> +<p>Edward gave permission; and a seat having been brought, Sir +Raynald proceeded to speak of that last Siege of Acre, when, amid +the multitudinous tribunals of mixed races, and the many +sanctuaries which sheltered crime, the unhappy city had become a +disgrace to the Christian name. The Sultan Malek Seraf was +concentrating his forces on it; all the unwarlike inhabitants had +been sent away; and the Knights of the two Orders, with the King +of Cyprus and his troops, had shut themselves up for their last +resistance—when among the mercenaries, who enrolled +themselves in the pay of the Hospitaliers, came a sunburnt +warrior, who had evidently had long experience of Eastern +warfare, though his speech was English, French, or +Provençal, according to the person who addressed +him. Fierce and dreadful was the daily strife; the new +soldier fought well, but he was not noticed, till one +night. “Ah, Sir!” said the Hospitalier, +“even then our holy and beautiful house was in dire +confusion, our garden trodden down and desolate! One night, +I heard strange choking sobs as of one in anguish. I deemed +that one of our wounded had in delirium wandered into the garden, +and was dying there. But I found—at the foot of the +stone cross we set beside the fountain, where the attempt on you, +Sir, was made—this warrior lying, so writhing with anguish, +that I could scarce believe it was grief, not pain, that thus +wrought with him! I lifted him up, and spake of repentance +and pardon. No pardon for him, he said; it was here that he +had slain his brother! I spake long and earnestly with him, +but he called himself sacrilegious murderer again and +again. Nay, he had even—when after that wretched +night you wot of, Sir, he left our House—in his despair and +hope to leave remorse behind, he had become a Moslem, and fought +in the Saracen ranks. All hope he spurned. No mercy +for him, was his cry! I would have deemed so—but oh! +I thought of Richard’s parting hope; I remembered our +German brethren’s tale, how the Holy Father, the Pope, said +there was as little hope of pardon as that his staff should bud +and blossom; and lo, in one night it bore bud and flower. I +besought him for Richard’s sake to let me strive in prayer +for him. All day we fought on the walls—all night, +beside Richard’s cross, did he lie and weep and groan, and +I would pray till strength failed both of us. Day after +day, night after night, and still the miserable man looked gray +with despair, and still he told me that he knew Absolution would +but mock his doom. He could fear, but could not +sorrow. And still I spoke of the Saviour’s love of +man—and still I prayed, and all our house prayed with me, +though they knew not who the sinner was for whom I besought their +prayers. At last—it was the day when the towers on +the walls had been won—I came back from the breach, and +scarce rested to eat bread, ere I went on to the Cedar and the +Cross. Beside it knelt Sir Simon. +‘Father,’ he said, ‘I trust that the pardon +that takes away the sin of the world, will take away mine. +Grant me Absolution.’ He was with us when, ere dawn, +such of us as still lived met for our last mass in our beautiful +chapel. He went forth with us to the wall. By and by, +the command was given that we should make a sally upon the +enemy’s camp. We went back for the last time to our +house to fetch our horses; I knew there could be no return, and +went for one last look into our chapel, and at Richard’s +tomb. Upon it lay the knight, horribly scathed with Greek +fire—he had dragged him there to die. He was dead, +but his looks were upward; his face was as calm as +Richard’s was, my Lord, when we laid him down by the +fountain. And now his message, my Lord. He bade me +say, if I survived the siege, that he had often cursed you for +the worse revenge of letting him live to his remorse—now he +blessed you for sparing him to repent.”</p> +<p>“And Richard’s grave has passed to the +Infidels!” said Edward, after a long silence.</p> +<p>“Even as the graves of our brethren—the holiest +Grave of all,” said the Knight Hospitalier.</p> +<p>“Cheer up and hope, Father,” said the King. +“Let me see peace and order at home, and we will win back +Acre, ay and Jerusalem, from the Infidels. Alas! our young +hopes and joys may never return; but, home purified, then may God +bless our arms beneath the Cross.”</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Fifteen years more, and in the beautiful Westminster Abbey, +amid the gorgeous tombs, there stood four sorrowful +figures. A sturdy knight, with bowed head and mournful +look, carefully guided a white-haired, white-bearded old man, +while a beautiful matronly lady was handed by her tall handsome +son.</p> +<p>Among the richly inlaid shrines and monuments, they sought out +one the latest of all, but consisting of one enormous block of +stone, with no ornament save one slender band of inscription.</p> +<p>“Ah!” said the knight, “well do I remember +the shipping of that stone from Acre, little guessing its +purpose!”</p> +<p>“Then it is indeed a stone from the ruined Temple of +Jerusalem,” said the lady. “Read the +inscription, my Son.”</p> +<p>The young man read and translated—</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>“Edwardus Primus.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">Malleus Scotorum</p> +</td> +<td><p>Pactum serva.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Edward the First.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">The Hammer of the Scots.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Keep covenant.”</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>“It was scarce worth while to bring a stone from +Jerusalem, to mark it with ‘the Hammer of the +Scots!’” said the lady.</p> +<p>“Alas, my cousin Edward!” sighed the beggar. +“Ever with a great scheme, ever going earnestly on to its +fulfilment; with a mind too far above those of other men to be +understood or loved as thou shouldst have been! Alack, that +the Scottish temptation came between thee and the brightness of +thy glory! Art thou indeed gone—like Richard—to +Jerusalem; and shall I yet follow thee there? Let us pray +for the peace of his soul, children; for a greater and better man +lies here than England knows or heeds.”</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote100"></a><a href="#citation100" +class="footnote">[100]</a> Psalm cxxvi. 6, 7.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 3696-h.htm or 3696-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/6/9/3696 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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