diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 3696-0.txt | 7468 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 3696-0.zip | bin | 0 -> 158750 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 3696-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 462817 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 3696-h/3696-h.htm | 7655 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 3696-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 34494 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 3696-h/images/fpb.jpg | bin | 0 -> 230196 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 3696-h/images/fps.jpg | bin | 0 -> 35670 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/prcpg10.txt | 7689 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/prcpg10.zip | bin | 0 -> 156371 bytes |
12 files changed, 22828 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3696-0.txt b/3696-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e63bd7 --- /dev/null +++ b/3696-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7468 @@ +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: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE*** + + +Transcribed from the 1909 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + + + + + THE + PRINCE AND THE PAGE + + + A STORY OF THE LAST CRUSADE + + * * * * * + + BY THE AUTHOR OF + “THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE,” + ETC. + + * * * * * + + WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY ADRIAN STOKES + + * * * * * + + MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED + ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON + 1909 + + * * * * * + + RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED, + BREAD STREET HILL, E.C. AND + BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. + + _First Edition printed_ 1865 (_Pott_ 8_vo_). _Reprinted_ 1873, 1875, + 1877, 1878, 1881 + (_Globe_ 8_vo_), _March and November_ 1883, 1886. _Second Edition_ 1891 + (_Crown_ 8_vo_) + _Reprinted_ 1893, 1898, 1899, 1901, 1903, 1906, 1909. + _Shilling Edition_, 1908. + + [Picture: Frontispiece] + + + + +PREFACE + + +IN these days of exactness even a child’s historical romance must point +to what the French term its _pièces justficatives_. 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 _Inferno_, 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. + +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 _Monthly Packet_). 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +_December_ 12_th_, 1865. + + + + +CHAPTER I +THE STATELY HUNTER + + + “‘Now who are thou of the darksome brow + Who wanderest here so free?’ + “‘Oh, I’m one that will walk the green green woods, + Nor ever ask leave of thee.’”—S. M. + +A FINE EVENING—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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +These murmurings were broken off as Leonillo suddenly crested his head, +and changed his expression of repose for one of intense listening. + +“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. + +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?” + +“Worse!” was the gruff mutter in reply. “Down, Leon: I am in no mood for +thy freaks!” + +“What is it, Adam? Have the keepers carried their complaints to the +King, of the venison we have consumed, with small thanks to him?” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“You may try, if you are not the better guided.” + +“How did you hear these tidings?” inquired the boy, changing his mood to +a graver one. + +“From the monk to whom you confessed a fortnight back. Did you let him +know your lineage?” + +“How could I do otherwise?” + +“He looked like a man who would keep a secret; and yet—” + +“Shame—shame to doubt the good father!” + +“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.” + +“And what would you have me do?” + +“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!” + +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. + +“They are upon us already!” cried the boy, snatching up and stringing his +bow. + +“Leave me to deal with him!” returned the outlaw. “Off to Alton: the +good father will receive you to sanctuary!” + +“Flee!—never!” cried the boy. “You teaching my father’s son to flee!” + +“Tush!—’tis but one!” said the outlaw. “He is easily dealt with; and he +shall have no time to call his fellows.” + +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. + +“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. + +“Spare him! spare him!” cried the boy, leaping forwards. “I am the prey +you seek!” + +“Well met, my young Lord,” was the stern reply. “You have found yourself +a worthy way of life, and an honourable companion.” + +“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. + +“He lives—he will do well enough,” said the hunter. “Now, tell me, +boy—what brought you here?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“Ha—young rebel!” exclaimed the hunter. “Know you what you say?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +“Nay, Adam—your hurt!” + +“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. + +“You are my prisoner!” said the calm deep voice. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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 _he_ +yonder not lift a finger to aid!” + +“Wilt follow me,” composedly demanded the stranger, “with hands free? or +must I bind them?” + +“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!” + +“I have no warrant,” returned the grave hunter. + +“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!” + +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. + +But the eye, so steady yet so quick under its somewhat drooping eyelid, +detected the simple stratagem. + +“I trow the Prince might thank me more for bringing in this charge of +thine.” + +“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. + +“That shall we learn at Guildford,” replied the stranger. “There are +means of teaching a man to speak.” + +“None that will serve with me,” stoutly responded Adam. + +“That shall we see,” was the brief answer. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER II +THE LADY OF THE FOREST + + + “Behold how mercy softeneth still + The haughtiest heart that beats: + Pride with disdain may he answered again, + But pardon at once defeats!”—S. M. + +THE 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +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 _langue d’oui_, 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. + +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 _he_ 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. + +“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!” + +“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. + +“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!” + +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.” + +“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!” + +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?” + +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?” + +“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!” + +“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! + +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.” + +“And you, my Lord?” she asked. + +“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?” + +“Alas! my Lord, why put such questions to me,” said Eleanor imploringly, +“unless, as I would fain hope, thou dost but jest?” + +“Do I speak jest, Gourdon?” said Edward, regarding Adam with a lion-like +glance. + +“’Tis all true,” growled Adam. + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“Thanks, Lady,” said Adam with rude courtesy; “but it were better to seek +my young lord’s.” + +“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!” + +“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?” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +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. + +Adam, however, spoke: “Then, Lady, I am indeed beholden to you; provided +that the boy is safe.” + +“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.” + +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!” + +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?” + +“How can I?” said Richard, still in the same undertone, subdued but +determined: “it was you who slew him and my brothers!” + +“Nay, nay!” exclaimed the Princess: “the poor boy thinks all his kindred +are slain!” + +“And they are not!” cried Richard, raising his face with sudden +animation. “They are safe?” + +“Thy brother Henry died with—with the Earl,” said Eleanor; “but all the +rest are safe, and in France.” + +“And my mother and sister?” asked Richard. + +“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.” + +Richard raised his head with a searching glance, to see whether this were +invitation or command. + +“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. + +“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. + + + + +CHAPTER III +ALTON LODGE + + + “Ever were his sons hawtayn, + And bold for their vilanye; + Bothe to knight and sweyn + Did they vilanye.” + + _Old Ballad of Simon de Montforte_. + +FOR 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Thou art a gallant creature,” said Eleanor, her hand upon the proud +head; “and no doubt as faithful as beautiful!” + +“Faithful to the death, Lady,” replied Richard warmly. + +“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.” + +“True, Lady; they were the parents of my Leonillo,” said Richard, +gratified, in spite of himself. + +“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!” + +“Indeed you may, Lady,” said Richard. “It was he that above all saved my +life.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Good dog, good dog!” murmured Eleanor, caressing the animal. “And thou, +Richard, thou wert sorely wounded?” + +“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!” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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?” + +“Yes,” answered Richard with surprise; “I could do no other.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“He shall answer that question himself,” said Eleanor. “See, here he +comes to meet us by the beechwood alley.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Richard looked down, and did not speak. The Princess had put his thought +into words. + +“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.” + +“It was,” murmured Richard, calling to mind many a saying of his +father’s. + +“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.” + +“It was no doing of his,” said Richard, with cheek hotly glowing. + +“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!” + +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. + +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.” + +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?” + +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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV +THE TRANSLATION + + + “Now in gems their relics lie, + And their names in blazonry, + And their forms in storied panes + Gleam athwart their own loved fanes.” + + _Lyra Innocentium_. + +IF 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“And lost the day,” muttered the other page; then added, “The less love, +the more cause for caution.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +“A pretty boat companion you!” said Hamlyn maliciously. “How are we to +take you in, over the velvet cushions?” + +The little page gave an expostulating cry. + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“Into the barge instantly, Richard,” commanded the Prince. “’Tis as much +as his life is worth to remain in this cold stream!” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Père,” she answered, with a peculiar accent that made the Prince say, +“That is a Provençal tongue.” + +“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. + +“I thought,” said Eleanor, “that it was only my own children that scarce +knew whether they spoke English, Languédoc, or Languéd’ouì.” + +“It was the same with us, Lady,” said Richard. “Father Adam was wont to +say we were a little Babel.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER V +THE OLD KNIGHT OF THE HOSPITAL + + + “The warriors of the sacred grave, + Who looked to Christ for laws.” + + _Lord Houghton_. + +RICHARD 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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“What brought he her there for?” exclaimed Sir Robert. “Poor fool! his +wits must have forsaken him!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Where dwells he?” asked Richard, keenly interested in all his father’s +old followers; “I would fain restore him his child.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Well done, my young master,” said Sir Robert, “it is easy to see you are +of the Prince’s household.” + +“I cannot yet do as the Prince can,” said Richard,—“take this leap in +full armour.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Not without a cause,” Richard could not help saying. + +“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.” + +“That may scarcely be with such leaders as the Prince and the King of +France,” said Richard. + +“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.” + +“Were you in Egypt with King Louis?” eagerly exclaimed Richard. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +“How is it with him then, Gammer?” demanded Sir Robert, springing to the +ground with the alacrity of a doctor anxious about his patient. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“He raves!” said Richard, using his strength to withhold the child, who +broke out into a shriek. + +“Nay, nay! she doth not abide here!” he exclaimed. “Her spirit is pure! +My sins are not visited on her beyond the grave!” + +“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. + +“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!” + +“It is the voice of the youth who saved thy child,” said the Grand Prior. + +“Speak again! Let him speak again!” implored the beggar. + +“Can I do aught for you, good man?” asked Richard. + +Again there was a strange start and thrill of amazement. + +“Only for Heaven’s sake tell me who thou art!” + +“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?” + +“Knowst me not, Richard?” returned a suppressed voice in Provençal. + +“Henry! Henry!” exclaimed Richard, and fell upon the foot of the low +bed, weeping bitterly. “Is it come to this?” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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!” + +“Deem me so still,” said his brother, “even as I deem the royal minion +dead to me.” + +“Nay, Henry, thou knowst not.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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!” + +“It was the Princess,” said Richard; but Henry, not noticing, continued, + +“Thou hast earned my pardon, Richard,” and held out his remaining hand, +somewhere towards the height where his brother’s used to be. + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“A beggar!” exclaimed Richard in horror. + +“And what art thou?” retorted Henry, with a sudden fierceness. + +“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.” + +“Nay,” said Henry hastily, “not so, good Father. Here I abide, hap what +may.” + +“And I abide with him,” said Richard. + +“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.” + +“It is well, Father,” said Henry. “Go with him, Richard; but mark me. +Be silent as the grave, and see me again.” + +And reluctant as he was, Richard was forced to comply. + + + + +CHAPTER VI +THE BEGGAR EARL + + + “Along with the nobles that fell at that tyde, + His eldest son Henrye, who fought by his syde, + Was felde by a blow he receivde in the fight; + A blow that for ever deprivde him of sight.” + + _Old Beggar_. + +THE 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. + +“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?” + +“Lord Earl and elder brother,” returned Richard, “thine is my service +through life.” + +“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.” + +“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—” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +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—” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“No other likeness?” said the blind man wistfully; “but no—thou wast at +Hereford when she was at Odiham.” + +“Who?” + +He grasped Richard’s hand, and under his breath uttered the name +“Isabel.” + +“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!” + +“And so thou sawst me slain!” said Henry de Montfort dryly. + +“But how—how was it?” asked Richard eagerly. + +“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?” + +“I fear I know,” said Richard, choked; “my father’s hand.” + +“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.” + +“Thou wert senseless all this time?” + +“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.” + +“And thou didst not bleed to death?” + +“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.” + +He became silent, till Richard’s question drew him on. + +“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.” + +“Not credit,” said Richard; “the Prince was full of grief, more +especially as they all disavowed the deed. But, brother, art thou +excommunicate still?” + +“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.” + +“And you begged! O Henry, the noble lady—” + +“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!” + +“But wherefore? Even had pardon not been ready, Simon held out +Kenilworth for months.” + +Henry laughed his dry laugh. + +“Simple boy, dost think I would trust Simon with an elder brother whose +hand could no longer keep his head?” + +“And my mother—” + +“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.” + +“How could the lady brook it?” + +“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.” + +“Alack! alack! poor Henry,” said Richard; “never, never was lady of +romaunt so noble, and so true!” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“No, no,” grimly laughed Henry. “Dost think any favour would make it +tolerable to be wept over and pitied by the King—pitied by _the King_,” +he repeated in ineffable disgust; “or to be the show of the court, among +all that knew me of old, when I _was_ 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. + +“All this I can understand for thyself,” said Richard; “but for thy +child’s sake canst thou not be moved?” + +“My child, quotha? What, when her Uncle Simon is true grandson to King +John?” + +Richard started. “I cannot believe what thou sayest of Simon,” he +answered in displeasure. + +“One day thou wilt,” calmly answered Henry; “but I had rather not have it +proved upon the heiress of Leicester and Montfort.” + +“Leicester is forfeit—Simon an outlawed man.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“But who would be the bridegroom?” + +“Her own choice, not the King’s,” answered Henry briefly. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“I will see thee again.” + +“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. + +“If aught ails thee, if I can aid thee, swear to me that thou wilt send +to me.” + +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.” + +“’Tis a fair jewel, father, green and sparkling,” cried Bessee. + +“Nay, nay, I’ll have none of it. Some token from thy new masters? Ha, +boy?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Canst write?” asked Sir Robert. + +“Yea, Father.” + +“I could once! But if there be need to send thee a scroll, I’ll take +care it is writ by a trusty hand.” + +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.” + +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. + +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? + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VII +AMONG THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE + + + “But man is more than law, and I may have + Some impress of myself upon the world; + One poor brief life, helping to feed the flame + Of chivalry, and keep alive the truth + That courage, honour, mercy, make a knight.” + + _Queen Isabel_, _by S. M._ + +“LAND in sight! Cheer up, John, my man!” said Richard, leaning over a +bundle of cloaks that lay on the deck of a Genoese galley. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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—” + +“What strikes thee so suddenly silent?” growled one of the muffled +figures stretched on deck. + +“The ensigns are but half-mast high, my Lord,” returned Richard in an +awe-struck voice; “the lilies of France are hung drooping downward.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Sayst thou?” exclaimed the Prince, hastily laying aside his writing +materials. “Fear not, _mi Dona_, I will return anon and tell thee how it +is. We are in smoother water already.” + +“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—” + +“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!” + +“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—” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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, “_Il Rè_!” +“_il Rè santo_,” “_il Rè di Francia_.” 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 _Principe Inglese_. + +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. + +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. + +“Which son?” + +“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.” + +“Poor little Tristan!” sighed Eleanor; “true Cross-bearer, born in one +hapless Crusade to die in another.” + +“The King of Sicily?” demanded Edward between his teeth. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +“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!” + +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 + + “They melted from the field like snow, + Their king, their lords, their mightiest low.” + +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— + + “Who had spoilt the purpose of his life.” + +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. + +“Shall we conduct you to my Lord the King of Sicily?” asked De Porçeles. + +“No!” said Edward, with bitter sternness; “to my uncle of France.” + +“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. + +“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. + +“Worse than enchantment,” quoth the squire; “it is a sand whirlwind.” + +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. + +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. + +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— + + “Qui seminant in lacrymis, in exultatione metent, + Euntes ibant et flebant mittentes semina sua, + Venientes autem venient cum exultatione portantes manipulos suos.” + {100} + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +An inquiry from an attendant elicited that Philippe had just dropped +asleep under the influence of a potion from his leech. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +“Better be wrecked than work the wreck, my Lord,” said Richard. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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 _mi dona_ 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!” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII +RICHARD’S WRAITH + + + “No distance breaks the tie of blood; + Brothers are brothers evermore; + Nor wrong, nor wrath of deadliest mood, + That magic may o’erpower.”—_Christian Year_. + +IT 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. + +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.” + +And little John of Dunster called from a couch of mantles, “Richard, oh! +is it he at last?” + +“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?” + +“How should he be otherwise, with none of you idle-pated pages casting a +thought to him?” + +“I was grieved to leave him—but the Prince summoned me,” began Richard. + +“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!” + +“I did bid Piers—,” Richard made another attempt. + +“Piers, quotha? Why didst not bid the Jackanapes that sits on the +luggage? A proper warder for a sick babe!” + +“I am no babe!” here burst out John; “I am twelve years old come +Martinmas, and I need no tendance but Richard’s.” + +“Ha, ha! So those are all the thanks we ladies get, when we are not +young and fair!” laughed Dame Idonea, rather amused. + +“I want no women, young or old,” petulantly repeated John; “I want +Richard.—Lift me up, Richard; take away this cloak.” + +“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.” + +“Alas!” said Richard, “I hoped nothing ailed him but the sea, and that +landing would make all well.” + +“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.” + +“Alack yes, Lady!” + +“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?” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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.e._ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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?” + +“Is it thou, indeed, this time?” said the boy, catching at his cloak. + +“Why, who should it be?” + +“Thy wraith! Thy double-ganger has been here Richard.” + +“What, dreaming again?” + +“No no! I am well, I am strong. But this _is_ 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!” + +“But this wraith of mine! Where didst see it?” + +“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!” + +“Well, did I speak or vanish?” + +“Oh, thou spakest—I mean the _thing_ spake, and it said, ‘Is this the +tent of the young Lord of Montfort?’ How now—what have I said?” + +“Whom did he ask for?” demanded Richard breathlessly. + +“Montfort—young Lord de Montfort!” replied John; “I know it was, for he +said it twice over.” + +“And what didst thou answer?” + +“What should I answer? I said we had no Montforts here; for they were +all dishonoured traitors, slain and outlawed.” + +Richard could not restrain a sudden indignant exclamation that startled +the boy. “Every one says so! My father says so!” he returned, somewhat +defiantly. + +“Not of the Earl,” said Richard, recollecting himself. + +“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!” + +“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?” + +“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!” + +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. + +“Did Dame Idonea see him?” asked Richard. + +“No; but she came in soon after he had vanished.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“French!” said Richard. “Methought thou knewst no French!” + +“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.” + +“And wert thou rid? What befell then?” + +“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!” + +“Gone! Didst look after him?” + +“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.” + +“Tell me, John,” said Richard anxiously; “surely he was not in all points +like me. Had he our English white cross?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +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!” + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +“A Tuscan robber would be nearer the mark!” coldly replied Edward. + +“And,” added Richard, “methought, while the host is in winter quarters, I +would venture on craving your license, my Lord, to visit him?” + +“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!” + +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. + +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.” + +“From Sir Robert Darcy?” asked Richard. “How fares it with the kind old +knight?” + +“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.” + +“Ah!” said Richard, hoping he was acting indifference; “said he aught of +the little maiden with the blind father?” + +“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.” + +“Send him word!” repeated Richard in perplexity. + +“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.” + +“Then must I write to Sir Robert?” said Richard; “mine is scarce a +message for word of mouth.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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— + + REVEREND AND KNIGHTLY FATHER, + + 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, + + RICHARD OF LEICESTER. + + Given at the Prince’s camp at Drepanum, in the realm of Sicilia, on + the octave of the Epiphany, in the year of grace MCCLXX.; and so our + Lord have you heartily in His keeping. + +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. + +“Why, Jack, dost think I am framing a spell for thee?” + +“Writing!” gasped John, relieving his distended mouth by at length +closing it. + +“Wherefore not? Did not I see the chaplain teaching thee to write at +Guildford?” + +“Ay—but that was when I was a babe! Writing! Why, my father never +writes!” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +And John retreated—in fear perhaps that Richard would sully his manhood +with a writing lesson! + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IX +ASH WEDNESDAY + + + “Mostrocci un ombra da l’ un canto sola + Dicendo ‘Colui feese in grembo a Dio + Lo cuor che’n su Tamigi ancor si cola.’” + + DANTE. _Inferno_. + +SHROVETIDE 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Flee! Boy, why should I flee? Are _your_ senses fleeing?” + +“O Richard,” cried John, his face clearing up, “then it is not true! You +are not one of the traitor Montforts!” + +“If I were a hundred Montforts, what has that to do with it?” + +“Then all is well,” exclaimed the boy. “I said you were no such thing! +I’ll tell Hob he lied in his throat.” + +“If he said I was a traitor, verily he did; but as to being a +Montfort—But, how now, John, what means all this?” + +“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.” + +“To murder Prince Henry!” Richard stood transfixed. “Not the Prince’s +little son!” + +“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.” + +“Hide! Wherefore should I hide? This is most horrible, but it is no +deed of mine!” said Richard. “Who dares to think it is?” + +“Then you are none of them! You had no part in it! I shall tell Hob he +is a villain—” + +“Stay,” said Richard, laying a detaining hand on the boy. “Why does Hob +think me in danger? Is anything stirring against me?” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“Then you will not flee?” + +“No, forsooth. I will stay and prove my innocence.” + +“But you are a Montfort! And I saw you write the letter.” + +“Did you speak of my having written the letter?” asked Richard, pausing. + +The boy hung his head, and muttered something about Dame Idonea. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +Then, as his brother Edmund made some suggestion to him, he added, “Is +John de Mohun of Dunster here?” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“I said I had seen his wraith,” said John. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Then to whom was this letter?” demanded the Prince. + +“To Sir Robert Darcy, the Grand Prior of England,” answered Richard. + +A murmur of incredulous amazement was heard. + +“The purport?” continued Edward. + +“That, my Lord, it consorts not with my duty to tell.” + +“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?” + +“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. + +At the same moment Hamlyn de Valence sprang forward. + +“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.” + +“I commit me to the judgment of God,” said Richard, looking upwards. + +“My Lord,” said Hamlyn, “have we your permission to fight out the +matter?” + +“You have,” said Edward, “since to that holy judgment Richard hath +appealed.” + +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. + +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 + + Lords of the biting axe and beamy spear, + +“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. + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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! + +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.” + +“Who art thou?” demanded Richard. + +“Hob Longbow, Sir. Remember you not old passages—in the forest, +there—and Master Adam?” + +Richard did remember the archer in the days of his outlaw life, in a very +different capacity. + +“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.” + +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? + +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? + +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!” + +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.” + +“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. + + + + +CHAPTER X +THE COMBAT + + + “And now with sae sharp of steele + They ’gan to lay on load.” + + _Sir Cauline_. + +HEAVY-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. + +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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +Hamlyn had no choice. “Let me rise,” he said sullenly; “I will confess, +so thou letst me open my visor.” + +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.” + +Richard was the victor, but where were the gratulations? Young John’s +hearty but slender hurrah was lost in the general silence. + +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.” + +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. + +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.” + +“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!” + +Richard smiled, and put his gauntleted hand caressingly on the boy’s +shoulder. + +“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—” + +“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—” + +“I know, Sir,” said John, perfectly civil on hearing accents as English +as his own. + +“And bring up Brother Bartlemy, he is a better infirmarer than I. Bid +him from me bring his salves and bandages.” + +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. + +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 _mêlée_ +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! + +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.” + +And the Prince seated himself on the oaken chest; while Richard, after a +few words, sat down on his couch. + +“Is this the letter about which there has been such a coil?” said Edward, +giving him the scroll in its sepia ink. + +“It is!” replied Richard in amazement and dismay. + +“The only letter thou didst write?” + +“The only one,” repeated Richard. + +“And,” added Edward, “it concerns thy brother Henry.” + +Richard turned even paler than before, and could not suppress a gasp of +dismay. “My Lord, make me not forsworn!” + +“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?” + +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!” + +“Not yet,” said Edward, smiling; “we have much to do together first. And +now tell me, Richard, this beggar is indeed Henry?” + +Richard hung his head. + +“What, thou mayst not betray him?” + +“I am under an oath, my Lord.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“How could I say other?” said Richard, “and now, more than ever! I long +to thank the gracious Princess this very evening.” + +“Thy wound?’ said the Prince. + +“My wound is naught, I scarce feel it.” + +“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.” + +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?” + +“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.” + +“You spoke with them?” + +“With one, who was charged to let me through the outposts to a spot where +means were provided for bringing me to Guy.” + +“And thou,” said Edward, smiling, “didst choose to bide the buffet?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“Not many such as she,” said Richard, smiling. + +“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. + +“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?” + + + + +CHAPTER XI +THE VIEW FROM CARMEL + + + “On her who knew that love can conquer death; + Who, kneeling with one arm about her king, + Drew forth the poison with her balmy breath, + Sweet as new buds in spring.”—TENNYSON. + +A YEAR 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Here!” was his exclamation, and a grasp was instantly laid upon his +sword. + +“Simon!” burst from Richard’s lips at the same moment, “dost not know +me?” + +“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.” + +“Simon!” again repeated Richard, in his extremity of amazement. “What +dost thou? How camest thou here? Whence—?” + +“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. + +“Thou and Guy?” + +“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.” + +“And we heard thou wast dead at Siena.” + +“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.” + +“But, brother, for whom do you hold it? For the King of Cyprus or—?” + +“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!” + +“Not I, certainly!” said Richard, shrinking back in horror: “I—a sworn +crusader!” + +“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.” + +“How so!” exclaimed Richard. “If peril threaten my Lord, I must be with +him at once.” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“I am afraid of no accusations,” said Richard; “my Lord knows and trusts +me.” + +Simon laughed a loud ringing scornful laugh. + +“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!” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Hamlyn! a moment!” he gasped. “Has aught befallen the Prince?” + +“You were aware of it, then!” said Hamlyn, checking his horse, and +looking him full in the face. + +“Answer me, for Heaven’s sake! Is all well with the Princes?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“What is it? Speak, John! The Prince!” + +“Oh, if you had but been there! It will not cease bleeding. O Richard, +he looks worse than my father when he came home!” + +“Let me hear! Where? How is he hurt?” + +“In the arm and brow,” said the boy. + +“The arm!” said Richard, much relieved. + +“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!” + +“Did you, my brave little fellow? Well done of you!” cried Richard. + +“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!” + +“‘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. + +“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!” + +“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. + +“And so is he saved?” said Richard, with a long breath. + +“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!” + +“Nay, nay,” exclaimed Richard, looking up in horror; “the poor captives +are utterly guiltless! Far more justly make me suffer,” murmured he +sadly. + +“All tarred with the same stick,” said the nearest; “serve them as they +deserve.” + +“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.” + +“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—” + +“Best withdraw yourself, Sir,” said Hob Longbow; “their blood is up. +Baulk them of their prey, and they will set on you next.” + +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. + +“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!” + +“The men-at-arms, my Lord,” said Richard, “fierce to visit the crime on +the captives.” + +“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.” + +“But would the Prince have it so?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Alack, my Lord!” said Richard, “I hurried on to warn you. Ah! would I +had been in time!” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“The knaves!” exclaimed Edward promptly. “Why looks not Gloucester to +this?” + +“My Lord, the Earl saith that he would not command the slaughter, but +that he will not forbid it.” + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +Dame Idonea was muttering the mediæval equivalent for fiddlesticks, as +plain as her respect for the Temple would allow her. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Now, kind lady,” quoth he, “let me hear the worst you foretell for me +from your experience.” + +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?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“On what charge?” he demanded, so soon as he was far enough beyond the +precincts of his tent not to risk a disturbance. + +“By the command of the council. On the charge of being privy to the +attempt on the Prince’s life.” + +“By whom preferred?” asked Richard. + +“By the Lord Hamlyn de Valence.” + +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. + +“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. + +“Who art thou?” hastily inquired Richard. + +“You should know me, Sir,—I have done you many a good turn, and served +your house truly.” + +“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.” + +“Nay, now, Lord Richard,” returned the man, “you should not treat thus an +honest fellow that would fain do you service.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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! + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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? + +“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.” + +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.” + +“How fares he?”—Richard’s one question of the day. + +“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. + +“The Princess gone!” + +“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.” + +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. + +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?” + +“Alas! my Lord, you are too ill at ease to vex yourself with my matters.” + +“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 _shall_ be +with them if—if Heaven and the blessed Saints bear my sweet wife through +this trouble. She will love and trust thee.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“You do not know the reasons, brother,” said Edmund, confused; “nor are +you in a state to hear them.” + +“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?” + +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?” + +“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.” + +“I thought so,” muttered the Prince. “And this is his work?” + +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? + +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. + +“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?” + +“Sir,” said the Provost Marshal, “these knaves of mine have let an +accomplice escape who peradventure might have been made to tell more.” + +“An accomplice? Of whom?” demanded the Prince. + +“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.” + +“Give his guard due punishment!” said Edward shortly. “But how concerns +this the Lord Richard de Montfort’s durance?” + +“Sir,” added the Earl of Gloucester, “is it known to you that the dog of +a murderer was yet no Moslem?” + +“What of that?” sharply demanded Edward. + +“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.” + +“Oh,” dryly replied Edward, “good cause for you to be willing that the +Saracen captives should be massacred.” + +“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.” + +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?” + +“Speak, Hamlyn,” said Edmund of Lancaster; “say to the Prince what thou +didst tell me.” + +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. + +“Well!” said Edward. + +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. + +“And is this all for which you had laid hands on him?” said the Prince, +looking from one to the other. + +“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.” + +“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 _is_ witness?” + +“His name and lineage, brother,” began Edmund. + +“That, gentles, is the witness upon which the wolf slew the lamb for +fouling the stream.” + +“Then you will not examine him?” asked Gloucester. + +“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. + +“My Lord Prince,” objected Gloucester, “we cannot think that this is for +your safety.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII +THE GARDEN OF THE HOSPITAL + + + “And who is yon page lying cold at his knee?”—SCOTT. + +EDWARD 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“He came from the East, then?” asked Richard. + +“Yea, verily. We have many more sick among the returning than the +out-going pilgrims.” + +“And what is his nation?” + +“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.” + +“How did he enter?” said Richard. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Peace, John; this is no place for idle talk,” said Richard gravely. +“Stand aside, here comes the Prince.” + +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. + +Where was Richard? + +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. + +“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?” + +“You said your hand should keep your head, my Lord,” said Richard; “this +is but a lone place.” + +“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.” + +So mused the Prince, and with a weary smile resigned himself to rest. + +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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“Thou!” he gasped. “Who—what?” + +“Richard!” exclaimed the Prince, and relaxing his hold, “Simon de +Montfort, thou hast slain thy brother!” + +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. + +“Poisoned?” Edward asked, looking up at Simon. + +“No. It failed once. He may live,” said Simon, with bent brows and +folded arms. + +“No, no. My death-blow!” gasped Richard, with sobbing breath. “Best so, +if—Oh, could I but speak!” + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Simon stood moody, with folded arms, and Richard groaned, and essayed to +speak. + +“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.” + +“Lay aside thy purpose,” entreated Richard. “Bind him by oath, my Lord.” + +“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.” + +Richard made a gesture of agonized entreaty. + +“My father—my father!” he said. “He forgave—he hated blood; Simon, didst +but know—” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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?” + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII +THE BEGGAR AND THE PRINCE + + + “This favour only, that thou would’st stand out of my sunshine.” + + DIOGENES. + +IT 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. + +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! + +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. + +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!” + +“Well, child; and wherefore waken me? They are after their own affairs, +I trow. Moreover, I hear no horses’ feet.” + +“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?” + +“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!” + +“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?” + +“None,” returned Hal; “though the King and his suite _did_ 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!” + +“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. + +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.” + +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.” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“I come,” said Edward patiently, “to fulfil my last—my parting promise, +to one who loved us both—and gave his life for me.” + +“Loved you, ay! and well enough to betray me to you!” said Henry +bitterly. + +“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.” + +“Then,” said Henry, still with the same mocking tone, “how was it that my +worthless existence became known to his Grace?” + +“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—” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“They were none of your breaking,” said Henry. + +“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. + +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.” + +“Your father did,” said Edward hoarsely. He could brook pity from the +great Simon better than from the blind beggar. + +“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!’” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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!” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +And Henry de Montfort held out his hand with the dignity of head of the +family whose honour Edward had shielded. + +“It was for thy father’s sake and Richard’s,” said Edward, receiving the +acknowledgment as it was meant. + +“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.” + +“Thy share was from a mocking fiend!” returned the King. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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—” + +“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!” + +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. + +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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“She is fair then,” said the beggar eagerly. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“The parting would be bitter,” began Edward “but thou shouldst see her +often.” + +“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.” + +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?” + +“You are a red monk!” said Bessee, amazed. + +“That’s his shell, Bessee,” said her father; “he has come a-masking, and +forgot his part.” + +“I don’t like masking,” said Bessee, trying to get away. + +“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?” + +Bessee cast the black eyes down, and coloured. + +“Dost know me?” he repeated. + +“I think,” she whispered at last, “that you are masking still. You are +like—like the King that was crowned at the Abbey.” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“No, child; it is the King indeed,” said Henry. “Hear what he saith to +thee.” + +And again Edward spoke of all that would tempt a child. + +“Father,” said Bessee, “if father comes!” + +“No, Bessee,” said her father; “I have done with palaces. No places they +for blind beggars.” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV +THE QUEEN OF THE DEW-DROPS + + + “This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever + Ran on a green sward.”—_Winter’s Tale_. + +IT 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. + +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. + +“Had he scented that the court was coming?” asked the young nobles. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Let me pass, gentles,” she said with dignity, “I am carrying wine in +haste to my father.” + +“Nay, fair one, you pass not our bounds without toll,” said the portliest +of the set. + +“Hush, rudesby; fair dames in disguise must be treated after other sort.” + +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. + +“Let go!” then she said in no terrified voice. “Let go, Sir, or I can +summon help.” + +And as if to realize her words, the intrusive hand was thrust aside by a +powerful arm, and a voice exclaimed— + +“This lady is to pass free, Sir! None of your insolence!” + +“A court-gallant,” passed round the hostile bourgeoise; “none of your +court airs, Sir.” + +“No airs—but those of an honest Englishman, who will not see a woman +cowardly beset!” + +“Will Silk-jerkin not bide a buffet!” quoth the bully of the party, +clenching his fist. + +“As many as thou wilt,” returned Silk-jerkin, “so soon as I have seen the +lady safe home!” + +“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. + +“Thanks, Sir,” she said, “for the service you have done me, but I am now +in safety.” + +“Nay, Lady, do me the grace of letting me bear your load.” + +“Thanks,” again she said; “but I feel no weight.” + +“But my knighthood does, seeing you thus laden.” + +“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. + +“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—” + +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— + +“Peace, good Trig, nothing is amiss! It is only this gentleman’s +courtesy. He hath done me good service on the green yonder!” + +And as her strange body-guard retreated growling, she, perhaps to show +her confidence, resigned her pitcher into the knight’s hand. + +“So, fair Queen of the Dew-drops,” he said, half bewildered, “thou dost +work miracles!” + +“Ay, when the dew is on the grass, and the nightingale sings,” she +returned gaily; “by day the enchantment is over.” + +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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“I could well-nigh think so!” half-whispered Sir John. + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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?” + +“Hush, Joan,” said Queen Eleanor, bending forward, “no infanta in my time +ever said so much in a breath.” + +“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!” + +Princess Joan’s mouth was effectually stopped this time. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +“Thou liest in thy throat,” burst forth the knight. “Discourteous +lubber, to call such a queen of beauty a country wench!” + +“Listen to me, girl.” + +“Lady, hear me.” + +“Hearken not to the popinjay foreigner.” + +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. + +“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. + +“Ah! fair Lady, what business could be mine, save to tell you how lovely +you are?” + +“You have said,” she answered, without a blush, waving him aside. “Now +you, Sir,” to the tuneful merchant of Bristol. + +“I told you, Madam, he meant not well. Those aliens never do.” + +“You too have said,” she answered. + +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. + +“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!” + +“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!” + +The lady bowed her head. Perhaps those rosy lips were trying hard to +keep from laughing. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XV +THE BEGGAR’S DOWRY + + + “‘But first you shall promise and have it well knowne + The gold that you drop shall all be your owne;’ + With that they replyed, ‘Contented we bee;’ + ‘Then here’s,’ quoth the beggar, ‘for pretty Bessee.’” + + _Old Ballad_. + +THE 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. + +“By St. Boniface,” said one, “the girl’s father is not there. Saucy +little baggage, was she deluding us all?” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“What mules, Master Samson?” coolly demanded Hal, who had comfortably +established himself under the tree with his back against the trunk. + +“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.” + +“But who is this burgess that you talk of?” asked the beggar. + +“The father of the pilgrim lass that prayed at St. Winifred’s Well,” said +Samson. + +“And was called Queen of the Dew-drops?” + +“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.” + +“I hope she will keep a warm corner for me,” said the beggar; “for no man +will treat for her marriage save myself.” + +“Thou! Old man, who sent thee here to insult us?” cried the merchant. + +“None, Master Lambert. I trysted you to meet me here if you purposed +still to seek my child in marriage.” + +“Thy child?” cried all three, vehemently. + +“My child!” answered the beggar. “Mine own lawful child.” + +There was a silence. Presently Samson growled, “I mind me he used to +have a little black-eyed brat with him.” + +“Caitiff!” exclaimed the merchant; “I’ll have thy old vagabond bones in +the Fleet for daring so to cheat his Grace’s lieges.” + +“If you can prove a cheat against me I will readily abye it, Sir,” +returned the beggar. + +“Palming a beggar’s brat off for a noble dame.” + +“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?” + +“Aye, of a cell in the Fleet if you persist in your insolence!” cried the +merchant. + +“Thanks,” quietly said the beggar. “And you, Master Samson?” + +“’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.” + +“I thought I heard another voice,” said the beggar. “I trow the third +suitor has made off without further ado.” + +“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.” + +“Sir knight,” interfered the merchant, “you will get into a desperate +coil with your friends.” + +“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.” + +“It is spoken honourably,” said Hal; “but, Sir, canst thou answer me with +her dowry? Tell down coin for coin.” + +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. + +“Stay, stay,” cried Samson. “I can play at that game too.” + +“No, no, Master Samson,” said the beggar; “your pretensions are resigned. +Your chance is over.” + +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. + +The last bag of the knight lay thin and exhausted; the beggar clutched +one bursting with repletion. + +“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.” + +“Let them weigh in the balance,” said the beggar; “and therewith thy +truth to thy word.” + +“And will you own me?” exclaimed the knight. “Will you take me to your +daughter?” + +“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.” + +“Worthy!” John of Dunster chafed and bit his lips at such words from a +beggar. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Pray him to come hither,” said the King; “and lead him carefully. Thou, +Joan, hadst better seek thy mother and sister.” + +“O sweet father,” cried Joan, “don’t order me off. This can be no state +business. Prithee let me hear it.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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.” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +Joan had in the meantime placed herself between her father’s knees, where +she stood regarding this wonderful beggar with the most unmitigated +astonishment. + +“John of Dunster!” said the King, stroking down Joan’s hair, “thou knowst +his lineage as well as I, cousin.” + +“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.” + +“Hath he sought her?” asked the King. + +“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!” + +“O father! it is true love!” whispered Joan. + +“What hast to do with true love, popinjay? And so John of Dunster came +undaunted to the breach, did he, Henry?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +But under the tree stood not the blind beggar, but the beggar’s boy. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Sir John de Mohun of Dunster,” he said, “thou art come hither to espouse +my daughter?” + +“I hope, so, Sir,” said John, somewhat taken by surprise. + +“Come hither, maiden,” said her father. + +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. + +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!” + +“Deem you that I would?” said the knight fervently, pressing her hand. + +“I deemed that you should know all—who I am,” she faltered. + +“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. + +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. + +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:— + + “A poore beggar’s daughter did dwell on a greene, + Who might for her faireness have well been a queene; + A blithe bonny lasse and a dainty was she, + And many one callèd her pretty Bessee.” + +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!” + +His words were only for herself. The King was saying aloud, + +“Well sung, fair cousin! A health, my Lords and Knights, for Sir Henry +de Montfort, Earl of Leicester.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Would you have given her to the Cheddar Yeoman?” burst out Joan +furiously. + +“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.” + +“Ay, when you have tamed Scotland, even as you have tamed Wales,” +returned Henry. + +“No fear of my good brother Alexander’s realm needing such taming. +Heaven forbid!” said Edward. + +But the beggar parted from him with a laugh. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI +THE PAGE’S MEMORY + + + The pure calm picture of a blameless friend. + + _Lyra Apostolica_. + +TEN 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. + +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?” + +“Not so, my Lord; but the Bailiff of Acre awaits to see you.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“A message?” said Edward. + +“A message from a dying penitent, craving pardon,” replied Sir Raynald. + +“If it concerns the House of Montfort, speak on,” said Edward. “None are +so near to it as those present with me!” + +“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?” + +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.” + +“And Richard’s grave has passed to the Infidels!” said Edward, after a +long silence. + +“Even as the graves of our brethren—the holiest Grave of all,” said the +Knight Hospitalier. + +“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.” + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +“Ah!” said the knight, “well do I remember the shipping of that stone +from Acre, little guessing its purpose!” + +“Then it is indeed a stone from the ruined Temple of Jerusalem,” said the +lady. “Read the inscription, my Son.” + +The young man read and translated— + +“Edwardus Primus. Malleus Scotorum Pactum serva. +Edward the First. The Hammer of the Scots. Keep covenant.” + +“It was scarce worth while to bring a stone from Jerusalem, to mark it +with ‘the Hammer of the Scots!’” said the lady. + +“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.” + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +{100} Psalm cxxvi. 6, 7. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE*** + + +******* This file should be named 3696-0.txt or 3696-0.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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this +eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook +for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, +performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given +away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks +not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the +trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country outside the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + 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. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The +Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the +mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its +volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous +locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt +Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to +date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and +official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/3696-0.zip b/3696-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9c4f31d --- /dev/null +++ b/3696-0.zip diff --git a/3696-h.zip b/3696-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b8d7db8 --- /dev/null +++ b/3696-h.zip 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this +eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook +for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, +performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given +away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks +not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the +trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country outside the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + 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. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The +Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the +mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its +volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous +locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt +Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to +date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and +official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +</pre></body> +</html> diff --git a/3696-h/images/cover.jpg b/3696-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7625580 --- /dev/null +++ b/3696-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/3696-h/images/fpb.jpg b/3696-h/images/fpb.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..46b890f --- /dev/null +++ b/3696-h/images/fpb.jpg diff --git a/3696-h/images/fps.jpg b/3696-h/images/fps.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..296e035 --- /dev/null +++ b/3696-h/images/fps.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2982a2a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #3696 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3696) diff --git a/old/prcpg10.txt b/old/prcpg10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..daffa71 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/prcpg10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7689 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext The Prince and the Page, by Charlotte M. Yonge +#12 in our series by Charlotte M. Yonge + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. + +Please do not remove this. + +This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. +Do not change or edit it without written permission. The words +are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they +need about what they can legally do with the texts. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These Etexts Are Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below, including for donations. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) +organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541 + + + +Title: The Prince and the Page + +Author: Charlotte M. Yonge + +Release Date: January, 2003 [Etext #3696] +[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule] +[The actual date this file first posted = 07/24/01] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Project Gutenberg Etext The Prince and the Page, by Charlotte M. Yonge +*********This file should be named prcpg10.txt or prcpg10.zip********* + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, prcpg11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, prcpg10a.txt + +This etext was produced by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk, +from the 1909 Macmillan and Co. edition. + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any +of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our books one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to send us error messages even years after +the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our sites at: +http://gutenberg.net +http://promo.net/pg + + +Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement +can surf to them as follows, and just download by date; this is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 +or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03 + +Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release fifty new Etext +files per month, or 500 more Etexts in 2000 for a total of 3000+ +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +should reach over 300 billion Etexts given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third +of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 4,000 Etexts unless we +manage to get some real funding. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +If of July 12, 2001 contributions are only being solicited from people in: +Arkansas, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Idaho, +Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, Minnesota, +Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, New Mexico, Nevada, New Jersey, New York, North +Carolina, Ohio, Oklahoma, Oregon, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota, +Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West Virginia, +Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in about 45 states now, and about 80% have now responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, +additions to this list will be made and fund raising +will begin in the additional states. Please feel +free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork +to legally request donations in all 50 states. If +your state is not listed and you would like to know +if we have added it since the list you have, just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in +states where we are not yet registered, we know +of no prohibition against accepting donations +from donors in these states who approach us with +an offer to donate. + + +International donations are accepted, +but we don't know ANYTHING about how +to make them tax-deductible, or +even if they CAN be made deductible, +and don't have the staff to handle it +even if there are ways. + +All donations should be made to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) +organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541, +and has been approved as a 501(c)(3) organization by the US Internal +Revenue Service (IRS). Donations are tax-deductible to the maximum +extent permitted by law. As the requirements for other states are met, +additions to this list will be made and fund raising will begin in the +additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information at: + +http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +hart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.org +if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if +it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . . + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +*** + + +Example command-line FTP session: + +ftp ftp.ibiblio.org +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg +cd etext90 through etext99 or etext00 through etext02, etc. +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET GUTINDEX.?? [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99] +GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books] + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this etext, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the etext, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael S. Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.07/12/01*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk, +from the 1909 Macmillan and Co. edition. + + + + + +THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE + +by Charlotte M. Yonge + + + + +PREFACE + + + +In these days of exactness even a child's historical romance must +point to what the French term its pieces justficatives. 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 Inferno, 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. + +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 +Monthly Packet). 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +December 12th, 1865. + + + +CHAPTER I--THE STATELY HUNTER + + + +"'Now who are thou of the darksome brow + Who wanderest here so free?' +"'Oh, I'm one that will walk the green green woods, + Nor ever ask leave of thee.'"--S. M. + +A fine evening--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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + "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!" + +These murmurings were broken off as Leonillo suddenly crested his +head, and changed his expression of repose for one of intense +listening. + +"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. + +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?" + +"Worse!" was the gruff mutter in reply. "Down, Leon: I am in no +mood for thy freaks!" + +"What is it, Adam? Have the keepers carried their complaints to the +King, of the venison we have consumed, with small thanks to him?" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"You may try, if you are not the better guided." + +"How did you hear these tidings?" inquired the boy, changing his mood +to a graver one. + +"From the monk to whom you confessed a fortnight back. Did you let +him know your lineage?" + +"How could I do otherwise?" + +"He looked like a man who would keep a secret; and yet--" + +"Shame--shame to doubt the good father!" + +"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." + +"And what would you have me do?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"They are upon us already!" cried the boy, snatching up and stringing +his bow. + +"Leave me to deal with him!" returned the outlaw. "Off to Alton: +the good father will receive you to sanctuary!" + +"Flee!--never!" cried the boy. "You teaching my father's son to +flee!" + +"Tush!--'tis but one!" said the outlaw. "He is easily dealt with; +and he shall have no time to call his fellows." + +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. + +"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. + +"Spare him! spare him!" cried the boy, leaping forwards. "I am the +prey you seek!" + +"Well met, my young Lord," was the stern reply. "You have found +yourself a worthy way of life, and an honourable companion." + +"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. + +"He lives--he will do well enough," said the hunter. "Now, tell me, +boy--what brought you here?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"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!" + +"Ha--young rebel!" exclaimed the hunter. "Know you what you say?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"Nay, Adam--your hurt!" + +"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. + +"You are my prisoner!" said the calm deep voice. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 HE yonder not lift a finger to aid!" + +"Wilt follow me," composedly demanded the stranger, "with hands free? +or must I bind them?" + +"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!" + +"I have no warrant," returned the grave hunter. + +"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!" + +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. + +But the eye, so steady yet so quick under its somewhat drooping +eyelid, detected the simple stratagem. + +"I trow the Prince might thank me more for bringing in this charge of +thine." + +"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. + +"That shall we learn at Guildford," replied the stranger. "There are +means of teaching a man to speak." + +"None that will serve with me," stoutly responded Adam. + +"That shall we see," was the brief answer. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER II--THE LADY OF THE FOREST + + + +"Behold how mercy softeneth still + The haughtiest heart that beats: +Pride with disdain may he answered again, + But pardon at once defeats!"--S. M. + +The 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 Provencal--far more familiar than +English to Adam's ears--"Hast room for another suppliant, mi Dona?" + +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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 Provencal, "I know the like of that +face and mien!" + +"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." + +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 langue +d'oui, the Northern French, which was as little serviceable in +dealing with her Spanish and Provencal 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 Provencal; 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. + +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 HE 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. + +"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!" + +"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. + +"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!" + +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." + +"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!" + +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?" + +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?" + +"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!" + +"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! + +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." + +"And you, my Lord?" she asked. + +"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?" + +"Alas! my Lord, why put such questions to me," said Eleanor +imploringly, "unless, as I would fain hope, thou dost but jest?" + +"Do I speak jest, Gourdon?" said Edward, regarding Adam with a lion- +like glance. + +"'Tis all true," growled Adam. + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"Thanks, Lady," said Adam with rude courtesy; "but it were better to +seek my young lord's." + +"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!" + +"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?" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +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. + +Adam, however, spoke: "Then, Lady, I am indeed beholden to you; +provided that the boy is safe." + +"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." + +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!" + +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?" + +"How can I?" said Richard, still in the same undertone, subdued but +determined: "it was you who slew him and my brothers!" + +"Nay, nay!" exclaimed the Princess: "the poor boy thinks all his +kindred are slain!" + +"And they are not!" cried Richard, raising his face with sudden +animation. "They are safe?" + +"Thy brother Henry died with--with the Earl," said Eleanor; "but all +the rest are safe, and in France." + +"And my mother and sister?" asked Richard. + +"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." + +Richard raised his head with a searching glance, to see whether this +were invitation or command. + +"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. + +"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. + + + +CHAPTER III--ALTON LODGE + + + +"Ever were his sons hawtayn, +And bold for their vilanye; +Bothe to knight and sweyn +Did they vilanye." +Old Ballad of Simon de Montforte. + +For 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 Grostete, +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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." + +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 Provencal 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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Thou art a gallant creature," said Eleanor, her hand upon the proud +head; "and no doubt as faithful as beautiful!" + +"Faithful to the death, Lady," replied Richard warmly. + +"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." + +"True, Lady; they were the parents of my Leonillo," said Richard, +gratified, in spite of himself. + +"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!" + +"Indeed you may, Lady," said Richard. "It was he that above all +saved my life." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Good dog, good dog!" murmured Eleanor, caressing the animal. "And +thou, Richard, thou wert sorely wounded?" + +"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!" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Yes," answered Richard with surprise; "I could do no other." + +"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." + +"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. + +"He shall answer that question himself," said Eleanor. "See, here he +comes to meet us by the beechwood alley." + +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. + +"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." + +Richard looked down, and did not speak. The Princess had put his +thought into words. + +"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." + +"It was," murmured Richard, calling to mind many a saying of his +father's. + +"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." + +"It was no doing of his," said Richard, with cheek hotly glowing. + +"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!" + +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. + +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." + +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?" + +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?" + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IV--THE TRANSLATION + + + +"Now in gems their relics lie, +And their names in blazonry, +And their forms in storied panes +Gleam athwart their own loved fanes." +Lyra Innocentium. + +If 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"And lost the day," muttered the other page; then added, "The less +love, the more cause for caution." + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +"A pretty boat companion you!" said Hamlyn maliciously. "How are we +to take you in, over the velvet cushions?" + +The little page gave an expostulating cry. + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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." + +"Into the barge instantly, Richard," commanded the Prince. "'Tis as +much as his life is worth to remain in this cold stream!" + +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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Pere," she answered, with a peculiar accent that made the Prince +say, "That is a Provencal tongue." + +"They are Provencal eyes likewise," added Eleanor. "See how like +their hue is to Richard's own;" and in Provencal she repeated the +question what the father's name and the child's own might be. But +"Pere" again, and "Bessee, pretty Bessee," was all the answer she +obtained, the last in unmistakable English. + +"I thought," said Eleanor, "that it was only my own children that +scarce knew whether they spoke English, Languedoc, or Langued'oui." + +"It was the same with us, Lady," said Richard. "Father Adam was wont +to say we were a little Babel." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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 Provencal, 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. + +Richard, touched and flattered by the little maiden's exclusive +preference, and owning in her Provencal 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 Provencal +tongue was needed in order to discovering her father among the +troubadours. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER V--THE OLD KNIGHT OF THE HOSPITAL + + + +"The warriors of the sacred grave, + Who looked to Christ for laws." +Lord Houghton. + +Richard 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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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!" + +"What brought he her there for?" exclaimed Sir Robert. "Poor fool! +his wits must have forsaken him!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Where dwells he?" asked Richard, keenly interested in all his +father's old followers; "I would fain restore him his child." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Well done, my young master," said Sir Robert, "it is easy to see you +are of the Prince's household." + +"I cannot yet do as the Prince can," said Richard,--"take this leap +in full armour." + +"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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Not without a cause," Richard could not help saying. + +"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." + +"That may scarcely be with such leaders as the Prince and the King of +France," said Richard. + +"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." + +"Were you in Egypt with King Louis?" eagerly exclaimed Richard. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +"How is it with him then, Gammer?" demanded Sir Robert, springing to +the ground with the alacrity of a doctor anxious about his patient. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"He raves!" said Richard, using his strength to withhold the child, +who broke out into a shriek. + +"Nay, nay! she doth not abide here!" he exclaimed. "Her spirit is +pure! My sins are not visited on her beyond the grave!" + +"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. + +"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!" + +"It is the voice of the youth who saved thy child," said the Grand +Prior. + +"Speak again! Let him speak again!" implored the beggar. + +"Can I do aught for you, good man?" asked Richard. + +Again there was a strange start and thrill of amazement. + +"Only for Heaven's sake tell me who thou art!" + +"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?" + +"Knowst me not, Richard?" returned a suppressed voice in Provencal. + +"Henry! Henry!" exclaimed Richard, and fell upon the foot of the low +bed, weeping bitterly. "Is it come to this?" + +"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." + +"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. + +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!" + +"Deem me so still," said his brother, "even as I deem the royal +minion dead to me." + +"Nay, Henry, thou knowst not." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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!" + +"It was the Princess," said Richard; but Henry, not noticing, +continued, + +"Thou hast earned my pardon, Richard," and held out his remaining +hand, somewhere towards the height where his brother's used to be. + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +"A beggar!" exclaimed Richard in horror. + +"And what art thou?" retorted Henry, with a sudden fierceness. + +"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." + +"Nay," said Henry hastily, "not so, good Father. Here I abide, hap +what may." + +"And I abide with him," said Richard. + +"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." + +"It is well, Father," said Henry. "Go with him, Richard; but mark +me. Be silent as the grave, and see me again." + +And reluctant as he was, Richard was forced to comply. + + + +CHAPTER VI--THE BEGGAR EARL + + + +"Along with the nobles that fell at that tyde, +His eldest son Henrye, who fought by his syde, +Was felde by a blow he receivde in the fight; +A blow that for ever deprivde him of sight." +Old Beggar. + +The 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. + +"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?" + +"Lord Earl and elder brother," returned Richard, "thine is my service +through life." + +"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." + +"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--" + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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?" + +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--" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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!" + +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." + +"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." + +"No other likeness?" said the blind man wistfully; "but no--thou wast +at Hereford when she was at Odiham." + +"Who?" + +He grasped Richard's hand, and under his breath uttered the name +"Isabel." + +"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!" + +"And so thou sawst me slain!" said Henry de Montfort dryly. + +"But how--how was it?" asked Richard eagerly. + +"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?" + +"I fear I know," said Richard, choked; "my father's hand." + +"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." + +"Thou wert senseless all this time?" + +"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." + +"And thou didst not bleed to death?" + +"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." + +He became silent, till Richard's question drew him on. + +"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." + +"Not credit," said Richard; "the Prince was full of grief, more +especially as they all disavowed the deed. But, brother, art thou +excommunicate still?" + +"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." + +"And you begged! O Henry, the noble lady--" + +"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!" + +"But wherefore? Even had pardon not been ready, Simon held out +Kenilworth for months." + +Henry laughed his dry laugh. + +"Simple boy, dost think I would trust Simon with an elder brother +whose hand could no longer keep his head?" + +"And my mother--" + +"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." + +"How could the lady brook it?" + +"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." + +"Alack! alack! poor Henry," said Richard; "never, never was lady of +romaunt so noble, and so true!" + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"No, no," grimly laughed Henry. "Dost think any favour would make it +tolerable to be wept over and pitied by the King--pitied by THE +KING," he repeated in ineffable disgust; "or to be the show of the +court, among all that knew me of old, when I WAS 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. + +"All this I can understand for thyself," said Richard; "but for thy +child's sake canst thou not be moved?" + +"My child, quotha? What, when her Uncle Simon is true grandson to +King John?" + +Richard started. "I cannot believe what thou sayest of Simon," he +answered in displeasure. + +"One day thou wilt," calmly answered Henry; "but I had rather not +have it proved upon the heiress of Leicester and Montfort." + +"Leicester is forfeit--Simon an outlawed man." + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"But who would be the bridegroom?" + +"Her own choice, not the King's," answered Henry briefly. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"I will see thee again." + +"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. + +"If aught ails thee, if I can aid thee, swear to me that thou wilt +send to me." + +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." + +"'Tis a fair jewel, father, green and sparkling," cried Bessee. + +"Nay, nay, I'll have none of it. Some token from thy new masters? +Ha, boy?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Canst write?" asked Sir Robert. + +"Yea, Father." + +"I could once! But if there be need to send thee a scroll, I'll take +care it is writ by a trusty hand." + +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 Grostete. +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." + +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. + +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? + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VII--AMONG THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE + + + +"But man is more than law, and I may have +Some impress of myself upon the world; +One poor brief life, helping to feed the flame +Of chivalry, and keep alive the truth +That courage, honour, mercy, make a knight." +Queen Isabel, by S. M. + +"Land in sight! Cheer up, John, my man!" said Richard, leaning over +a bundle of cloaks that lay on the deck of a Genoese galley. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +"What strikes thee so suddenly silent?" growled one of the muffled +figures stretched on deck. + +"The ensigns are but half-mast high, my Lord," returned Richard in an +awe-struck voice; "the lilies of France are hung drooping downward." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Sayst thou?" exclaimed the Prince, hastily laying aside his writing +materials. "Fear not, mi Dona, I will return anon and tell thee how +it is. We are in smoother water already." + +"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--" + +"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!" + +"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--" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +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. + +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 AEneas; 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. + +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, "Il Re!" "il Re santo," "il Re di Francia." 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 Principe +Inglese. + +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. + +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. + +"Which son?" + +"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." + +"Poor little Tristan!" sighed Eleanor; "true Cross-bearer, born in +one hapless Crusade to die in another." + +"The King of Sicily?" demanded Edward between his teeth. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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 AEneas 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. + +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 Graecising +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. + +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. + +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!" + +"Alas, beau sire Guillaume de Porceles!" was all that Edward could +say, as with tears in his eyes he held out his hand to the good +Provencal knight, adding, "Let me hear!" + +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 +Porceles 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 + + +"They melted from the field like snow, +Their king, their lords, their mightiest low." + + +And the last foreign embassy that ever reached Louis IX. had been +that of the Greek Emperor Michael Palaeologos, come to set before him +the savage barbarities perpetrated upon Christians by this brother - + + +"Who had spoilt the purpose of his life." + + +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. + +"Shall we conduct you to my Lord the King of Sicily?" asked De +Porceles. + +"No!" said Edward, with bitter sternness; "to my uncle of France." + +"Down, down, my Lord, and all of you instantly," shouted Porceles +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 +Porceles. 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 +Provencals 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. + +"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. + +"Worse than enchantment," quoth the squire; "it is a sand whirlwind." + +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. + +A Moorish house in the midst of a once well-laid-out garden, now +trampled and destroyed, was the place to which the Provencal 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. + +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 - + + +"Qui seminant in lacrymis, in exultatione metent, +Euntes ibant et flebant mittentes semina sua, +Venientes autem venient cum exultatione portantes manipulos suos." +{1} + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +An inquiry from an attendant elicited that Philippe had just dropped +asleep under the influence of a potion from his leech. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +"Better be wrecked than work the wreck, my Lord," said Richard. + +"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 Grostete, 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." + +"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." + +"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 mi dona +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!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII--RICHARD'S WRAITH + + + +"No distance breaks the tie of blood; +Brothers are brothers evermore; +Nor wrong, nor wrath of deadliest mood, +That magic may o'erpower."--Christian Year. + +It 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. + +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." + +And little John of Dunster called from a couch of mantles, "Richard, +oh! is it he at last?" + +"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?" + +"How should he be otherwise, with none of you idle-pated pages +casting a thought to him?" + +"I was grieved to leave him--but the Prince summoned me," began +Richard. + +"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!" + +"I did bid Piers--," Richard made another attempt. + +"Piers, quotha? Why didst not bid the Jackanapes that sits on the +luggage? A proper warder for a sick babe!" + +"I am no babe!" here burst out John; "I am twelve years old come +Martinmas, and I need no tendance but Richard's." + +"Ha, ha! So those are all the thanks we ladies get, when we are not +young and fair!" laughed Dame Idonea, rather amused. + +"I want no women, young or old," petulantly repeated John; "I want +Richard.--Lift me up, Richard; take away this cloak." + +"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." + +"Alas!" said Richard, "I hoped nothing ailed him but the sea, and +that landing would make all well." + +"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." + +"Alack yes, Lady!" + +"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?" + +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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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.e. +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 Provencals 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! + +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. + +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?" + +"Is it thou, indeed, this time?" said the boy, catching at his cloak. + +"Why, who should it be?" + +"Thy wraith! Thy double-ganger has been here Richard." + +"What, dreaming again?" + +'No no! I am well, I am strong. But this IS 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!" + +"But this wraith of mine! Where didst see it?" + +"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!" + +"Well, did I speak or vanish?" + +"Oh, thou spakest--I mean the THING spake, and it said, 'Is this the +tent of the young Lord of Montfort?' How now--what have I said?" + +"Whom did he ask for?" demanded Richard breathlessly. + +"Montfort--young Lord de Montfort!" replied John; "I know it was, for +he said it twice over." + +"And what didst thou answer?" + +"What should I answer? I said we had no Montforts here; for they +were all dishonoured traitors, slain and outlawed." + +Richard could not restrain a sudden indignant exclamation that +startled the boy. "Every one says so! My father says so!" he +returned, somewhat defiantly. + +"Not of the Earl," said Richard, recollecting himself. + +"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!" + +"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?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"Did Dame Idonea see him?" asked Richard. + +"No; but she came in soon after he had vanished." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"French!" said Richard. "Methought thou knewst no French!" + +"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." + +"And wert thou rid? What befell then?" + +"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!" + +"Gone! Didst look after him?" + +"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." + +"Tell me, John," said Richard anxiously; "surely he was not in all +points like me. Had he our English white cross?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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 Provencals, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 Provencal. + +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. + +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 Palaeologos, who had lately recovered +Constantinople, the Empire that Charles hoped to win for himself, the +favoured champion of Rome. + +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?" + +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!" + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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 Coeur 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 Provencal +adventurers, with whom Charles had filled the island. + +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!" + +"A Tuscan robber would be nearer the mark!" coldly replied Edward. + +"And," added Richard, "methought, while the host is in winter +quarters, I would venture on craving your license, my Lord, to visit +him?" + +"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!" + +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. + +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." + +"From Sir Robert Darcy?" asked Richard. "How fares it with the kind +old knight?" + +"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." + +"Ah!" said Richard, hoping he was acting indifference; "said he aught +of the little maiden with the blind father?" + +"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." + +"Send him word!" repeated Richard in perplexity. + +"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." + +"Then must I write to Sir Robert?" said Richard; "mine is scarce a +message for word of mouth." + +"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. + +"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. + +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 Provencal 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. + +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. + +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 - + + +REVEREND AND KNIGHTLY FATHER, + +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, + +RICHARD OF LEICESTER. + +Given at the Prince's camp at Drepanum, in the realm of Sicilia, on +the octave of the Epiphany, in the year of grace MCCLXX.; and so our +Lord have you heartily in His keeping. + + +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. + +"Why, Jack, dost think I am framing a spell for thee?" + +"Writing!" gasped John, relieving his distended mouth by at length +closing it. + +"Wherefore not? Did not I see the chaplain teaching thee to write at +Guildford?" + +"Ay--but that was when I was a babe! Writing! Why, my father never +writes!" + +"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." + +"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!" + +And John retreated--in fear perhaps that Richard would sully his +manhood with a writing lesson! + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IX--ASH WEDNESDAY + + + +"Mostrocci un ombra da l' un canto sola +Dicendo 'Colui feese in grembo a Dio +Lo cuor che'n su Tamigi ancor si cola.'" +DANTE. Inferno. + +Shrovetide 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. + +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. + +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 Porceles. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Flee! Boy, why should I flee? Are YOUR senses fleeing?" + +"O Richard," cried John, his face clearing up, "then it is not true! +You are not one of the traitor Montforts!" + +"If I were a hundred Montforts, what has that to do with it?" + +"Then all is well," exclaimed the boy. "I said you were no such +thing! I'll tell Hob he lied in his throat." + +"If he said I was a traitor, verily he did; but as to being a +Montfort--But, how now, John, what means all this?" + +"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." + +"To murder Prince Henry!" Richard stood transfixed. "Not the +Prince's little son!" + +"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." + +"Hide! Wherefore should I hide? This is most horrible, but it is no +deed of mine!" said Richard. "Who dares to think it is?" + +"Then you are none of them! You had no part in it! I shall tell Hob +he is a villain--" + +"Stay," said Richard, laying a detaining hand on the boy. "Why does +Hob think me in danger? Is anything stirring against me?" + +"They all--all of poor Prince Henry's meine, 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." + +"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!" + +"Then you will not flee?" + +"No, forsooth. I will stay and prove my innocence." + +"But you are a Montfort! And I saw you write the letter." + +"Did you speak of my having written the letter?" asked Richard, +pausing. + +The boy hung his head, and muttered something about Dame Idonea. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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." + +Then, as his brother Edmund made some suggestion to him, he added, +"Is John de Mohun of Dunster here?" + +"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!" + +"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." + +"I said I had seen his wraith," said John. + +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." + +"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." + +"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. + +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." + +"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 +Ferrieres, 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." + +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." + +"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." + +"Then to whom was this letter?" demanded the Prince. + +"To Sir Robert Darcy, the Grand Prior of England," answered Richard. + +A murmur of incredulous amazement was heard. + +"The purport?" continued Edward. + +"That, my Lord, it consorts not with my duty to tell." + +"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?" + +"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. + +At the same moment Hamlyn de Valence sprang forward. + +"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." + +"I commit me to the judgment of God," said Richard, looking upwards. + +"My Lord," said Hamlyn, "have we your permission to fight out the +matter?" + +"You have," said Edward, "since to that holy judgment Richard hath +appealed." + +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. + +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 + + +Lords of the biting axe and beamy spear, + + +"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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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! + +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." + +"Who art thou?" demanded Richard. + +"Hob Longbow, Sir. Remember you not old passages--in the forest, +there--and Master Adam?" + +Richard did remember the archer in the days of his outlaw life, in a +very different capacity. + +"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." + +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? + +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? + +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!" + +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." + +"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. + + + +CHAPTER X--THE COMBAT + + + +"And now with sae sharp of steele +They 'gan to lay on load." +Sir Cauline. + +Heavy-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 Ferrieres, with his squires, galloped up to the tent. + +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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +Hamlyn had no choice. "Let me rise," he said sullenly; "I will +confess, so thou letst me open my visor." + +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." + +Richard was the victor, but where were the gratulations? Young +John's hearty but slender hurrah was lost in the general silence. + +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." + +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. + +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." + +"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!" + +Richard smiled, and put his gauntleted hand caressingly on the boy's +shoulder. + +"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--" + +"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--" + +"I know, Sir," said John, perfectly civil on hearing accents as +English as his own. + +"And bring up Brother Bartlemy, he is a better infirmarer than I. +Bid him from me bring his salves and bandages." + +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. + +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 +melee 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! + +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." + +And the Prince seated himself on the oaken chest; while Richard, +after a few words, sat down on his couch. + +"Is this the letter about which there has been such a coil?" said +Edward, giving him the scroll in its sepia ink. + +"It is!" replied Richard in amazement and dismay. + +"The only letter thou didst write?" + +"The only one," repeated Richard. + +"And," added Edward, "it concerns thy brother Henry. + +Richard turned even paler than before, and could not suppress a gasp +of dismay. "My Lord, make me not forsworn!" + +"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?" + +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!" + +"Not yet," said Edward, smiling; "we have much to do together first. +And now tell me, Richard, this beggar is indeed Henry?" + +Richard hung his head. + +"What, thou mayst not betray him?" + +"I am under an oath, my Lord." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"How could I say other?" said Richard, "and now, more than ever! I +long to thank the gracious Princess this very evening." + +"Thy wound?' said the Prince. + +"My wound is naught, I scarce feel it." + +"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." + +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?" + +"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." + +"You spoke with them?" + +"With one, who was charged to let me through the outposts to a spot +where means were provided for bringing me to Guy." + +"And thou," said Edward, smiling, "didst choose to bide the buffet?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Not many such as she," said Richard, smiling. + +"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. + +"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?" + + + +CHAPTER XI--THE VIEW FROM CARMEL + + + +"On her who knew that love can conquer death; + Who, kneeling with one arm about her king, +Drew forth the poison with her balmy breath, + Sweet as new buds in spring."--TENNYSON. + +A year 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Here!" was his exclamation, and a grasp was instantly laid upon his +sword. + +"Simon!" burst from Richard's lips at the same moment, "dost not know +me?" + +"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." + +"Simon!" again repeated Richard, in his extremity of amazement. +"What dost thou? How camest thou here? Whence--?" + +"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. + +"Thou and Guy?" + +"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." + +"And we heard thou wast dead at Siena." + +"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." + +"But, brother, for whom do you hold it? For the King of Cyprus or-- +?" + +"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!" + +"Not I, certainly!" said Richard, shrinking back in horror: "I--a +sworn crusader!" + +"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." + +"How so!" exclaimed Richard. "If peril threaten my Lord, I must be +with him at once." + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"I am afraid of no accusations," said Richard; "my Lord knows and +trusts me." + +Simon laughed a loud ringing scornful laugh. + +"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!" + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Hamlyn! a moment!" he gasped. "Has aught befallen the Prince?" + +"You were aware of it, then!" said Hamlyn, checking his horse, and +looking him full in the face. + +"Answer me, for Heaven's sake! Is all well with the Princes?" + +"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." + +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. + +"What is it? Speak, John! The Prince!" + +"Oh, if you had but been there! It will not cease bleeding. O +Richard, he looks worse than my father when he came home!" + +"Let me hear! Where? How is he hurt?" + +"In the arm and brow," said the boy. + +"The arm!" said Richard, much relieved. + +"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!" + +"Did you, my brave little fellow? Well done of you!" cried Richard. + +"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!" + +"'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. + +"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!" + +"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. + +"And so is he saved?" said Richard, with a long breath. + +"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 Coeur 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!" + +"Nay, nay," exclaimed Richard, looking up in horror; "the poor +captives are utterly guiltless! Far more justly make me suffer," +murmured he sadly. + +"All tarred with the same stick," said the nearest; "serve them as +they deserve." + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Best withdraw yourself, Sir," said Hob Longbow; "their blood is up. +Baulk them of their prey, and they will set on you next." + +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. + +"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!" + +"The men-at-arms, my Lord," said Richard, "fierce to visit the crime +on the captives." + +"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." + +"But would the Prince have it so?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Alack, my Lord!" said Richard, "I hurried on to warn you. Ah! would +I had been in time!" + +"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." + +"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!" + +"The knaves!" exclaimed Edward promptly. "Why looks not Gloucester +to this?" + +"My Lord, the Earl saith that he would not command the slaughter, but +that he will not forbid it." + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +Dame Idonea was muttering the mediaeval equivalent for fiddlesticks, +as plain as her respect for the Temple would allow her. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Now, kind lady," quoth he, "let me hear the worst you foretell for +me from your experience." + +Dame Idonea did not spare him either the fate of Coeur 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 Dona," 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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"On what charge?" he demanded, so soon as he was far enough beyond +the precincts of his tent not to risk a disturbance. + +"By the command of the council. On the charge of being privy to the +attempt on the Prince's life." + +"By whom preferred?" asked Richard. + +"By the Lord Hamlyn de Valence." + +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. + +"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. + +"Who art thou?" hastily inquired Richard. + +"You should know me, Sir,--I have done you many a good turn, and +served your house truly." + +"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." + +"Nay, now, Lord Richard," returned the man, "you should not treat +thus an honest fellow that would fain do you service." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 Provencal; 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! + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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? + +"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." + +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." + +"How fares he?"--Richard's one question of the day. + +"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. + +"The Princess gone!" + +"Ay, and Dame Idonea with her. So we shall hear no more of King +Coeur de Lion. Hamlyn swears she was on his crusade. Do you think +she was, Richard? nobody knows how old she is." + +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. + +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?" + +"Alas! my Lord, you are too ill at ease to vex yourself with my +matters." + +"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 SHALL be with +them if--if Heaven and the blessed Saints bear my sweet wife through +this trouble. She will love and trust thee." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"You do not know the reasons, brother," said Edmund, confused; "nor +are you in a state to hear them." + +"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?" + +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?" + +"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." + +"I thought so," muttered the Prince. "And this is his work?" + +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? + +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. + +"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?" + +"Sir," said the Provost Marshal, "these knaves of mine have let an +accomplice escape who peradventure might have been made to tell +more." + +"An accomplice? Of whom?" demanded the Prince. + +"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." + +"Give his guard due punishment!" said Edward shortly. "But how +concerns this the Lord Richard de Montfort's durance?" + +"Sir," added the Earl of Gloucester, "is it known to you that the dog +of a murderer was yet no Moslem?" + +"What of that?" sharply demanded Edward. + +"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." + +"Oh," dryly replied Edward, "good cause for you to be willing that +the Saracen captives should be massacred." + +"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." + +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?" + +"Speak, Hamlyn," said Edmund of Lancaster; "say to the Prince what +thou didst tell me." + +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. + +"Well!" said Edward. + +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. + +"And is this all for which you had laid hands on him?" said the +Prince, looking from one to the other. + +"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." + +"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 IS witness?" + +"His name and lineage, brother," began Edmund. + +"That, gentles, is the witness upon which the wolf slew the lamb for +fouling the stream." + +"Then you will not examine him?" asked Gloucester. + +"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. + +"My Lord Prince," objected Gloucester, "we cannot think that this is +for your safety." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XII--THE GARDEN OF THE HOSPITAL + + + +"And who is yon page lying cold at his knee?"--SCOTT. + +Edward differed from Coeur 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"He came from the East, then?" asked Richard. + +"Yea, verily. We have many more sick among the returning than the +out-going pilgrims." + +"And what is his nation?" + +"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." + +"How did he enter?" said Richard. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Peace, John; this is no place for idle talk," said Richard gravely. +"Stand aside, here comes the Prince." + +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. + +Where was Richard? + +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. + +"How now!" said Edward, "are we to have a joust? Dost look for +phantom Saracens out of yonder fountain, such as my Dona tells me +rise out of the fair wells in Castille, wring their hands and pray +for baptism?" + +"You said your hand should keep your head, my Lord," said Richard; +"this is but a lone place." + +"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." + +So mused the Prince, and with a weary smile resigned himself to rest. + +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." + +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. + +"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. + +"Thou!" he gasped. "Who--what?" + +"Richard!" exclaimed the Prince, and relaxing his hold, "Simon de +Montfort, thou hast slain thy brother!" + +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. + +"Poisoned?" Edward asked, looking up at Simon. + +"No. It failed once. He may live," said Simon, with bent brows and +folded arms. + +"No, no. My death-blow!" gasped Richard, with sobbing breath. "Best +so, if--Oh, could I but speak!" + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +Simon stood moody, with folded arms, and Richard groaned, and essayed +to speak. + +"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." + +"Lay aside thy purpose," entreated Richard. "Bind him by oath, my +Lord." + +"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." + +Richard made a gesture of agonized entreaty. + +"My father--my father!" he said. "He forgave--he hated blood; Simon, +didst but know--" + +"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." + +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." + +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?" + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XIII--THE BEGGAR AND THE PRINCE + + + +"This favour only, that thou would'st stand out of my sunshine." +DIOGENES. + +It 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. + +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! + +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. + +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!" + +"Well, child; and wherefore waken me? They are after their own +affairs, I trow. Moreover, I hear no horses' feet." + +"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?" + +"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!" + +"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?" + +"None," returned Hal; "though the King and his suite DID 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!" + +"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. + +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." + +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." + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"I come," said Edward patiently, "to fulfil my last--my parting +promise, to one who loved us both--and gave his life for me." + +"Loved you, ay! and well enough to betray me to you!" said Henry +bitterly. + +"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." + +"Then," said Henry, still with the same mocking tone, "how was it +that my worthless existence became known to his Grace?" + +"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--" + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"They were none of your breaking," said Henry. + +"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. + +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." + +"Your father did," said Edward hoarsely. He could brook pity from +the great Simon better than from the blind beggar. + +"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!'" + +"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." + +"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." + +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!" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +And Henry de Montfort held out his hand with the dignity of head of +the family whose honour Edward had shielded. + +"It was for thy father's sake and Richard's," said Edward, receiving +the acknowledgment as it was meant. + +"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." + +"Thy share was from a mocking fiend!" returned the King. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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--" + +"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!" + +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. + +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!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"She is fair then," said the beggar eagerly. + +"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." + +"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." + +"The parting would be bitter," began Edward "but thou shouldst see +her often." + +"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." + +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?" + +"You are a red monk!" said Bessee, amazed. + +"That's his shell, Bessee," said her father; "he has come a-masking, +and forgot his part." + +"I don't like masking," said Bessee, trying to get away. + +"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?" + +Bessee cast the black eyes down, and coloured. + +"Dost know me?" he repeated. + +"I think," she whispered at last, "that you are masking still. You +are like--like the King that was crowned at the Abbey." + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"No, child; it is the King indeed," said Henry. "Hear what he saith +to thee." + +And again Edward spoke of all that would tempt a child. + +"Father," said Bessee, "if father comes!" + +"No, Bessee," said her father; "I have done with palaces. No places +they for blind beggars." + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XIV--THE QUEEN OF THE DEW-DROPS + + + +"This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever +Ran on a green sward." --Winter's Tale. + +It 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. + +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. + +"Had he scented that the court was coming?" asked the young nobles. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Let me pass, gentles," she said with dignity, "I am carrying wine in +haste to my father." + +"Nay, fair one, you pass not our bounds without toll," said the +portliest of the set. + +"Hush, rudesby; fair dames in disguise must be treated after other +sort." + +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. + +"Let go!" then she said in no terrified voice. "Let go, Sir, or I +can summon help." + +And as if to realize her words, the intrusive hand was thrust aside +by a powerful arm, and a voice exclaimed - + +"This lady is to pass free, Sir! None of your insolence!" + +"A court-gallant," passed round the hostile bourgeoise; "none of your +court airs, Sir." + +"No airs--but those of an honest Englishman, who will not see a woman +cowardly beset!" + +"Will Silk-jerkin not bide a buffet!" quoth the bully of the party, +clenching his fist. + +"As many as thou wilt," returned Silk-jerkin, "so soon as I have seen +the lady safe home!" + +"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. + +"Thanks, Sir," she said, "for the service you have done me, but I am +now in safety." + +"Nay, Lady, do me the grace of letting me bear your load." + +"Thanks," again she said; "but I feel no weight." + +"But my knighthood does, seeing you thus laden." + +"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. + +"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--" + +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 - + +"Peace, good Trig, nothing is amiss! It is only this gentleman's +courtesy. He hath done me good service on the green yonder!" + +And as her strange body-guard retreated growling, she, perhaps to +show her confidence, resigned her pitcher into the knight's hand. + +"So, fair Queen of the Dew-drops," he said, half bewildered, "thou +dost work miracles!" + +"Ay, when the dew is on the grass, and the nightingale sings," she +returned gaily; "by day the enchantment is over." + +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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I could well-nigh think so!" half-whispered Sir John. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Hush, Joan," said Queen Eleanor, bending forward, "no infanta in my +time ever said so much in a breath." + +"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!" + +Princess Joan's mouth was effectually stopped this time. + +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. + +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 Bearn, by singing a +Provencal 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. + +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." + +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." + +"Thou liest in thy throat," burst forth the knight. "Discourteous +lubber, to call such a queen of beauty a country wench!" + +"Listen to me, girl." + +"Lady, hear me." + +"Hearken not to the popinjay foreigner." + +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. + +"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. + +"Ah! fair Lady, what business could be mine, save to tell you how +lovely you are?" + +"You have said," she answered, without a blush, waving him aside. +"Now you, Sir," to the tuneful merchant of Bristol. + +"I told you, Madam, he meant not well. Those aliens never do." + +"You too have said," she answered. + +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. + + "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!" + +"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!" + +The lady bowed her head. Perhaps those rosy lips were trying hard to +keep from laughing. + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XV--THE BEGGAR'S DOWRY + + + +"'But first you shall promise and have it well knowne +The gold that you drop shall all be your owne;' +With that they replyed, 'Contented we bee;' +'Then here's,' quoth the beggar, 'for pretty Bessee.'" +Old Ballad. + +The 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. + +"By St. Boniface," said one, "the girl's father is not there. Saucy +little baggage, was she deluding us all?" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"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." + +"What mules, Master Samson?" coolly demanded Hal, who had comfortably +established himself under the tree with his back against the trunk. + +"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." + +"But who is this burgess that you talk of?" asked the beggar. + +"The father of the pilgrim lass that prayed at St. Winifred's Well," +said Samson. + +"And was called Queen of the Dew-drops?" + +"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." + +"I hope she will keep a warm corner for me," said the beggar; "for no +man will treat for her marriage save myself." + +"Thou! Old man, who sent thee here to insult us?" cried the +merchant. + +"None, Master Lambert. I trysted you to meet me here if you purposed +still to seek my child in marriage." + +"Thy child?" cried all three, vehemently. + +"My child!" answered the beggar. "Mine own lawful child." + +There was a silence. Presently Samson growled, "I mind me he used to +have a little black-eyed brat with him." + +"Caitiff!" exclaimed the merchant; "I'll have thy old vagabond bones +in the Fleet for daring so to cheat his Grace's lieges." + +"If you can prove a cheat against me I will readily abye it, Sir," +returned the beggar. + +"Palming a beggar's brat off for a noble dame." + +"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?" + +"Aye, of a cell in the Fleet if you persist in your insolence!" cried +the merchant. + +"Thanks," quietly said the beggar. "And you, Master Samson?" + +"'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." + +"I thought I heard another voice," said the beggar. "I trow the +third suitor has made off without further ado." + +"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." + +"Sir knight," interfered the merchant, "you will get into a desperate +coil with your friends." + +"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." + +"It is spoken honourably," said Hal; "but, Sir, canst thou answer me +with her dowry? Tell down coin for coin." + +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. + +"Stay, stay," cried Samson. "I can play at that game too." + +"No, no, Master Samson," said the beggar; "your pretensions are +resigned. Your chance is over." + +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. + +The last bag of the knight lay thin and exhausted; the beggar +clutched one bursting with repletion. + +"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." + +"Let them weigh in the balance," said the beggar; "and therewith thy +truth to thy word." + +"And will you own me?" exclaimed the knight. "Will you take me to +your daughter?" + +"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." + +"Worthy!" John of Dunster chafed and bit his lips at such words from +a beggar. + +"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." + +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. + +"Pray him to come hither," said the King; "and lead him carefully. +Thou, Joan, hadst better seek thy mother and sister." + +"O sweet father," cried Joan, "don't order me off. This can be no +state business. Prithee let me hear it." + +"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." + +"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. + +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." + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +Joan had in the meantime placed herself between her father's knees, +where she stood regarding this wonderful beggar with the most +unmitigated astonishment. + +"John of Dunster!" said the King, stroking down Joan's hair, "thou +knowst his lineage as well as I, cousin." + +"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." + +"Hath he sought her?" asked the King. + +"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!" + +"O father! it is true love!" whispered Joan. + +"What hast to do with true love, popinjay? And so John of Dunster +came undaunted to the breach, did he, Henry?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +But under the tree stood not the blind beggar, but the beggar's boy. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Sir John de Mohun of Dunster," he said, "thou art come hither to +espouse my daughter?" + +"I hope, so, Sir," said John, somewhat taken by surprise. + +"Come hither, maiden," said her father. + +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. + +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!" + +"Deem you that I would?" said the knight fervently, pressing her +hand. + +"I deemed that you should know all--who I am," she faltered. + +"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. + +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. + +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:- + + +"A poore beggar's daughter did dwell on a greene, +Who might for her faireness have well been a queene; +A blithe bonny lasse and a dainty was she, +And many one called her pretty Bessee." + + +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!" + +His words were only for herself. The King was saying aloud, + +"Well sung, fair cousin! A health, my Lords and Knights, for Sir +Henry de Montfort, Earl of Leicester." + +"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." + +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." + +"Would you have given her to the Cheddar Yeoman?" burst out Joan +furiously. + +"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." + +"Ay, when you have tamed Scotland, even as you have tamed Wales," +returned Henry. + +"No fear of my good brother Alexander's realm needing such taming. +Heaven forbid!" said Edward. + +But the beggar parted from him with a laugh. + + + +CHAPTER XVI--THE PAGE'S MEMORY + + + +The pure calm picture of a blameless friend. +Lyra Apostolica. + +Ten 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. + +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?" + +"Not so, my Lord; but the Bailiff of Acre awaits to see you." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +"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." + +"A message?" said Edward. + +"A message from a dying penitent, craving pardon," replied Sir +Raynald. + +"If it concerns the House of Montfort, speak on," said Edward. "None +are so near to it as those present with me!" + +"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?" + +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 Provencal, +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." + +"And Richard's grave has passed to the Infidels!" said Edward, after +a long silence. + +"Even as the graves of our brethren--the holiest Grave of all," said +the Knight Hospitalier. + +"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." + + +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. + +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. + +"Ah!" said the knight, "well do I remember the shipping of that stone +from Acre, little guessing its purpose!" + +"Then it is indeed a stone from the ruined Temple of Jerusalem," said +the lady. "Read the inscription, my Son." + +The young man read and translated - + + +"Edwardus Primus. Malleus Scotorum Pactum serva. +Edward the First. The Hammer of the Scots. Keep covenant." + + +"It was scarce worth while to bring a stone from Jerusalem, to mark +it with 'the Hammer of the Scots!'" said the lady. + +"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." + + + +Footnotes: + +{1} Psalm cxxvi. 6, 7. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Prince and the Page, by Charlotte M. Yonge + diff --git a/old/prcpg10.zip b/old/prcpg10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..eaed4b3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/prcpg10.zip |
