Books: The Lances Of Lynwood
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Lances Of Lynwood
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13 Produced by Jill Diffendal.
A web page about Charlotte M Yonge may be found at
www.menorot.com/cmyonge.htm.
THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD
by CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
PREFACE
For an explanation of the allusions in the present Tale, scarcely
any Notes are necessary, save a reference to the bewitching Chronicle
of Froissart; and we cannot but hope that our sketch may serve as
an inducement to some young readers to make acquaintance with the
delectable old Canon for themselves, undeterred by the size of his
tomes.
The story of Orthon is almost verbally copied from him, and bears
a curious resemblance to various German legends--such as that of
"Heinzelman," to be found in Keightley's "Fairy Mythology," and to
"Teague of the Lea," as related in Croker's "Irish Fairy Legends."
The old French "Vie de Bertrand du Guesclin" has likewise been
drawn upon for materials, and would have supplied much more of
great interest, such as Enrique of Trastamare's arrival in the
disguise of a palmer, to consult with him during his captivity at
Bordeaux, and many most curious anecdotes of his early childhood
and youth.
To Breton tradition, his excellent wife Epiphanie Raguenel owes
her title of Tiphaine la fee, meaning that she was endowed with
magic power, which enabled her to predict what would be lucky or
unlucky days for her husband. His disregard of them was thought
to have twice cost him the loss of a battle.
We must apologize for having made Henry of Lancaster a year or two
older than is warranted by the date of his birth.
THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD
CHAPTER I
Seldom had the interior of this island presented a more peaceful
and prosperous aspect than in the reign of Edward III., when the
more turbulent spirits among his subjects had found occupation
in his foreign wars, and his wise government had established at
home a degree of plenty, tranquility, and security, such as had
probably never before been experienced in England.
Castle and cottage, church and convent, alike showed the prosperity
and safety of the inhabitants, at once by the profuseness of
embellishment in those newly erected, and by the neglect of the
jealous precautions required in former days of confusion and
misrule. Thus it was with the village of Lynwood, where, among
the cottages and farm-houses occupying a fertile valley in
Somersetshire, arose the ancient Keep, built of gray stone,
and strongly fortified; but the defences were kept up rather
as appendages of the owner's rank, than as requisite for his
protection; though the moat was clear of weeds, and full of
water, the drawbridge was so well covered with hard-trodden
earth, overgrown at the edges with grass, that, in spite of
the massive chains connecting it with the gateway, it seemed
permanently fixed on the ground. The spikes of the portcullis
frowned above in threatening array, but a wreath of ivy was
twining up the groove by which it had once descended, and the
archway, which by day stood hospitably open, was at night only
guarded by two large oaken doors, yielding to a slight push.
Beneath the southern wall of the castle court were various
flower-beds, the pride and delight of the old seneschal, Ralph
Penrose, in his own estimation the most important personage of
Lynwood Keep, manager of the servants, adviser of the Lady, and
instructor of the young gentleman in the exercises of chivalry.
One fine evening, old Ralph stood before the door, his bald forehead
and thin iron-gray locks unbonneted, and his dark ruddy-brown face
(marked at Halidon Hill with a deep scar) raised with an air of
deference, and yet of self-satisfaction, towards the Lady who stood
on the steps of the porch. She was small and fragile in figure; her
face, though very lovely, was pale and thin, and her smile had in it
something pensive and almost melancholy, as she listened to his
narration of his dealings with a refractory tenant, and at the same
time watched a noble-looking child of seven or eight years old, who,
mounted on an old war-horse, was led round the court by a youth, his
elder by some ten or eleven years.
"See mother!" cried the child, "I am holding the reins myself. Uncle
Eustace lays not a finger on them!"
"As I was saying, madam," continued Ralph, disregarding the
interruption, "I told him that I should not have thought of one
exempted from feudal service in the camp, by our noble Knight,
being deficient in his dues in his absence. I told him we should
see how he liked to be sent packing to Bordeaux with a sheaf of
arrows on his back, instead of the sheaf of wheat which ought to
be in our granary by this time. But you are too gentle with them,
my Lady, and they grow insolent in Sir Reginald's long absence."
"All goes ill in his absence, said the Lady. "It is a weary while
since the wounded archer brought tidings of his speedy return."
"Therefore," said the youth, turning round, "it must be the nearer
at hand. Come sweet sister Eleanor, cheer up, for he cannot but
come soon."
"So many _soons_ have passed away, that my heart is well-nigh too
sick for hope," said Eleanor. "And when he comes it will be but a
bright dream to last for a moment. He cannot long be spared from
the Prince's side."
"You must go with him, then, sister, and see how I begin my days of
chivalry--that is, if he will but believe me fit to bear shield and
lance."
"Ah! Master Eustace, if you were but such as I have seen others
of your race," said Ralph, shaking his head. "There was Sir Henry
--at your age he had made the Scottish thieves look about them, I
promise you. And to go no further back than Sir Reginald himself--
he stood by the Prince's side at Crecy ere he was yet fifteen!"
"It is not my fault that I have not done as much, Ralph," said
Eustace. "It is not for want of the will, as you know full well."
"No. Thanks to me, I trust you have the will and the teaching, at
least, to make a good Knight," said Ralph. "And yet, while I think
of the goodly height and broad shoulders of those that have gone
before you--"
"But hark! hark!" cried Eustace, cutting short a comparison which did
not seem likely to be complimentary. "Dost not hear, Ralph? A horn!"
"The Lynwood note! My husband's note! O thanks, thanks to the
Saints!" cried the Lady, clasping her hands, whilst Eustace,
vaulting into the saddle behind his little nephew, rode across the
drawbridge as fast as the stiffened joints of old Blanc Etoile
could be prevailed on to move. Gaining the summit of a rising
ground, both at once shouted, "Our own pennon! It is himself!"
as they beheld the dark blue crosslet on an argent field floating
above a troop of horsemen, whose armour glanced in the setting sun.
"There are the Lances of Lynwood, Arthur," said Eustace, leaping
to the ground. "Keep your seat, and meet your father like a brave
Knight's son."
He then settled the reins in the child's hand, and walked beside
him to meet the new-comers. They were about twenty in number, armed
alike with corselets marked with the blue cross, steel headpieces,
and long lances. In front rode two of higher rank. The first was
a man of noble mien and lofty stature, his short dark curled hair
and beard, and handsome though sunburnt countenance, displayed
beneath his small blue velvet cap, his helmet being carried behind
him by a man-at-arms, and his attire consisting of a close-fitting
dress of chamois leather, a white mantle embroidered with the blue
cross thrown over one shoulder, and his sword hanging by his side.
His companion, who carried at his saddle-bow a shield blazoned with
heraldic devices in scarlet and gold, was of still greater height,
and very slight; his large keen eyes, hair and moustache, black as
jet; and his complexion dark brown, with a well-formed aquiline nose,
and a perfect and very white set of teeth.
The instant the first-mentioned horseman perceived Eustace and
Arthur, he sprang to the ground and hurried to meet them with
rapid affectionate greetings and inquiries. In another moment
Dame Eleanor appeared on the drawbridge, and, weeping with
joy, was clasped in her husband's arms. Behind her stood the
venerable chaplain, Father Cyril, and a step or two further off,
Ralph Penrose, both of whom in turn received the kindly greetings
of Sir Reginald Lynwood, as, with his wife hanging on his arm and
his boy holding his hand, he passed under the gateway of his
ancestral castle. Turning the next moment, he addressed his tall
companion: "Friend Gaston, I bid you welcome! Dame Eleanor, and
you, brother Eustace, I present to you my trusty Esquire, Master
Gaston d'Aubricour."
Due courtesies passed between the Lady and the Squire, who, after
a few words with the Knight, remained to see the disposal of the
men, while Sir Reginald himself entered the hall with his wife,
son and brother. Eustace did not long remain there: he found that
Reginald and Eleanor had much to say to each other, and his curiosity
and interest were, besides, greatly excited by the novelty of the
scene presented by the castle court, so different from its usual
peaceful monotony. The men were unsaddling their horses, rubbing
them down, walking them about, or removing the stains of dust and
mud from their own armour, while others were exchanging greetings
with the villagers, who were gathering in joyous parties round such
of the newly arrived as were natives of the place.
In the midst stood the strange Squire, superintending a horse-boy
who was rubbing down the Knight's tall war-horse, and at the
same time ordering, giving directions, answering inquiries, or
granting permission to the men to return home with their relations.
Ralph Penrose was near, his countenance, as Eustace could plainly
perceive, expressing little satisfaction at finding another authority
in the court of Lynwood Keep; the references to himself short, brief,
and rapid, and only made when ignorance of the locality compelled the
stranger to apply for information. The French accent and occasional
French phrases with which the Squire spoke, made him contract his
brow more and more, and at last, just as Eustace came up, he walked
slowly away, grumbling to himself, "Well, have it e'en your own way,
I am too old for your gay French fashions. It was not so in Humfrey
Harwood's time, when-- But the world has gone after the French now!
Sir Reginald has brought home as many Gascon thieves as kindly
Englishmen!"
Eustace listened for a moment to his mutterings, but without answering
them, and coming within a few steps of the stranger, stood waiting to
offer him any courtesy in his power, though at the same time he felt
abashed by the consciousness of his inferiority in accomplishments
and experience.
It was the Squire who was the first to speak. "So this is Sir
Reginald's old Keep! A fine old fortalice--would stand at least
a fortnight's siege. Ha! Is not yonder a weak point? I would
undertake to scale that tower, so the battering-rams made a
diversion on the other side."
"I trust it will never be tried," said Eustace.
"It would be as fair a feat of arms as ever you beheld! But I
crave your pardon," added he, displaying his white teeth with a
merry laugh; "the state of my own land has taught me to look on
every castle with eyes for attack and defence, and your brother
tells me I am not behind my countrymen in what you English call
gasconades."
"You have seen many sieges and passages of arms?" asked Eustace,
looking up in his face with an expression at once puzzled and
respectful.
"Since our castle of Albricorte was sacked and burnt by the Count
de Bearn, I have seen little else--three stricken fields--two towns
stormed--castles more than I can remember."
"Alas!" said Eustace, "I have seen nothing but the muster of arms
at Taunton!"
D'Aubricour laughed. "Look not downcast on it," said he; "you have
time before you and one year at Bordeaux is worth four elsewhere.
But I forget, you are the young clerk; and yet that scarcely accords
with that bright eye of yours, and the weapon at your side."
"They spoke once of making me a clerk," said Eustace; "but I hope
to show my brother that I am fit for his own way of life. Sir
Squire, do but tell me, do you think I look unfit to sustain the
honour of my name?"
"Mere strength is little," said the Squire, "else were that comely
giant John Ingram, the best warrior in the army. Nor does height
reckon for much; Du Guesclin himself is of the shortest. Nor do
you look like the boy over whose weakly timid nature I have heard
Sir Reginald lament," he proceeded, surveying him with a critical
eye.
Eustace had, in fact, hardly reached the middle height, and was
very slender; his limbs were, however, well proportioned, his
step firm, and every movement full of activity and grace. His
face, shaded with bright chestnut hair, was of a delicate
complexion, the features finely moulded, and the usual cast of
expression slightly thoughtful; but there was frequently, and
especially at this moment, a bright kindling light in the dark
blue eyes, which changed the whole countenance from the grave
and refined look of the young scholar to the bold ardent glance
of the warrior.
"A cavalier, every inch of you!" cried d'Aubricour, striking
Eustace on the shoulder as he concluded his inspection. "I'll
have the training of you, my _gentil damoiseau_, and see if I do
not make you as _preux a chevalier_ as the most burly giant of
them all. Here, know you this trick?"
He caught up one of the lances which the men had laid aside; Eustace
followed his example, and acquitted himself to his satisfaction in
one or two chivalrous manoeuvres, till a summons to supper put an
end to the sport.
CHAPTER 2
The house of Lynwood had long been famed for loyalty, which had
often cost them dear, since their neighbours, the Lords of
Clarenham, never failed to take advantage of the ascendency of
the popular party, and make encroachments on their privileges and
possessions.
Thus when Sir Hugo Lynwood, the old Crusader, was made prisoner
by Simon de Montfort's party at Lewes, he was treated with great
severity, in order to obtain from him a recognition of the feudal
superiority of the Clarenhams; and though the success of the royal
party at Evesham occasioned his liberation, his possessions were
greatly diminished. Nor had the turmoils of the reign of Edward
II. failed to leave their traces on the fortunes of the Lynwoods.
Sir Henry, father of the present Knight, was a staunch adherent of
the unfortunate monarch, and even joined the hapless Edmund, Earl
of Kent, in the rising in which that Prince was entrapped after the
murder of his brother. On this occasion, it was only Sir Henry's
hasty flight that preserved his life, and his lands were granted
to the Baron Simon de Clarenham by the young Edward III., then under
the dominion of his mother Isabel, and Roger Mortimer; but when at
length the King had freed himself from their trammels, the whole
county of Somerset rose to expel the intruders from Lynwood Keep,
and reinstate its true master. Nor did Simon de Clarenham make
much resistance, for well knowing that an appeal to the King
would occasion and instant revocation of the grant, he judged
it advisable to allow it to sleep for the present.
Sir Henry Lynwood, therefore, lived and died unmolested. His
eldest son, Reginald, was early sent to the Royal Camp, where he
soon distinguished himself, and gained the favour and friendship
of the gallant Prince of Wales. The feud with the Clarenhams
seemed to be completely extinguished, when Reginald, chiefly by
the influence of the Prince, succeeded in obtaining the hand of
a lady of that family, the daughter of a brave Knight slain in
the wars in Brittany.
Since this time, both the Baron de Clarenham and his son, Sir
Fulk, had been on good terms with the Knight of Lynwood, and the
connection had been drawn still closer by the Baron's second
marriage with the Lady Muriel de la Poer, a near relative of Sir
Reginald's mother. Many a time had Dame Eleanor Lynwood ridden
to Clarenham castle, under the escort of her young brother-in-law,
to whom such a change from the lonely old Keep afforded no small
delight.
Eustace, the only one of Sir Henry's younger children who survived
the rough nursing or the over-nursing, whichever it might be, that
thinned in former days the families of nobles and gentleman, might
as well, in the opinion of almost all, have rested beneath a quaint
little image of his infant figure, in brass, in the vaults of the
little Norman chapel; for he was a puny, ailing child, apt to
scandalize his father and brother, and their warlike retainers, by
being scared at the dazzling helm and nodding crest, and preferring
the seat at this mother's feet, the fairy tale of the old nurse,
the song of the minstrel, or the book of the Priest, to horse and
hound, or even to the sight of the martial sports of the tilt-yard.
The last five years had, however, wrought a great change in him; he
began to outgrow the delicacy of his constitution, and with it, to
shake off his timidity of disposition. A diligent perusal of the
romances of chivalry filled him with emulation, and he had applied
himself ardently to all knightly exercises, looking with great
eagerness to the time when he might appear in the Prince's court.
He had invested it with all the glory of the Round Table and of the
Paladins; and though he knew he must not look for Merlin or the
Siege Perilous, the men themselves were in his fancy Rolands and
Tristrems, and he scarcely dared to hope he could ever be fit to
make one of them, with all his diligent attention to old Ralph's
instructions.
Some of Ralph's manoeuvres were indeed rather antiquated, and
afforded much amusement to Gaston d'Aubricour, who was never weary
of teasing the old seneschal with descriptions of the changes in
the fashion of weapons, tourneys, and machines, and especially
delighted in histories of the marvellous effects of gunpowder.
Ralph would shake his head, vow that it would soon put an end to
all true chivalry, and walk off to furbish his favourite cross-bow,
with many a murmured reflection on the folly of quitting good old
plans, and especially on that of his master, who must needs bring
home a gibing Gascon, when honest English Squires were not scarce.
Very different was the state of the old Keep of Lynwood from the
quiet, almost deserted condition, in which it had been left so long,
now that the Knight had again taken his wonted place amongst the
gentry of the county. Entertainments were exchanged with his
neighbours, hunting and hawking matches, and all the sports of the
tilt-yard, followed each other in quick succession, and the summer
passed merrily away. Merrily, that is to say, with Sir Reginald,
whose stirring life in camp and court had left him but few and
short intervals for enjoying his home and the society of his wife;
with Eleanor, who, relieved from long anxiety, began to recover
the spirits and health which had nearly failed her; and with Eustace,
to whom the arrival of his brother and his followers brought a
continued course of novelty and delight; but less joyously with
the Knight's followers, who regretted more and more the gay court
of Bordeaux, and grew impatient at the prospect of spending a
tedious winter in a peaceful English castle.
Their anticipation of weariness, and the contrary expectations of
Sir Reginald, were destined to be equally disappointed: for two
months had not passed since his return before a summons arrived,
or, more properly speaking, an invitation to the trusty and well-
beloved Sir Reginald Lynwood to join the forces which the Duke of
Lancaster was assembling at Southampton, the Prince of Wales having
promised to assist King Pedro of Castile in recovering the kingdom
from which he had been driven by his brother Enrique of Trastamare.
Sir Reginald could not do otherwise than prepare with alacrity
to obey the call of his beloved Prince, though he marvelled that
Edward should draw his sword in the cause of such a monster of
cruelty, and he was more reluctant than ever before to leave his
home. He even promised his sorrowful Eleanor that this should
be the last time he would leave her. "I will but bestow Eustace
in some honourable household, where he may be trained in knightly
lore--that of Chandos, perchance, or some other of the leaders who
hold the good old strict rule; find good masters for my honest men-
at-arms; break one more lance with Du Guesclin; and take to rule
my vassals, till my fields, and be the honest old country Knight
my father was before me. Said I well, Dame Eleanor?"
Eleanor smiled, but the next moment sighed and drooped her head,
while a tear fell on the blue silk with which she was embroidering
the crosslet on his pennon. Sir Reginald might have said somewhat
to cheer her, but at that instant little Arthur darted into the
hall with news that the armourer was come from Taunton, with two
mules, loaded with a store of goodly helmets, swords, and corselets,
which he was displaying in the court.
The Knight immediately walked forth into the court, where all had
been activity and eagerness ever since the arrival of the summons,
the smith hammering ceaselessly in his forge, yet without fulfilling
half the order continually shouted in his ears; Gaston d'Aubricour
and Ralph Penrose directing from morning to night, in contradiction
of each other, the one always laughing, the other always grumbling;
the men-at-arms and retainers some obeying orders, others being
scolded, the steel clanging, hammers ringing without intermission.
Most of the party, such at least as could leave their employment
without a sharp reprimand from one or the other of the contending
authorities, the Seneschal and the Squire, were gathered round the
steps, where the armourer was displaying, with many an encomium,
his bundles of lances, his real Toledo blades, and his helmets
of the choicest fashion. Gaston d'Aubricour and Ralph were
disputing respecting a certain suit of armour, which the latter
disapproved, because it had no guards for the knees, while the
former contended that the only use for such protections was to
disable a man from walking, and nearly from standing when once
unhorsed.
"In my day, Master d'Aubricour, it was not the custom for a brave
man-at-arms to look to being unhorsed; but times are changed."
"Ay, that they are, Master Penrose, for in our day we do not give
ourselves over the moment we are down, and lie closed up in our
shells like great land tortoises turned on their backs, waiting
till some one is good enough to find his way through our shell
with the _misericorde_."
"Peace, peace, Gaston," said the Knight. "If we acquit ourselves
as well as our fathers, we shall have little to be ashamed of.
What think you of this man's gear?"
"That I could pick up a better suit for half the price at old
Battista, the Lombard's at Bordeaux; nevertheless, since young
Eustace would be the show of the camp if he appeared there
provided in Ralph's fashion, it may be as well to see whether
there be any reasonableness in this old knave."
Before the question was decided, the trampling of horses was heard,
and there rode into the court an elderly man, whose dress and
bearing showed him to be of consideration, accompanied by a youth
of eighteen or nineteen, and attended by two servants. Sir
Reginald and his brother immediately stepped forward to receive
them.
"Sir Philip Ashton," said the former, "how is it with you? This
is friendly in you to come and bid us farewell."
"I grieve that it should be farewell, Sir Reginald," said the old
Knight, dismounting whilst Eustace held his stirrup; "our country
can ill spare such men as you. Thanks, my young friend Eustace.
See, Leonard, what good training will do for an Esquire; Eustace
has already caught that air and courteous demeanour that cannot be
learnt here among us poor Knights of Somerset."
This was to his son, who, with a short abrupt reply to the good-
natured greeting of Sir Reginald, had scrambled down from his
saddle, and stood fixing his large gray eyes upon Gaston, whose
tall active figure and lively dark countenance seemed to afford
him an inexhaustible subject of study. The Squire was presented
by name to Sir Philip, received a polite compliment, and replying
with a bow, turned to the youth with the ready courtesy of one
willing to relieve the shyness of an awkward stranger. "We were
but now discussing the merit between damasked steel and chain mail,
what opinion do you bring to aid us?" A renewed stare, an
inarticulate muttering, and Master Leonard turned away and almost
hid his face in the mane of his horse, whilst his father attempted
to make up for his incivility by a whole torrent of opinions, to
which Gaston listened with the outward submission due from a Squire,
but with frequent glances, accompanied by a tendency to elevate
shoulder or eyebrow, which Eustace understood full well to convey
that the old gentleman knew nothing whatever on the subject.
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