Books: The Lances Of Lynwood
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Lances Of Lynwood
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Tristan suddenly trod on his foot, as a sign of silence, as a step
descended the stairs, and Sir Eustace stood before them.
"You appear to be agreeably employed, gentlemen," said he, glancing
at the stoup of wine which was before them; "but my orders are as
precise as Norman William's. No lights in this Castle, save my own,
after eight o'clock. To your beds, gentlemen, and a good night to
you!" He was still fully armed, so that it was unsafe to attack
him. And he saw them up the spiral stairs that led from the hall,
and watched them enter the narrow dens that served them as sleeping
rooms, where many a curse was uttered on the watchfulness of the
wizard Knight. At the turn of midnight, Le Borgne Basque crept
forth, in some hope that there might be an opportunity of fulfilling
his designs, and earning the reward promised him both by Clarenham
and the French. But he had not descended far before a red gleam of
torchlight was seen on the dark stairs, and, ere he could retreat,
the black head and dark eyes of Gaston appeared, glancing with
mischievous amusement, as he said, in his gay voice, "You are on
the alert, my old comrade. You have not forgotten your former
habits when in command here. But Sir Eustace intrusts the care
of changing the guard to none but me; so I will not trouble you
to disturb yourself another night." And the baffled miscreant
retreated.
In this manner passed day after day, in a tacit yet perpetual war
between the Knight and the garrison. Not a step could be taken,
scarce a word spoken, without some instant reminder that either
Sir Eustace or Gaston was on the watch. On the borders of the
enemy's country, there was so much reason for vigilance, that the
garrison could not reasonably complain of the services required of
them; the perpetual watch, and numerous guards; the occupations
which Knight and Squire seemed never weary of devising for the
purpose of keeping them separate, and their instant prohibition
of any attempt at the riotous festivity which was their only
consolation for the want of active exercises. They grew heartily
weary, and fiercely impatient of restraint, and though the firm,
calm, steady strictness of the Knight was far preferable to the
rude familiarity and furious passions of many a Castellane, there
were many of the men-at-arms who, though not actually engaged in
the conspiracy, were impatient of what they called his haughtiness
and rigidity. These men were mercenaries from different parts of
France, accustomed to a lawless life, and caring little or nothing
whatever whether it were beneath the standard of King Charles or
King Edward that they acquired pay and plunder. The Englishmen
were, of course, devoted to their King and Prince, and though at
times unruly, were completely to be depended upon. Yet, while
owning Sir Eustace to be a brave, gallant, and kind-hearted Knight,
there were times when even they felt a shudder of dread and almost
of hatred pass over them, when tales were told of the supernatural
powers he was supposed to possess; when Leonard Ashton's adventure
with the cats was narrated, or the story of his sudden arrival at
Lynwood Keep on the night before the lady's funeral. His own
immediate attendants might repel the charge with honest indignation,
but many a stout warrior slunk off in terror to bed from the sight
of Sir Eustace, turning the pages of one of his heavy books by the
light of the hall fire, and saw in each poor bat that flitted about
within the damp depths of the vaulted chambers the familiar spirit
which brought him exact intelligence of all that passed at Bordeaux,
at Paris, or in London. Nay, if he only turned his eyes on the
ground, he was thought to be looking for the twisting straws.
CHAPTER XIII
There was a village at some distance from the Chateau Norbelle, the
inhabitants of which were required to furnish it with provisions.
The Castellane, by paying just prices, and preventing his men from
treating the peasants in the cruel and exacting manner to which they
were accustomed, had gained their good-will. Prompt intelligence of
the proceedings of the French army was always brought to him, and he
was thus informed that a large treasure was on its way from Bayonne
to Carcasonne, being the subsidy promised by Enrique, King of
Castile, to his allies, Bertrand du Guesclin and Oliver de Clisson.
It became the duty of the English to intercept these supplies,
and Eustace knew that he should incur censure should he allow the
occasion to pass. But how divide his garrison? Which of the men-
at-arms could be relied on? After consultation with d'Aubricour,
it was determined that he himself should remain with John Ingram
and a sufficient number of English to keep the traitors in check,
while Gaston went forth in command of the party, who were certain
to fight with a good will where spoil was the object. They would
be absent at least two nights, since the pass of the Pyrenees, where
they intended to lie in ambush, was at a considerable distance, nor
was the time of the arrival of the convoy absolutely certain.
The expedition proved completely successful, and on the morning
of the third day the rising sun beheld Gaston d'Aubricour riding
triumphantly at the head of his little band, in the midst of which
was a long line of heavily-laden baggage mules. The towers of
Chateau Norbelle appeared in his view, when suddenly with a cry of
amazement he perceived that the pennon of St. George and the banner
of Lynwood were both absent from the Keep. He could scarcely believe
his eyes, but forcing his horse onward with furious impetuosity to
obtain a nearer view, he discovered that it was indeed true.
"The miscreants!" he shouted. "Oh, my Knight, my Knight!" and
turning to the men who followed him, he exclaimed, "There is yet
hope! Will you see our trust betrayed, our noble Knight foully
murdered and delivered to his enemies, or will ye strike a bold
stroke in his defence? He who is not dead to honour, follow me!"
There was a postern, of which Eustace had given Gaston the key, on
his departure, and thither the faithful Squire hastened, without
looking back to see whether he was followed by many or few--in fact,
rather ready to die with Sir Eustace than hoping to rescue him. The
ten Englishmen and some eight Frenchmen, infected by the desperation
of his manner, followed him closely as he rushed up the slope, dashed
through the moat, and in another moment, opening the door, burst into
the court. There stood a party of the garrison, upon whom he rushed
with a shout of "Death, death to the traitor!" Gaston's arm did the
work of three, as he hewed down the villains, who, surprised and
discomfited, made feeble resistance. Who they were, or how many, he
saw not, he cared not, but struck right and left, till the piteous
cries for mercy, in familiar tones, made some impression, and he
paused, as did his companions, while, in a tone of rage and anguish,
he demanded, "Where is Sir Eustace?"
"Ah! Master d'Aubricour, 'twas not me, 'twas the traitor, Sanchez--
'twas Tristan," was the answer. "Oh, mercy, for our blessed Lady's
sake!"
"No mercy, dogs! till ye have shown me Sir Eustace in life and limb."
"Alas! alas! Master d'Aubricour!" This cry arose from some of the
English; and Gaston, springing towards the bartizan, beheld the
senseless form of his beloved Knight lying stretched in a pool of
his own blood! Pouring out lamentations in the passionate terms of
the South, tearing his hair at having been beguiled into leaving the
Castle, and vowing the most desperate vengeance against Clarenham
and his accomplices, he lifted his master from the ground, and, as
he did so, he fancied he felt a slight movement of the chest, and a
faint moan fell upon his ear.
What recked Gaston that the Castle was but half taken, that enemies
were around on every side? He saw only, heard only, thought only,
of Sir Eustace! What was life or death, prosperity or adversity,
save as shared with him! He lifted the Knight in his arms, and,
hurrying up the stone steps, placed him on his couch.
"Bring water! bring wine!" he shouted as he crossed the hall. A
horse-boy followed with a pitcher of water, and Gaston, unfastening
the collar of his doublet, raised his head, held his face towards
the air, and deluged it with water, entreating him to look up and
speak.
A few long painful gasps, and the eyes were half unclosed, while a
scarce audible voice said, "Gaston! is it thou? I deemed it was
over!" and then the eyes closed again. Gaston's heart was lightened
at having heard that voice once more, even had that word been his
last--and answering, "Ay, truly, Sir Knight, all is well so you
will but look up," he succeed in pouring a little water into his
mouth.
He was interrupted by several of the men-at-arms, who came trooping
up to the door, looking anxiously at the wounded Knight, while the
foremost said, "Master Gaston, here is gear which must be looked
to. Thibault Sanchez and half a dozen more have drawn together in
Montfort's tower, and swear they will not come forth till we have
promised their lives."
"Give them no such pledge!--Hang without mercy!" cried another voice
from behind. "Did not I myself hear the traitorous villains send
off Tristan de la Fleche to bear the news to Carcassonne? We shall
have the butcher of Bretagne at our throats before another hour is
over."
"Cowardly traitor!" cried Gaston. "Wherefore didst thou not cut the
throat of the caitiff, and make in to the rescue of the Knight?"
"Why, Master d'Aubricour, the deed was done ere I was well awake, and
when it was done, and could not be undone, and we were but four men
to a dozen, what could a poor groom do? But you had better look to
yourself; for it is true as the legends of the saints, that Tristan
is gone to Carcassonne, riding full speed on the Knight's own black
charger!"
The news seemed to have greater effect in restoring Eustace than any
of Gaston's attentions. He again opened his eyes, and made an effort
to raise his head, as he said, almost instinctively, "Secure the
gates! Warders, to your posts!"
The men stood amazed; and Eustace, rallying, looked around him, and
perceived the state of the case. "Said you they had sent to summon
the enemy?" said he.
"Martin said so," replied Gaston, "and I fear it is but too true."
"Not a moment to be lost!" said Eustace. "Give me some wine!" and
he spoke in a stronger voice, "How many of you are true to King
Edward and to the Prince? All who will not fight to the death in
their cause have free leave to quit this Castle; but, first, a
message must be sent to Bordeaux."
"True, Sir Eustace, but on whom can we rely?" asked Gaston.
"Alas! I fear my faithful Ingram must be slain," said the Knight,
"else this could never have been. Know you aught of him?" he added,
looking anxiously at the men.
The answer was a call from one of the men: "Here, John, don't stand
there grunting like a hog; the Knight is asking for you, don't you
hear?"
A slight scuffle was heard, and in a few seconds the broad figure
of Ingram shouldered through the midst of the men-at-arms. He came,
almost like a man in a dream, to the middle of the room, and there,
suddenly dropping upon his knees, he clasped his hands, exclaiming,
"I, John Ingram, hereby solemnly vow to our blessed Lady of Taunton,
and St. Joseph of Glastonbury, that never more will I drink sack,
or wine or any other sort or kind, spiced or unspiced, on holiday
or common day, by day or night. So help me, our blessed Lady and
St. Joseph."
"Stand up, John, and let us know if you are in your senses," said
Gaston, angrily; "we have no time for fooleries. Let us know
whether you have been knave, traitor, or fool; for one or other
you must have been, to be standing here sound and safe."
"You are right, Sir Squire," said Ingram, covering his face with his
hands. "I would I were ten feet underground ere I had seen this day;"
and he groaned aloud.
"You have been deceived by their arts," said Eustace. "That I can
well believe; but that you should be a traitor, never, my trusty John!"
"Blessings on you for the word, Sir Eustace!" cried the yeoman, while
tears fell down his rough cheeks. "Oh! all the wine in the world may
be burnt to the very dregs ere I again let a drop cross my lips! but
it was drugged, Sir Eustace, it was drugged--that will I aver to my
dying day."
"I believe it," said Eustace; "but we must not wait to hear your
tale, John. You must take horse and ride with all speed to Bordeaux.
One of you go and prepare a horse--"
"Take Brigliador!" said Gaston; "he is the swiftest. Poor fellow!
well that I spared him from our journey amid the mountain passes."
"Then," proceeded Eustace, "bear the news of our case--that we have
been betrayed--that Clisson will be on us immediately--that we will
do all that man can do to hold out till succour can come, which I
pray the Prince to send us."
"Take care to whom he addresses himself," said Gaston. "To some our
strait will be welcome news."
"True," said Eustace. "Do thy best to see Sir John Chandos, or, if
he be not at the court, prefer thy suit to the Prince himself--to
any save the Earl of Pembroke. Or if thou couldst see little Arthur,
it might be best of all. Dost understand my orders, John?"
"Ay, Sir," said Ingram, shaking his great head, while the tears still
flowed down his cheeks; "but to see you in this case!"
"Think not of that, kind John," said Eustace; "death must come sooner
or later, and a sword-cut is the end for a Knight."
"You will not, shall not die, Sir Eustace!" cried Gaston. "Your
wounds--"
"I know not, Gaston; but the point is now, not of saving my life,
but the Castle. Speed, speed, Ingram! Tell the Prince, if this
Castle be taken, it opens the way to Bordeaux itself. Tell him how
many brave men it contains, and say to him that I pray him not to
deem that Eustace Lynwood hath disgraced his knighthood. Tell
Arthur, too, to bear me sometimes in mind, and never forget the
line he comes of. Fare thee well, good John!"
"Let me but hear that I have your forgiveness, Sir Knight."
"You have it, as freely as I hope for mercy. One thing more: should
you see Leonard Ashton, let him know that I bear him no ill-will, and
pray him not to leave the fair fame of his old comrade foully stained.
Farewell: here is my hand--do not take it as scorn that it is my left
--my right I cannot move--"
The yeoman still stood in a sort of trance, gazing at him, as if
unable to tear himself away.
"See him off, Gaston," said the Knight; "then have the walls
properly manned--all is in your hands."
Gaston obeyed, hurrying him to the gate, and giving him more hope
of Sir Eustace's recovery than he felt; for he knew that nothing
but the prospect of saving him was likely to inspire the yeoman
with either speed or pertinacity enough to be of use. He fondly
patted Brigliador, who turned his neck in amaze at finding it was
not his master who mounted him, and having watched them for a
moment, he turned to look round the court, which was empty, save
for the bodies of those whom he had slain in his furious onset.
He next repaired to the hall, where he found the greater part of
the men loitering about and exchanging different reports of strange
events which had taken place:--"He can't be a wizard, for certain,"
said one, "or he never would be in this case, unless his bargain
was up."
"It were shame not to stand by him now in the face of the enemy,"
said another. "How bold he spoke, weak and wounded as he was!"
"He is of the old English stock," said a third,--"a brave, stout-
hearted young Knight."
"Well spoken, old Simon Silverlocks," said Gaston, entering. "I doubt
where you would find another such within the wide realm of France."
"He is brave enough, that no man doubts," answered Simon, "but
somewhat of the strictest, especially considering his years. Sir
Reginald was nothing to him."
"Was it not time to be strict when there was such a nest of treachery
within the Castle?" said Gaston. "We knew that murderous miscreant
of a Basque, and had we not kept well on our guard against him, you,
Master Simon, would long since have been hanging as high from
Montfort's tower as I trust soon to see him."
"But how knew you him, Master d'Aubricour? that is the question,"
said old Simon with a very solemn face of awe.
"How? why by means of somewhat sharper eyes than you seem to possess.
I have no time to bandy words--all I come to ask is, will you do the
duty of honest men or not? If not, away with you, and I and the
Knight will abide here till it pleases Messire Oliver, the butcher,
to practice his trade on us. I remember, if some of the Lances of
Lynwood do not, a certain camp at Valladolid, when some of us might
have been ill off had he not stood by our beds of sickness; nor will
I easily desert that pennon which was so gallantly made a banner."
These were remembrances to stir the hearts of the ancient Lances of
Lynwood, and there was a cry among them of, "We will never turn our
backs on it! Lynwood for ever!"
"Right, mine old comrades. Our walls are strong; our hearts are
stronger; three days, and aid must come from Bordeaux. The traitors
are captives, and we know to whom to trust; for ye, of English birth,
and ye, my countrymen, who made in so boldly to the rescue, ye will
not fail at this pinch, and see a brave and noble Knight yielded to
a pack of cowardly murderers."
"Never! never! We will stand by him to the last drop of our blood,"
they replied; for the sight of the brave wounded Knight, as well as
the example of Gaston's earnestness and devotion, had had a powerful
effect, and they unanimously joined the Squire in a solemn pledge to
defend both Castle and Knight to the last extremity.
"Then up with the good old banner!" said Gaston, "and let us give
Messire Oliver such a reception as he will be little prepared for."
He then gave some hasty directions, appointed old Silverlocks, a
skilled and tried warrior, to take the place of Seneschal for the
time, and to superintend the arrangements; and sending two men to
guard the entrance of Montfort's tower, where Sanchez and his
accomplices had shut themselves up, he returned to the Castellane's
chamber.
Never was there an apartment more desolate. Chateau Norbelle was
built more to be defended than to be inhabited, and the rooms were
rather so much inclosed space than places intended for comfort.
The walls were of unhewn stone, and, as well as the roof, thickly
tapestried with cobwebs,--the narrow loophole which admitted light
was unglazed,--and there was nothing in the whole chamber that
could be called furniture, save the two rude pallets which served
the Knight and Squire for beds, and a chest which had been forced
open and rifled by the mutineers. They had carried off Eustace's
beloved books, to burn them in the court as instruments of sorcery,
and a few garments it had likewise contained lay scattered about
the room. Gaston hastened to the side of his beloved Knight, almost
dreading, from his silence and stillness, to find him expiring. But
he was only faint and exhausted, and when Gaston raised him, and
began to examine his wounds, he looked up, saying, "Thanks, thanks,
kind Gaston! but waste not your time here. The Castle! the Castle!"
"What care I for the Castle compared to your life!" said Gaston.
"For my honour and your own," said Eustace, fixing his eyes on his
Squire's face. "Gaston, I fear you," he added, stretching out his
hand and grasping that of d'Aubricour; "if you survive, you will
forget the duty you owe the King, for the purpose of avenging me
upon Clarenham. If ever you have loved me, Gaston, give me your
solemn promise that this shall not be."
"It was the purpose for which I should have lived," said Gaston.
"You resign it?" said Eustace, still retaining his hold of his hand.
"You touch not one of my wounds till you have given me your oath."
"I swear it, then," said Gaston, "since you will ever have your own
way, and I do it the rather that Messire Oliver de Clisson will
probably save me the pain of keeping the pledge."
"You have taken all measures for defence?"
"Yes. The men-at-arms, such as are left, may be trusted, and have
all taken an oath to stand by us, which I do not think they will
readily break. The rest either made off with the baggage-mules, or
were slain when we broke in to your rescue, or are shut up with Le
Borgne Basque in Montfort's tower. I have sent the men to their
posts, put them under Silverlock's orders, and told him to come to
me for directions."
Eustace at last resigned himself into the Squire's hands. A broken
arm, a ghastly-looking cut on the head, and a deep thrust with a
poniard in the breast, seemed the most serious of the injuries he had
received; but there were numerous lesser gashes and stabs which had
occasioned a great effusion of blood, and he had been considerably
bruised by his fall.
Gaston could attempt nothing but applying some ointment, sold by a
Jew at Bordeaux as an infallible cure for all wounds and bruises; and,
having done all he could for the comfort of his patient, quitted him
to attend to the defence of the Castle.
His first visit was to Montfort's tower, one of the four flanking the
main body of the Castle.
"Well, Master Thibault Sanchez, or, if you like it better, Le Borgne
Basque," cried he, "thank you for saving us some trouble. You have
found yourself a convenient prison there, and I hope you are at your
ease."
"We shall see how you are at your ease, Master Gaston le Maure,"
retorted Sanchez from the depths of the tower, "when another Borgne
shall make his appearance, and string you up as a traitor to King
Charles, your liege lord."
"Le Borgne Basque talking of traitors and such gear!" returned
Gaston; "but he will tell a different tale when the succours come
from the Prince."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Thibault, "a little bird whispered in mine ear
that you may look long for succour from Bordeaux."
This was, in a great measure, Gaston's own conviction; but he only
replied the more vehemently that it could not fail, since neither
Knights nor Castles were so lightly parted with, and that he trusted
soon to have the satisfaction of seeing the inhabitants of the tower
receive the reward of their treachery.
Thus they parted--Thibault, perfectly well satisfied to remain
where he was, since he had little doubt that Oliver de Clisson's
speedy arrival would set him at liberty, and turn the tables upon
Gaston; and Gaston, glad that, since he could not at present have
the satisfaction of hanging him, he was in a place where he could
do no mischief, and whence he could not escape.
Now the warder on the watch-tower blew a blast, and every eye was
turned towards the eastern part of the country, where, in the
direction of Carcassonne, was to be seen a thick cloud of dust,
from which, in due time, were visible the flashes of armour, and
the points of weapons. Gaston, having given his orders, and
quickened the activity of each man in his small garrison, hurried
down to bear the tidings to Sir Eustace, and to array himself in
his own brightest helmet and gayest surcoat.
Ascending again to the battlements, he could see the enemy approaching,
could distinguish the banner of Clisson, and count the long array of
men-at-arms and crossbow-men as they pursued their way through the
bright green landscape, now half hidden by a rising ground, now slowly
winding from its summit.
At last they came to the foot of the slope. Gaston had already
marked the start and pause, which showed when they first recognized
the English standard; and there was another stop, while they ranged
themselves in order, and, after a moment's interval, a man-at-arms
rode forward towards the postern door, looked earnestly at it, and
called "Sanchez!"
"Shoot him dead!" said Gaston to an English crossbow-man who stood
beside him; "it is the villain Tristan, on poor Ferragus."
The arblast twanged, and Tristan fell, while poor Ferragus, after
starting violently, trotted round to the well-known gate, and stood
there neighing. "Poor fellow!" said Gaston, "art calling Brigliador?
I would I knew he had sped well."
The French, dismayed by the reception of their guide, held back; but
presently a pursuivant came forward from their ranks, and, after his
trumpet had been sounded, summoned, in the name of the good Knight,
Messire Oliver de Clisson, the garrison of Chateau Norbelle to
surrender it into his hands, as thereto commissioned by his grace,
Charles, King of France.
The garrison replied by another trumpet, and Gaston, standing forth
upon the battlements, over the gateway, demanded to speak with Sir
Oliver de Clisson, and to have safe-conduct to and from the open
space at the foot of the slope. This being granted, the drawbridge
was lowered, and the portcullis raised. Ferragus entered, and went
straight to his own stall; and Gaston d'Aubricour came forth in
complete armour, and was conducted by the pursuivant to the leader
of the troop. Sir Oliver de Clisson, as he sat on horseback with
the visor of his helmet raised, had little or nothing of the
appearance of the courteous Knight of the period. His features
were not, perhaps, originally as harsh and ill-formed as those of
his compeer, Bertrand du Guesclin, but there was a want of the
frank open expression and courteous demeanour which so well suited
the high chivalrous temper of the great Constable of France. They
were dark and stern, and the loss of an eye, which had been put out
by an arrow, rendered him still more hard-favoured. He was, in fact,
a man soured by early injuries--his father had been treacherously
put to death by King John of France, when Duke of Normandy, and his
brother had been murdered by an Englishman--his native Brittany was
torn by dissensions and divisions--and his youth had been passed in
bloodshed and violence. He had now attained the deserved fame of
being the second Knight in France, honourable and loyal as regarded
his King, but harsh, rigid, cruel, of an unlovable temper, which
made him in after years a mark for plots and conspiracies; and the
vindictive temper of the Celtic race leading him to avenge the death
of his brother upon every Englishman who fell into his hands.
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