Books: The Lances Of Lynwood
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Lances Of Lynwood
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"As you will, good fellow," said the Prince; "and you, Chandos, come
with me to my chamber--I would speak with you before you depart."
"My Lord," said Arthur, "would you but grant me one boon--to go with
Sir John to Chateau Norbelle?"
"You too? You would almost make me think you all drawn by witchcraft
to this Castle!" But Arthur's eagerness extorted a consent, and he
rode off amid Sir John Chandos's troop, boldly enough at first, but
by and by so sleepily, that, as night advanced, Sir John ordered him
to be placed in front of a trooper, and he soon lost all perception
of the rough rapid pace at which they travelled. It was broad day
when he was awakened by a halt, and the first thing he heard was,
"There is St. George's pennon still safe!"
He sat upright, gazed eagerly forwards, and beheld a tall dark
tower rising by the bank of a stream at some distance. "Chateau
Norbelle?" he asked.
"Oh, ho! my little page," said Chandos. "You are alive again, are
you? Ay, Chateau Norbelle it is--and we are in time it seems! But
let us have you on your own steed again. And let us see--if Oliver
be there himself, we shall have sharp work. Ay, keep you by the
side of the old master leech there--he will be sure to keep out of
peril. Now--close in--lances in rest--bows bent. Forward banner!"
Arthur, by no means approving of the companionship assigned him,
contrived to wedge in his pony a little in the rear of Sir John's
two Squires, as the whole squadron rode down the slope of the hill,
and up the ascent on which the Castle stood. Loud cries and shrieks
from within began to strike their ears--the clash of arms--all the
tumult of attack and defence raging fearfully high and wild.
"Ho, ho! friend Oliver!--we have you in a trap!" said old Chandos,
in high glee, as he drew up close without the walls. "Neville,
guard the gates!"
He signed to about half his band to remain without, and cut off the
retreat of the enemy. The Jew doctor chose his post in their rear,
close to the Castle moat--but not so Arthur. Unnoticed and forgotten,
he still kept close behind the Squire, who rode alongside of Sir John
Chandos, as he crossed the drawbridge. The Castle gate was open, and
showed a wild confused mass of struggling men and flashing arms. It
was the last, most furious onset, when Clisson, enraged by the long
resistance of so weak a garrison, was concentrating his strength in
one effort, and, in the excitement of the assault, he had failed to
remark that his sentinels had transgressed his orders, and mingled
with the crowd, who were striving, by force of numbers, to overwhelm
the small troop of defenders of the bartizan.
In rushed Chandos, shouting his war-cry!--In dashed his stout
warriors, and loud and fierce pealed forth "St. George! St George!"
drowning the now feebler note of "Montjoie, St. Denis!" and fearful
were the shrieks of horror and of pain that rose mingled with it.
Hemmed in, attacked in front and rear, their retreat cut off, the
French looked in vain for escape; some went down beneath the
tremendous charge of the English, some cried for mercy, and
surrendered as prisoners. Oliver de Clisson himself, seeing that
all was lost, swinging round his head his heavy battle-axe, opened
for himself a way, and, with a few followers, broke through the
men whom Chandos had left outside, and, cutting down a groom who
was holding it, captured one of his led horses, on which he rode
off at his leisure, confident in his own gigantic strength.
So little resistance had been offered, that Arthur's bold advance
had involved him in little danger; he was borne onwards, and only
was conscious of a frightful tumult, where all seemed to be
striking and crushing together. At last, there was something of
a lull; the cries of mercy, and offers to surrender, alone were
heard. Arthur found his pony standing still, and himself pressed
hither and thither by the crowd, from which he knew not how to
escape.
Above these various sounds he heard an opening door--there was
a press forward, which carried him with it. The heavy doors,
shivered here and there by Clisson's axe, had been thrown wide
open; but the crowd closed in--he saw no more. He threw himself
from his pony, struggled forwards, and at last, emerging between
the arms of two tall men, he beheld Sir John Chandos dismounting
from his war-horse, which was held by a grim, bloody, dusty figure
in broken armour, whose length of limb, and the crisp, black,
curled hair that showed through the shattered helmet, proved
that it could be no other than Gaston d'Aubricour.
Arthur darted forwards, his heart upon his lips; but neither Knight
nor Squire had eye or ear for him; they were hastily exchanging
queries about--he knew not what--they were not of his uncle; and,
borne on by his impatience, he hurried past them up the narrow
stone stair. More than one corpse--a ghastly sight--lay on the
steps, but he hastened on; half a dozen men were standing on the
stones at the top, all, like Gaston, dusty and gory, and leaning
on their weapons, or on the wall, as if exhausted. They were
looking intently at the court, and gave no heed to the boy, as he
ran on into the hall. Two men lay there groaning before the fire.
Arthur stood and looked round, hesitating whether to ask them for
his uncle; but, perceiving the spiral stairs, quickly ascended.
Far and far up he wound, till he came to a low-browed arch; he
paused, and saw a large vaulted room, through the loop-hole window
of which shone a yellow stream of golden sunshine. There was a low
bed in one corner, and on it lay a motionless form. On tiptoe, and
with a throbbing heart, the boy approached; he saw the face--it was
ghastly pale. He stood transfixed--could it be?--yes, it must still
be, his own Uncle Eustace.
CHAPTER XV
It was still very early, and the narrow line of sky seen from the
turret window was gilded by the bright pale-green light of morning,
when Sir Eustace awoke. All around was perfectly still, and he
could have believed himself waking merely from a dream of tumult
and disturbance, but for his feelings of pain and weakness. At
some little distance lay, on a softly-dressed sheepskin, the
oriental figure of the Jewish mediciner, and, at the foot of his
own bed, the unexpected form of little Arthur reclined, half
sitting, half lying, with his head resting on his crossed arms,
and his long curls floating over them. All was a riddle to his
misty remembrance, clouded by weakness; and, in vague uncertain
recollections and conjectures, the time rolled away, till the
sounds of awakening and calls of the warders within the Castle
betokened that it was occupied by no small number of persons.
Still Arthur slept on, and Eustace abstained from the slightest
movement that could disturb him, till a step stole quietly to the
door, and Gaston's head was seen cautiously and anxiously looking
in. Eustace, raising his hand, beckoned him, and made a sign of
silence.
"How is with you, Sir Eustace? It must needs be better. I see a
light in your eye once more."
"I am another man since yesterday, Gaston; but be careful--see there."
"Little fear of breaking such sleep as that," said Gaston. "'Tis
a noble-hearted little fellow, and if matters go better with us
henceforth, it will be his work."
"What is become of Clisson?"
"He was riding off headlong when Master Henry Neville last beheld
him, gaining thereby a sound rating from old Chandos."
"Sir John Chandos here?"
"Fast asleep in your own carved chair, with his feet on the oaken
settle."
"Sir John Chandos!" again exclaimed Eustace.
"Even so. All thanks to the brave young damoiseau who--"
Here Gaston's ardour had the effect of awakening the doctor, who
immediately began to grumble at his patient's admitting visitors
without permission. By the time he had examined Eustace's wounds
and pronounced him to be progressing favourably, the whole Castle
was up and awake, and Arthur, against his will, was sent down to
attend on Sir John Chandos at breakfast, when scarce satisfied
that his uncle could speak to him.
In process of time he came up to announce a visit from Chandos
himself, and close on his steps followed the stalwart old warrior.
Pausing at the door, he looked around him, struck with the aspect
of the dungeon-like apartment, still more rugged in the morning
light than in the evening gloom--the bare rough walls, an arrow
sticking between the stones immediately above the Knight's head,
the want of furniture, the Knight's own mantle and that of Gaston
both called into requisition to protect him from the damp chill
night air, their bright hues and rich embroidery contrasting with
the squalid appearance of all around, as, indeed, did the noble
though pale features of the wounded man himself, and the graceful
attire and shining hair of the fair young boy who stood over him.
But Sir John beheld all with no dissatisfaction.
"Well, my brave young Sir," said he, advancing, "how is it with you
this morning? You look cheerily; I trust we shall soon have you on
horseback again."
"Thanks to the blessed Saints and to you, Sir John," replied Eustace.
"I fear you fared ill last night for,"--and he looked round with a
smile--"you see, I occupy the state bed-chamber."
"The better, Sir Eustace," said Chandos. "It does my heart good
to see such a chamber as this--none of the tapestry and hangings
which our young Knights nowadays fence themselves with, as if they
kept out the foe--this is what it is meant for--a stronghold, and
not a bower. I'll have my dainty young Master Neville up here, to
see how a good Knight should be lodged."
"I fear he would scarce consider it as an example," said Eustace,
smiling, "since all our simplicity would not have availed to
protect us, but for your coming. We little dreamt to see this
morning's light."
"True, but where should I look for a garrison to make such a defence
as you and your Squire have done? When I saw the spot, and looked
at the numbers, and heard how long you had held out, methought I
was returned once more to the good old days of Calais. And here
this youth of mine, not yet with his spurs, though I dare say full
five years older than you, must needs look sour upon it, because he
has to sleep on a settle for one night--and that, too, when he has
let Oliver de Clisson slip through his fingers, without so much as
a scratch taken or given on either side! It grieves my very soul
to think on it! But all has gone to rack and ruin since the Prince
has been unable to set the example."
"Is the Prince better in health?"
"Yes--so they say--but his looks tell another tale, and I never
expect to see him on horseback again," said the old warrior, with
a deep sigh. "But I have to do his bidding here, and have much to
ask of you, Sir Eustace; and I do it the more willingly, that I
rejoice to see a brave man righted."
"Has the Prince, then, commanded an inquiry into my conduct?"
exclaimed Eustace, joyfully. "It is what I have ever most warmly
desired."
"And know you whom you have to thank?" said Sire John. "That
youngster who stands at your feet--'twas he that, with little Prince
Edward, burst into the council, and let not another word be said
till he had told your need, given Fulk Clarenham the lie direct,
and challenged him to prove his words. Pray when is the defiance
to be fought out, Sir Page?"
Arthur coloured crimson, and looked down; then raising his glowing
face, said firmly, "To-morrow, if need were, Sir--for God would
defend the right!"
"Roundly spoken, Master Page! But let not your early years be all
talk, nothing worth."
"The same warning that you gave to me, Sir John," said Eustace.
"When you thought I looked coldly and churlishly on your new-won
honours," said Sir John. "I own I thought the Prince was bestowing
knighthood over lightly--and so do I say still, Sir Eustace. But
I saw, afterwards, that you were not so easily uplifted as I had
thought. I saw you as diligent in the study of all that was
knightly as if your spurs were yet to earn, and I knew the Prince
had a brave young servant in you."
"If he would have trusted me!" said Eustace.
"He hath been deceived by the flatterers who have gained his ear.
It should not have been thus had I been at court; but things have
been much against my counsel. It may be that I have been too plain
spoken--forgetting that he is not the boy who used to be committed
to my charge--it may be that he hath been over hasty--and yet, when
I look on his changed mien and wasted face, I can scarce blame him,
nor must you, Sir Eustace, though cruel injustice hath, I fear,
been done you."
"I blame our glorious Prince!" exclaimed the young Knight. "I would
as soon blame the sun in heaven because the clouds hide his face from
me for a time!"
"The clouds are likely to be dispersed with a vengeance," said
Chandos. "The confession of yonder mutinous traitors will clear you
from all that your accusers have said, by proving their villainy and
baseness!"
"How? Sanchez and his fellows? Have they surrendered?"
"Yes. They kept themselves shut up in Montfort's tower until they
lost all hope of relief from their friends without; then, being in
fear of starvation, they were forced to surrender, and came forth,
praying that their lives might be spared. I, as you may suppose,
would as lief have spared the life of a wolf, and the halters were
already round their necks, when your dark-visaged Squire prayed me
to attempt to gain a confession from them; and, sure enough, they
told a marvellous tale:--that Clarenham had placed them here to
deliver you up to the enemy, whom they were to admit by a secret
passage--and that they would have done it, long since, save that
you and your Squire not only discovered the passage, but showed
such vigilance, and so frustrated all their plans, that they firmly
believed that you held commerce with the foul fiend. Did you, in
truth, suspect their treachery?"
"Yes," replied Eustace, looking at Arthur. "The recognition of Le
Borgne Basque in the Seneschal would have been sufficient to set us
on our guard."
"But the passage?" asked Sir John, "what knowledge had you of that?
for they vow that you could never have discovered it but by art
magic."
"We found it by long and diligent search."
"And what led you to search, Sir Eustace? I you can clear up the
matter, it will be the better for you; for this accusation of
witchcraft will hang to you like a burr--the more, perhaps, as you
are somewhat of a scholar!"
"It was I who warned him of it, Sir Knight," said Arthur, stepping
forward.
"You, young Page!" exclaimed Sir John. "Are you jesting? Ha! then
you must have, page-like, been eaves-dropping!--I should scarce have
thought it of you."
"Oh, uncle!" exclaimed Arthur, in great distress, "you do not
believe me capable of aught so unknightly? Do but say that you,
at least, trust my word, when I say that I learnt their plots by
no means unbecoming the son of Sir Reginald Lynwood."
"I believe you fully, Arthur," replied his uncle; "the more, that
I should have been the last person to whom you would have brought
information gained in such a fashion."
"And how was it gained?" asked Sir John.
"That," said the boy, "is a secret I am bound never to disclose."
"Strange, passing strange," repeated the old Knight, shaking his
head. "Clarenham and Ashton would scarce have taken any into their
councils who would warn you. And you will or can tell no more?"
"No more," replied the boy. "I was bidden secretly to warn my uncle
of the entrance to the vaults, and of the treachery of this villain
garrison. I did so, and he who says aught dishonourable of him or
of me lies in his throat."
"Can you read this riddle, Sir Eustace?" asked Chandos, looking
rather suspiciously at the very faint glow which mantled in the
white cheek of the wounded Knight.
"I know nothing but what he has told you, Sir John," replied he.
"Nor guess aught?" said Sir John; "but perhaps that is scarce a
fair query; and I will to the rest of my business, though it is
scarce needed--only I would have the Prince see the full extent
of the falsehoods with which he has been gulled." And he then
proceeded to inquire into the circumstances of Lady Eleanor's
funeral, the brawling, the violent abstraction of Arthur, and
of a considerable portion of his property, and the long delay,
which had given his enemies so much opportunity to blacken his
character. Eustace explained all fully to the satisfaction of
Chandos, and appealed to numerous witnesses.
"That is well," said the old Knight. "We shall have it all clear
as daylight;--and the only wonder is, that the Prince could be so
long deceived by such monstrous falsehoods. Let me see--your right
to the wardship is established?"
"Yes; it hath been so decided by the Bishop of Winchester."
"And let me tell you, Sir Eustace, you did yourself little good by
getting the interest of the Duke of Lancaster. Methought it still
further prejudiced the Prince."
"It was justice that I sought, not favour," said Eustace.
"The knightly view," said Sir John; "and it was more the work of
your friends than yourself; but I never loved that young John of
Lancaster, and still less since he hath seemed willing to make a
party for himself. I trow he hath given the Prince a distrust of
all uncles. Ha! little varlet!" added he, as he met Arthur's eyes--
"if you can keep one secret, keep another, or, still better, forget
what I have said. Understandest thou?"
"I will answer for him," said Eustace.
"And now," said Chandos, "I must be on my way back; for that
expedition to Bescancon must be looked to. But what is to be done
with the boy?"
"Oh, I remain here," cried Arthur, eagerly. "The Prince consented.
Oh, I pray of you let me stay here."
"In this dismal old Castle, Arthur," said Eustace, "apart from all
your playmates? It will not be like home, remember; for scarce
ever will you be able to go beyond the walls--and with me lying
here, and Gaston always occupied, you will find it weary work."
"Not with you, Uncle Eustace! I shall sit by you, and tend you, and
read to you. It is so long since I have been with you! Oh, send me
not away! I care for no playmate--for nothing in the wide world, as
for you!"
"Well, let him e'en stay," said Sir John; "it will be a better
training for him than among the gilded little varlets who are
cockered up among Princess Joan's ladies."
The two Knights had next to arrange some matters respecting the
garrison; Sir John leaving a sufficient number of men to secure
the castle in case of a second attack. He was somewhat inclined
to leave Master Henry Neville to command them; but consideration
for Eustace and Gaston induced him to spare the young gentleman
a sojourn which he would have regarded as so far from enviable.
Nor was the leech more desirous of a lengthened stay with a
patient whom he suspected to be unable to requite him for the
discomfort which he might endure in his service. He therefore
pronounced Sir Eustace to stand in no further need of his
attentions; and recommending rest, and providing him with good
store of remedies, he saddled his mule to accompany Sir John
Chandos.
The old Commander took his leave, with many kind wishes for Sir
Eustace's speedy recovery, and promises that he should ere long
hear from Bordeaux. In ten minutes more Arthur, standing at the
window, announced that the troop was riding off, with Clisson's
pennon borne among them in triumph, and Sanchez and his accomplices,
with their hands tied, and their feet fastened together beneath the
bodies of their horses.
CHAPTER XVI
Four or five weeks had passed away since Sir John Chandos had quitted
the Chateau Norbelle.
The Knight had nearly recovered his full strength, but still wore
his broken arm in a scarf, when, one evening, as he was sitting on
the battlements, delighting the ears of Arthur and of Gaston with
an interminable romance of chivalry, three or four horseman,
bearing the colours and badges of the Black Prince, were descried
riding towards the Castle. Knight, Squire, and Page instantly
descended to the courtyard, which, in short space, was entered by
the messengers, the principal of whom, an elderly man-at-arms,
respectfully saluted the Knight, and delivered to him a parchment
scroll, tied with silk of scarlet and blue, supporting the heavy
seal of the Prince of Wales and Duke of Aquitaine, and addressed
to the hands of the honourable Knight Banneret Sir Eustace Lynwood,
Castellane of the Chateau Norbelle. This document bore the signature
of Edward himself, and contained his mandate to Eustace, to come
immediately to his court at Bordeaux, leaving the command of the
Chateau Norbelle to the bearer.
The old man-at-arms was closely questioned all the evening respecting
the state of the court, but he could give little information. Sir
John Chandos was at Bordeaux, and had daily attended the council, to
which the Prince was devoting more attention than usual; a vessel had
also arrived bearing letters from England to the Prince; this was all
the information that could be obtained.
The next morning Eustace, with Gaston, Arthur, and Ingram, all full
of expectation, and delighted at the change from the gloomy solitary
old Castle, were all posting on their way back to Bordeaux. They
slept at an hostel about twelve miles from the town, first, however,
by desire of the Prince's messengers, sending Ingram on to announce
their speedy arrival, and about ten in the morning rode into town.
There was evidently some grand spectacle at hand, for the Bordelais,
gentle and simple, in holiday habits, were proceeding in the direction
of the palace; but the Knight and his attendants had no time to wait
for inquiries, and pressed on with the stream to the gates of the
courtyard, where they found warders placed, to keep back the dense
throng of people. At the mention of Sir Eustace's name they readily
and respectfully admitted him and his companions into the court.
"Ha!" cried Gaston, "what means this? is there a tilt towards? This
reminds me of the good old days, ere the Prince fell ill. The lists,
the galleries, the ladies, the Prince's own chair of state, too! Oh,
Sir Eustace, I could tear my hair that you cannot yet use your sword
arm!"
"Can it be a challenge on the part of Fulk?" said Eustace, "or a
reply to yours, Arthur? Yet that can hardly be. And see, there is
no barrier in the midst, only a huge block. What can be intended?"
"I do not see Agnes among the ladies in the galleries," said Arthur,
looking up as eagerly, and more openly, than his uncle was doing.
"And oh, here comes the Princess,--yes, and Lord Edward and little
Lord Richard with her! And here is the Prince himself leaning on
the Earl of Cambridge! Uncle Eustace, Lord Edward is beckoning to
me! May I run to him?"
"Come with me, since I must present myself," said Eustace,
dismounting, as one of the Prince's Squires held his horse.
"And, oh! who is yonder dark-browed dwarfish Knight at the Prince's
right hand?" cried Arthur.
Eustace could scarcely believe his eyes, as he looked where the
boy pointed.
The royal party were now seated in full array on their raised
platform; the Prince upon his chair of state, with more brightness
in his eye and of vigour in his movements than when Eustace had
last seen him; and at his side sat his wife,--her features still
retaining the majestic beauty of Joan Plantagenet, the Fair Maid
of Kent--but worn and faded with anxiety. She watched her princely
Lord with an eye full of care, and could scarcely spare attention
for the lovely child who clung to her side, and whose brilliantly
fair complexion, wavy flaxen hair, high brow, and perfectly
formed though infantine features, already promised that remarkable
beauty which distinguished the countenance of Richard II. On the
other side of the Prince sat his sister-in-law, the Countess of
Cambridge, a Spanish Infanta; and her husband, Edmund, afterwards
Duke of York, was beside the Princess of Wales. But more wonderful
than all, among them stood the Constable of France. The two boys,
Prince Edward and his cousin Henry of Lancaster, were stationed
as pages on each side of the Princess, but as their play-fellow,
Arthur, advanced with his uncle, they both sprang down the steps
of the gallery to meet him, and each took a hand. Edward, however,
first bethinking himself of the respect which, Prince as he was,
he owed to a belted Knight, made his reverence to Sir Eustace, who,
at a sign from the Prince of Wales, mounted the steps and bent his
knee to the ground before him.
"Nay, Sir Eustace,: said the Prince, bending forward, "it is rather
I who should kneel to you for pardon; I have used you ill, Eustace,
and, I fear me, transgressed the pledge which I gave to your brother
on the plain of Navaretta."
"Oh, say not so, my gracious liege," said Eustace, as tears gathered
in his eyes,--"it was but that your noble ear was deceived by the
slanders of my foes!"
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