Books: The Lances Of Lynwood
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Lances Of Lynwood
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"Let him be stone deaf," said Gaston; "he is not the sole inhabitant
of the Castle. Try them again, Sir Eustace."
"Hark!--methought I heard the opening of the hall door!" said Eustace.
"No! What can have befallen them?"
"My teeth are chattering with cold," said Gaston, "and the horses
will be ruined with standing still in the driving rain. Cannot we
betake ourselves to the village hostel, and in the morning reproach
them with their churlishness?"
"I must be certified that there is nothing amiss," said Sir Eustace,
springing from his saddle; "I can cross the moat on one of the
supports of the bridge."
"Have with you then, Sir Knight," said Gaston, also leaping to the
ground, while Eustace cautiously advanced along the narrow frame of
wood on which the drawbridge had rested, slippery with the wet, and
rendered still more perilous by the darkness. Gaston followed,
balancing himself with some difficulty, and at last they safely
reached the other side. Eustace tried the heavy gates, but found
them fastened on the inside with a ponderous wooden bar. "Most
strange!" muttered he; "yet come on, Gaston, I can find an entrance,
unless old Ralph be more on the alert than I expect."
Creeping along between the walls and the moat, till they had reached
the opposite side of the Keep, Eustace stopped at a low doorway; a
slight click was heard, as of a latch yielding to his hand, the door
opened, and he led the way up a stone staircase in the thickness of
the wall, warning his follower now and then of a broken step. After
a long steep ascent, Gaston heard another door open, and though still
in total darkness, perceived that they had gained a wider space.
"The passage from the hall to the chapel," whispered the Knight, and
feeling by the wall, they crept along, until a buzz of voices reached
their ears, and light gleamed beneath a heavy dark curtain which
closed the passage. Pausing for an instant, they heard a voice
tremulous with fear and eagerness: "It was himself! tall plume,
bright armour! the very crosslet on his breast could be seen in the
moonlight! Oh! it was Sir Reginald himself, and the wild young
French Squire that fell with him in Spain!"
There was a suppressed exclamation of horror, and a sound of
crowding together, and at that moment, Eustace, drawing aside the
curtain, advanced into the light, and was greeted by a frightful
shriek, which made him at first repent of having alarmed his sister,
but the next glance showed him that her place was empty, and a
thrill of dismay made him stand speechless and motionless, as he
perceived that the curtain he grasped was black, and the hall
completely hung with the same colour.
The servants remained huddled in terror round the hearth, and the
pause was first broken by a fair-faced boy, who, breaking from the
trembling circle, came forward, and in a quivering tone said, "Sir,
are you my father's spirit?"
Gaston's laugh came strangely on the scene, but Eustace, bending
down, and holding out his hand, said, "I am your uncle Eustace,
Arthur. Where is your mother?"
Arthur, with a wild cry of joy, sprung to his neck, and hid his face
on his shoulder; and at the same moment old Ralph, with uplifted
hands, cried, "Blessing on the Saints that my young Lord is safe,
and that mine eyes have seen you once again."
"But where, oh! where is my sister?" again demanded Eustace, as his
eye met that of Father Cyril, who, summoned by the screams of the
servants, had just entered the hall.
"My son," replied the good Father, solemnly, "your sister is where
the wicked may trouble her no more. It is three days now since she
departed from this world of sorrow."
"Oh, had she but lived to see this day," said Ralph Penrose, "her
cares would have been over!"
"Her prayers are answered," said Father Cyril. "Come with me, my
son Eustace, if you would take a last look of her who loved and
trusted you so well."
Eustace followed him to the chamber where the Lady Eleanor Lynwood
lay extended on her bed. Her features were pinched and sharpened,
and bore traces of her long, wasting sufferings, but they still
looked lovely, though awful in their perfect calmness. Eustace
knelt and recited the accustomed prayers, and then stood gazing on
the serene face, with a full heart, and gathering tears in his eyes,
for he had loved the gentle Eleanor with the trusting affection of
a younger brother. He thought of that joyous time, the first
brilliant day of his lonely childhood, when the gay bridal cavalcade
came sweeping down the hill, and he, half in pleasure, half in
shyness, was led forth by his mother to greet the fair young bride
of his brother. How had she brightened the dull old Keep, and given,
as it were, a new existence to himself, a dreamy, solitary boy--how
patiently and affectionately had she tended his mother, and how
pleasant were the long evenings when she had unwearily listened to
his beloved romances, and his visions of surpassing achievements of
his own! No wonder that he wept for her as a brother would weep for
an elder sister.
Father Cyril, well pleased to perceive that the kindly tenderness of
his heart was still untouched by his intercourse with the world, let
him gaze on for some time in silence, then laying his hand on his arm
said, "She is in peace. Mourn not that her sorrows are at an end,
her tears wiped away, but prepare to fulfil her last wishes, those
prayers in answer to which, as I fully believe, the Saints have sent
you at
the very moment of greatest need."
"Her last wishes?" said Eustace. "They shall be fulfilled to the
utmost as long as I have life or breath! Oh! had I but come in
time to hear them from herself, and give her my own pledge."
"Grieve not that her trust was not brought down to aught of earth,"
said Father Cyril. "She trusted in Heaven, and died in the sure
belief that her child would be guarded; and lo, his protector is
come, if, as I well believe, my son Eustace, you are not changed
from the boy who bade us farewell three years ago."
"If I am changed, it is not in my love for home, and for all who
dwell there," said Eustace, "or rather, I love them better than
before. Little did I dream what a meeting awaited me!" Again
there was a long pause, which Eustace at length broke by saying,
"What is the need you spoke of? What danger do you fear?"
"This is no scene for dwelling on the evil deeds of wicked men
otherwise than to pray for them," said the Priest; "but return
with me to the hall, and you shall hear."
Eustace lingered a few moments longer, before, heaving a deep sigh
he returned to the hall, where he found Gaston and Ingram, just come
in from attending to the horses, and Ralph hurrying the servants in
setting out an ample meal for the travellers.
"My good old friend," said Eustace, holding out his hand as he
entered, "I have not greeted you aright. You must throw the blame
on the tidings that took from me all other thought, Ralph; for never
was there face which I was more rejoiced to see.
"It was the blame of our own reception of you, Sir Eustace," said
old Penrose. "I could tear my hair to think that you should have
met with no better welcome than barred gates and owlet shrieks;
but did you but know how wildly your bugle-blast rose upon our
ear, while we sat over the fire well-nigh distraught with sorrow,
you would not marvel that we deemed that the spirit of our good
Knight might be borne upon the moaning wind."
"Yet," said Arthur, "I knew the note, and would have gone to the
turret window, but that Mistress Cicely held me fast; and when
they sent Jocelyn to look, the cowardly knave brought back the
tale which you broke short."
"Boast not, Master Arthur," said Gaston; "you believed in our
ghostship as fully as any of them."
"But met us manfully," said Eustace. "But why all these precautions?
Why the drawbridge raised? That could scarce be against a ghost."
"Alas! Sir Eustace, there are bodily foes abroad!" said Ralph. "By
your leave, Master d'Aubricour," as Gaston was about to assist his
Knight in unfastening his armour, "none shall lay a hand near Sir
Eustace but myself on this first night of his return; thanks be to
St. Dunstan that he has come!" Eustace stood patiently for several
minutes while the old man fumbled with his armour, and presently
came the exclamation, "A plague on these new-fangled clasps which
a man cannot undo for his life! 'Twas this low corselet that was
the death of good Sir Reginald. I always said that no good would
come of these fashions!"
In process of time, Eustace was disencumbered of his heavy armour;
but when he stood before him in his plain dress of chamois leather,
old Ralph shook his head, disappointed that he had not attained the
height or the breadth of the stalwart figures of his father and
brother, but was still slight and delicate looking. The golden
spurs and the sword of Du Guesclin, however, rejoiced the old man's
heart, and touching them almost reverentially, he placed the large
arm-chair at the head of the table, and began eagerly to invite him
to eat.
Eustace was too sorrowful and too anxious to be inclined for food,
and long before his followers had finished their meal, he turned
from the table, and asked for an account of what had befallen in
his absence; for there was at that time no more idea of privacy in
conversation than such as was afforded by the comparative seclusion
of the party round the hearth, consisting of the Knight, his arm
around his little nephew, who was leaning fondly against him; of
Father Cyril, of Gaston, and old Ralph, in his wonted nook, his
elbow on his knee, and his chin on his hand, feasting his eyes with
the features of his beloved pupil. In answer to the query, "Who is
the enemy you fear?" there was but one answer, given in different
tones, "The Lord de Clarenham!"
"Ha!" cried Eustace, "it was justly then that your father, Arthur,
bade me beware of him when he committed you to my charge on the
battle-field of Navaretta."
"Did he so?" exclaimed Father Cyril. "Did he commit the boy to your
guardianship? Formally and before witnesses?"
"I can testify to it, good Father," said Gaston. "Ay! and you, Ingram,
must have been within hearing--to say nothing of Du Guesclin."
"And Leonard Ashton," said Ingram.
"It is well," said Father Cyril; "he will be here to-morrow to be
confronted with Clarenham. It is the personal wardship that is of
chief importance, and dwelt most on my Lady's mind."
"Clarenham lays claim then to the guardianship?" asked Eustace.
Father Cyril proceeded with a narrative, the substance of which was
as follows:--Simon de Clarenham, as has been mentioned, had obtained
from King Edward, in the days of the power of Isabel and Mortimer, a
grant of the manor of Lynwood, but on the fall of the wicked Queen,
the rightful owner had been reinstated, without, however, any formal
revocation of the unjust grant. Knowing it would cost but a word of
Sir Reginald to obtain its recall, both Simon and Fulk de Clarenham
had done their best to make him forget its existence; but no sooner
did the news of his death reach England, than Fulk began to take an
ungenerous advantage of the weakness of his heir. He sent a summons
for the dues paid by vassals to their Lord on a new succession, and
on Eleanor's indignant refusal, followed it up by a further claim to
the wardship of the person of Arthur himself, both in right of his
alleged feudal superiority, and as the next of kin who was of full
age. Again was his demand refused, and shortly after Lady Lynwood's
alarms were brought to a height by an attempt on his part to waylay
her son and carry him off by force, whilst riding in the neighbourhood
of the Castle. The plot had failed, by the fidelity of the villagers
of Lynwood, but the shock to the lady had increased the progress of
the decay of her health, already undermined by grief. She never
again trusted her son beyond the Castle walls; she trembled whenever
he was out of her sight, and many an hour did she spend kneeling
before the altar in the chapel. On her brother-in-law, Sir Eustace,
her chief hope was fixed; on him she depended for bringing Arthur's
case before the King, and, above all, for protecting him from the
attacks of the enemy of his family, rendered so much more dangerous
by his relationship. She did not believe that actual violence to
Arthur's person was intended, but Fulk's house had of late become
such an abode of misrule, that his mother and sister had been
obliged to leave it for a Convent, and the tales of the lawlessness
which there prevailed were such that she would have dreaded nothing
more for her son than a residence there, even if Fulk had no interest
in oppressing him.
That Eustace should return to take charge of his nephew before her
death was her chief earthly wish, and when she found herself rapidly
sinking, and the hope of its fulfilment lessening, she obtained a
promise from Father Cyril that he would conduct the boy to the Abbey
of Glastonbury, and there obtain from the Abbot protection for him
until his uncle should return, or the machinations of Fulk be
defeated by an appeal to the King.
This was accordingly Father Cyril's intention. It was unavoidable
that Fulk, the near kinsman of the deceased, should be present at
the funeral, but Father Cyril had intended to keep Arthur within
the sanctuary of the chapel until he could depart under the care
of twelve monks of Glastonbury, who were coming in the stead of
the Abbot--he being, unfortunately, indisposed. Sir Philip Ashton
had likewise been invited, in the hope that his presence might prove
a check upon Clarenham.
CHAPTER IX
With the first dawn of morning, the chapel bell began to toll, and
was replied to by the deeper sound of the bell of the parish church.
Soon the court began to be filled with the neighbouring villagers,
with beggars, palmers, mendicant friars of all orders, pressing to
the buttery-hatch, where they received the dole of bread, meat, and
ale, from the hands of the pantler, under the direction of the almoner
of Glastonbury, who requested their prayers for the soul of the noble
Sir Reginald Lynwood, and Dame Eleanor of Clarenham, his wife. The
peasantry of Lynwood, and the beggars, whose rounds brought them
regularly to the Keep of Lynwood, and who had often experienced the
bounty of the departed lady, replied with tears and blessings. There
were not wanting the usual though incongruous accompaniments of such
a scene--the jugglers and mountebanks, who were playing their tricks
in one corner.
Within the hall, all was in sad, sober, and solemn array, contrasting
with the motley concourse in the court. Little Arthur, dressed in
black, stood by the side of his uncle, to receive the greetings of
his yeoman vassals, as they came in, one by one, with clownish
courtesy, but hearty respect and affection, and great satisfaction
at the unexpected appearance of the young Knight.
Next came in long file, mounted on their sleek mules, the twelve
monks of Glastonbury, whom the Knight and his nephew reverently
received at the door, and conducted across the hall to the chapel,
where the parish Priest, Father Cyril, and some of the neighbouring
clergy had been chanting psalms since morning light. On the way Sir
Eustace held some conference with the chief, Brother Michael, who
had come prepared to assist in conveying Arthur, if possible, to
Glastonbury, but was very glad to find that the Knight was able to
take upon himself the charge of his nephew, without embroiling the
Abbey with so formidable an enemy as Lord de Clarenham.
The next arrival was Sir Philip Ashton and his son, who could hardly
believe their eyes when Eustace met them. Leonard's manner was at
first cordial; but presently, apparently checked by some sudden
recollection, he drew back, and stood in sheepish embarrassment,
fumbling with his dagger, while Sir Philip was lavishing compliments
on Eustace, who was rejoiced when the sound of horses made it
necessary to go and meet Lord de Clarenham at the door. Arthur
looked up in Sir Fulk's face, with a look in which curiosity and
defiance were expressed; while Fulk, on his side, was ready to
grind his teeth with vexation at the unexpected sight of the only
man who could interfere with his projects. Then he glanced at his
own numerous and well-appointed retinue, compared them with the
small number of the Lynwood vassals, and with another look at his
adversary's youthful and gentle appearance, he became reassured,
and returned his salutations with haughty ceremony.
The whole company moved in solemn procession towards the chapel,
where the mass and requiem were chanted, and the corpse of the Lady
Eleanor, inclosed in a stone coffin, was lowered to its resting-
place, in the vault of her husband's ancestors.
It was past noon when the banquet was spread in the hall; a higher
table on the dais for the retainers and yeomanry, the latter of whom
were armed with dagger, short sword, or quarter-staff.
Sir Philip Ashton and Brother Michael were chiefly at the expense of
the conversation, Eustace meanwhile doing the honours with grave
courtesy, taking care to keep his nephew by his side. There was
no one who did not feel as if on the eve of a storm; but all was
grave and decorous; and at length Brother Michael and the monks of
Glastonbury, rejoicing that they, at least, had escaped a turmoil,
took their leave, mounted their mules, and rode off, in all
correctness of civility toward the house of Lynwood, which, as
Eustace could not help feeling, they thus left to fight its own
battles.
"It waxes late," said Lord de Clarenham, rising; "bring out the
horses, Miles; and you, my young kinsman, Arthur, you are to be my
guest from henceforth. Come, therefore, prepare for the journey."
Arthur held fast by the hand of his uncle, who replied, "I thank you
in my nephew's name for your intended hospitality, but I purpose at
once to conduct him to Bordeaux, to be enrolled among the Prince's
pages."
"Conduct him to Bordeaux, said the Knight?" answered Sir Fulk with
a sneer; "to Bordeaux forsooth! It is well for you, my fair young
cousin, that I have other claims to you, since, were you once out
of England, I can well guess who would return to claim the lands
of Lynwood."
"What claim have you to his wardship, Sir Fulk?" asked Eustace,
coldly, disdaining to take notice of the latter part of this speech.
"As his feudal superior, and his nearest relation of full age,"
replied Clarenham.
"There are many here who can prove that it is twenty-one years past,
since I was born on the feast of St. Eustace," replied the young
Knight. "The house of Lynwood owns no master beneath the King of
England, and the wardship of my nephew was committed to me by both
his parents. Here is a witness of the truth of my words. Holy
Father, the parchment!"
Father Cyril spread a thick roll, with heavy seals, purporting to be
the last will and testament of Dame Eleanor Lynwood, bequeathing the
wardship and marriage of her son to her beloved brother, Sir Eustace
Lynwood, Knight Banneret, and, in his absence, to the Lord Abbot of
Glastonbury, and Cyril Langton, Clerk.
"It is nought," said Clarenham, pushing it from him; "the Lady
of Lynwood had no right to make a will in this manner, since she
unlawfully detained her son from me, his sole guardian."
"The force of the will may be decided by the King's justices," said
Eustace; "but my rights are not founded on it alone. My brother,
Sir Reginald, with his last words, committed his son to my charge."
"What proof do you bring, Sir Eustace?" said Fulk. "I question not
your word, but something more is needed in points of law, and you
can scarcely expect the world to believe that Sir Reginald would
commit his only child to the guardianship of one so young, and the
next heir."
"I am here to prove it, my Lord," said Gaston, eagerly. "'To your
care I commit him, Eustace,' said Sir Reginald, as he lay with his
head on his brother's breast; and methought he also added, 'Beware
of Clarenham.' Was it not so, friend Leonard?"
Leonard's reply was not readily forthcoming. His father was
whispering in his ear, whilst he knit his brow, shuffled with his
feet, and shrugged his shoulder disrespectfully in his father's
face.
"Speak, Master Ashton," said Clarenham, in a cold incredulous tone,
and bending on father and son glances which were well understood.
"To your testimony, respectable and uninterested, credit must be
added."
"What mean you by that, Sir Fulk de Clarenham?" cried Gaston; "for
what do you take me and my word?"
"Certain tales of you and your companions, Sir Squire," answered
Clarenham, "do not dispose me to take a Gascon's word for more than
it is worth."
"This passes!" cried Gaston, striking his fist on the table; "you
venture it because you are not of my degree! Here, ye craven
Squires, will not one of you take up my glove, when I cast back
in his teeth your master's foul slander of an honourable Esquire?"
"Touch it not, I command you," said Clarenham, "unless Master
d'Aubricour will maintain that he never heard of a certain one-
eyed Basque, and never rode on a free-booting foray with the robber
Knight, Perduccas d'Albret."
"What of that?" fiercely cried Gaston.
"Quite enough, Sir Squire," said Fulk, coolly.
Gaston was about to break into a tempest of rage, when Eustace's
calm voice and gesture checked him.
"Sir Fulk," said Eustace, "were you at Bordeaux, you would know that
no man's word can be esteemed more sacred, or his character more high,
than that of Gaston d'Aubricour."
"But in the meantime," said Clarenham, "we must be content to take
that, as well as much besides, on your own assertion, Sir Eustace.
Once more, Master Leonard Ashton, let me hear your testimony, as to
the dying words of Sir Reginald Lynwood. I am content to abide by
them."
"Come, Leonard," said his father, who had been whispering with him
all this time, "speak up; you may be grieved to disappoint a once-
friendly companion, but you could not help the defect of your ears."
"Sir Philip, I pray you not to prompt your son," said Eustace.
"Stand forth, Leonard, on your honour. Did you or did you not
hear the words of my brother, as he lay on the bank of the Zadorra?"
Leonard half rose, as if to come towards him, but his father held
him fast; he looked down, and muttered, "Ay, truly, I heard Sir
Reginald say somewhat."
"Tell it out, then."
"He thanked the Prince for knighting you--he prayed him to have
charge of his wife and child--he bade Gaston not to return to evil
courses," said Leonard, bringing out his sentences at intervals.
"And afterwards," said Eustace sternly--"when the Prince was gone?
On your honour, Leonard."
Leonard almost writhed himself beneath the eyes that Eustace kept
steadily fixed on him. "Somewhat--somewhat he might have said of
knightly training for his son--but--but what do I know?" he added,
as his father pressed hard on his foot; "it was all in your ear,
for as he lay on your breast, his voice grew so faint, that I could
hear little through my helmet."
"Nay, Master Ashton," said John Ingram, pressing forward, "if I
remember right, you had thrown off your helmet, saying it was as
hot as a copper cauldron; and besides, our good Knight, when he
said those words touching Master Arthur, raised himself up
somewhat, and spoke out louder, as if that we might all hear and
bear witness."
"No witness beyond your own train, Sir Eustace?" said Clarenham.
"None," said Eustace, "excepting one whose word even you will scarcely
dare to dispute, Sir Bertrand du Guesclin."
"I dispute no man's word, Sir Eustace," said Fulk; "I only say that
until the claim which you allege be proved in the King's Court, I am
the lawful guardian of the lands and person of the heir of Lynwood.
The Lord Chancellor Wykeham may weigh the credit to be attached to
the witness of this highly respectable Esquire, or this long-eared
man-at-arms, or may send beyond seas for the testimony of Du Guesclin:
in the meantime, I assume my office. Come here, boy."
"I will not come to you, Lord Fulk," said Arthur; "or when I do, it
shall be sword in hand to ask for an account for the tears you have
made my sweet mother shed."
"Bred up in the same folly!" said Fulk. "Once more, Sir Eustace,
will you yield him to me, or must I use force?"
"I have vowed before his mother's corpse to shield him from you,"
returned Eustace.
"Think of the consequences, Sir Eustace," said Sir Philip Ashton,
coming up to him. "Remember the unrepealed grant to the Clarenhams.
The Lynwood manor may be at any moment resumed, to which, failing
your nephew, you are heir. You will ruin him and yourself."
"It is his person, not his lands, that I am bound to guard," said
Eustace. "Let him do his worst; my nephew had better be a landless
man, than one such as Fulk would make him."
"Think," continued Sir Philip, "of the disadvantages to your cause
of provoking a fray at such a time. Hold your hand, and yield the
boy, at least till the cause come before the Chancellor."
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