Books: The Prince and the Page
C >>
Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Prince and the Page
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 | 11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15
The Greek told, with as little tergiversation as was in his nature,
that he viewed a refusal as certain death, but several times Dame
Idonea was bursting out upon him, and Edward had to hold up his
finger to silence her.
"Now, kind lady," quoth he, "let me hear the worst you foretell for
me from your experience."
Dame Idonea did not spare him either the fate of Coeur de Lion, the
dangers of fever and pain, and above all "of that strange enchantment
that binds the teeth together and forbids a man to swallow his food."
Poor Eleanor looked at him imploringly all the time, but as none of
them had ever heard of the circulation of the blood, they could not
tell that her simple remedy had been truly efficacious, and that if
it had been otherwise the incisions would now come too late. Thus
the balance of prudence made itself appear to be on the side of the
physician, and for him the Prince decided. "Mi Dona," he said, ever
his most caressing term for her, "it must be so! I think not lightly
of what thou hast done for me, but, as matters stand, too much hangs
upon this life of mine for me not to be bound to run no needless risk
for fear of a little pain. If I live and speak now, next to highest
Heaven it is owing to thee; and when we came on this holy war, sweet
Eleanor, didst thou not promise to hinder me from naught that a true
warrior of the Cross ought to undergo? And is this the land to
shrink from the Cross?"
Alas! to Eleanor the pang was the belief in the uselessness of his
suffering and danger. She never withstood his will, but physically
she was weak, and her weeping was piteous in its silence. Edward
bade his brother lead her away; and Edmund, after the usual fashion,
vented his own perplexity and distress upon the most submissive
person in his way. He assumed more resistance on the part of his
gentle sister-in-law than she made, and carrying her from the tent,
roughly told her, silent as she was, that it was better that she
should scream and cry than all England wail and lament.
And so Eleanor's devoted deed, the true saving of her husband, has
lived on as a mere delusive tradition, weakly credited by the
romantic, while the credit of his recovery has been retained by the
Knight-Templars' leech. Not a sound was uttered by the Prince while
under those hands; but when his wife was permitted to return to him,
she found him in a dead faint, and the silver reliquary she had left
with him crushed flat and limp between his fingers.
Richard had given his attendance all the time, and for several hours
afterwards, during which the Princess hung over her husband,
endeavouring to restore him from the state of exhaustion in which he
scarcely seemed conscious of anything but her presence. Late in the
evening, some one came to the entrance of the tent, and beckoned to
the young squire; he came out expecting to receive some message, but
to his extreme surprise found himself in the grasp of the Provost
Marshal.
"On what charge?" he demanded, so soon as he was far enough beyond
the precincts of his tent not to risk a disturbance.
"By the command of the council. On the charge of being privy to the
attempt on the Prince's life."
"By whom preferred?" asked Richard.
"By the Lord Hamlyn de Valence."
Richard attempted not another word. In effect the condition of the
Prince seemed to him so hopeless that his most acute suffering at the
moment was in the being prevented from ministering to him, or
watching for a last word or look of recognition. He had no heart for
self-vindication, even if he had not known its utter futility with
men who had been prejudiced against him from the outset. Nor had he
the opportunity, for the Provost Marshal conducted him at once to the
tent where he was to be in ward for the night, a heap of straw for
him to lie upon, and a guard of half a dozen archers outside; and
there was he left to his despairing prayers for the Prince's life.
He could dwell on nothing else, there was no room in his mind for any
thought but of that glory of manhood thus laid low, and of the
anguish of the sweet face of the Princess.
"Sir--!" there was a low murmur near him--"now is the time. I have
brought an archer's gown and barrett, and we may easily get past the
yeomen." These last words were uttered, as on hands and knees a
figure whose dark outline could barely be discerned, crept under the
border of the tent.
"Who art thou?" hastily inquired Richard.
"You should know me, Sir,--I have done you many a good turn, and
served your house truly."
"Talk not of truth, thou traitor," said Richard, recognizing
Dustifoot's voice. "Knowst thou that but for the Prince's clemency
thou hadst a year ago been out of the reach of the cruel evil thou
hast now shared in."
"Nay, now, Lord Richard," returned the man, "you should not treat
thus an honest fellow that would fain do you service."
"I need no service such as thine," returned Richard. "Thy service
has made my brothers murderers, and brought ruin and woe unspeakable
upon the land."
"Beshrew me," muttered the man, "but one would have thought the young
damoiseau would have had more feeling about his father's death! But
I swore to do Sir Simon's bidding, so that is no concern of mine; and
he bade me, if any one strove to lay hands on you, Sir, to lead you
down to Kishon Brook, where he will meet us with a plump of spears."
"Meet him then," said Richard, "and say to him that if from his crag
above, on Carmel, he sees me hung on the gallows tree as a traitor,
he may count that I am willingly offered for our family sin! Ay, and
that if he thinks an old man's hairs brought down to the grave, a
broken-hearted wife, helpless orphans, and a land without a head, to
be a grateful offering to my father, let him enjoy the thought of how
the righteous Earl would have viewed all the desolation that will
fall on England without the one--one scholar who knew how to value
and honour his lessons."
"Hush! Sir," hastily interposed Dustifoot; but it was too late, the
murmur of voices had already been caught by the guard, and quick as
he was to retreat, their torches discovered him as he was creeping
out, and he was dragged back by the feet, and the light held up to
his face, while many voices proclaimed him as the rogue who had been
foremost in admitting the assassin to the royal tent. It was from
the tumult of voices that Richard first understood that on examining
the body of the murderer, it had been ascertained that he was neither
a Bedouin nor one of the assassins belonging to the Old Man of the
Mountain, but an European, probably a Provencal; and this, added to
Hamlyn's representation of Richard's words, together with what the
Earls of Lancaster and Gloucester recollected, had directed the
suspicion upon himself. And here was, as it seemed, undeniable
evidence of his connection with the plot!
The miserable Dustifoot, vainly imploring his intercession, was tied
hand and foot, and the guard returned to the outside of the tent,
except one archer, who thought it needful to bring in his torch, and
keep the prisoners in sight.
The night passed wearily, and with morning Dustifoot was removed to a
place of captivity more befitting his degree; but of the Prince,
Richard only heard that he continued to be in great danger. No
attempt on the part of the council was made to examine their
prisoner; and Richard suspected, as time wore on, that no one chose
to act in this time of suspense for fear of incurring the lion-like
wrath of Edward in the event of his recovery, but that in case of his
death, small would be his own chances of life. Death had fewer
horrors for the lonely boy than it would have had for one with whom
life had been brighter. In battle for the Cross, or in shielding his
Prince's life, it would have been welcome, but death, branded with
vile ingratitude, as a traitor to that master, was abhorrent. Shrunk
up in the corner of the tent, half asleep after the night's vigil,
yet too miserable for the entire oblivion of rest, Richard spent the
day in dull despair, listening for sounds without with an intensity
of attention that seemed to pervade every limb, and yet with snatches
of sleep that brought dreams more intolerable than the reality which
they yet seemed to enhance.
At last, however, the sultry closeness of the day subsided, the
Angelus bell sounded far off from the churches and convents of Acre,
and near from the chapel tent, and the devotions that it proclaimed
were not ended when Richard heard the cry of the crusading watch--
"Remember the Holy Sepulchre."
Yes, the Holy Sepulchre might not be recovered and reached by the
English army, but it might still be remembered, and therein be laid
down all struggles of the will, all rebellious agony, at the being
misunderstood, misused, vituperated, all suffering might there be
offered up; nor could the most ignominious death stand between him
and the thought of that Holy Tomb, and of the joy beyond.--Son of a
man who, sorely tried, had drawn his sword against his king, brother
of wilful murderers, perhaps to die innocent was the best fate he
could hope; and in accordance with the doctrine of his time, he hoped
that his death might serve as a part of a sacrifice for the family
guilt. Nay, the Prince gone, wherefore should he wish to live?
"Don't you see? The Prince's signet! He said I should bring him!
Clown that thou art, hast no eyes nor ears? What, don't you know me?
I am the young lord of Dunster, the Prince's foot-page. It is his
command."
And amid some perplexed mutterings from the guard, little John of
Dunster burst into the tent. "Up, up," he cried, "you are to come to
the Prince instantly."
"How fares he?"--Richard's one question of the day.
"Sorely ill at ease," said the boy, "but he wants you, he calls for
you, and no one would tell him where you were, so I spoke out at
last, and he bade me take his ring and bring you, for 'tis his
pleasure. Come now, for the Earl of Lancaster and Hamlyn are gone to
take the Princess to Acre, and my Lord of Gloucester has taken his
red head off to sleep, and no one is there but old Raymond and some
of the grooms.
"The Princess gone!"
"Ay, and Dame Idonea with her. So we shall hear no more of King
Coeur de Lion. Hamlyn swears she was on his crusade. Do you think
she was, Richard? nobody knows how old she is."
Richard was a great deal too anxious to ask questions himself, to be
able to answer this query. And as the yeomen let him pass them, only
begging him to bear him out with the Princes, he hastily gathered
from the boy all that he could tell. The Prince had, it appeared,
been in a most suffering state from pain and fever all the night and
the ensuing day, and had hardly noticed any one but his devoted wife,
who had attended him unremittingly, until with the cooler air of
evening she saw him slightly revived, but was herself so completely
spent, and so unwell, as to be incapable of opposing his decision
that she should at once be carried into the city to receive the
succours her state demanded. When she was gone, Edward, who had
perhaps sought to spare her the sight of his last agony, had roused
himself to make his will, and choose protectors for his father and
young children; and it was after this that his inquiries became
urgent for Richard de Montfort. He was at length answered by the
indignant little foot-page; and greatly resenting the action of the
council, he had, as John said, "frowned and spoken like himself," and
sent the little fellow in quest of the young esquire.
The tent was nearly dark, and Richard could only see the outline of
the tall form laid prostrate, but the voice he had feared never to
hear again, spoke, though slowly and wearily, and a hand was held
out. "Welcome, cousin," he said. "Poor boy, they must needs have at
thee ere the breath was out of my body; but for that, at least, they
shall wait, and longer if my word and will can avail after I am gone.
What has given them occasion against thee, Richard?"
"Alas! my Lord, you are too ill at ease to vex yourself with my
matters."
"Nay, but I must see thee righted, Richard; there are services for
thee to do to me. Hark thee! I have bequeathed thee thy mother's
lands at Odiham, which my father gave to me. So mayest thou do for
Henry whate'er he will brook," he added, with a languid smile,
holding Richard's hand in such a manner as to impress that though his
words came very tardily, he did not mean to be interrupted.
"Methinks Henry will not grudge a kindly thought and a few prayers
for his old comrade. And, Richard, strive to be near my poor boys;
strive that they be bred in strict self-rule, and let them hear of
the purposes thy father left to me: I think thou knowst them or
canst divine them better than any other near me. Thou SHALL be with
them if--if Heaven and the blessed Saints bear my sweet wife through
this trouble. She will love and trust thee."
Edward's voice broke down in a half-strangled sob between grief and
pain; he could not contemplate the thought of his wife, and weakness
had broken down much of his power over himself. He did not speak at
once, or invite an answer; and when he did, his words were an
exclamation of despairing weariness at the trumpet of a gnat that
hovered above him.
Richard presently understood that the thin goats' hair curtains which
even the crusaders had learnt to adopt from their Oriental neighbours
as protections against these enemies, being continually disarranged
to give the Prince drink or to put cool applications to his wound,
the winged foes were sure to enter, and with their exasperating hum
further destroy all chance of rest. The Prince had not slept since
he had been wounded, and was well-nigh distraught with wakefulness,
and with the continual suffering, which was only diminished at the
first moment that a cold lotion touched his arm. The Hospitaliers
had sent in some ice from Mount Hermon, but no one knew how to apply
it, and even Dame Idonea had despised it.
Fortunately, however, Richard had spent a few weeks on his first
arrival in the infirmary of the Knights of St. John, and before his
recovery had become familiar with their treatment of both ice and
mosquito curtains; and when Edmund of Lancaster came into the tent
cautiously in early dawn, he could hardly credit his eyes, for the
squire whom he believed to be in close custody was beside his
brother, holding the cold applications on the arm, and it was
impossible to utter inquiry or remonstrance, for the Prince was in
the profoundest, most tranquil slumber.
Nor did he awake till the camp was astir in the morning with the
activity that in this summer time could only be exerted before the
sun had come to his full strength. Then, when at length he opened
his eyes, he pronounced himself to be greatly refreshed; and the
physician at the same time found the state of the wound greatly
improved. A cheerful answer was returned by the patient to the
message of anxious inquiry sent from his Princess at Acre and then
looking up kindly at Richard, he said, "Boy, if my wife saved my life
once, I think thou hast saved it a second time."
"Brother!" here broke in the Earl of Lancaster, "I would not grieve
you, but for your own safety you ought to know of the grave suspicion
that has fallen on this youth."
"I know that you all have suspected him from the first, Edmund,"
returned the Prince coolly, "but I little expected that the first
hour of my sickness would be spent in slaking your hatred of him."
"You do not know the reasons, brother," said Edmund, confused; "nor
are you in a state to hear them."
"Wherefore not?" said Edward. "Thanks to him, I have my wits clear
and cool, and ere the day is older his cause shall be heard. Fetch
Gloucester, fetch the rest of the council, and let me hear your
witnesses against him! What! do you think I could rest or amend
while I know not whether I have a traitor or not beside me?"
There could be no doubt that Edward was fully himself after his
night's rest, determined and prompt as ever. No one durst withstand
him, and Edmund went to take measures for his being obeyed.
Meantime, the Prince grasped Richard by the wrist, and looking him
through with the keen blue eyes that seemed capable of piercing any
disguise, he said, "Boy, hast thou aught that thou wouldst tell to
thy kinsman Edward in this strait, that thou couldst not say to the
Prince in council?"
"Sir," said Richard, with choking voice, "I was on my way to give
that very warning, when I found that the blow had fallen. My Lord,"
he added, lowering his tone, as he knelt by the Prince's couch,
"Simon lives; I met him on Mount Carmel."
"I thought so," muttered the Prince. "And this is his work?"
Richard hurriedly told the circumstances of the encounter, a matter
on which he had the less scruple as Simon was entirely out of reach.
He had hardly completed his narration when Prince Edmund returned,
and with him came others of the council. Edmund was followed by his
squire, Hamlyn; and some of the archers were left without. Richard
had told his tale, but had had no assurance of how the Prince would
act upon it, nor how far the brand of shame might be made to rest on
him and his unhappy house. He had avowed his brother's guilt to the
Prince; alas! must it again be blazoned through the camp?
The greetings and inquiries of the new arrivals were hastily got over
by the Prince, who lay--holding truly a bed of justice--partly raised
by his cushions, with bloodless cheeks indeed, but with flashing
eyes, and lips set to all their wonted resoluteness.
"Let me hear, my Lords," he said, "wherefore--so soon as I was
disabled--you thought it meet to put mine own body squire and kinsman
in ward?"
"Sir," said the Provost Marshal, "these knaves of mine have let an
accomplice escape who peradventure might have been made to tell
more."
"An accomplice? Of whom?" demanded the Prince.
"Of the--the assassin, my Lord, on whom your own strong hand
inflicted chastisement. This Dustifoot, who was the yeoman on guard
by your tent, and introduced him to your presence, was seized by the
villains at night, endeavouring to hold converse with this gentleman,
and was by them taken into custody, whence, I grieve to say, he hath
escaped."
"Give his guard due punishment!" said Edward shortly. "But how
concerns this the Lord Richard de Montfort's durance?"
"Sir," added the Earl of Gloucester, "is it known to you that the dog
of a murderer was yet no Moslem?"
"What of that?" sharply demanded Edward.
"There can scarcely be a doubt," continued the red-haired Earl, "that
an attempt on your life, my Lord, could only come from one quarter."
"Oh," dryly replied Edward, "good cause for you to be willing that
the Saracen captives should be massacred."
"Sir, I did not then know that the miscreant was not of their faith,"
said Gloucester. "I now believe that the same revenge that caused
the death of Lord Henry of Almayne has now nearly quenched the hope
of England, that if you will not be warned, my Lord, worse evil may
yet betide."
Gloucester spoke with much feeling, but Edward did not show himself
touched; he only said, "All this may be very well, but my question is
not answered--Why was my squire put in ward?"
"Speak, Hamlyn," said Edmund of Lancaster; "say to the Prince what
thou didst tell me."
Hamlyn stood forth, excusing himself for the painful task of accusing
his kinsman, but seeing the Prince's impatient frown, he came to the
point, and declared that Richard de Montfort, on meeting him speeding
to Acre, had eagerly asked him if aught had befallen the Prince, and
had looked startled and confused on being taxed with being aware of
what had taken place.
"Well!" said Edward.
Gloucester next beckoned a yeoman forward, who, much confused under
the Prince's keen eye, stammered out that he did not wish to harm the
young gentleman, but that he had seemed mighty anxious to spare the
Pagan hounds of prisoners, and had even been heard to say that their
revenge would better fall on himself.
"And is this all for which you had laid hands on him?" said the
Prince, looking from one to the other.
"Nay, brother," said Edmund. "It might have been unmarked by thee,
but in the first hour myself and others heard him speak of having
made speed to warn thee, but finding it too late. Therefore did we
conclude that it were well to have him in ward, lest, as in the
former unhappy matter, he should have been conversant with traitors,
and thus that we might obtain intelligence from him. Remember
likewise the fellow who was found in the tent."
"So!" said Edward, "an honourable youth hath been treated as a
traitor, because of another springald's opinion of his looks, and
because a few yeomen thought he seemed over-anxious to save a few
wretched captives, whom they knew to be guiltless. Will there ever
come a time when Englishmen will learn what IS witness?"
"His name and lineage, brother," began Edmund.
"That, gentles, is the witness upon which the wolf slew the lamb for
fouling the stream."
"Then you will not examine him?" asked Gloucester.
"Not as a suspected felon," said Edward. "One who by your own
evidence was heedless of himself in seeking to save the helpless--
nay, who spake of hasting to warn me--scarce merits such usage. What
consorts with his honour and my safety, I can trust to him to tell me
as true friend and liegeman!" and the confiding smile with which he
looked at Richard was like a sunbeam in a dark cloud.
"My Lord Prince," objected Gloucester, "we cannot think that this is
for your safety."
"See here, Gloucester," said Edward. "Till my arm can keep my head
again, double the guards, and search all envoys, under whatever
pretext they may enter; but never for the rest of thy life brand a
man with imprisonment till you have reasonable proof against him.
Thanks for your care of me, my Lords, but I can scarce yet brook long
converse. The council is dismissed."
Richard, infinitely relieved, could hardly wait till he could safely
speak to the Prince to express his gratitude and joy that he had been
not only defended, but freed from all examination, so as to have been
spared from denouncing his brother, and that the family had been
spared from this additional stigma. Edward, who like all reserved
men could not endure the expression of thanks, even while their utter
omission would have been wounding, cut him short.
"Tush, boy, Simon is as much my cousin as thy brother, and I would
not help to throw fresh stains on the name that, but for my father's
selfish counsellors, would stand highest at home! Besides," he
added, as one half ashamed of his generosity and willing to qualify
it, "supposing it got abroad that he had aimed this stroke at the
heir of England--why, then England's honour would be concerned, and
we should have stout Gilbert de Clare and all the rest of them wild
to storm Simon in his Galilean fastness, without King Herod's boxes,
I trow. Then would all the Druses, and the Maronites, and the
Saracens, and the half-breeds, the worst of the whole, come down on
them in some impassable gorge, and the troops I have taken such pains
to keep in health and training would leave their bones in those
doleful passes; and not for the sake of the Holy Sepulchre, but of my
private quarrel. No, no, Richard, we will keep our own counsel, and
do our best that Simon may not get another chance, before I can move
within the walls of Acre; and then we will spread our sails, and pray
that the Holy Land may make a holier man of him."
CHAPTER XII--THE GARDEN OF THE HOSPITAL
"And who is yon page lying cold at his knee?"--SCOTT.
Edward differed from Coeur de Lion in this, that he was one of the
most abstemious men in his army, and disciplined himself at least as
rigidly as he did other people. And it was probably on this account
that he did not fulfil Dame Idonea's predictions, but recovered
favourably, and by the end of a fortnight was able, in the first
coolness of early morning, to ride gently into the city of Acre,
where a few days previously the Princess Eleanor had given birth to a
daughter. She was christened Joan on the day of her father's
arrival, and afterwards became the special spoilt favourite of
Edward, whose sternness gave place to excessive fondness among his
children. Moreover, she in the end became the wife of that same red-
haired Earl Gilbert of Gloucester, who at this time stood holding his
wax taper, and looking at the small swaddled morsel of royalty with
all a bachelor's contempt for infancy, and little dreaming that he
beheld his future Countess.
Prince Edward had accepted the invitation of Sir Hugh de Revel, Grand
Master of the Order of St. John, to take up his quarters in the
Commandery of the brotherhood; and Richard was greatly relieved to
have him there, since no watch or ward in the open camp could be so
secure as this double fortress, protected in the first place by the
walls of the city, and in the second by those of the Hospital itself,
with its strict military and monastic discipline.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 | 11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15