Books: The Prince and the Page
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Prince and the Page
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"A court-gallant," passed round the hostile bourgeoise; "none of your
court airs, Sir."
"No airs--but those of an honest Englishman, who will not see a woman
cowardly beset!"
"Will Silk-jerkin not bide a buffet!" quoth the bully of the party,
clenching his fist.
"As many as thou wilt," returned Silk-jerkin, "so soon as I have seen
the lady safe home!"
"Ho! ho!--a fetch that!" and the fellow, a coarse rude-looking man,
though rather expensively dressed, flourished his fist in the face of
the young man, but was requited that instant with a round blow that
levelled him with the ground. The others fell back from the tall
strong-limbed, open-faced youth, and the girl took the opportunity of
moving forward, swiftly indeed, but so steadily as to betray no air
of terror. Meantime, the young gentleman's voice might be heard,
assuring his adversaries that he was ready to encounter one or all of
them so soon as he had escorted the lady safe home. Perhaps she
hoped that another attack would delay him; but if so, her
expectations were disappointed, for in a second or two his quick firm
tread followed her, and just as she had gained the mazy wood-path, he
was beside her.
"Thanks, Sir," she said, "for the service you have done me, but I am
now in safety."
"Nay, Lady, do me the grace of letting me bear your load."
"Thanks," again she said; "but I feel no weight."
"But my knighthood does, seeing you thus laden."
"Spare your knighthood the sight, then," she said smiling, and
looking up with a glance of brightness, such as her hitherto sedate
face had never before revealed to him.
"That cannot be!" he exclaimed with fervency. "You bid me in vain
leave you till I see you safe; and while with you, all laws of
courtesy call on me to bear your burthen! So, Lady--"
And he laid his hand upon the leathern thong that sustained the
pitcher; but at that moment three or four heaps of rags, that had
been lying under the trees by the woodland path, erected themselves,
and one in especial, whom the young knight had observed as a
frightful cripple seated by day near the well, now came forward
brandishing his crutch in a formidable manner, and uttering a howl of
defiance. But the lady silenced him at once -
"Peace, good Trig, nothing is amiss! It is only this gentleman's
courtesy. He hath done me good service on the green yonder!"
And as her strange body-guard retreated growling, she, perhaps to
show her confidence, resigned her pitcher into the knight's hand.
"So, fair Queen of the Dew-drops," he said, half bewildered, "thou
dost work miracles!"
"Ay, when the dew is on the grass, and the nightingale sings," she
returned gaily; "by day the enchantment is over."
By this time they had reached a low turf hut; and the maiden, turning
at the door, held out her hand, and said, "Thanks, fair Sir, I must
enter my enchanted palace alone; but grammercy for thy kind service,
and farewell."
The maiden and the pitcher vanished. The knight watched the rude
door in vain--he only saw a few streaks of light through the boards.
Then he bethought him of questioning her guards, but when he reached
their tree they were gone. It was fast growing dark, and he was one
of the King's personal attendants, and subject to the strict
regulations of his household; so, dazed and bewildered as he was, he
walked hastily back to the hospice, where the King and Queen lodged.
Supper had already begun, and the glare of lights dazzled his eyes.
In his bewilderment, he served the King with mustard instead of honey
from the great silver ship full of condiments, in the centre of the
table.
"How's this, Sir John?" said the King, who always had a kindly corner
in his heart for this young knight. "Are these the idle days of thy
Crusade come again?"
"I could well-nigh think so!" half-whispered Sir John.
"He looks moonstruck!" cried that spoilt ten years old damsel, Joan
of Acre, clasping her hands with mischievous fun. "Oh! has he seen
the Queen of the Dew-drops?"
"What dost thou know of the Queen of the Dew-drops, my Lady
Malapert?" said King Edward, marking the red flush that mounted to
the very brow of the downright young knight.
"Oh, I know that she is at the well every morning, and is as lovely
as the dawn! Ay, and vanishes so soon as the sun is up; but not ere
she has bewitched every knight of them all! And did not my Lord of
Dunster hold the field in her honour against all comers? No wonder
she appears to him.--Oh! tell us, Sir John! what like was she?"
"Hush, Joan," said Queen Eleanor, bending forward, "no infanta in my
time ever said so much in a breath."
"No, Lady-mother; because you had to speak whole mouthfuls of grave
Castillian words. Now, good English can be run off in a breath.
Reyna del Rocio--that's more majestic, but not so like fairyland as
Queen of the Dew-drops!"
Princess Joan's mouth was effectually stopped this time.
The adventure of the evening had led to the discovery of the hut of
the Queen of the Dew-drops. The young knight had as usual been
betimes at the well, but the maiden did not appear there. Then he
questioned the cripple--who by day was an absolute helpless cripple--
but the man utterly denied all knowledge of any such circumstance.
He, why, poor wretch that he was, he never hobbled further than the
shed close behind the well; he would give the world if he could get
as far as the wood--he knew nothing about ladies or pilgrims--such a
leg as his was enough to think about. And the display to which he
forthwith treated the Knight of Dunster was highly convincing as to
his incapacity.
Into the wood wandered the much-confused knight, recognizing, step by
step, the path of the night before. The turf hut was before him--the
door was open--and in the doorway sat the maiden herself, spinning,
the distaff by her side, the spindle dancing on the ground, and the
pilgrim's hat no longer hiding her beauteous brow and wealth of dark
braided hair. But, intolerable sight, seven or eight of last night's
loungers were dispersed hither and thither in the bushes, gazing with
all their eyes, endeavouring to attract her attention; some by
conversations with one another; one richly-dressed Gascon squire, of
the train of Edward's ally, the Count de Bearn, by singing a
Provencal love ditty; while a merchant of Bristol set up a counter
attempt with a long doleful English ballad. All the time the fair
spinster sat in the doorway, with the utmost gravity, twisting her
thread and twirling her spindle; but it might be observed that she
had so placed herself as to have full command of the door, and to be
able to shut herself in whenever she chose.
No one had yet ventured to accost her. There was something in her
air that rendered it almost impossible for any one to force himself
upon her, and a sort of fear mingled with the impression she made.
However, the young knight, although a bashful man by nature, had one
advantage in his court breeding, and another in the acquaintance he
had made last night. He walked straight up, and doffing his velvet
cap, began, "Greet you well, fair Queen. I could not but take your
challenge to see whether your power lasted when the dew was off."
The damsel rose with due courtesy as he approached, but ere she had
attempted an answer, nay, even before the words were out of his
mouth, the Gascon was shouting in French that this was no fair play,
he had stolen a march; and the merchant had sprung forward saying,
"Girl, beware, court gallants mean not well by country wenches."
"Thou liest in thy throat," burst forth the knight. "Discourteous
lubber, to call such a queen of beauty a country wench!"
"Listen to me, girl."
"Lady, hear me."
"Hearken not to the popinjay foreigner."
These, and many more tumultuary exclamations, threats, and
entreaties, crowded on one another, and the various speakers were
laying hand on staff or sword, and glaring angrily on one another,
when the word "Peace," in the maiden's clear silvery notes, sounded
among them. They all turned as she stood in the doorway, drawn up to
her full height.
"Peace," she said; "I can have no brawling here! My father was
grievously sick yesterday, and is still ill at ease. One by one
speak your business, and begone. You first, Sir," to the Gascon, she
said in French.
"Ah! fair Lady, what business could be mine, save to tell you how
lovely you are?"
"You have said," she answered, without a blush, waving him aside.
"Now you, Sir," to the tuneful merchant of Bristol.
"I told you, Madam, he meant not well. Those aliens never do."
"You too have said," she answered.
The merchant would have persisted, but a London merchant, a much more
substantial and considerable character, pushed him aside, and the
numbers being all against him, he was forced to give way.
"Young woman," said the merchant, "you are plainly of better birth
and breeding than you choose to affect. Now I am thinking of getting
married. I have ships at sea, and stuffs and jewels coming from
Venice and Araby; and I am like to be Lord Mayor ere long; but
there's that I like in your face and discreet bearing, and I'll make
you my wife, and give you all my keys--your father willing!"
"Your turn's out, old burgher," said a big, burly, and much younger
man, pressing forward. "Pretty wench! I'm not like to be Lord
Mayor, nor nothing of that sort; but I'm a score of years nigher
thine age, and a lusty fellow to boot, that could floor any man at
single-stick, within the four seas. Ay, and have been thought comely
too, though Joyce o' the haugh did play me false; and I come o' this
pilgrimage just to be merry and forget it. If thou wilt take me, and
come back to spite Joyce, thou shalt be hostess of the Black Bull, at
Brentford, where all the great folk from the North ever put up when
they come to town; the merriest and richest hostel, and will have the
comeliest host and hostess round about London town!"
The lady bowed her head. Perhaps those rosy lips were trying hard to
keep from laughing.
"A hostel's no place for a discreet dame to bide in," put forth an
honest voice. "Maiden, I know not who or what you are, but I came o'
this pilgrimage to please my old mother, who said I might do my soul
good, and bring home a wife--better over the moor than over the
mixen--and I know she would give thee a right good welcome. I'm
Baldric of the Cheddar Cliff, and we have held our land ever since
the old days, or ever the Norman kings came here. Three hundred
kine, woman, and seven score swine, and many an acre of good corn
land under the hill."
The lady had never looked up while these suitors were speaking. When
Baldric of Cheddar had done, she gave one furtive glance through her
long eyelashes, as if to see if there were any more, and then her
cheek flushed. There still remained the knight. Some others had
slunk away when brought to such close quarters, but he stepped forth
more hesitatingly, and said, "Lady, I know not whether the bare rock
and castle I have to offer can weigh against the ships, the hostel,
or the swine. I have few of either; I am but a poor baron, but such
as I am, I am wholly yours. Thine eyes have bound me to you for
ever, and all I seek is leave to make myself better known, and to ask
that your noble father may not deem me wholly unworthy to be your
suitor."
The lady trembled a little, but she held her place in the doorway.
"Gentles," she said, "I thank ye for the honour ye have done me, but
I may not dispose of mine own self. My father is ill at ease, and
can see no one; but he bids me tell you that he will meet all who
have aught to say to him, under the trysting tree at Bethnal Green,
the day after the Midsummer feast."
With these words she retired into her hut, and closed the door. She
was seen again no more that day; and on the next the hut stood open,
empty, and deserted.
CHAPTER XV--THE BEGGAR'S DOWRY
"'But first you shall promise and have it well knowne
The gold that you drop shall all be your owne;'
With that they replyed, 'Contented we bee;'
'Then here's,' quoth the beggar, 'for pretty Bessee.'"
Old Ballad.
The day after Midsummer had come, and towards the fine elm tree that
then adorned the centre of Bethnal Green, three horsemen were wending
their way. Each had his steed a good deal loaded: each looked about
him anxiously.
"By St. Boniface," said one, "the girl's father is not there. Saucy
little baggage, was she deluding us all?"
"Belike he is bringing too long a train of mules with her dowry to
make much speed," quoth the merchant. "He will think it needful to
collect all his gear to meet the offers of Master Lambert of Cripple-
gate. Ha! Sir Knight, well met! You are going to try your
venture!"
"I must! So it were not all enchantment," said the knight, almost
breathlessly, gazing round him. "Yet," he said, almost to himself,
"those eyes had a soul and memories that ne'er came out of
fairyland!"
"Ha!" exclaimed the innkeeper, "there's old Blind Hal under the tree!
I'll tell him to get out of our way. Hal!" he shouted, "here's a
tester for thee, but thou'st best keep out of the way of the mules."
"What mules, Master Samson?" coolly demanded Hal, who had comfortably
established himself under the tree with his back against the trunk.
"The mules that the brave burgess is going to bring his daughter's
dowry on. They are cranky brutes, Hal; bad customers for blind men--
best let me give thee a hand out of the way."
"But who is this burgess that you talk of?" asked the beggar.
"The father of the pilgrim lass that prayed at St. Winifred's Well,"
said Samson.
"And was called Queen of the Dew-drops?"
"Ay, ay, old fellow! Thou knowest every bird that flies! She is to
be my wife, I tell thee, and a right warm corner shall she keep for
thee at the Black Bull, for thou canst make sport for the guests
right well."
"I hope she will keep a warm corner for me," said the beggar; "for no
man will treat for her marriage save myself."
"Thou! Old man, who sent thee here to insult us?" cried the
merchant.
"None, Master Lambert. I trysted you to meet me here if you purposed
still to seek my child in marriage."
"Thy child?" cried all three, vehemently.
"My child!" answered the beggar. "Mine own lawful child."
There was a silence. Presently Samson growled, "I mind me he used to
have a little black-eyed brat with him."
"Caitiff!" exclaimed the merchant; "I'll have thy old vagabond bones
in the Fleet for daring so to cheat his Grace's lieges."
"If you can prove a cheat against me I will readily abye it, Sir,"
returned the beggar.
"Palming a beggar's brat off for a noble dame."
"So please you, Sir," interrupted the beggar, "keep truth with you.
What did the child or I ever profess, save what we were? No foul
words here. I trysted you to meet me here, anent her marriage. Have
you any offers to make me?"
"Aye, of a cell in the Fleet if you persist in your insolence!" cried
the merchant.
"Thanks," quietly said the beggar. "And you, Master Samson?"
"'Tis a sweet pretty lass," said Samson, ruefully; "and pity of her
too, but you see a man like me must look to his credit. I'll give
her twenty marks to help her to a husband, Hal, only let her keep out
of my sight for ever and a day."
"I thought I heard another voice," said the beggar. "I trow the
third suitor has made off without further ado."
"Not so, fair Sir," said a voice close to him, thick and choked with
feeling. "Your daughter is too dear to me for me thus to part, even
were mine honour not pledged."
"Sir knight," interfered the merchant, "you will get into a desperate
coil with your friends."
"I am my own master," answered the knight. "My parents are dead. I
am of age, and, Sir, I offer myself and all that is mine to your fair
daughter, as I did at Saint Winifred's Well, as one bound both by
honour and love."
"It is spoken honourably," said Hal; "but, Sir, canst thou answer me
with her dowry? Tell down coin for coin."
He held up a heavy leathern bag. The knight, who had come prepared,
took down another such bag from his saddle-bow. Down went one silver
piece from the knight. Down went another from the beggar.
"Stay, stay," cried Samson. "I can play at that game too."
"No, no, Master Samson," said the beggar; "your pretensions are
resigned. Your chance is over."
Mark after mark--crown after crown--all the Dunster rents; all the
old hoards, with queer figures of Saxon kings, lay on the grass,
still for each the beggar had rained down its fellow, and
inexhaustible seemed the bags that he sat upon. Samson bit his lips,
and the merchant muttered with vexation. It could not be fairly come
by: he must be the president of a den of robbers; it should be
looked to.
The last bag of the knight lay thin and exhausted; the beggar
clutched one bursting with repletion.
"I could not put the lands and castle of Dunster into a bag and add
thereto," said the knight, at last. "Would that I could, my sword,
my spurs, and knightly blood to boot, and lay them at your daughter's
feet."
"Let them weigh in the balance," said the beggar; "and therewith thy
truth to thy word."
"And will you own me?" exclaimed the knight. "Will you take me to
your daughter?"
"Nay, I said not so," returned Blind Hal. "I am not in such haste.
Come back on this day week, when I shall have learnt whether thou art
worthy to match with my child."
"Worthy!" John of Dunster chafed and bit his lips at such words from
a beggar.
"Ay, worthy," repeated the beggar, guessing his irritation. "I like
thee well, as a man of thy word, so far, but I must know more of him
who is to mate with my pretty Bessee."
It was that evening that a page entered the royal apartments, and
giving a ring to the King, informed him that a blind beggar had sent
it in, and entreated to speak with him.
"Pray him to come hither," said the King; "and lead him carefully.
Thou, Joan, hadst better seek thy mother and sister."
"O sweet father," cried Joan, "don't order me off. This can be no
state business. Prithee let me hear it."
"That must be as my guest pleases, Joan," he answered; "and thou must
be very discreet, or we shall have him reproaching me for trying to
rule the realm when I cannot rule my own house."
"Father, I verily think you are afraid of that beggar! I am sure he
is as mysterious as the Queen of the Dew-drops!" cried the
mischievous girl.
The curtain over the doorway was drawn back, and the beggar was led
into the chamber. The King advanced to meet him, and took his hand
to lead him to a seat. "Good morrow to thee," he said; "cousin, I am
glad thou art come at last to see me."
"Thanks, my Lord," said the beggar, with more of courtly tone than
when they had met before, and yet Joan thought she had never seen her
father addressed so much as an equal; "are any here present with
you?"
"Only my wilful little crusading daughter, Joan," said Edward,
beckoning to her, and putting her proud reluctant fingers into the
hand of the beggar, who bent and raised them to his lips--as the
fashion then was--while the maiden reddened and looked to her father,
but saw him only smiling; "she shall leave us," he added, "if thy
matters are for my private ear. In what can I aid thee?"
"In this matter of daughters," answered the beggar; "not that I need
aid of yours, but counsel. I would know if the heir of old Reginald
Mohun--John, I think they call him--be a worthy mate for my wench."
Joan had in the meantime placed herself between her father's knees,
where she stood regarding this wonderful beggar with the most
unmitigated astonishment.
"John of Dunster!" said the King, stroking down Joan's hair, "thou
knowst his lineage as well as I, cousin."
"His lineage, true," replied Henry; "but look you, my Lord, my child,
the light of mine eyes, may not go from me without being assured that
it is to one who will, I say, not equal her in birth, but will be a
faithful and loving lord to her."
"Hath he sought her?" asked the King.
"Even so, my liege. The maid is scarce sixteen; I thought to have
kept her longer; but so it was--old Winny, her mother's old nurse,
fell sick and died in the winter; and the Dominican, who came to
shrive her, must needs craze the poor fool with threats that she did
a deadly sin in bringing my sweet wife and me together; and for all
the Grand Prior, who, monk as he is, has a soldier's sense, could say
of the love that conquered death, nothing would serve the poor woman
to die in peace till my Bessee had vowed to make a six weeks' station
at her patroness's well, where we were wedded, and pray for her soul
and her blessed mother's. So there we journeyed for our summer
roaming; and all had been well, had you not come down on us with all
the idle danglers of the court to gaze and rhyme and tilt about the
first fair face they saw. Even then so discreet was the girl that no
more had befallen, but as ill-luck would have it, my old Evesham
keepsake," touching his side, "burst forth again one evening, and
left me so spent, that Bessee sent the boy to get me a draught of
wine. The boy--mountebank as he is--lost her groat, and played
truant; and she, poor wench, got into such fear for me that she went
herself, and fell in with a sort of insolent masterful rogues, from
whom this young knight saved her. I took her home safe enough after
that, and thought to be rid of the knaves when they saw my wallet;
and so truly I am, all save this lad!"
"O father! it is true love!" whispered Joan.
"What hast to do with true love, popinjay? And so John of Dunster
came undaunted to the breach, did he, Henry?"
"Not a whit dismayed he! Now either that is making light of his
honour, or 'tis an honour higher than most lads understand. Cousin,
I would have the child be loved as her father and mother loved! And
methinks she affects this blade. The child hath been less like my
merry lark since we met him. A plague on the springalds! But you
know him. Has he your good word?"
"John of Dunster?" said the King. "Henry, didst thou not know for
whose sake I had loved and proved him? He was Richard's pupil. I
was forced to take the child with me, for old Sir Reginald had been
unruly enough, and I thought would be the less troublesome to my
father were his son in my keeping. But I half repented when I saw
what a small urchin it was, to be cast about among grooms and pages!
But Richard aided the little uncouth varlet, nursed him when sick,
guarded him when well, trained him to be loyal and steadfast. The
little fellow came bravely to my aid in my grapple with the traitor
before Acre; and when the blow had fallen on Richard, the boy's grief
was such that I loved him ever after. And of late I have had no
truer trustier warrior. I warrant me he was too shy to tell thee
that I knighted him last year in the midst of some of the best feats
of arms I ever beheld against the Welsh! Whatever John de Mohun
saith is sooth, and I would rather mate my daughter with him than
with many a man of fairer speech."
"Then shall he have my pretty Bessee!" said the beggar, lingering
over the words. "But one boon I would further ask, cousin; that thou
breathe no word to him of my having sought thee."
The young Lord of Dunster had not been noted for choiceness of
apparel; but when he repaired to the trysting-tree, none could have
found fault with the folds of his long crimson tunic, worked with the
black and gold colours of his family, nor with the sit of the broad
belt that sustained his sword, assuredly none with his beautiful
sleek black charger.
But under the tree stood not the blind beggar, but the beggar's boy.
"Blind Hal bids you meet him at the Spital, at your good pleasure,"
said the boy; and like the mountebank he was, tumbled three times
head over heels.
John de Mohun looked round and about, and saw no alternative but to
obey. All his love was required to endure so strange a father-in-
law, who did not seem in the least grateful for the honour intended
to his daughter; but the knight's word was pledged, and he rode
towards the Hospital.
The court of the Hospital was full of steeds and serving-men. A
strange conviction came over John that he saw the King's strong white
charger--ay, and the palfreys of the elder princesses; and he asked
the lay-brother who offered to take his horse, if the King were
there. The brother only replied by motioning him towards the inner
quadrangle.
He passed on accordingly, and as he went, the bells broke forth into
a merry peal. On the top of the steps leading to the arched doorway,
he saw a scarlet cluster of knights, and among them the Grand Prior,
robed as for Mass. A space was clear within the deep porch, and
there stood the beggar in his russet suit.
"Sir John de Mohun of Dunster," he said, "thou art come hither to
espouse my daughter?"
"I hope, so, Sir," said John, somewhat taken by surprise.
"Come hither, maiden," said her father.
The cluster of knights opened, and from within the church there
appeared before the astonished bridegroom the stately form of King
Edward, leading in his hand the dark-tressed, dark-haired maiden,
dressed in spotless white, the only adornment she wore a circlet of
diamonds round her flowing dark hair--the Queen indeed of the Dew-
drops. And behind her walked with calm dignity the beautiful
Princess Eleanor, now nearly a woman, holding with a warning hand the
merry mischievous Joan.
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