Books: The Prince and the Page
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Prince and the Page
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"Think not on that," said Eleanor; "it bitterly grieved my lord that
so it should have been. Thou knowest, I hope, that he was the chief
mourner when those honoured limbs were laid in the holy ground at
Evesham Abbey. They told me, who saw him that day, that his weeping
for his godfather and his Cousin Henry overcame all joy in his
victory. And I can assure thee, dear Richard, that when, three
months after, I came to him at Canterbury, just after he had been
with thy mother at Dover, even then he was sad and mournful. He said
that the wisest and best baron in England had been made a rebel of,
and then slain; and he was full of sorrow for thee, only then
understanding from thy mother that thou hadst been in the battle at
all, and that nothing had been heard of thee. He said thou wert the
most like to thy father of all his sons; and truly I knew thee at
once by thine eyes, Richard. Where wast thou all these months?"
"At first," said Richard, "I was in an anchoret's cell, in the wall
of a church. So please you, Madame, I must not name names; but when
Adam, bearing me faint and well-nigh dying on his back, saw the
twinkling light in the churchyard, he knocked, and entreated aid.
The good anchoret pitied my need at first, and when he learnt my
name, he gave me shelter for my father's sake, the friend of all
religious men. I lay on his little bed, in the chamber in the wall,
till I could again walk. Meanwhile, Adam watched in the woods at
hand, and from time to time came at night to see how I fared, and
bring me tidings. Simon was still holding out Kenilworth, and we
hoped to join him there; but when we set forth I was still lame, and
too feeble to go far in a day; and we fell in with--within short,
with a band of robbers, who detained us, half as guests, half as
captives. They needed Adam's stout arm; and there was a shrewd,
gray, tough old fellow, who had been in Robin Hood's band, and was
looked up to as a sort of prince among them, who was bent on making
us one with them. Lady, you would smile to hear how the old man used
to sit by me as I lay on the rushes, and talk of outlawry, as Father
Adam de Marisco used to talk of learning--as a good and noble
science, decaying for want of spirit and valour in these days. It
was all laziness, he said; barons and princes must needs have their
wars, and use up all the stout men that were fit to bend a bow in a
thicket. If the Prince went on at this rate, he said, there would
soon be not an honest outlaw to be found in England! But he was a
kind old man, and very good to me; and he taught me how to shoot with
the long bow better than ever our master at Odiham could. However, I
could not brook the spoiler's life, and the band did not trust me;
so, as we found that Kenilworth had fallen, as soon as my strength
had returned to me, we stole away from the outlaws, and came
southwards, hoping to find my mother at Odiham. Hearing that Odiham
too was gone from us, we have lurked in Alton Wood till means should
serve us for reaching the coast."
"Till thou hast found the friend who has longed for thee, and sought
for thee," replied Eleanor. "What didst thou do, young Richard, to
win my husband's heart so entirely in his captivity?"
"I know not, Lady, why he should take thought for me," bluntly said
Richard, with a return of the sensation of being coaxed and talked
over.
"Methinks I can tell thee one cause," returned the Princess. "Was
there not a time when thou didst overhear him concerting with Thomas
de Clare the plan of an escape, and thou didst warn them that thou
wast at hand; ay, and yet didst send notice to thy father?"
"Yes," answered Richard with surprise; "I could do no other."
"Even so," said Eleanor. "And thus didst thou win the esteem of thy
kinsman. 'The stripling is loyal and trustworthy,' he has said to
me; 'pity that such a heart should be pierced in an inglorious field.
Would that I could find him, and strive to return to him something of
what his father's care hath wrought for me.' Richard, trust me, it
would be a real joy and lightening of his grief to have thee with
him."
"Grief, Madame!" repeated Richard. "I little thought he grieved for
my father, who, but for him, would be--" and a sob checked him, as
the contrast rose before him of the great Earl and beautiful Countess
presiding over their large family and princely household, and the
scattered ruined state of all at present.
"He shall answer that question himself," said Eleanor. "See, here he
comes to meet us by the beechwood alley."
And in fact, a form, well suited to its setting within the stately
aisles of the beech trees, was pacing towards them. The chase had
ended, and hearing that his wife had walked forth into the wood, the
Prince had come by another path to meet her, and his rare and
beautiful smile shone out as he saw who was her companion. "Art
making friends with my young cousin?" he said affectionately.
"I would fain do so," replied Eleanor; "but alas, my Lord! he feels
that there is a long dark reckoning behind, that stands in the way of
our friendship."
Richard looked down, and did not speak. The Princess had put his
thought into words.
"Richard," said the Prince, "I feel the same. It is for that very
cause that I seek to have thee with me. Hear me. Thou art grown
older, and hast seen man's work and man's sorrows, since I left thee
on the hill-side at Hereford. Thou canst see, perchance, that a
question hath two sides--though it is not given to all men to do so.
Hearken then.--Thy father was the greatest man I have known--nay, but
for the thought of my uncle of France, I should say the holiest. He
was my teacher in all knightly doings, and in all kingly thoughts,
such as I pray may be with me through life. It was from him I learnt
that this royal, this noble power, is not given to exalt ourselves,
but as a trust for the welfare of others. It was the spring of
action that was with him through life."
"It was," murmured Richard, calling to mind many a saying of his
father's.
"And fain would he have impressed it on all around," added Edward:
"but there were others who deemed that kingly power was but a means
of enjoyment, and that restraint was an outrage on the crown. They
drew one way, the Earl drew the other, and, as his noble nature
prompted him, made common cause with the injured. It skills not to
go through the past. Those whom he joined had selfish aims, and
pushed him on; and as the crown had been led to invade the rights of
the vassals, so the vassals invaded my father's rights. Oaths were
extorted, though both sides knew they could never be observed; and
between violences, now on one side, now on the other, the right
course could scarce be kept. The Earl imagined that, with my father
in his hands, removed from all other influences, he could give
England the happy days they talk of her having enjoyed under my
patron St. Edward; but, as thou knowest, Richard, the authority he
held, being unlawful, was unregarded, and its worst transgressors
came out of his own bosom. He could not enforce the terms on which I
had yielded myself--he could not even prevent my father from being a
mere captive; and for the English folk, their miseries were but
multiplied by the tyrants who had arisen."
"It was no doing of his," said Richard, with cheek hotly glowing.
"None know that better than I," said the Prince; "but if he had
snatched the bridle from a feeble hand, it was only to find that the
steed could not be ruled by him. What was left for me but to break
my bonds, and deliver my father, in the hope that, being come to
man's estate, I might set matters on a surer footing? I had hoped--I
had greatly hoped, so to rule affairs, that the Earl might own that
his training had not been lost on his nephew, and that the Crown
might be trusted not to infringe the Charter. I had hoped that he
might yet be my wisest counsellor. But, Richard, I too had
supporters who outran my commands. Bitter hatred and malice had been
awakened, and cruel resolves that none should be spared. When I
returned from bearing my father, bleeding and dismayed, from the
battle, whither he had been cruelly led, it was to find that my
orders had been disobeyed--that there had been foul and cruel
slaughter; and that all my hopes that my uncle of Leicester would
forgive me and look friendly on me were ended!"
The Prince's lip trembled as he spoke, and tears glistened in his
eyes; and the evident struggle to repress his feelings, brought home
deeply and forcibly the conviction to Richard that his sorrow was
genuine.
He could not speak for some seconds; then he added: "I marvel not
that I am looked on among you as guilty of his blood. Simon and Guy
regard me as one with whom they are at deadly feud, and cannot
understand that it was their own excesses that armed those merciless
hands against him. Even my aunt shrank from me, and implored my
mercy as though I were a ruthless tyrant. But thou, Richard, thou
hast inherited enough of thy father's mind to be able to understand
how unwillingly was my share in his fall, and how great would be my
comfort and joy in being good kinsman to one of his sons."
The strong man's generous pleading was most touching. Richard bowed
his head; the Princess watched him eagerly. The boy spoke at last in
perplexity. "My Lord, you know better than I. Would it be knightly,
would it be honourable?"
The Princess started in some indignation at such a question to her
husband; but Edward understood the boy better, and said, "That which
is most Christian is most knightly." Then pausing: "Ask thine
heart, Richard; which would thy father choose for thee--to live in
such guidance as I hope will ever be found in my household, or to
share the wandering, I fear me freebooting, life of thy brothers?"
Richard could not forget how his father had sternly withheld him from
going with Simon to besiege Pevensey. He knew that these two
brethren had long been a pain and grief to his father; and began to
understand that the nephew, with whom the Earl's last battle had been
fought, was nevertheless his truest pupil.
"Thou wilt remain," said Edward decisively; "and let us strive one
day to bring to pass the state of things for which thy father and I
fought alike, though, alas! in opposite ranks."
"If my mother consents," said Richard, his head bent down, and
uttering the words with the more difficulty, because he felt so
strongly drawn towards his cousin, who never seemed so mighty as in
his condescension.
"Then, Richard de Montfort," said Edward gravely, "let us render to
one another the kiss of peace, as kinsmen who have put away all
thought of wrong between them."
Richard looked up; and the Prince bending his lofty head, there was
exchanged between them that solemn embrace, which in the early middle
ages was the deepest token of amity.
And with that kiss, it was as though the soul of Richard de Montfort
were knit to the soul of Edward of England with the heart-whole
devotion, composed of affection and loyal homage to a great
character, which ever since the days of the bond between the son of
the doomed King of Israel and the youthful slayer of the Philistine
champion, has been one of the noblest passions of a young heart.
CHAPTER IV--THE TRANSLATION
"Now in gems their relics lie,
And their names in blazonry,
And their forms in storied panes
Gleam athwart their own loved fanes."
Lyra Innocentium.
If novelty has its charms, so has old age, and to us the great abbey
church of Westminster has become doubly beloved by long generations
of affection, and doubly beautiful by the softening handiwork of time
and of smoke.
Yet what a glorious sight must it not have been when it was fresh
from the hands of the builder, the creamy stone clear and sharp at
every angle, and each moulding and flower true and perfect as the
chisel had newly left it. The deep archway of the west front opened
in stately magnificence, and yet with a light loftiness hitherto
unknown in England, and somewhat approaching to the style in which
the great French cathedrals were then rising. And its accompaniments
were, on the one hand the palace and hall, on the other hand the
monastery, with its high walled courts and deep-browed cloisters, its
noble refectory and vaulted kitchen, the herbarium or garden, shady
with trees, and enriched with curious plants of Palestine, sloping
down to the broad and majestic Thames, pure and blue as he pursued
his silver winding way through emerald meadows and softly rising
hills clothed with copses and woods. To the east, seated upon her
hills, stood the crowned and battlemented city, the massive White
Tower rising above the fortifications.
The autumn brilliance of October, 1269, never enlightened a more
gorgeous scene than when it shone upon the ceremony still noted in
our Calendar as the Translation of King Edward. Buried at first in
his own low-browed heavy-arched Norman structure, which he had built,
as he believed, at the express bidding of St. Peter; the Confessor,
whose tender-hearted and devout nature had, by force of contrast with
those of his fierce foreign successors, come to assume a saintly halo
in the eyes not merely of the English, but of their Angevin lords
themselves, was, now to reign on almost equal terms with the great
Apostle himself, as one of the hallowing patrons of the Abbey--nay,
since at least his relics were entire and undoubted, as its chief
attraction.
The new chapel in his especial honour, behind the exquisite bayed
apsidal chancel, was at length complete; and on this day he was to
take possession of it. An ark of pure gold, chased and ornamented
with the surpassing grace of that period of perfect taste, had
received the royally robed corpse, which Churchmen averred lay calm
and beautiful, untainted by decay; and this was now uplifted by the
arms of King Henry himself, of Richard King of the Romans his
brother, and of the two princes, Edward and Edmund.
It was a striking sight to see those two pairs of brothers. The two
kings, nearly of an age, and so fondly attached that they could
hardly brook a separation, till the death of the one broke the
wearied heart of the other, were both gray-haired prematurely-aged
men, of features that time instead of hardening had rendered more
feeble and uncertain. Their faces were much alike, but Henry might
be known from Richard by a certain inequality in the outline of his
eyebrows; and their dress, though both alike wore long flowing gowns,
the side seams only coming down as far as the thigh so as to allow
play for the limbs, so far differed that Henry's was of blue, with
the English lions embroidered in red and gold on his breast, and
Richard was in the imperial purple, or rather scarlet, and the eagle
of the empire on his breast testified to the futile election which he
had purchased with the wealth of his Cornish mines. Both the elders
together, with all their best will and their simple faith in the
availing merit of the action they were performing, would have been
physically incapable of proceeding many steps with their burden, but
for the support it received from the two younger men who sustained
the feet of the saint, using some dexterity in adapting their
strength so that the coffin might be carried evenly.
One was the hunter we have already seen in Alton Wood. His features
wore their characteristic stamp of deep awe and enthusiasm, and even
as he slowly and calmly moved, sustaining the chief of the weight
with scarcely an effort of his giant strength, his head towering high
above all those around, his eyes might be observed to be seeing,
though not marking, what was before them, but to be fixed as though
the soul were in contemplation, far far away. He did not see in the
present scene four princes rendering homage to a royal saint, who,
from personal connection and by a brilliant display of devotion,
might be propitiated into becoming a valuable patron amid
intercessor; still less did it present itself to him as a pageant in
which he was to bow his splendid powers, mental and bodily, to aid
two feeble-minded old men to totter under the gold-cased corpse of a
still more foolish and mischievous prince, dead two hundred years
back. No, rather thought and eye were alike upon the great invisible
world, the echo of whose chants might perchance be ringing on his
ear; that world where holy kings cast their crowns before the Throne,
and where the lamb-like spirit of the Confessor might be joining in
the praise, and offering these tokens of honour to Him to whom all
honour and praise and glory and blessing are due.
Of shorter stature, darker browed, of less regular feature and less
clear complexion, so as to look as if he were the elder of the
brothers, Prince Edmund moved by his side, using much exertion, and
bending with the effort, so as to increase the slight sloop that had
led to his historical nickname of the Crouchback, though some think
this was merely taken from his crusading cross. He bore the arms of
Sicily, to which he had not yet resigned his claim. His eye
wandered, but not far away, like that of his brother. It was in
search of his young betrothed, the Lady Aveline of Lancaster, the
fair young heiress to whom he was to owe the great earldom that was a
fair portion for a younger brother even of royalty.
All the four were bare-footed, and both princes were in robes much
resembling that of their father, except that upon the left shoulder
of each might be seen, in white cloth, the two lines of the Cross,
that marked them as pilgrims and Crusaders, already on the eve of
departure for the Holy Land.
The shrine where the golden coffin was to rest is substantially the
same in our own day, with its triple-cusped arches below, the stage
of six and stage of four above them, and the twisted columns in
imitation of that which was supposed to have come from the Beautiful
Gate of the Temple. But at that time it was a glittering fabric of
mosaic work, in gold, lapis-lazuli, and precious stones, aided here
and there by fragments of coloured glass, the only part of the costly
workmanship that has come down to us. Around this shrine the
preceding members of the procession had taken their places.
Archbishop Boniface of Savoy was there, old age ennobling a
countenance that once had been light and frivolous, and all his
bishops in the splendour of their richest copes, solidly embroidered
with absolute scenes and portraits in embroidery, with tall mitres
worked with gold wire and jewels, and crosiers of beauteous
workmanship in gold, ivory, and enamel. Mitred abbots, no less
glorious in array, stood in another rank; the scarlet-mantled Grand
Prior of the Hospital, and the white-cloaked Templar, made a link
between the ecclesiastic and the warrior. Priests and monks,
selected for their voices' sake, clustered in every available space;
and, in full radiance, on a stage on the further side, were seated
the ladies of the court, mostly with their hair uncovered, and
surrounded by a garland of precious stones. Queen Eleanor of
Provence, still bent on youthfulness, looked somewhat haggard in this
garb; but it well became Beatrix von Falkmorite, the young German
girl whom Richard King of the Romans had wedded in his old age for
the sake of her fair face. Smiling, plump, and rosy, she sat opening
her wide blue eyes, wearing her emerald and ruby wreath as though it
had been a coronal of daisies, and gazing with childish whisperings
as she watched the movements of her king, and clung for direction and
help in her own part of the pageant to the Princess Eleanor, who sat
beside her, little the elder in years, less beautiful in colouring,
but how far surpassing her in queenly pensive grace and dignity!
Leaning on Eleanor's lap was a bright-eyed, bright-haired boy of four
years old, watching with puzzled looks the brilliant ceremony, which
he only half understood, and his glances wandering between his father
and the blue and white robed little acolytes who stood nearest to the
shrine, holding by chains the silver censers, which from time to time
sent forth a fragrant vapour, curling round the heads of the nearest
figures, and floating away in the lofty vaultings of the roof.
The actual ceremony could only be beheld by a favoured few; the
official clergy, the many connections of royalty, and the chief
nobility, filled the church to overflowing, but the rest of the world
repaid itself by making a magnificent holiday. Good-natured King
Henry had been permitted by his son, who had now, though behind the
scenes, assumed the reins of government, to spend freely, and make a
feast to his heart's content. Roasting and boiling were going on on
a fast and furious scale, not only in the palace and abbey, but in
booths erected in the fields; and tables were spreading and rushes
strewing for the accommodation of all ranks. Near the entrance of
the Abbey, the trains of the personages within awaited their coming
forth in some sort of order, the more reverent listening to the
sounds from within, and bending or crossing themselves as the
familiar words of higher notes of praise rose loud enough to reach
their ears; but for the most part, the tones and gestures were as
various as the appearance of the attendants. Here were black
Benedictines, there white Augustinians clustered round the sleek
mules of their abbots; there scornful dark Templars, in their black
and white, sowed the seeds of hatred against their order, and scarlet
Hospitaliers looked bright and friendly even while repelling the
jostling of the crowd. A hoary old squire, who had been with the
King through all his troubles, kept together his immediate
attendants; a party of boorish-looking Germans waited for Richard of
Cornwall; and the slender, richly-caparisoned palfreys of the ladies
were in charge of high-born pages, who sometimes, with means fair or
foul, pushed back the throng, sometimes themselves became enamoured
of its humours.
For not only had the neighbouring city of London poured forth her
merchants and artizans, to gaze, wonder, and censure the
extravagance--not only had beggars of every degree been attracted by
the largesse that Henry delighted to dispense, and peasants had
poured in from all the villages around, but no sort of entertainment
was lacking. Here were minstrels and story-tellers gathering groups
around them; here was the mountebank, clearing a stage in which to
perform feats of jugglery, tossing from one hand to another a never-
ending circle of balls, balancing a lance upon his nose, with a
popinjay on its point; here were a bevy of girls with strange
garments fastened to their ankles, who would dance on their hands
instead of their feet, while their uplifted toes jangled little
bells.
Peasant and beggar, citizen and performer, sightseer and
professional, all alike strove to get into the space before the great
entrance, where the procession must come forth to gratify the eyes of
the gazers, and mayhap shower down such bounty as the elder
mendicants averred had been given when Prince Edward (the saints
defend him!) had been weighed at five years old, and, to avert ill
luck, the counterbalance of pure gold had been thrown among the poor
to purchase their prayers.
His weight in gold at his present stature could hardly be expected by
the wildest imaginations, but hungry eyes had been estimating the
weight of his little heir, and discontented lips had declared that
the child was of too slender make to be ever worth so much to them as
his father. Yet a whisper of the possibility had quickly been
magnified to a certainty of such a largesse, and the multitude were
thus stimulated to furious exertions to win the most favourable spot
for gathering up such a golden rain as even little Prince Henry's
counterpoise would afford; and ever as time waxed later, the throng
grew denser and more unruly, and the struggle fiercer and more
violent.
The screams and expostulations of the weak, elbowed and trampled
down, mingled with more festive sounds; and the attendants who waited
on the river in the large and beautifully-ornamented barges which
were the usual conveyances of distinguished personages, began to
agree with one another that if they saw less than if they were on the
bank, they escaped a considerable amount of discomfort as well as
danger.
"For," murmured one of the pages, "I suppose it would be a dire
offence to the Prince to lay about among the churls as they deserve."
"Ay, truly, among Londoners above all," was the answer of his
companion, whom the last four years had rendered considerably taller
than when we saw him last.
"Not that there is much love lost between them. He hath never
forgotten the day when they pelted the Queen with rotten eggs, and
sang their ribald songs; nor they the day he rode them down at Lewes
like corn before the reaper."
"And lost the day," muttered the other page; then added, "The less
love, the more cause for caution."
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