CHAPTER XXIV: THE SURRENDER
Rescue or none, Sir Knight, I am your captive: Deal with me what your nobleness suggests-- Thinking the chance of war may one day place you Where I must now be reckon'd--I' the roll Of melancholy prisoners.
ANONYMOUS
The skirmish betwixt the Schwarzreiters and the Burgundian men at armslasted scarcely five minutes, so soon were the former put to the rout bythe superiority of the latter in armour, weight of horse, and militaryspirit. In less than the space we have mentioned, the Count ofCrevecoeur, wiping his bloody sword upon his horse's mane ere hesheathed it, came back to the verge of the forest, where Isabelle hadremained a spectator of the combat. One part of his people followed him,while the other continued to pursue the flying enemy for a little spacealong the causeway.
"It is shame," said the Count, "that the weapons of knights andgentlemen should be soiled by the blood of those brutal swine."
So saying, he returned his weapon to the sheath and added, "This is arough welcome to your home, my pretty cousin, but wandering princessesmust expect such adventures. And well I came up in time, for, let meassure you, the Black Troopers respect a countess's coronet as littleas a country wench's coif, and I think your retinue is not qualified formuch resistance."
"My Lord Count," said the Lady Isabelle, "without farther preface, letme know if I am a prisoner, and where you are to conduct me."
"You know, you silly child," answered the Count, "how I would answerthat question, did it rest on my own will. But you, and your foolishmatch making, marriage hunting aunt, have made such wild use of yourwings of late, that I fear you must be contented to fold them up in acage for a little while. For my part, my duty, and it is a sad one, willbe ended when I have conducted you to the Court of the Duke, at Peronnefor which purpose I hold it necessary to deliver the command of thisreconnoitring party to my nephew, Count Stephen, while I return with youthither, as I think you may need an intercessor.--And I hope the younggiddy pate will discharge his duty wisely."
"So please you, fair uncle," said Count Stephen, "if you doubt mycapacity to conduct the men at arms, even remain with them yourself, andI will be the servant and guard of the Countess Isabelle of Croye."
"No doubt, fair nephew," answered his uncle, "this were a goodlyimprovement on my scheme, but methinks I like it as well in the way Iplanned it. Please you, therefore, to take notice, that your businesshere is not to hunt after and stick these black hogs, for which youseemed but now to have felt an especial vocation, but to collect andbring to me true tidings of what is going forward in the country ofLiege, concerning which we hear such wild rumours. Let some half scoreof lances follow me and the rest remain with my banner under yourguidance."
"Yet one moment, cousin of Crevecoeur," said the Countess Isabelle, "andlet me, in yielding myself prisoner, stipulate at least for the safetyof those who have befriended me in my misfortunes. Permit this goodfellow, my trusty guide, to go back unharmed to his native town ofLiege."
"My nephew," said Crevecoeur, after looking sharply at Glover's honestbreadth of countenance, "shall guard this good fellow, who seems,indeed, to have little harm in him, as far into the territory as hehimself advances, and then leave him at liberty."
"Fail not to remember me to the kind Gertrude," said the Countess to herguide, and added, taking a string of pearls from under her veil, "Prayher to wear this in remembrance of her unhappy friend."
Honest Glover took the string of pearls, and kissed with clownishgesture, but with sincere kindness, the fair hand which had found such adelicate mode of remunerating his own labours and peril.
"Umph! signs and tokens," said the Count, "any farther bequests to make,my fair cousin?--It is time we were on our way."
"Only," said the Countess, making an effort to speak, "that you will bepleased to be favourable to this--this young gentleman."
"Umph!" said Crevecoeur, casting the same penetrating glance on Quentinwhich he had bestowed on Glover, but apparently with a much lesssatisfactory result, and mimicking, though not offensively, theembarrassment of the Countess.
"Umph!--Ay--this is a blade of another temper.--And pray, my cousin,what has this--this very young gentleman done, to deserve suchintercession at your hands?"
"He has saved my life and honour," said the Countess, reddening withshame and resentment.
Quentin also blushed with indignation, but wisely concluded that to givevent to it might only make matters worse.
"Life and honour?--Umph!" said again the Count Crevecoeur, "methinks itwould have been as well, my cousin, if you had not put yourself in theway of lying under such obligations to this very young gentleman.--Butlet it pass. The young gentleman may wait on us, if his quality permit,and I will see he has no injury--only I will myself take in future theoffice of protecting your life and honour, and may perhaps find for himsome fitter duty than that of being a squire of the body to damoselserrant."
"My Lord Count," said Durward, unable to keep silence any longer,"lest you should talk of a stranger in slighter terms than you mightafterwards think becoming, I take leave to tell you, that I am QuentinDurward, an Archer of the Scottish Bodyguard, in which, as you wellknow, none but gentlemen and men of honour are enrolled."
"I thank you for your information, and I kiss your hands, SeigniorArcher," said Crevecoeur, in the same tone of raillery. "Have thegoodness to ride with me to the front of the party."
As Quentin moved onward at the command of the Count, who had now thepower, if not the right, to dictate his motions, he observed that theLady Isabelle followed his motions with a look of anxious and timidinterest, which amounted almost to tenderness, and the sight of whichbrought water into his eyes. But he remembered that he had a man's partto sustain before Crevecoeur, who, perhaps of all the chivalry in Franceor Burgundy, was the least likely to be moved to anything but laughterby a tale of true love sorrow. He determined, therefore, not to waithis addressing him, but to open the conversation in a tone which shouldassert his claim to fair treatment, and to more respect than the Count,offended perhaps at finding a person of such inferior note placed sonear the confidence of his high born and wealthy cousin, seemed disposedto entertain for him.
"My Lord Count of Crevecoeur," he said, in a temperate but firm tone ofvoice, "may I request of you, before our interview goes farther, to tellme if I am at liberty, or am to account myself your prisoner?"
"A shrewd question," replied the Count, "which at present I can onlyanswer by another.--Are France and Burgundy, think you, at peace or warwith each other?"
"That," replied the Scot, "you, my lord, should certainly know betterthan I. I have been absent from the Court of France, and have heard nonews for some time."
"Look you there," said the Count, "you see how easy it is to askquestions, but how difficult to answer them. Why, I myself, who havebeen at Peronne with the Duke for this week and better, cannot resolvethis riddle any more than you, and yet, Sir Squire, upon the solution ofthat question depends the said point, whether you are prisoner or freeman, and, for the present, I must hold you as the former.--Only, if youhave really and honestly been of service to my kinswoman, and for youare candid in your answers to the questions I shall ask, affairs shallstand the better with you."
"The Countess of Croye," said Quentin, "is best judge if I have renderedany service, and to her I refer you on that matter. My answers you willyourself judge of when you ask me your questions."
"Umph!--haughty enough," muttered the Count of Crevecoeur, "and verylike one that wears a lady's favour in his hat, and thinks he must carrythings with a high tone, to honour the precious remnant of silk andtinsel. Well, sir, I trust it will be no abatement of your dignity,if you answer me, how long you have been about the person of the LadyIsabelle of Croye?"
"Count of Crevecoeur," said Quentin Durward, "if I answer questionswhich are asked in a tone approaching towards insult, it is only lestinjurious inferences should be drawn from my silence respecting one towhom we are b
oth obliged to render justice. I have acted as escort tothe Lady Isabelle since she left France to retire into Flanders."
"Ho! ho!" said the Count, "and that is to say, since she fled fromPlessis les Tours?--You, an Archer of the Scottish Guard, accompaniedher, of course, by the express orders of King Louis?"
However little Quentin thought himself indebted to the King of France,who, in contriving the surprisal of the Countess Isabelle by William dela Marck, had probably calculated on the young Scotchman's being slainin her defence, he did not yet conceive himself at liberty to betrayany trust which Louis had reposed, or had seemed to repose, in him, andtherefore replied to Count Crevecoeur's inference that it was sufficientfor him to have the authority of his superior officer for what he haddone, and he inquired no farther.
"It is quite sufficient," said the Count. "We know the King does notpermit his officers to send the Archers of his Guard to prance likepaladins by the bridle rein of wandering ladies, unless he hath somepolitic purpose to serve. It will be difficult for King Louis tocontinue to aver so boldly that he knew' not of the Ladies of Croye'shaving escaped from France, since they were escorted by one of his ownLife guard.--And whither, Sir Archer, was your retreat directed?"
"To Liege, my lord," answered the Scot, "where the ladies desired to beplaced under the protection of the late Bishop."
"The late Bishop!" exclaimed the Count of Crevecoeur, "is Louis ofBourbon dead?--Not a word of his illness had reached the Duke.--Of whatdid he die?"
"He sleeps in a bloody grave, my lord--that is, if his murderers haveconferred one on his remains."
"Murdered!" exclaimed Crevecoeur again.--"Holy Mother of Heaven!--youngman, it is impossible!"
"I saw the deed done with my own eyes, and many an act of horrorbesides."
"Saw it! and made not in to help the good Prelate!" exclaimed the Count,"or to raise the castle against his murderers?--Know'st thou notthat even to look on such a deed, without resisting it, is profanesacrilege?"
"To be brief, my lord," said Durward, "ere this act was done, the castlewas stormed by the bloodthirsty William de la Marck, with help of theinsurgent Liegeois."
"I am struck with thunder," said Crevecoeur. "Liege ininsurrection!--Schonwaldt taken!--the Bishop murdered--Messenger ofsorrow, never did one man unfold such a packet of woes!--Speak--knew youof this assault--of this insurrection--of this murder?--Speak--thou artone of Louis's trusted Archers, and it is he that has aimed this painfularrow.--Speak, or I will have thee torn with wild horses!"
"And if I am so torn, my lord, there can be nothing rent out of me,that may not become a true Scottish gentleman: I know no more of thesevillainies than you--was so far from being partaker in them, that Iwould have withstood them to the uttermost, had my means in a twentiethdegree equalled my inclination. But what could I do?--they werehundreds, and I but one. My only care was to rescue the CountessIsabelle, and in that I was happily successful. Yet, had I been nearenough when the ruffian deed was so cruelly done on the old man, Ihad saved his gray hairs, or I had avenged them, and as it was, myabhorrence was spoken loud enough to prevent other horrors."
"I believe thee, youth," said the Count, "thou art neither of an age nornature to be trusted with such bloody work, however well fitted to bethe squire of dames. But alas! for the kind and generous Prelate, to bemurdered on the hearth where he so often entertained the stranger withChristian charity and princely bounty--and that by a wretch, a monster!a portentous growth of blood and cruelty!--bred up in the very hallwhere he has imbrued his hands in his benefactor's blood! But I know notCharles of Burgundy--nay, I should doubt of the justice of Heaven, ifvengeance be not as sharp, and sudden, and severe, as this villainyhas been unexampled in atrocity. And, if no other shall pursue themurderer"--here he paused, grasped his sword, then quitting his bridle,struck both gauntleted hands upon his breast, until his corseletclattered, and finally held them up to heaven, as he solemnlycontinued,--"I--I, Philip Crevecoeur of Cordes, make a vow to God, SaintLambert, and the Three Kings of Cologne, that small shall be my thoughtof other earthly concerns, till I take full revenge on the murderers ofthe good Louis of Bourbon, whether I find them in forest or field, incity or in country, in hill or in plain, in King's Court or in God'sChurch! and thereto I pledge hands and living, friends and followers,life and honour. So help me God, and Saint Lambert of Liege, and theThree Kings of Cologne!"
When the Count of Crevecoeur had made his vow, his mind seemed in somesort relieved from the overwhelming grief and astonishment with whichhe had heard the fatal tragedy that had been acted at Schonwaldt, and heproceeded to question Durward more minutely concerning the particularsof that disastrous affair, which the Scot, nowise desirous to abatethe spirit of revenge which the Count entertained against William de laMarck, gave him at full length.
"But those blind, unsteady, faithless, fickle beasts, the Liegeois,"said the Count, "that they should have combined themselves with thisinexorable robber and murderer, to put to death their lawful Prince!"
Durward here informed the enraged Burgundian that the Liegeois, or atleast the better class of them, however rashly they had run into therebellion against their Bishop, had no design, so far as appeared tohim, to aid in the execrable deed of De la Marck but, on the contrary,would have prevented it if they had had the means, and were struck withhorror when they beheld it.
"Speak not of the faithless, inconstant plebeian rabble!" saidCrevecoeur. "When they took arms against a Prince who had no fault, savethat he was too kind and too good a master for such a set of ungratefulslaves--when they armed against him, and broke into his peaceful house,what could there be in their intention but murder?--when they bandedthemselves with the Wild Boar of Ardennes, the greatest homicide inthe marches of Flanders, what else could there be in their purpose butmurder, which is the very trade he lives by? And again, was it not oneof their own vile rabble who did the very deed, by thine own account?I hope to see their canals running blood by the flight of theirburning houses. Oh, the kind, noble, generous lord, whom they haveslaughtered!--Other vassals have rebelled under the pressure of impostsand penury but the men of Liege in the fullness of insolence andplenty."
He again abandoned the reins of his war horse, and wrung bitterly thehands, which his mail gloves rendered untractable. Quentin easilysaw that the grief which he manifested was augmented by the bitterrecollection of past intercourse and friendship with the sufferer, andwas silent accordingly, respecting feelings which he was unwilling toaggravate, and at the same time felt it impossible to soothe. But theCount of Crevecoeur returned again and again to the subject--questionedhim on every particular of the surprise of Schonwaldt, and the death ofthe Bishop, and then suddenly, as if he had recollected something whichhad escaped his memory, demanded what had become of the Lady Hameline,and why she was not with her kinswoman?
"Not," he added contemptuously, "that I consider her absence as at all aloss to the Countess Isabelle, for, although she was her kinswoman,and upon the whole a well meaning woman, yet the Court of Cocagne neverproduced such a fantastic fool, and I hold it for certain that herniece, whom I have always observed to be a modest and orderly younglady, was led into the absurd frolic of flying from Burgundy to France,by that blundering, romantic old match making and match seeking idiot!"
[Court of Cocagne: a fabled land intended to ridicule the stories ofAvalon, the apple green island, the home of King Arthur. "Its houseswere built of good things to eat: roast geese went slowly down thestreet, turning themselves, and inviting the passersby to eat them;buttered larks fell in profusion; the shingles of the houses were ofcake." Cent. Dict. Cocagne has also been called Lubberland.]
What a speech for a romantic lover to hear! and to hear, too, when itwould have been ridiculous in him to attempt what it was impossible forhim to achieve--namely, to convince the Count, by force of arms, that hedid foul wrong to the Countess--the peerless in sense as in beauty--interming her a modest and orderly young woman, qualities which might havebeen predicated with pro
priety of the daughter of a sunburnt peasant,who lived by goading the oxen, while her father held the plough. Andthen, to suppose her under the domination and supreme guidance of asilly and romantic aunt!--The slander should have been repelled downthe slanderer's throat. But the open, though severe, physiognomy of theCount of Crevecoeur, the total contempt which he seemed to entertain forthose feelings which were uppermost in Quentin's bosom, overawed him,not for fear of the Count's fame in arms, that was a risk which wouldhave increased his desire of making out a challenge--but in dread ofridicule, the weapon of all others most feared by enthusiasts of everydescription, and which, from its predominance over such minds, oftenchecks what is absurd, and fully as often smothers that which is noble.
Under the influence of this fear of becoming an object of scorn ratherthan resentment, Durward, though with some pain, confined his reply toa confused account of the Lady Hameline's having made her escape fromSchonwaldt before the attack took place. He could not, indeed, have madehis story very distinct, without throwing ridicule on the near relationof Isabelle and perhaps incurring some himself, as having been theobject of her preposterous expectations. He added to his embarrasseddetail, that he had heard a report, though a vague one, of the LadyHameline's having again fallen into the hands of William de la Marck.
"I trust in Saint Lambert that he will marry her," said Crevecoeur, "asindeed, he is likely enough to do, for the sake of her moneybags, andequally likely to knock her on the head, so soon as these are eithersecured in his own grasp, or, at farthest, emptied."
The Count then proceeded to ask so many questions concerning the mode inwhich both ladies had conducted themselves on the journey, the degreeof intimacy to which they admitted Quentin himself, and other tryingparticulars, that, vexed, and ashamed, and angry, the youth was scarceable to conceal his embarrassment from the keen sighted soldier andcourtier, who seemed suddenly disposed to take leave of him, saying,at the same time, "Umph--I see it is as I conjectured, on one side atleast, I trust the other party has kept her senses better.--Come, SirSquire, spur on, and keep the van, while I fall back to discourse withthe Lady Isabelle. I think I have learned now so much from you, that Ican talk to her of these sad passages without hurting her nicety, thoughI have fretted yours a little.--Yet stay, young gallant--one word ereyou go. You have had, I imagine, a happy journey through Fairyland--allfull of heroic adventure, and high hope, and wild minstrel-likedelusion, like the gardens of Morgaine la Fee [half-sister of Arthur.Her gardens abounded in all good things; music filled the air, and theinhabitants enjoyed perpetual youth]. Forget it all, young soldier," headded, tapping him on the shoulder, "remember yonder lady only as thehonoured Countess of Croye--forget her as a wandering and adventurousdamsel. And her friends--one of them I can answer for--will remember,on their part, only the services you have done her, and forget theunreasonable reward which you have had the boldness to propose toyourself."
Enraged that he had been unable to conceal from the sharp sightedCrevecoeur feelings which the Count seemed to consider as the object ofridicule, Quentin replied indignantly, "My Lord Count, when I requireadvice of you, I will ask it, when I demand assistance of you, it willbe time enough to grant or refuse it, when I set peculiar value on youropinion of me, it will not be too late to express it."
"Heyday!" said the Count, "I have come between Amadis and Oriana, andmust expect a challenge to the lists!"
[Amadis is the hero of a famous mediaeval romance originally written inPortuguese, but translated into French and much enlarged by subsequentromancers. Amadis is represented as a model of chivalry. His lady wasOriana.]
"You speak as if that were an impossibility," said Quentin. "When Ibroke a lance with the Duke of Orleans, it was against a head in whichflowed better blood than that of Crevecoeur.--When I measured swordswith Dunois, I engaged a better warrior."
"Now Heaven nourish thy judgment, gentle youth," said Crevecoeur, stilllaughing at the chivalrous inamorato. "If thou speak'st truth, thou hasthad singular luck in this world, and, truly, if it be the pleasure ofProvidence exposes thee to such trials, without a beard on thy lip, thouwilt be mad with vanity ere thou writest thyself man. Thou canst notmove me to anger, though thou mayst to mirth. Believe me, though thoumayst have fought with Princes, and played the champion for Countesses,by some of those freaks which Fortune will sometimes exhibit, thou artby no means the equal of those of whom thou hast been either the casualopponent, or more casual companion. I can allow thee like a youth, whohath listened to romances till he fancied himself a Paladin, to formpretty dreams for some time, but thou must not be angry at a wellmeaning friend, though he shake thee something roughly by the shouldersto awake thee."
"My Lord of Crevecoeur," said Quentin, "my family--"
"Nay, it was not utterly of family that I spoke," said the Count, "butof rank, fortune, high station, and so forth, which place a distancebetween various degrees and classes of persons. As for birth, all menare descended from Adam and Eve."
"My Lord Count," repeated Quentin, "my ancestors, the Durwards of GlenHoulakin--"
"Nay," said the Count, "if you claim a farther descent for them thanfrom Adam, I have done! Good even to you."
He reined back his horse, and paused to join the Countess, to whom, ifpossible, his insinuations and advices, however well meant, were stillmore disagreeable than to Quentin, who, as he rode on, muttered tohimself, "Cold blooded, insolent, overweening coxcomb!--Would that thenext Scottish Archer who has his harquebuss pointed at thee, may not letthee off so easily as I did!"
In the evening they reached the town of Charleroi, on the Sambre, wherethe Count of Crevecoeur had determined to leave the Countess Isabelle,whom the terror and fatigue of yesterday, joined to a flight of fiftymiles since morning, and the various distressing sensations by which itwas accompanied, had made incapable of travelling farther with safety toher health. The Count consigned her, in a state of great exhaustion, tothe care of the Abbess of the Cistercian convent in Charleroi, a noblelady, to whom both the families of Crevecoeur and Croye were related,and in whose prudence and kindness he could repose confidence.
Crevecoeur himself only stopped to recommend the utmost caution to thegovernor of a small Burgundian garrison who occupied the place, andrequired him also to mount a guard of honour upon the convent during theresidence of the Countess Isabelle of Croye--ostensibly to secure hersafety, but perhaps secretly to prevent her attempting to escape. TheCount only assigned as a cause for the garrison's being vigilant, somevague rumours which he had heard of disturbances in the Bishopric ofLiege. But he was determined himself to be the first who should carrythe formidable news of the insurrection and the murder of the Bishop,in all their horrible reality, to Duke Charles, and for that purpose,having procured fresh horses for himself and suite, he mounted with theresolution of continuing his journey to Peronne without stopping forrepose, and, informing Quentin Durward that he must attend him, he made,at the same time, a mock apology for parting fair company, but hopedthat to so devoted a squire of dames a night's journey by moonshinewould be more agreeable than supinely to yield himself to slumber likean ordinary mortal.
Quentin, already sufficiently afflicted by finding that he was to beparted from Isabelle, longed to answer this taunt with an indignantdefiance, but aware that the Count would only laugh at his anger, anddespise his challenge, he resolved to wait some future time, when hemight have an opportunity of obtaining some amends from this proud lord,who, though for very different reasons, had become nearly as odiousto him as the Wild Boar of Ardennes himself. He therefore assented toCrevecoeur's proposal, as to what he had no choice of declining, andthey pursued in company, and with all the despatch they could exert, theroad between Charleroi and Peronne.