CHAPTER XI: THE TWO PROMISES
After all, Alice Montagu was married almost privately, and without anypreparation. Tidings came that the Duke of Alencon was besieging Cosne,a city belonging to the Duke of Burgundy, and that instant relief wasneeded. The Duke was urgent with Henry to save the place for him, andset off at once to collect his brilliant chivalry; while Henry, rousingat the trumpet-call, declared that nothing ailed him but pageants, sentorders to all his troops to collect from different quarters, and preparedto take the command in person; while reports daily came in of the greatmuster the Armagnacs were making, as though determined to offer battle.
Salisbury was determined not to abide the chances of the battle withoutfirst giving a protector to his little daughter; and therefore, asquietly as if she had been merely going to mass, the Lady Alice waswedded to her Sir Richard Nevil, who treated the affair as the simplestmatter of course, and troubled himself with very slight demonstrations ofaffection. The wedding took place at Senlis, whither the female part ofthe Court had accompanied the King, upon the very day of the parting. Noone was present, except one of Sir Richard's brothers (the whole familynumbered twenty-two), his esquire; and on Alice's side, her father,Esclairmonde, and a few other ladies.
At the last moment, however, the King himself came up, leaning onWarwick's arm, looking thin, ill, and flushed, but resolved to do honourto his faithful Salisbury, at whose request he had permitted the baronyof Montagu to be at once transferred to Nevil, who would thenceforth becalled by that title.
After the ceremony, King Henry kissed the gentle bride, placed a costlyring upon her finger, and gave his best and warmest wishes to the newly-married pair. Little guessed any there present what the sound of Warwickand Salisbury would be in forty years' time to the babe cradled atWindsor.
As the King passed Esclairmonde, he paused, and said, in an undertone,'Dear lady, deem not that I have forgotten your holy purpose; but youunderstand that there are some who are jealous of any benefit conferredon Paris save from themselves, and whose alliance I may not risk. But ifGod be pleased to grant me this battle also, then, with His goodpleasure, I shall not be forced to have such respect to persons; and whenI return, lady, whether the endowment come from your bounty or no, Godhelping us, you shall begin the holy work of St. Katharine's bedeswomenamong the poor of Paris.'
But while Henry V., with all his grave sweetness, spoke these words toEsclairmonde de Luxemburg, this was the farewell of Countess Jaqueline ofHainault to Malcolm Stewart:
'Look here, my languishing swain; never mind her scorn, but win yourspurs in the battle that is to be, and then make some excuse to get backagain to us before the two Kings, with all their scruples. Then beshrewme but she shall be yours! If Monseigneur de Therouenne and I cannotmanage one proud girl, I am not Countess of Hainault!'
This promise sent him away, planning the enjoyment of conqueringEsclairmonde's long resistance, and teaching her where to find happiness.Should he punish her, by being stern and tyrannical at first? or shouldhis kindness teach her to repent? When he was a knight, he would be in acondition to assert his authority, he thought; and of knighthood both heand Ralf Percy felt almost certain, in that wholesale dubbing of knightsthat was wont to be the preliminary of a battle. To be sure, they hadindulged in a good many unlicensed pleasures at Paris--Ralf from sheerreckless love of sport, Malcolm in his endeavour to forget himself, andto be manly; but they had escaped detection, and they knew plenty ofyoung Englishmen, and many more Burgundians and Gascons, who had plungedfar deeper into mischief, and thought it no disgrace, but rather heldthat there was some special dispensation for the benefit of warriors.
Malcolm and Ralf were riding with a party of these young men. King Henryhad consented to make his first day's journey as far as Corbeil in alitter, since only there he was to meet the larger number of his troops,whom Bedford and Warwick were assembling. James was riding close besidehim, with his immediate attendants; and the two youths, not being needed,had joined their comrades with the advanced guard of the escort.
It was always a fiction maintained by Henry, that he was marching in afriendly country; plunder was strictly forbidden, and everything was tobe paid for; but unfortunately, the peasantry on his way never realizedthis, and the soldiery often took care they should not. Therefore, whenthe advanced guard came to the village that had been marked out for theirhalt, instead of finding provisions and forage to be purchased, they metwith only bare walls, and a few stray cats; and while storming and ravingbetween hunger and disappointment, a report came from somewhere that theinhabitants had fled, and driven off their cattle to another village somefour miles off, in the woods, on the heights above. Of course, they mustbe taught reason. It was true that the men-at-arms, who were under thecommand of Sir Christopher Kitson and Sir William Trenton, were obligedto abide where they were, much as Kitson growled at being unable toprocure a draught of wine for Trenton, whom he had been nursing for weeksunder intermitting fever, caught at Meaux; but the young gentlemen werewell pleased to show themselves under no Yorkshireman's orders, andgalloped off _en masse_ to procure refreshment for their horses andthemselves, further stimulated by the report that the Armagnacs had lefta sick man behind them there, who might be a valuable prisoner.
By and by, a woodland path brought the disorderly party, about forty innumber, including their servants and the ruffians who always followedwhenever plunder was to be scented, out upon a pretty French village ofthe better class, built round a green shaded with chestnuts, under which,sure enough, were hay-carts, cows, sheep, and goats, and their owners,taking refuge in a place thought to be out of the track of the invaders.
Here were the malicious defrauders of the hungry warriors. Down uponthem flew the angry foragers. Soon the pretty tranquil scene was ringingwith the oaths of the plundering and the cries of the plundered; thecattle were being driven off, the houses and farm-yards rifled, blood wasflowing, and what could not be carried off was burning. The search forthe Armagnac prisoner had, however, relaxed after the first inquiry, andMalcolm, surprised that this had been forgotten, suddenly bethought himof the distinction he should secure by sending a valuable prize toEsclairmonde's feet. He seized on an old man who had not been able tofly, and stood trembling and panting in a corner, and demanded where thesick man was. The old man pointed to a farm-house, round which clouds ofsmoke were rolling, and Malcolm hurried into it, shouting, 'Dog of anArmagnac, come out! Yield, ere thou be burnt!'
No answer; and he dashed forward. In the lower room was a sight thatopened his eyes with horror--no other than the shield of Drummond, withthe three wavy lines; ay, and with it the helmet and suit of armour,whereof he knew each buckle and brace!
'Patie! Patrick! Patrick Drummond!' he wildly shouted, 'are you there?'
No answer; and seeing through the smoke a stair, he rushed up. There, inan upper room, on a bed, lay a senseless form, suffocated perhaps by thesmoke, but unmistakably his cousin! He called to him, seized him, shookhim, dragged him out of bed, all in vain; there was no sign of animation.The fire was gaining on the house; Malcolm's own breath was failing, andhis frenzied efforts to carry Patrick's almost giant form to the stairswere quite unavailing. Wild with horror, he flew shouting down-stairs tocall Halbert, whom he had left with his horse, but neither Halbert norhorse was in sight, nor indeed any of the party. Not a man was in sight,except a few hurrying far out of reach, as if something had alarmed them.He wrung his hands in anguish, and was about to make another attempt todrag Patrick down from the already burning house, when suddenly a troopof horse was among the scene of desolation, and at their head King Jameshimself. Malcolm flew to the King, cutting short his angry exclamationwith the cry, 'Help! help! he will burn! Patrick! Patie Drummond!There!'
James had scarce gathered the sense of the words, ere, leaping from hishorse, he bounded up the stairs, through the smoke, amid flakes ofburning thatch falling from the roof, groped in the dense clouds of smokefor the senseless weight, and holdin
g the shoulders while Malcolm heldthe feet, they sped down the stair, and rested not till they had laid himunder a chestnut tree, out of reach of the crash of the house, which fellin almost instantly.
'Does he live?' gasped Malcolm.
'He will not,' said the King, 'if his nation be known here. Keep out ofhis sight! He must hear only French!'
Remembering how inexorably Henry hung every Scotch prisoner, Malcolm'sheart sank. This was why no one had sought the prisoner. A Scot was notavailable for ransom! Should he be the murderer of his cousin, Lily'slove?
Meantime James hurriedly explained to Kitson that here was the sick manleft by the enemy, summoned Sir Nigel to his side, closed his own visor,and called for water; then hung over the prisoner, anxious to prevent thefirst word from being broad Scotch. In the free air, some long sobsshowed that Patrick was struggling back to life; and James at once said,'Rendez vous, Messire;' but he neither answered, nor was there meaning inhis eyes. And James perceived that he was bandaged as though for brokenribs, and that his right shoulder was dislocated, and no doubt had been asecond time pulled out when Malcolm had grasped him by the arms. Heswooned again at the first attempt to lift him, and a hay-cart havingbeen left in the flight of the marauders, he was laid in it, and coveredwith the King's cloak, to be conveyed to Corbeil, where James trusted tosecure his life by personal intercession with Henry. He groaned heavilyseveral times, but never opened his eyes or spoke articulately the wholeway; and James and Sir Nigel kept on either side of the cart, ready toaddress him in French the first moment, having told the English that hewas a prisoner of quality, who must be carefully conveyed to King James'stent at Corbeil. Malcolm was not allowed to approach, lest he should berecognized; and he rode along in an agony of shame and suspense, withvery different feelings towards Patrick than those with which he had oflate thought of him, or of his own promises. If Patrick died throughthis plundering raid, how should he ever face Lily?
It was nearly night ere they reached Corbeil, where the tents werepitched outside the little town. James committed his captive to theprudent care of old Baird, bidding him send for a French or Burgundiansurgeon, unable to detect the Scottish tongue; and then, taking Malcolmwith him, he crossed the square in the centre of the camp to the royalpavilion, opposite to which his own was pitched.
It was a sultry night, and Henry had insisted on sleeping in his tent,declaring himself sick of stone walls; and as they approached his voicecould be heard in brief excited sentences, giving orders, and asking forthe King of Scots.
'Here, Sir,' said James, stopping in where the curtain was looped up, andshowed King Henry half sitting, half lying, on a couch of cushions anddeer-skins, his eyes full of fire, his thin face flushed with deepcolour; Bedford, March, Warwick, and Salisbury in attendance.
'Ho! you are late!' said Henry. 'Did you come up with the caitiffrobbers?'
'They made off as we rode up. The village was already burnt.'
'Who were they? I hope you hung them on the spot, as I bade,' continuedHenry, coughing between his sentences, and almost in spite of himself,putting his hand to his side.
'I was delayed. There was a life to save: a gentleman who lay sick andstifled in a burning house.'
'And what was it to you,' cried Henry, angrily, 'if a dozen rebelArmagnacs were fried alive, when I sent you to hinder my men from growingmere thieves? Gentleman, forsooth! One would think it the Dauphinhimself; or mayhap Buchan. Ha! it is a Scot, then!'
'Yes, Sir,' said James; 'Sir Patrick Drummond, a good knight, hurt andhelpless, for whom I entreat your grace.'
'You disobeyed me to spare a Scot!' burst forth Henry. 'You, who callyourself a captain of mine, and who know my will! He hangs instantly!'
'Harry, bethink yourself. This is no captive taken in battle. He is asick man, left behind, sorely hurt.'
'Then wherefore must you be meddling, instead of letting him burn as hedeserved, and heeding what you undertook for me? I _will_ have none ofyour traitor ruffians here. Since you have brought him in, the halterfor him!--Here, Ralf Percy, tell the Provost-marshal--'
He was interrupted, for James unbuckled his sword, and tendered it tohim.
'King Harry,' he said gravely, 'this morning I was your friend andbrother-in-arms; now I am your captive. Hang Patrick Drummond, who aidedme at Meaux in saving my honour and such freedom as I have, and I returnto any prison you please, and never strike blow for you again.'
'Take back your sword,' said Henry. 'What folly is this? You knew thatI count not your rebel subjects as prisoners of war.'
'I did not know that I was saving a defenceless man from the flames to beused like a dog. I never offered my arm to serve a savage tyrant.'
'Take your sword!' reiterated Henry, his passion giving way beforeJames's steady calmness. 'We will look into it to-morrow: but it was nosoldierly act to take advantage of my weariness, to let my commands bebroken the first day of taking the field, and bring the caitiff here. Wewill leave him for the night, I say. Take up your sword.'
'Not till I am sure of my liegeman's life,' said James.
'No threats, Sir. I will make no promise,' said Henry, haughtily; butthe words died away in a racking cough.
And Bedford, laying his hand on James's arm, said, 'He is fevered andweary. Fret him no longer, but take your sword, and get your fellow outof the camp.'
James was too much hurt to make a compromise. 'No,' he said; 'unlessyour brother freely spares the life of a man thus taken, I must be hisprisoner--but his soldier never!'
He left the tent, followed by Malcolm in an agony of despair and self-reproach.
Henry's morning decisions were not apt to vary from his evening ones.There was a terrible implacability about him at times, and he had neverceased to visit his brother of Clarence's death upon the Scots, on theplea that they were in arms against their king. Even Bedford obviouslythought that the prisoner would be safest out of his reach; and thiscould hardly be accomplished, since Patrick had been placed in James'stent, in the very centre of the camp, near the King's own. And thoughBedford and March might have connived at his being taken away, yet themass of the soldiery would, if they detected a Scot being smuggled awayinto the town, have been persuaded that King James was actingtreacherously.
Besides, the captive himself proved to be so exhausted, that to transporthim any further in his present state would have been almost certainlyfatal. A barber surgeon from Corbeil had been fetched, and was dealingwith the injuries, which had apparently been the effect of a fall somedays previously, probably when on his way to join the French army atCosne; and the first fever of these hurts had no doubt been aggravated bythe adventures of the day. At any rate Patrick lay unconscious, or onlyfrom time to time groaning or murmuring a few words, sometimes French,sometimes Scotch.
Malcolm would have fallen on his knees by his side, and striven to win aword or a look, but James forcibly withheld him. 'If you roused him intoloud ravings in our own tongue, all hope of saving him would be gone,' hesaid.
'Shall we? Oh, can we?' cried Malcolm, catching at the mere word _hope_.
'I only know,' said the King, 'that unless we do so by Harry's good-will,I will never serve under him again.'
'And if he persists in his cruelty?'
'Then must some means be found of carrying Drummond into Corbeil. Itwill go hard with me but he shall be saved, Malcolm. But this whole armyis against a Scot; and Harry's eye is everywhere, and his fiercenessunrelenting. Malcolm, this _is_ bondage! May God and St. Andrew aidus!'
When the King came to saying that, it was plain he deemed the case pastall other aid.
Malcolm's misery was great. The very sight of Patrick had made a mightyrevulsion in his feelings. The almost forgotten associations ofGlenuskie were revived; the forms of his guardian and of Lily came beforehim, as he heard familiar names and phrases in the dear home accent fallfrom the fevered lips. Coldingham rose up before him, and St. Abbs, withLily watching on the rocks for tidings of
her knight--her knight, to whomher brother had once promised to resign all his lands and honours, butwho now lay captured by plunderers, among whom that brother made one, andin peril of a shameful death. Oh, far better die in his stead, thanreturn to Lily with tidings such as these!
Was this retribution for his broken purpose, and for having fallen away,not merely into secular life, but into sins that stood between him andreligious rites? The King had called St. Andrew to aid! Must a proof ofrepentance and change be given, ere that aid would come? Should he vowhimself again to the cloister, yield up the hope of Esclairmonde, anddevote himself for Patrick's sake? Could he ever be happy with Patrickdead, and Esclairmonde driven and harassed into being his wife? Were itnot better to vow at once, that so his cousin were spared he would returnto his old purposes?
Almost had he uttered the vow, when, tugging hard at his heart, came thevision of Esclairmonde's loveliness, and he felt it beyond his strengthto resign her voluntarily; besides, how Madame of Hainault andMonseigneur de Therouenne would deride his uncertainties; and howintolerable it would be to leave Esclairmonde to fall into the hands ofBoemond of Burgundy.
Such a renunciation could not be made; he did not even know thatPatrick's safety depended on it; and instead of that, he promised, withgreat fervency of devotion, that if St. Andrew would save PatrickDrummond, and bring about the two marriages, a most splendid monasteryfor educational purposes, such as the King so much wished to found,should be his reward. It should be in honour of St. Andrew, and shouldbe endowed with Esclairmonde's wealth, which would be quite ample enough,both for this and for a noble portion for Lily. Surely St. Andrew mustaccept such a vow, and spare Patrick! So Malcolm tried to pacify ananguish of suspense that would not be pacified.