CHAPTER X
In the early morning, Sir Eustace and his few followers were in theirsaddles, little Arthur riding between his uncle and Gaston. The chiefpart of the day was spent on the journey. They dined, to Arthur'sglee, on provisions they had brought with them, seated on a green banknear a stream, and at evening found themselves at the door of a largehostel, its open porch covered by a vine.
The host and his attendants ran out at first to meet them withalacrity, but, on seeing them, appeared disappointed. And as theKnight, dismounting, ordered supper and bed, the host replied that hecould indeed engage to find food, and to accommodate their steeds, butthat the whole of the inn had been secured on behalf of two nobleladies and their train, who were each moment expected.
"Be it so," said Eustace; "a truss of hay beside our horses, or asettle by the fire, is all we need. Here is a taste already of awarrior's life for you, Arthur."
The boy was delighted, certain that to sleep beside his pony was farmore delightful, as well as more manly, than to rest in his bed, like alady at home.
As this was arranged, a sound of horses' feet approached, and a band ofmen-at-arms rode up to the door. Arthur started and seized his uncle'shand as he recognized the Clarenham colours and badge, uttering anexclamation of dismay. "Never fear, Arthur," said Eustace, "they comefrom the way opposite to ours. It is not pursuit. See, it is anescort--there are ladies among them."
"Four!" said Arthur. "Uncle, that tall dame in black must be the LadyMuriel. And surely the white veil tied with rose-colour belongs tokind Cousin Agnes."
"True! These are no Clarenhams to guard against," said Eustace to hisSquire, who looked ready for action. "Lady Muriel, the step-mother ofthe Baron and his sister, is my godmother, and, by birth, a Lynwood."
Then stepping forward, he assisted the elder lady to dismount; shereturned his courtesy by a slight inclination, as to a stranger, buther companion, who had lightly sprung to the ground, no soonerperceived him than she exclaimed, "Eustace!" then laying her hand onLady Muriel's arm, "Mother, it is Sir Eustace Lynwood."
"Ha! my gallant godson!" said the Baroness, greeting him cordially."Well met, brave youth! No wonder in that knightly figure I did notknow my kinswoman's little page. How does my gentle niece, Eleanor?"
"Alack! then you have not heard the tidings?" said Eustace.
"We heard long since she was sick with grief," said Lady Muriel, muchalarmed. "What mean you? Is she worse? You weep--surely she stilllives!"
"Ah! honoured dame, we come even now from laying her in her grave. Hereis her orphan boy."
Young Agnes could not restrain a cry of grief and horror, and trying torepress her weeping till it should be without so many witnesses, LadyMuriel and her bower-woman led her to their apartments in the inn.Eustace was greatly affected by her grief. She had often accompaniedher step-mother on visits to Lynwood Keep in the peaceful days of theirchildhood; she had loved no sport better than to sit listening to hisromantic discourses of chivalry, and had found in the shy, delicate,dreamy boy, something congenial to her own quiet nature; and, in short,when Eustace indulged in a vision, Agnes was ever the lady of it, thepale slight Agnes, with no beauty save her large soft brown eyes, thatseemed to follow and take in every fancy or thought of his. Agnes waslooked down on,--her father thought she would do him littlehonour,--her brother cared not for her; save for her step-mother shewould have met with little fostering attention, and when Eustace sawher set aside and disregarded, his heart had bounded with the thoughtthat when he should lay his trophies at her feet, Agnes would behonoured for his sake. But Eustace's honours had been barren, and hecould only look back with a sad heart to the fancies of his youth, whenhe had deemed Knight-errantry might win the lady of his love.
Eleanor had been one of the few who had known and loved the damsel ofClarenham, and had encouraged her to lay aside her timidity. Agnes weptfor her as a sister, and still could hardly restrain her sobs, whenEustace and his nephew were invited to the presence of the ladies tonarrate their melancholy tale.
Many tears were shed, and caresses lavished upon the orphan. Theladies asked his destination, and on hearing that he was to be taken tothe Prince's court at Bordeaux, Agnes said, "We, too, are bound to thePrince's court. I am to journey thither with Fulk. Were it not betterfor Arthur to travel with us? Most carefully would we guard him. Itwould spare him many a hardship, for which he is scarce old enough; andhis company would be a solace, almost a protection to me. My prettyplayfellow, will you be my travelling companion?"
"I would go with you, Cousin Agnes, for you are kind and gentle, and Ilove you well; but a brave Knight's son must learn to rough it; andbesides, I would not go with Sir Fulk, your brother, for he is a falseand cruel Knight, who persecuted my blessed mother to the very death."
"Can this be? O speak, Eustace!" said Agnes. "What means the boy?Hath Fulk shown himself other than a loving kinsman?"
The Baroness, who understood her step-son's character better than didhis young sister, and who was informed of the old enmity between thetwo houses, felt considerable anxiety as to what they were now to hear;when Eustace, beginning, "Ah, Lady, I grieve twice in the day to saddenyour heart; yet since so much has been said, it were best to relate thewhole truth," proceeded to tell what had passed respecting the wardshipof young Arthur. Agnes's eyes filled with burning tears ofindignation. "O dear Lady Mother!" cried she, "take me back to ourConvent! How can I meet my brother! How conceal my anger and myshame!"
"This is far worse than even I feared," said Lady Muriel. "I knew Fulkto be unscrupulous and grasping, but I did not think him capable ofsuch foul oppression. For you, my sweet Agnes--would that I couldprevail on him to leave you in the safe arms of the cloister--but,alas! I have no right to detain you from a brother's guardianship."
"I dreaded this journey much before," said Agnes; "but now, even mytrust in Fulk is gone; I shall see round me no one in whom to placeconfidence. Alas! alas!"
"Nay, fair Agnes," said Eustace, "he will surely be a kind brother tothee--he cannot be otherwise."
"How love and trust when there is no esteem? Oh, Mother, Mother! thisis loneliness indeed! In that strange, courtly throng, who willprotect and shelter me?"
"There is an Arm--" began the Baroness.
"Yes, noble Lady, there is one arm," eagerly exclaimed Eustace, "thatwould only deem itself too much honoured if it could be raised in yourservice."
"I spoke of no arm of flesh," said Lady Muriel, reprovingly--andEustace hung his head abashed. "I spake of the Guardian who will neverbe wanting to the orphan."
There was a silence, first broken by Eustace. "One thing there is,that I would fain ask of your goodness," said he: "many a false tale,many a foul slander, will be spoken of me, and many may give heed tothem; but let that be as it will, they shall not render my heart heavywhile I can still believe that you give no ear to them."
"Sir Eustace," said the Lady of Clarenham, "I have known you fromchildhood, and it would go hard with me to believe aught dishonourableof the pupil of Sir Reginald and of Eleanor."
"Yes, Sir Eustace," added Agnes, "it would break my heart to distrustyou; for then I must needs believe that faith, truth, and honour hadleft the world."
"And now," said Lady Muriel, who thought the conversation had beensufficiently tender to fulfil all the requirements of the connection offamilies, and of their old companionship, "now, Agnes, we must takeleave of our kind kinsman, since, doubtless, he will desire to renewhis journey early to-morrow."
Eustace took the hint, and bent his knee to kiss the hands which wereextended to him by the two ladies; then left the room, feeling, amongall the clouds which darkened his path, one clear bright ray to warmand gladden his heart. Agnes trusted his truth, Agnes would be atBordeaux,--he might see her, and she would hear of his deeds.
Agnes, while she wept over her kinswoman's death and her brother'sfaults, rejoiced in having met her old playfellow, and found him asnoble a Knight as her fancy h
ad often pictured him; and in themeanwhile, the good old Lady Muriel sighed to herself, and shook herhead at the thought of the sorrows which an attachment would surelycause to these two young creatures.
It was early in the morning that Eustace summoned his nephew from thecouch which one of the Clarenham retainers had yielded him, and,mounting their horses, they renewed their journey towards the coast.
Without further adventure, the Lances of Lynwood, as Arthur still choseto call their little party, safely arrived at Rennes, the capital ofBrittany, where Jean de Montford held his court. Here they met thetidings that Charles V. had summoned the Prince of Wales to appear athis court, to answer an appeal made against him to the sovereign by thevassals of the Duchy of Aquitaine. Edward's answer was, that he wouldappear indeed, but that it should be in full armour, with ten thousandKnights and Squires at his back; and the war had already been renewed.
The intelligence added to Eustace's desire to be at Bordeaux, but hecould not venture through the enemy's country without exposing himselfto death or captivity; and even within the confines of Brittany itself,Duke John, though bound by gratitude and affection to the alliance ofthe King, who had won for him his ducal coronet, was unable to controlthe enmity which his subjects bore to the English, and assured theKnight that a safe-conduct from him would only occasion his beingrobbed and murdered in secret, instead of being taken a prisoner infair fight and put to ransom.
If Eustace had been alone with his staunch followers, he would havetrusted to their good swords and swift steeds; but to place Arthur insuch perils would be but to justify Fulk's accusations; and there wasno alternative but to accept the offer made to him by Jean de Montford,for the sake of his Duchess, a daughter of Edward III., to remain aguest at his court until the arrival of a sufficient party of EnglishKnights, who were sure to be attracted by the news of the war.
No less than two months was he obliged to wait, during which both heand Gaston chafed grievously under their forced captivity; but atlength he learnt that a band of Free Companions had arrived at Rennes,on their way to offer their service to the Prince of Wales; accordinglyhe set forth, and after some interval found himself once more in thedomains of the house of Plantagenet.
It was late in the evening when he rode through the gates of Bordeaux,and sought the abode of the good old Gascon merchant, where he hadalways lodged. He met with a ready welcome, and inquiring into themost recent news of the town, learnt that the Prince was considered tobe slightly improved in health; but that no word was spoken of the armytaking the field, and the war was chiefly carried on by the siege ofCastles. He asked for Sir John Chandos, and was told that high wordshad passed between him and the Prince respecting a hearth-tax, and thatsince he had returned to his government, and seldom or never appearedat the council board. It was the Earl of Pembroke who was all-powerfulthere. And here the old Gascon wandered into lamentable complaints ofthe aforesaid hearth-tax, from which Eustace could scarcely recall himto answer whether the English Baron de Clarenham had arrived atBordeaux. He had come, and with as splendid a train as ever wasbeheld, and was in high favour at court.
This was no pleasing intelligence, but Eustace determined to go thenext day to present his nephew to the Prince immediately after thenoontide meal, when it was the wont of the Plantagenet Princes to throwtheir halls open to their subjects.
Accordingly, leading Arthur by the hand, and attended by Gaston, hemade his appearance in the hall just as the banquet was concluded, butere the Knights had dispersed. Many well-known faces were there, butas he advanced up the space between the two long tables, he was amazedat meeting scarce one friendly glance of recognition; some lookedunwilling to seem to know him, and returned his salutation with distantcoldness; others gazed at the window, or were intent on their wine, andof these was Leonard Ashton, whom to his surprise he saw seated amongthe Knights.
Thus he passed on until he had nearly reached the dais where dined thePrince and the personages of the most exalted rank. Here he paused ashis anxious gaze fell upon the Prince, and marked his countenance andmien--alas! how changed! He sat in his richly-carved chair, wrapped ina velvet mantle, which, even on that bright day of a southern spring,he drew closer round him with a shuddering chilliness. His elbowrested on the arm of his chair, and his wasted cheek leant on hishand--the long thin fingers of which showed white and transparent as alady's; his eyes were bent on the ground, and a look of suffering or ofmoody thought hung over the whole of that face, once full of free andopen cheerfulness. Tears filled Eustace's eyes as he beheld that wreckof manhood and thought of that bright day of hope and gladness when hisbrother had presented him to the Prince.
As he hesitated to advance, the Prince, raising his eyes, encounteredthat earnest and sorrowful gaze, but only responding by a stern glanceof displeasure. Eustace, however, stepped forward, and bending oneknee, said, "My Lord, I come to report myself as returned to yourservice, and at the same time to crave for my nephew the protection youwere graciously pleased to promise him."
"It is well, Sir Eustace Lynwood," said Edward, coldly, and with amovement of his head, as if to dismiss him from his presence; "and you,boy, come hither," he added as Arthur, seeing his uncle rise andretreat a few steps, was following his example. "I loved your fatherwell," he said, laying his hand on the boy's bright wavy hair, "and youshall find in me a steady friend as long as you prove yourself notunworthy of the name you bear."
In spite of the awe with which Arthur felt his head pressed by thatroyal hand, in spite of his reverence for the hero and the Prince, heraised his eyes and looked upon the face of the Prince with an earnest,pleading, almost upbraiding gaze, as if, child as he was, he deprecatedthe favour, which so evidently marked the slight shown to his uncle.But the Prince did not heed him, and rising from his chair, said,"Thine arm, Clarenham. Let us to the Princess, and present her newpage. Follow me, boy."
With a wistful look at his uncle, standing alone on the step of thedais, Arthur reluctantly followed the Prince as, leaning on Clarenham'sarm, he left the hall, and, crossing a gallery, entered a largeapartment. At one end was a canopy embroidered with the arms andbadges of the heir of England, and beneath it were two chairs of state,one of which was occupied by Joan Plantagenet, Princess of Wales, oncethe Fair Maid of Kent, and though now long past her youth, stillshowing traces of beauty befitting the lady for whom her royal cousinhad displayed such love and constancy.
As her husband entered, she rose, and looking anxiously at him, whileshe came forward to meet him, inquired whether he felt fatigued. "No,my fair dame," replied the Prince, "I came but to present you your newpage; the young cousin, respecting whose safety my Lord de Clarenhamhath been so much in anxiety."
"Then it is his uncle who hath brought him?" asked Joan.
"Yes," replied Edward, "he himself brought him to the hall, and evenhad the presumption to claim the protection for him that I pledged tohis father, when I deemed far otherwise of this young Eustace."
"What account does he give of the length of time that he has spent onthe road?" asked the Princess.
"Ay, there is the strangest part of the tale," said Fulk Clarenham,with a sneer, "since he left the poor simple men at Lynwood believingthat he was coming at full speed to seek my Lord the Prince'sprotection for the child, a convenient excuse for eluding the inquiriesof justice into his brawls at the funeral, as well as for the rentswhich he carried off with him; but somewhat inconsistent when it is notfor five months that he makes his appearance at Bordeaux, and then inthe society of a band of _routiers_."
"It shall be inquired into," said the Prince.
"Nay, nay, my Lord," said Fulk, "may I pray you of your royal goodnessto press the matter no further. He is still young, and it were a pityto cast dishonour on a name which has hitherto been honourable. Sincemy young cousin is safe, I would desire no more, save to guard him fromhis future machinations. For his brother's sake, my Lord, I wouldplead with you."
"Little did I think such things of him,"
said the Prince, "when I laidknighthood on his shoulder in the battle-field of Navaretta; yet Iremember even then old Chandos chid me for over-hastiness. Poor oldChandos, he has a rough tongue, but a true heart!"
"And, under favour, I would say," answered Clarenham, "that it mighthave been those early-won honours that turned the head of such a mereyouth, so entirely without guidance, or rather, with the guidance ofthat dissolute Squire, who, I grieve to observe, still haunts hisfootsteps. Knighthood, with nought to maintain it, is, in truth, asnare."
"Well, I am weary of the subject," said the Prince, leaning back in hischair. "The boy is safe, and, as you say, Fulk, that is all that is ofimportance. Call hither the troubadour that was in the hall at noon.I would have your opinion of his lay," he added, turning to his wife.
The indignation may be imagined with which Arthur listened to thisconversation, as he stood on the spot to which Edward had signed to himto advance, when he presented him to the Princess. He longed ardentlyto break in with an angry refutation of the slanders cast on his uncle,but he was too well trained in the rules of chivalry, to say nothing ofthe awful respect with which he regarded the Prince, to attempt toutter a word, and he could only edge himself as far away as waspossible from Clarenham, and cast at him glances of angry reproach.
His uneasy movements were interpreted as signs of fatigue andimpatience of restraint by one of the ladies, who was sitting at nogreat distance, a very beautiful and graceful maiden, the Lady MaudeHolland, daughter to the Princess of Wales, by her first marriage; andshe kindly held out her hand to him, saying, "Come hither, my prettypage. You have not learnt to stand stiff and straight, like one of thesupporters of a coat-of-arms. Come hither, and let me lead you tocompany better suited to your years."
Arthur came willingly, as there was no more to hear about his uncle;and besides, it was away from the hateful Clarenham. She led himacross the hall to a tall arched doorway, opening upon a wide andbeautiful garden, filled with the plants and shrubs of the south ofFrance, and sloping gently down to the broad expanse of the blue wavesof the Garonne. She looked round on all sides, and seeing no one, madea few steps forward on the greensward, then called aloud, "Thomas!" noanswer, "Edward! Harry of Lancaster!" but still her clear silveryvoice was unheeded, until a servant came from some other part of thebuilding, and, bowing, awaited her orders. "Where are Lord Edward andthe rest?" she asked.
"Gone forth," the servant believed, "to ride on the open space near St.Ursula's Convent."
"None left at home?"
"None, noble Lady."
"None," repeated Lady Maude, "save the little Lord Richard, whose babycompany your pageship would hardly esteem. You must try to endure thequietness of the lady's chamber, unless you would wish to be at onceintroduced to the grave master of the Damoiseaux."
At this moment Arthur's eye fell upon a lady who had just emerged froma long shady alley, up which she had been slowly walking, and thebright look of recognition which lighted up his face, was so differentfrom the shy and constrained expression he had hitherto worn, that LadyMaude remarked it, and following his gaze, said, "Lady Agnes deClarenham? Ah yes, she is of kin to you. Let us go meet her." Then,as they approached, she said, "Here, Agnes, I have brought you a youngcousin of yours, whom the Prince has just conducted into my mother'schamber, where he bore so rueful a countenance that I grew pitifulenough to come forth on a bootless errand after his fellow Damoiseaux,who, it seems, are all out riding. So I shall even leave him to you,for there is a troubadour in the hall, whose lay I greatly long tohear."
Away tripped Lady Maude, well pleased to be free from the burthen hergood-nature had imposed on her.
"Arthur," exclaimed Agnes, "what joy to see you! Is your uncle here?"
"Yes," said Arthur, "but oh, Cousin Agnes! if you had been by to hearthe foul slanders which Sir Fulk has been telling the Prince--oh,Agnes! you would disown him for your brother."
"Arthur," said Agnes, with a voice almost of anguish, "how couldhe--why did he tarry so long on the road?"
"How could we come on when the Duke of Brittany himself said it wascertain death or captivity? We were forced to wait for an escort. Andnow, Agnes, think of your brother saying that Uncle Eustace carried offthe rents of Lynwood, when every man in the Castle could swear it wasonly the money Father Cyril had in keeping for his inheritance."
"Alas!" said Agnes.
"And the Prince will believe it--the Prince looks coldly on himalready, and my uncle loves the Prince like his own life. Oh, he willbe ready to die with grief! Agnes! Agnes! what is to be done? Butyou don't believe it!" he proceeded, seeing that she was weepingbitterly. "You do not believe it--you promised you never would! Ohsay you do not believe it!"
"I do not, Arthur; I never believed half they said of him; but oh, thatlong delay was a sore trial to my confidence, and cruelly confirmedtheir tales."
"And think of Fulk, too, hindering the Prince from inquiring, becausehe says he would spare my uncle for my father's sake, when the truthis, he only fears that the blackness of his own designs should be seen!And Gaston, too, he slandered. Oh, Agnes! Agnes! that there should besuch wickedness, and we able to do nought!"
"Nought but weep and pray!" said Agnes. "And yet I can bear it betternow that you are here. Your presence refutes the worst accusation, andremoves a heavy weight from my mind."
"You distrust him too! I cannot love you if you do."
"Never, never! I only feared some evil had befallen you, and grievedto see the use made of your absence. Your coming should make my heartlight again."
"Shall I often see you, Cousin Agnes? for there is none else in thiswide Castle that I shall care for."
"Oh yes, Arthur, there are full twenty pages little older thanyourself--Lord Thomas Holland, the Prince's stepson, brother to thelady that led you to me; little Piers de Greilly, nephew to the Captalde Buch; young Lord Henry of Lancaster; and the little Prince Edwardhimself. You will have no lack of merry playmates."
"Ah, but to whom can I talk of my blessed mother and of Uncle Eustace,and of Lynwood Keep, and poor old Blanc Etoile, that I promised Ralph Iwould bear in mind?"
"Well, Arthur," said Agnes, cheerfully, "it is the pages' duty to waiton the ladies in hall and bower, and the ladies' office to teach themall courtly manners, and hear them read and say the Credo and Ave. Youshall be my own especial page and servant. Is it agreed?"
"Oh yes," said the boy. "I wonder if the master of the Damoiseaux isas strict as that lady said, and I wonder when I shall see UncleEustace again."