CHAPTER XV.
The feather'd songster, chanticleer, Had wound his bugle-horn, And told the early villager The coming of the morn. King Edward saw the ruddy streaks Of light eclipse the grey, And heard the raven's croaking throat Proclaim the fated day. "Thou'rt right," he said, "for, by the God That sits enthron'd on high, Charles Baldwin, and his fellows twain, This day shall surely die." CHATTERTON.
On the evening on which Sir Kenneth assumed his post, Richard, after thestormy event which disturbed its tranquillity, had retired to rest inthe plenitude of confidence inspired by his unbounded courage and thesuperiority which he had displayed in carrying the point he aimed at inpresence of the whole Christian host and its leaders, many of whom, hewas aware, regarded in their secret souls the disgrace of the AustrianDuke as a triumph over themselves; so that his pride felt gratified,that in prostrating one enemy he had mortified a hundred.
Another monarch would have doubled his guards on the evening after sucha scene, and kept at least a part of his troops under arms. But Coeur deLion dismissed, upon the occasion, even his ordinary watch, and assignedto his soldiers a donative of wine to celebrate his recovery, and todrink to the Banner of Saint George; and his quarter of the camp wouldhave assumed a character totally devoid of vigilance and militarypreparation, but that Sir Thomas de Vaux, the Earl of Salisbury, andother nobles, took precautions to preserve order and discipline amongthe revellers.
The physician attended the King from his retiring to bed till midnightwas past, and twice administered medicine to him during that period,always previously observing the quarter of heaven occupied by thefull moon, whose influences he declared to be most sovereign, or mostbaleful, to the effect of his drugs. It was three hours after midnightere El Hakim withdrew from the royal tent, to one which had been pitchedfor himself and his retinue. In his way thither he visited the tent ofSir Kenneth of the Leopard, in order to see the condition of his firstpatient in the Christian camp, old Strauchan, as the knight's esquirewas named. Inquiring there for Sir Kenneth himself, El Hakim learnedon what duty he was employed, and probably this information led himto Saint George's Mount, where he found him whom he sought in thedisastrous circumstances alluded to in the last chapter.
It was about the hour of sunrise, when a slow, armed tread was heardapproaching the King's pavilion; and ere De Vaux, who slumbered besidehis master's bed as lightly as ever sleep sat upon the eyes of awatch-dog, had time to do more than arise and say, "Who comes?" theKnight of the Leopard entered the tent, with a deep and devoted gloomseated upon his manly features.
"Whence this bold intrusion, Sir Knight?" said De Vaux sternly, yet in atone which respected his master's slumbers.
"Hold! De Vaux," said Richard, awaking on the instant; "Sir Kennethcometh like a good soldier to render an account of his guard. To suchthe general's tent is ever accessible." Then rising from his slumberingposture, and leaning on his elbow, he fixed his large bright eye uponthe warrior--"Speak, Sir Scot; thou comest to tell me of a vigilant,safe, and honourable watch, dost thou not? The rustling of the folds ofthe Banner of England were enough to guard it, even without the body ofsuch a knight as men hold thee."
"As men will hold me no more," said Sir Kenneth. "My watch hath neitherbeen vigilant, safe, nor honourable. The Banner of England has beencarried off."
"And thou alive to tell it!" said Richard, in a tone of derisiveincredulity. "Away, it cannot be. There is not even a scratch on thyface. Why dost thou stand thus mute? Speak the truth--it is ill jestingwith a king; yet I will forgive thee if thou hast lied."
"Lied, Sir King!" returned the unfortunate knight, with fierce emphasis,and one glance of fire from his eye, bright and transient as the flashfrom the cold and stony flint. "But this also must be endured. I havespoken the truth."
"By God and by Saint George!" said the King, bursting into fury, which,however, he instantly checked. "De Vaux, go view the spot. This feverhas disturbed his brain. This cannot be. The man's courage is proof. ItCANNOT be! Go speedily--or send, if thou wilt not go."
The King was interrupted by Sir Henry Neville, who came, breathless, tosay that the banner was gone, and the knight who guarded it overpowered,and most probably murdered, as there was a pool of blood where thebanner-spear lay shivered.
"But whom do I see here?" said Neville, his eyes suddenly resting uponSir Kenneth.
"A traitor," said the King, starting to his feet, and seizing thecurtal-axe, which was ever near his bed--"a traitor! whom thou shalt seedie a traitor's death." And he drew back the weapon as in act to strike.
Colourless, but firm as a marble statue, the Scot stood before him, withhis bare head uncovered by any protection, his eyes cast down to theearth, his lips scarcely moving, yet muttering probably in prayer.Opposite to him, and within the due reach for a blow, stood KingRichard, his large person wrapt in the folds of his camiscia, or amplegown of linen, except where the violence of his action had flung thecovering from his right arm, shoulder, and a part of his breast,leaving to view a specimen of a frame which might have merited his Saxonpredecessor's epithet of Ironside. He stood for an instant, promptto strike; then sinking the head of the weapon towards the ground,he exclaimed, "But there was blood, Neville--there was blood upon theplace. Hark thee, Sir Scot--brave thou wert once, for I have seenthee fight. Say thou hast slain two of the thieves in defence of theStandard--say but one--say thou hast struck but a good blow in ourbehalf, and get thee out of the camp with thy life and thy infamy!"
"You have called me liar, my Lord King," replied Kenneth firmly; "andtherein, at least, you have done me wrong. Know that there was no bloodshed in defence of the Standard save that of a poor hound, which, morefaithful than his master, defended the charge which he deserted."
"Now, by Saint George!" said Richard, again heaving up his arm. But DeVaux threw himself between the King and the object of his vengeance, andspoke with the blunt truth of his character, "My liege, this must notbe--here, nor by your hand. It is enough of folly for one night and dayto have entrusted your banner to a Scot. Said I not they were ever fairand false?" [Such were the terms in which the English used to speak oftheir poor northern neighbours, forgetting that their own encroachmentsupon the independence of Scotland obliged the weaker nation to defendthemselves by policy as well as force. The disgrace must be dividedbetween Edward I. and Edward III., who enforced their domination overa free country, and the Scots, who were compelled to take compulsoryoaths, without any purpose of keeping them.]
"Thou didst, De Vaux; thou wast right, and I confess it," said Richard."I should have known him better--I should have remembered how the foxWilliam deceived me touching this Crusade."
"My lord," said Sir Kenneth, "William of Scotland never deceived; butcircumstances prevented his bringing his forces."
"Peace, shameless!" said the King; "thou sulliest the name of a prince,even by speaking it.--And yet, De Vaux, it is strange," he added, "tosee the bearing of the man. Coward or traitor he must be, yet he abodethe blow of Richard Plantagenet as our arm had been raised to layknighthood on his shoulder. Had he shown the slightest sign of fear,had but a joint trembled or an eyelid quivered, I had shattered his headlike a crystal goblet. But I cannot strike where there is neither fearnor resistance."
There was a pause.
"My lord," said Kenneth--
"Ha!" replied Richard, interrupting him, "hast thou found thy speech?Ask grace from Heaven, but none from me; for England is dishonouredthrough thy fault, and wert thou mine own and only brother, there is nopardon for thy fault."
"I speak not to demand grace of mortal man," said the Scot; "it is inyour Grace's pleasure to give or refuse me time for Christian shrift--ifman denies it, may God grant me the absolution which I would otherwiseask of His church! But whether I die on the instant, or half an hourhence, I equally beseech your Grace for one moment's opportunity tospeak that to your royal person which highly concerns your fame as aChristian king."
"Say on," said the King, making no doubt that he was about to hear someconfession concerning the loss of the Banner.
"What I have to speak," said Sir Kenneth, "touches the royalty ofEngland, and must be said to no ears but thine own."
"Begone with yourselves, sirs," said the King to Neville and De Vaux.
The first obeyed, but the latter would not stir from the King'spresence.
"If you said I was in the right," replied De Vaux to his sovereign, "Iwill be treated as one should be who hath been found to be right--thatis, I will have my own will. I leave you not with this false Scot."
"How! De Vaux," said Richard angrily, and stamping slightly, "darestthou not venture our person with one traitor?"
"It is in vain you frown and stamp, my lord," said De Vaux; "I venturenot a sick man with a sound one, a naked man with one armed in proof."
"It matters not," said the Scottish knight; "I seek no excuse to put offtime. I will speak in presence of the Lord of Gilsland. He is good lordand true."
"But half an hour since," said De Vaux, with a groan, implying a mixtureof sorrow and vexation, "and I had said as much for thee!"
"There is treason around you, King of England," continued Sir Kenneth.
"It may well be as thou sayest," replied Richard; "I have a pregnantexample."
"Treason that will injure thee more deeply than the loss of a hundredbanners in a pitched field. The--the--" Sir Kenneth hesitated, and atlength continued, in a lower tone, "The Lady Edith--"
"Ha!" said the King, drawing himself suddenly into a state of haughtyattention, and fixing his eye firmly on the supposed criminal; "what ofher? what of her? What has she to do with this matter?"
"My lord," said the Scot, "there is a scheme on foot to disgrace yourroyal lineage, by bestowing the hand of the Lady Edith on theSaracen Soldan, and thereby to purchase a peace most dishonourable toChristendom, by an alliance most shameful to England."
This communication had precisely the contrary effect from that which SirKenneth expected. Richard Plantagenet was one of those who, in Iago'swords, would not serve God because it was the devil who bade him; adviceor information often affected him less according to its real import,than through the tinge which it took from the supposed character andviews of those by whom it was communicated. Unfortunately, themention of his relative's name renewed his recollection of what he hadconsidered as extreme presumption in the Knight of the Leopard, evenwhen he stood high in the roll of chivalry, but which, in his presentcondition, appeared an insult sufficient to drive the fiery monarch intoa frenzy of passion.
"Silence," he said, "infamous and audacious! By Heaven, I will havethy tongue torn out with hot pincers, for mentioning the very name ofa noble Christian damsel! Know, degenerate traitor, that I was alreadyaware to what height thou hadst dared to raise thine eyes, and enduredit, though it were insolence, even when thou hadst cheated us--for thouart all a deceit--into holding thee as of some name and fame. But now,with lips blistered with the confession of thine own dishonour--thatthou shouldst NOW dare to name our noble kinswoman as one in whose fatethou hast part or interest! What is it to thee if she marry Saracen orChristian? What is it to thee if, in a camp where princes turn cowardsby day and robbers by night--where brave knights turn to paltrydeserters and traitors--what is it, I say, to thee, or any one, if Ishould please to ally myself to truth and to valour, in the person ofSaladin?"
"Little to me, indeed, to whom all the world will soon be as nothing,"answered Sir Kenneth boldly; "but were I now stretched on the rack, Iwould tell thee that what I have said is much to thine own conscienceand thine own fame. I tell thee, Sir King, that if thou dost butin thought entertain the purpose of wedding thy kinswoman, the LadyEdith--"
"Name her not--and for an instant think not of her," said the King,again straining the curtal-axe in his gripe, until the muscles startedabove his brawny arm, like cordage formed by the ivy around the limb ofan oak.
"Not name--not think of her!" answered Sir Kenneth, his spirits, stunnedas they were by self-depression, beginning to recover their elasticityfrom this species of controversy. "Now, by the Cross, on which I placemy hope, her name shall be the last word in my mouth, her image the lastthought in my mind. Try thy boasted strength on this bare brow, and seeif thou canst prevent my purpose."
"He will drive me mad!" said Richard, who, in his despite, was once morestaggered in his purpose by the dauntless determination of the criminal.
Ere Thomas of Gilsland could reply, some bustle was heard without,and the arrival of the Queen was announced from the outer part of thepavilion.
"Detain her--detain her, Neville," cried the King; "this is no sightfor women.--Fie, that I have suffered such a paltry traitor to chafe methus!--Away with him, De Vaux," he whispered, "through the back entranceof our tent; coop him up close, and answer for his safe custody withyour life. And hark ye--he is presently to die--let him have a ghostlyfather--we would not kill soul and body. And stay--hark thee--we willnot have him dishonoured--he shall die knightlike, in his belt andspurs; for if his treachery be as black as hell, his boldness may matchthat of the devil himself."
De Vaux, right glad, if the truth may be guessed, that the scene endedwithout Richard's descending to the unkingly act of himself slayingan unresisting prisoner, made haste to remove Sir Kenneth by a privateissue to a separate tent, where he was disarmed, and put in fettersfor security. De Vaux looked on with a steady and melancholy attention,while the provost's officers, to whom Sir Kenneth was now committed,took these severe precautions.
When they were ended, he said solemnly to the unhappy criminal, "It isKing Richard's pleasure that you die undegraded--without mutilation ofyour body, or shame to your arms--and that your head be severed from thetrunk by the sword of the executioner."
"It is kind," said the knight, in a low and rather submissive tone ofvoice, as one who received an unexpected favour; "my family will notthen hear the worst of the tale. Oh, my father--my father!"
This muttered invocation did not escape the blunt but kindly-naturedEnglishman, and he brushed the back of his large hand over his roughfeatures ere he could proceed.
"It is Richard of England's further pleasure," he said at length, "thatyou have speech with a holy man; and I have met on the passage hitherwith a Carmelite friar, who may fit you for your passage. He waitswithout, until you are in a frame of mind to receive him."
"Let it be instantly," said the knight. "In this also Richard is kind. Icannot be more fit to see the good father at any time than now; for lifeand I have taken farewell, as two travellers who have arrived at thecrossway, where their roads separate."
"It is well," said De Vaux slowly and solemnly; "for it irks me somewhatto say that which sums my message. It is King Richard's pleasure thatyou prepare for instant death."
"God's pleasure and the King's be done," replied the knight patiently."I neither contest the justice of the sentence, nor desire delay of theexecution."
De Vaux began to leave the tent, but very slowly--paused at the door,and looked back at the Scot, from whose aspect thoughts of the worldseemed banished, as if he was composing himself into deep devotion. Thefeelings of the stout English baron were in general none of the mostacute, and yet, on the present occasion, his sympathy overpowered him inan unusual manner. He came hastily back to the bundle of reeds on whichthe captive lay, took one of his fettered hands, and said, with as muchsoftness as his rough voice was capable of expressing, "Sir Kenneth,thou art yet young--thou hast a father. My Ralph, whom I left traininghis little galloway nag on the banks of the Irthing, may one day attainthy years, and, but for last night, would to God I saw his youth bearsuch promise as thine! Can nothing be said or done in thy behalf?"
"Nothing," was the melancholy answer. "I have deserted my charge--thebanner entrusted to me is lost. When the headsman and block areprepared, the head and trunk are ready to part company."
"Nay, then, God have mercy!" said De Vaux. "Yet would I rather than mybest horse I had tak
en that watch myself. There is mystery in it,young man, as a plain man may descry, though he cannot see throughit. Cowardice? Pshaw! No coward ever fought as I have seen thee do.Treachery? I cannot think traitors die in their treason so calmly. Thouhast been trained from thy post by some deep guile--some well-devisedstratagem--the cry of some distressed maiden has caught thine ear, orthe laughful look of some merry one has taken thine eye. Never blush forit; we have all been led aside by such gear. Come, I pray thee, make aclean conscience of it to me, instead of the priest. Richard is mercifulwhen his mood is abated. Hast thou nothing to entrust to me?"
The unfortunate knight turned his face from the kind warrior, andanswered, "NOTHING."
And De Vaux, who had exhausted his topics of persuasion, arose and leftthe tent, with folded arms, and in melancholy deeper than he thoughtthe occasion merited--even angry with himself to find that so simple amatter as the death of a Scottish man could affect him so nearly.
"Yet," as he said to himself, "though the rough-footed knaves beour enemies in Cumberland, in Palestine one almost considers them asbrethren."