CHAPTER I
Seldom had the interior of this island presented a more peaceful and
prosperous aspect than in the reign of Edward III., when the more
turbulent spirits among his subjects had found occupation in his
foreign wars, and his wise government had established at home a degree
of plenty, tranquility, and security, such as had probably never before
been experienced in England.
Castle and cottage, church and convent, alike showed the prosperity and
safety of the inhabitants, at once by the profuseness of embellishment
in those newly erected, and by the neglect of the jealous precautions
required in former days of confusion and misrule.  Thus it was with the
village of Lynwood, where, among the cottages and farm-houses occupying
a fertile valley in Somersetshire, arose the ancient Keep, built of
gray stone, and strongly fortified; but the defences were kept up
rather as appendages of the owner's rank, than as requisite for his
protection; though the moat was clear of weeds, and full of water, the
drawbridge was so well covered with hard-trodden earth, overgrown at
the edges with grass, that, in spite of the massive chains connecting
it with the gateway, it seemed permanently fixed on the ground.  The
spikes of the portcullis frowned above in threatening array, but a
wreath of ivy was twining up the groove by which it had once descended,
and the archway, which by day stood hospitably open, was at night only
guarded by two large oaken doors, yielding to a slight push. Beneath
the southern wall of the castle court were various flower-beds, the
pride and delight of the old seneschal, Ralph Penrose, in his own
estimation the most important personage of Lynwood Keep, manager of the
servants, adviser of the Lady, and instructor of the young gentleman in
the exercises of chivalry.
One fine evening, old Ralph stood before the door, his bald forehead
and thin iron-gray locks unbonneted, and his dark ruddy-brown face
(marked at Halidon Hill with a deep scar) raised with an air of
deference, and yet of self-satisfaction, towards the Lady who stood on
the steps of the porch.  She was small and fragile in figure; her face,
though very lovely, was pale and thin, and her smile had in it
something pensive and almost melancholy, as she listened to his
narration of his dealings with a refractory tenant, and at the same
time watched a noble-looking child of seven or eight years old, who,
mounted on an old war-horse, was led round the court by a youth, his
elder by some ten or eleven years.
"See mother!" cried the child, "I am holding the reins myself.  Uncle
Eustace lays not a finger on them!"
"As I was saying, madam," continued Ralph, disregarding the
interruption, "I told him that I should not have thought of one
exempted from feudal service in the camp, by our noble Knight, being
deficient in his dues in his absence.  I told him we should see how he
liked to be sent packing to Bordeaux with a sheaf of arrows on his
back, instead of the sheaf of wheat which ought to be in our granary by
this time.  But you are too gentle with them, my Lady, and they grow
insolent in Sir Reginald's long absence."
"All goes ill in his absence," said the Lady.  "It is a weary while
since the wounded archer brought tidings of his speedy return."
"Therefore," said the youth, turning round, "it must be the nearer at
hand.  Come sweet sister Eleanor, cheer up, for he cannot but come
soon."
"So many soons have passed away, that my heart is well-nigh too sick
for hope," said Eleanor.  "And when he comes it will be but a bright
dream to last for a moment.  He cannot long be spared from the Prince's
side."
"You must go with him, then, sister, and see how I begin my days of
chivalry--that is, if he will but believe me fit to bear shield and
lance."
"Ah! Master Eustace, if you were but such as I have seen others of your
race," said Ralph, shaking his head.  "There was Sir Henry--at your age
he had made the Scottish thieves look about them, I promise you.  And
to go no further back than Sir Reginald himself--he stood by the
Prince's side at Crecy ere he was yet fifteen!"
"It is not my fault that I have not done as much, Ralph," said Eustace.
"It is not for want of the will, as you know full well."
"No.  Thanks to me, I trust you have the will and the teaching, at
least, to make a good Knight," said Ralph.  "And yet, while I think of
the goodly height and broad shoulders of those that have gone before
you--"
"But hark! hark!" cried Eustace, cutting short a comparison which did
not seem likely to be complimentary.  "Dost not hear, Ralph? A horn!"
"The Lynwood note!  My husband's note!  O thanks, thanks to the
Saints!" cried the Lady, clasping her hands, whilst Eustace, vaulting
into the saddle behind his little nephew, rode across the drawbridge as
fast as the stiffened joints of old Blanc Etoile could be prevailed on
to move.  Gaining the summit of a rising ground, both at once shouted,
"Our own pennon!  It is himself!" as they beheld the dark blue crosslet
on an argent field floating above a troop of horsemen, whose armour
glanced in the setting sun.
"There are the Lances of Lynwood, Arthur," said Eustace, leaping to the
ground.  "Keep your seat, and meet your father like a brave Knight's
son."
He then settled the reins in the child's hand, and walked beside him to
meet the new-comers.  They were about twenty in number, armed alike
with corselets marked with the blue cross, steel headpieces, and long
lances.  In front rode two of higher rank.  The first was a man of
noble mien and lofty stature, his short dark curled hair and beard, and
handsome though sunburnt countenance, displayed beneath his small blue
velvet cap, his helmet being carried behind him by a man-at-arms, and
his attire consisting of a close-fitting dress of chamois leather, a
white mantle embroidered with the blue cross thrown over one shoulder,
and his sword hanging by his side. His companion, who carried at his
saddle-bow a shield blazoned with heraldic devices in scarlet and gold,
was of still greater height, and very slight; his large keen eyes, hair
and moustache, black as jet; and his complexion dark brown, with a
well-formed aquiline nose, and a perfect and very white set of teeth.
The instant the first-mentioned horseman perceived Eustace and Arthur,
he sprang to the ground and hurried to meet them with rapid
affectionate greetings and inquiries.  In another moment Dame Eleanor
appeared on the drawbridge, and, weeping with joy, was clasped in her
husband's arms.  Behind her stood the venerable chaplain, Father Cyril,
and a step or two further off, Ralph Penrose, both of whom in turn
received the kindly greetings of Sir Reginald Lynwood, as, with his
wife hanging on his arm and his boy holding his hand, he passed under
the gateway of his ancestral castle.  Turning the next moment, he
addressed his tall companion: "Friend Gaston, I bid you welcome!  Dame
Eleanor, and you, brother Eustace, I present to you my trusty Esquire,
Master Gaston d'Aubricour."
Due courtesies passed between the Lady and the Squire, who, after a few
words with the Knight, remained to see the disposal of the men, while
Sir Reginald himself entered the hall with his wife, son and brother.
Eustace did not long remain there: he found that Reginald and Eleanor
had much to say to each other, and his curiosity and interest were,
besides, greatly excited by the novelty of the scene presented by the
castle court, so different from its usual peaceful monotony.  The men
were unsaddling their horses, rubbing them down, walking them about, or
removing the stains of dust and mud from their own armour, while others
were exchanging greetings with the villagers, who were gathering in
joyous parties round such of the newly arrived as were natives of the
place.
In the midst stood the strange Squire, superintending a horse-boy who
was rubbing down the Knight's tall war-horse, and at the same time
ordering, giving directions, answering inquiries, or granting
permission to the men to return home with their relations. Ralph
Penrose was near, his countenance, as Eustace could plainly perceive,
expressing little satisfaction at finding another authority in the
court of Lynwood Keep; the references to himself short, brief, and
rapid, and only made when ignorance of the locality compelled the
stranger to apply for information.  The French accent and occasional
French phrases with which the Squire spoke, made him contract his brow
more and more, and at last, just as Eustace came up, he walked slowly
away, grumbling to himself, "Well, have it e'en your own way, I am too
old for your gay French fashions.  It was not so in Humfrey Harwood's
time, when--  But the world has gone after the French now! Sir Reginald
has brought home as many Gascon thieves as kindly Englishmen!"
Eustace listened for a moment to his mutterings, but without answering
them, and coming within a few steps of the stranger, stood waiting to
offer him any courtesy in his power, though at the same time he felt
abashed by the consciousness of his inferiority in accomplishments and
experience.
It was the Squire who was the first to speak.  "So this is Sir
Reginald's old Keep!  A fine old fortalice--would stand at least a
fortnight's siege.  Ha!  Is not yonder a weak point?  I would undertake
to scale that tower, so the battering-rams made a diversion on the
other side."
"I trust it will never be tried," said Eustace.
"It would be as fair a feat of arms as ever you beheld!  But I crave
your pardon," added he, displaying his white teeth with a merry laugh;
"the state of my own land has taught me to look on every castle with
eyes for attack and defence, and your brother tells me I am not behind
my countrymen in what you English call gasconades."
"You have seen many sieges and passages of arms?" asked Eustace,
looking up in his face with an expression at once puzzled and
respectful.
"Since our castle of Albricorte was sacked and burnt by the Count de
Bearn, I have seen little else--three stricken fields--two towns
stormed--castles more than I can remember."
"Alas!" said Eustace, "I have seen nothing but the muster of arms at
Taunton!"
D'Aubricour laughed.  "Look not downcast on it," said he; "you have
time before you and one year at Bordeaux is worth four elsewhere. But I
forget, you are the young clerk; and yet that scarcely accords with
that bright eye of yours, and the weapon at your side."
"They spoke once of making me a clerk," said Eustace; "but I hope to
show my brother that I am fit for his own way of life.  Sir Squire, do
but tell me, do you think I look unfit to sustain the honour of my
name?"
"Mere strength is little," said the Squire, "else were that comely
giant John Ingram, the best warrior in the army.  Nor does height
reckon for much; Du Guesclin himself is of the shortest.  Nor do you
look like the boy over whose weakly timid nature I have heard Sir
Reginald lament," he proceeded, surveying him with a critical eye.
Eustace had, in fact, hardly reached the middle height, and was very
slender; his limbs were, however, well proportioned, his step firm, and
every movement full of activity and grace.  His face, shaded with
bright chestnut hair, was of a delicate complexion, the features finely
moulded, and the usual cast of expression slightly thoughtful; but
there was frequently, and especially at this moment, a bright kindling
light in the dark blue eyes, which changed the whole countenance from
the grave and refined look of the young scholar to the bold ardent
glance of the warrior.
"A cavalier, every inch of you!" cried d'Aubricour, striking Eustace on
the shoulder as he concluded his inspection.  "I'll have the training
of you, my gentil damoiseau, and see if I do not make you as preux a
chevalier as the most burly giant of them all.  Here, know you this
trick?"
He caught up one of the lances which the men had laid aside; Eustace
followed his example, and acquitted himself to his satisfaction in one
or two chivalrous manoeuvres, till a summons to supper put an end to
the sport.
CHAPTER 2
The house of Lynwood had long been famed for loyalty, which had often
cost them dear, since their neighbours, the Lords of Clarenham, never
failed to take advantage of the ascendency of the popular party, and
make encroachments on their privileges and possessions.
Thus when Sir Hugo Lynwood, the old Crusader, was made prisoner by
Simon de Montfort's party at Lewes, he was treated with great severity,
in order to obtain from him a recognition of the feudal superiority of
the Clarenhams; and though the success of the royal party at Evesham
occasioned his liberation, his possessions were greatly diminished.
Nor had the turmoils of the reign of Edward II. failed to leave their
traces on the fortunes of the Lynwoods. Sir Henry, father of the
present Knight, was a staunch adherent of the unfortunate monarch, and
even joined the hapless Edmund, Earl of Kent, in the rising in which
that Prince was entrapped after the murder of his brother.  On this
occasion, it was only Sir Henry's hasty flight that preserved his life,
and his lands were granted to the Baron Simon de Clarenham by the young
Edward III., then under the dominion of his mother Isabel, and Roger
Mortimer; but when at length the King had freed himself from their
trammels, the whole county of Somerset rose to expel the intruders from
Lynwood Keep, and reinstate its true master.  Nor did Simon de
Clarenham make much resistance, for well knowing that an appeal to the
King would occasion and instant revocation of the grant, he judged it
advisable to allow it to sleep for the present.
Sir Henry Lynwood, therefore, lived and died unmolested.  His eldest
son, Reginald, was early sent to the Royal Camp, where he soon
distinguished himself, and gained the favour and friendship of the
gallant Prince of Wales.  The feud with the Clarenhams seemed to be
completely extinguished, when Reginald, chiefly by the influence of the
Prince, succeeded in obtaining the hand of a lady of that family, the
daughter of a brave Knight slain in the wars in Brittany.
Since this time, both the Baron de Clarenham and his son, Sir Fulk, had
been on good terms with the Knight of Lynwood, and the connection had
been drawn still closer by the Baron's second marriage with the Lady
Muriel de la Poer, a near relative of Sir Reginald's mother.  Many a
time had Dame Eleanor Lynwood ridden to Clarenham castle, under the
escort of her young brother-in-law, to whom such a change from the
lonely old Keep afforded no small delight.
Eustace, the only one of Sir Henry's younger children who survived the
rough nursing or the over-nursing, whichever it might be, that thinned
in former days the families of nobles and gentleman, might as well, in
the opinion of almost all, have rested beneath a quaint little image of
his infant figure, in brass, in the vaults of the little Norman chapel;
for he was a puny, ailing child, apt to scandalize his father and
brother, and their warlike retainers, by being scared at the dazzling
helm and nodding crest, and preferring the seat at this mother's feet,
the fairy tale of the old nurse, the song of the minstrel, or the book
of the Priest, to horse and hound, or even to the sight of the martial
sports of the tilt-yard.
The last five years had, however, wrought a great change in him; he
began to outgrow the delicacy of his constitution, and with it, to
shake off his timidity of disposition.  A diligent perusal of the
romances of chivalry filled him with emulation, and he had applied
himself ardently to all knightly exercises, looking with great
eagerness to the time when he might appear in the Prince's court. He
had invested it with all the glory of the Round Table and of the
Paladins; and though he knew he must not look for Merlin or the Siege
Perilous, the men themselves were in his fancy Rolands and Tristrems,
and he scarcely dared to hope he could ever be fit to make one of them,
with all his diligent attention to old Ralph's instructions.
Some of Ralph's manoeuvres were indeed rather antiquated, and afforded
much amusement to Gaston d'Aubricour, who was never weary of teasing
the old seneschal with descriptions of the changes in the fashion of
weapons, tourneys, and machines, and especially delighted in histories
of the marvellous effects of gunpowder. Ralph would shake his head, vow
that it would soon put an end to all true chivalry, and walk off to
furbish his favourite cross-bow, with many a murmured reflection on the
folly of quitting good old plans, and especially on that of his master,
who must needs bring home a gibing Gascon, when honest English Squires
were not scarce.
Very different was the state of the old Keep of Lynwood from the quiet,
almost deserted condition, in which it had been left so long, now that
the Knight had again taken his wonted place amongst the gentry of the
county.  Entertainments were exchanged with his neighbours, hunting and
hawking matches, and all the sports of the tilt-yard, followed each
other in quick succession, and the summer passed merrily away.
Merrily, that is to say, with Sir Reginald, whose stirring life in camp
and court had left him but few and short intervals for enjoying his
home and the society of his wife; with Eleanor, who, relieved from long
anxiety, began to recover the spirits and health which had nearly
failed her; and with Eustace, to whom the arrival of his brother and
his followers brought a continued course of novelty and delight; but
less joyously with the Knight's followers, who regretted more and more
the gay court of Bordeaux, and grew impatient at the prospect of
spending a tedious winter in a peaceful English castle.
Their anticipation of weariness, and the contrary expectations of Sir
Reginald, were destined to be equally disappointed: for two months had
not passed since his return before a summons arrived, or, more properly
speaking, an invitation to the trusty and well-beloved Sir Reginald
Lynwood to join the forces which the Duke of Lancaster was assembling
at Southampton, the Prince of Wales having promised to assist King
Pedro of Castile in recovering the kingdom from which he had been
driven by his brother Enrique of Trastamare.
Sir Reginald could not do otherwise than prepare with alacrity to obey
the call of his beloved Prince, though he marvelled that Edward should
draw his sword in the cause of such a monster of cruelty, and he was
more reluctant than ever before to leave his home.  He even promised
his sorrowful Eleanor that this should be the last time he would leave
her.  "I will but bestow Eustace in some honourable household, where he
may be trained in knightly lore--that of Chandos, perchance, or some
other of the leaders who hold the good old strict rule; find good
masters for my honest men-at-arms; break one more lance with Du
Guesclin; and take to rule my vassals, till my fields, and be the
honest old country Knight my father was before me.  Said I well, Dame
Eleanor?"
Eleanor smiled, but the next moment sighed and drooped her head, while
a tear fell on the blue silk with which she was embroidering the
crosslet on his pennon.  Sir Reginald might have said somewhat to cheer
her, but at that instant little Arthur darted into the hall with news
that the armourer was come from Taunton, with two mules, loaded with a
store of goodly helmets, swords, and corselets, which he was displaying
in the court.
The Knight immediately walked forth into the court, where all had been
activity and eagerness ever since the arrival of the summons, the smith
hammering ceaselessly in his forge, yet without fulfilling half the
order continually shouted in his ears; Gaston d'Aubricour and Ralph
Penrose directing from morning to night, in contradiction of each
other, the one always laughing, the other always grumbling; the
men-at-arms and retainers some obeying orders, others being scolded,
the steel clanging, hammers ringing without intermission. Most of the
party, such at least as could leave their employment without a sharp
reprimand from one or the other of the contending authorities, the
Seneschal and the Squire, were gathered round the steps, where the
armourer was displaying, with many an encomium, his bundles of lances,
his real Toledo blades, and his helmets of the choicest fashion.
Gaston d'Aubricour and Ralph were disputing respecting a certain suit
of armour, which the latter disapproved, because it had no guards for
the knees, while the former contended that the only use for such
protections was to disable a man from walking, and nearly from standing
when once unhorsed.
"In my day, Master d'Aubricour, it was not the custom for a brave
man-at-arms to look to being unhorsed; but times are changed."
"Ay, that they are, Master Penrose, for in our day we do not give
ourselves over the moment we are down, and lie closed up in our shells
like great land tortoises turned on their backs, waiting till some one
is good enough to find his way through our shell with the
misericorde."
"Peace, peace, Gaston," said the Knight.  "If we acquit ourselves as
well as our fathers, we shall have little to be ashamed of. What think
you of this man's gear?"
"That I could pick up a better suit for half the price at old Battista,
the Lombard's at Bordeaux; nevertheless, since young Eustace would be
the show of the camp if he appeared there provided in Ralph's fashion,
it may be as well to see whether there be any reasonableness in this
old knave."
Before the question was decided, the trampling of horses was heard, and
there rode into the court an elderly man, whose dress and bearing
showed him to be of consideration, accompanied by a youth of eighteen
or nineteen, and attended by two servants.  Sir Reginald and his
brother immediately stepped forward to receive them.
"Sir Philip Ashton," said the former, "how is it with you?  This is
friendly in you to come and bid us farewell."
"I grieve that it should be farewell, Sir Reginald," said the old
Knight, dismounting whilst Eustace held his stirrup; "our country can
ill spare such men as you.  Thanks, my young friend Eustace. See,
Leonard, what good training will do for an Esquire; Eustace has already
caught that air and courteous demeanour that cannot be learnt here
among us poor Knights of Somerset."
This was to his son, who, with a short abrupt reply to the good-natured
greeting of Sir Reginald, had scrambled down from his saddle, and stood
fixing his large gray eyes upon Gaston, whose tall active figure and
lively dark countenance seemed to afford him an inexhaustible subject
of study.  The Squire was presented by name to Sir Philip, received a
polite compliment, and replying with a bow, turned to the youth with
the ready courtesy of one willing to relieve the shyness of an awkward
stranger.  "We were but now discussing the merit between damasked steel
and chain mail, what opinion do you bring to aid us?"  A renewed stare,
an inarticulate muttering, and Master Leonard turned away and almost
hid his face in the mane of his horse, whilst his father attempted to
make up for his incivility by a whole torrent of opinions, to which
Gaston listened with the outward submission due from a Squire, but with
frequent glances, accompanied by a tendency to elevate shoulder or
eyebrow, which Eustace understood full well to convey that the old
gentleman knew nothing whatever on the subject.
This concluded, Sir Philip went to pay his respects to the Lady of
Lynwood, and then, as the hour of noon had arrived, all partook of the
meal, which was served in the hall, the Squires waiting on the Knights
and the Lady before themselves sitting down to table.
It was the influence of dinner that first unchained the silent tongue
of Leonard Ashton, when he found himself seated next to his old
acquaintance, Eustace Lynwood, out of hearing of those whose presence
inspired him with shyness, and the clatter of knives and trenchers
drowning his voice.
"So your brother has let you bear sword after all.  How like you the
trade?  Better than poring over crabbed parchments, I trow. But guess
you why we are here to-day?  My father says that I must take service
with some honourable Knight, and see somewhat of the world.  He spoke
long of the Lord de Clarenham, because his favour would be well in the
county; but at last he has fixed on your brother, because he may do
somewhat for me with the Prince."
"Then you are going with us to Bordeaux?" exclaimed Eustace, eagerly.
"Ay, truly."
"Nay, but that is a right joyful hearing!" said Eustace.  "Old friends
should be brethren in arms."
"But, Eustace," said young Ashton, lowering his voice to a confidential
whisper, "I like not that outlandish Squire, so tall and black.  Men
say he is a Moor--a worshipper of Mahound."
Eustace laughed heartily at this report, and assured his friend that,
though he had heard his brother often give his Squire in jest his nom
de guerre of Gaston le Maure, yet d'Aubricour was a gallant
gentleman of Gascony.  But still Leonard was not satisfied.  "Had ever
man born in Christian land such flashing black eyes and white teeth?
And is not he horribly fierce and strict?"
"Never was man of kinder heart and blither temper."
"Then you think that he will not be sharp with us?  'More straight in
your saddle!' 'lance lower!' 'head higher;' that is what has been
ringing in my ears from morning till night of late, sometimes enforced
by a sharp blow on the shoulders.  Is it not so with you?"
"Oh, old Penrose took all that trouble off their hands long ago. Gaston
is the gentlest of tutors compared with him."
"I hope so!" sighed Leonard; "my very bones ache with the tutoring I
get from my father at home.  And, Eustace, resolve me this--"
"Hush, do not you see that Father Cyril is about to pronounce the
Grace--.  There--now must I go and serve your father with the
grace-cup, but I will be with you anon."
Leonard put his elbow on the table, mumbling to himself, "And these of
Eustace's be the courtly manners my father would have me learn; they
cost a great deal too much trouble!"
The meal over, Eustace took Leonard into the court to visit the horses
and inspect the new armour.  They were joined by Gaston, who took upon
himself to reply to the question which Leonard wished to have resolved,
namely, what they were to do in Castile, by persuading him to believe
that Enrique of Trastamare was a giant twenty feet high, who rode a
griffin of proportionate dimensions, and led an army whose heads grew
under their shoulders.
In the meantime, Sir Philip Ashton was, with many polite speeches,
entering upon the business of his visit, which was to request Sir
Reginald to admit his son into his train as an Esquire.  The Knight of
Lynwood, though not very desirous of this addition to his followers,
could not well refuse him, in consideration of the alliance which had
long subsisted between the two houses; but he mentioned his own purpose
of quitting the Prince's court as soon as the present expedition should
be concluded.
"That," said Sir Philip, softly, "will scarce be likely.  Such Knights
as Sir Reginald Lynwood are not so easily allowed to hide themselves in
obscurity.  The Prince of Wales knows too well the value of his
right-hand counsellor."
"Nay, Sir Philip," said Sir Reginald, laughing, "that is rather too
fine a term for a rough soldier, who never was called into counsel at
all, except for the arraying a battle.  It would take far sharper wits
than mine, or, indeed, I suspect, than any that we have at Bordeaux, to
meet the wiles of Charles of France.  No, unless the Royal Banner be
abroad in the field, you may look to see me here before another year is
out."
"I shall hope it may be otherwise, for my boy's sake," said Sir Philip.
"But be that as it may, his fame will be secured by his going forth for
the first time with such a leader as yourself.  The example and
friendship of your brother will also be of the utmost service.  Your
chief Squire too--so perfect in all chivalrous training, and a
foreigner--who better could be found to train a poor Somersetshire
clown for the Prince's Gascon court?"
"Why, for that matter," interrupted Sir Reginald, whose patience would
seldom serve his to the end of one of his neighbour's harangues, "it
may be honest to tell you that though Gaston is a kindly-tempered
fellow, and of right knightly bearing, his life has been none of the
most steady.  I took up with him a couple of years since, when poor old
Humfrey Harwood was slain at Auray, and I knew not where to turn for a
Squire.  Save for a few wild freaks now and then, he has done right
well, though I sometimes marvelled at his choosing to endure my strict
household.  He obeys my orders, and has made himself well liked by the
men, and I willingly trust Eustace with him, since the boy is of a
grave clerkly sort of turn, and under my own eye; but it is for you to
do as you will with your son."
"Is he of honourable birth?" asked Sir Philip.
"At least he bears coat armour," answered Reginald.  "His shield is
gules, a wolf passant, or, and I have heard strange tales of his
father, Beranger d'Aubricour, the Black Wolf of the Pyrenees, as he was
called, one of the robber noblesse of the Navarrese border; but I have
little time for such matters, and they do not dwell in my mind.  If I
find a man does his duty in my service, I care not whence he comes, nor
what his forefathers may have been. I listen to no such idle tales; but
I thought it best to warn you that I answer not for all the comrades
your son may find in my troop."
"Many thanks, noble Sir Reginald; under such care as yours he cannot
fail to prosper; I am secure of his welfare in your hands. One word
more, Sir Reginald, I pray you.  You are all-powerful with Prince
Edward.  My poor boy's advancement is in your hand. One word in his
favour to the Prince--a hint of the following I could send his pennon--"
"Sir Philip," said Reginald, "you overrate my influence, and underrate
the Prince's judgment, if you imagine aught save personal merit would
weigh with him.  Your son shall have every opportunity of deserving his
notice, but whether it be favourable or not must depend on himself.  If
you desire more, you must not seek it of me."
Sir Philip protested that this was all he wished, and after reiterating
his thanks, took his leave, promising that Leonard should be at Lynwood
Keep on the next Monday, the day fixed for Sir Reginald's departure.
CHAPTER III
The morning of departure arrived.  The men-at-arms were drawn up in the
court like so many statues of steel; Leonard Ashton sat on horseback,
his eyes fixed on the door; Gaston d'Aubricour, wrapped in his gay
mantle, stood caressing his Arab steed Brigliador, and telling him they
should soon exchange the chilly fogs of England for the bright sun of
Gascony; Ralph Penrose held his master's horse, and a black powerful
charger was prepared for Eustace, but still the brothers tarried.
"My Eleanor, this should not be!" said Reginald as his wife clung to
him weeping.  "Keep a good heart.  'Tis not for long.  Take heed of
your dealings with cousin Fulk.  She knows not what I say. Father
Cyril, keep guard over her and my boy, in case I should meet with any
mishap."
"I will, assuredly, my son," said the Chaplain, "but it is little that
a poor Priest like me can do.  I would that grant to the Clarenhams
were repealed."
"That were soon done," said Reginald, "but it is no time for a loyal
vassal to complain of grievances when his liege lord has summoned him
to the field.  That were to make the King's need be his law.  No! no!
Watch over her, good father, she is weak and tender.  Look up, sweet
heart, give me one cheerful wish to speed me on my journey.  No?  She
has swooned.  Eleanor! my wife--"
"Begone, begone, my son," said Father Cyril, "it will be the better for
her."
"It may be," said Reginald, "yet to leave her thus--  Here, nurse,
support her, tend her well.  Give her my tenderest greetings. Arthur,
be duteous to her; talk to her of our return; farewell, my boy, and
blessings on you.  Eustace, mount."
Sir Reginald, sighing heavily, swung himself into the saddle; Eustace
waited a moment longer.  "Good Father, this was to have been in poor
Eleanor's charge.  It is the token, you know for whom."
"It shall reach her, my son."
"You will send me a letter whenever you can?"
"Truly, I will; and I would have you read and write, especially in
Latin, when you have the chance--good gifts should not be buried.
Bethink you, too, that you will not have the same excuse for sin as the
rude ignorant men you will meet."
"Eustace!" hastily called Reginald, and with a hurried farewell to all
around, the young Squire sprang on horseback, and the troop rode across
the drawbridge.  They halted on the mound beyond; Sir Reginald shook
his pennon, till the long white swallow tails streamed on the wind,
then placed it in the hands of Eustace, and saying, "On, Lances of
Lynwood!  In the name of God, St. George, and King Edward, do your
devoir;" he spurred his horse forward, as if only desirous to be out of
sight of his own turrets, and forget the parting, the pain of which
still heaved his breast and dimmed his eye.
A few days brought the troop to Southampton, where John of Gaunt was
collecting his armament, and with it they embarked, crossed to St.
Malo, and thence proceeded to Bordeaux, but there found that the Prince
of Wales had already set forth, and was waiting for his brother at Dax.
Advancing immediately, at the end of three days they came in sight of
the forces encamped around that town.  Glorious was the scene before
them, the green plain covered in every direction with white tents,
surmounted with the banners or pennons of their masters, the broad red
Cross of St. George waving proudly in the midst, and beside it the
royal Lions and Castles of the two Spanish monarchies.  To the south,
the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees began to gleam white like clouds
against the sky, and the gray sea-line to the west closed the horizon.
Eustace drew his rein, and gazed in silent admiration, and Gaston,
riding by his side, pointed out the several bearings and devices which,
to the warrior of that day, spoke as plainly (often more so) as written
words.  "See yonder, the tent of my brave countryman, the Captal de
Buch, close to that of the Prince, as is ever his wont.  No doubt he is
willing to wipe away the memory of his capture at Auray.  There, to the
left, gules and argent, per pale, is the pennon of the stout old
Englishman, Chandos.  Ha! I see the old Free Companions are here with
Sir Hugh Calverly!  Why, 'twas but the other day they were starting to
set this very Don Enrique on the throne as blithely as they now go to
drive him from his."
While Gaston spoke, the sound of horses' feet approached rapidly from
another quarter, and a small party came in sight, the foremost of whom
checked his bridle, as, at Reginald's signal, his Lances halted and
drew respectfully aside.  He was a man about thirty-six years of age,
and looking even younger, from the remarkable fairness and delicacy of
his complexion.  The perfect regularity of his noble features, together
with the commanding, yet gentle expression of his clear light blue
eyes, would, even without the white ostrich feather in his black velvet
cap, have enabled Eustace to recognize in him the flower of chivalry,
Edward, Prince of Wales.
"Welcome, my trusty Reginald!" exclaimed he.  "I knew that the Lances
of Lynwood would not be absent where knightly work is to be done.  Is
my brother John arrived?"
"Yes, my Lord," replied Reginald; "I parted from him but now as he rode
to the castle, while I came to seek where to bestow my knaves."
"I know you of old for a prudent man," said the Prince, smiling; "the
Provost Marshal hath no acquaintance with that gallant little band.
Methinks I see there a fair face like enough to yours to belong to
another loyal Lynwood."
"I could wish it were a little browner and more manly, my Lord," said
Reginald.  "It is my brother Eustace, who has been suffered (I take
shame to myself for it) to tarry at home as my Lady's page, till he
looks as white as my Lady herself."
"We will soon find a cure for that in the sun of Castile," said Edward.
"You are well provided with Squires.  The men of Somerset know where
good training is to be found for their sons."
"This, my Lord, is the son of Sir Philip Ashton, a loyal Knight of our
country."
"He is welcome," said the Prince.  "We have work for all.  Let me see
you this evening at supper in my tent."
"Well, Eustace, what sayest thou?" said Gaston, as the Prince rode on.
"A Prince to dream of, a Prince for whom to give a thousand lives!"
said Eustace.
"And that was the Prince of Wales!" said Leonard.  "Why, he spoke just
like any other man."
The two tents of the Lances of Lynwood having been erected, and all
arrangements made, the Knights and Squires set out for the Prince's
pavilion, the white curtains of which were conspicuous in the centre of
the camp.  Within, it was completely lined with silk, embroidered with
the various devices of the Prince: the lions of England--the lilies of
France--the Bohemian ostrich-plume, with its humble motto, the white
rose, not yet an emblem of discord--the blue garter and the red cross,
all in gorgeous combination--a fitting background, as it were, on which
to display the chivalrous groups seen in relief against it.
At the upper end was placed a long table for the Prince and his guests,
and here Sir Reginald took his seat, with many a hearty welcome from
his friends and companions in arms, while Gaston led his comrades to
the lower end, where Squires and pages were waiting for the provisions
brought in by the servants, which they were to carry to their Knights.
Gaston was soon engaged in conversation with his acquaintance, to some
of whom he introduced Eustace and Leonard, but the former found far
more interesting occupation in gazing on the company seated at the
upper table.
The Black Prince himself occupied the centre, his brother John at his
left hand, and at his right, a person whom both this post of honour and
the blazonry of his surcoat marked out as the dethroned King of
Castile.  Pedro the Cruel had not, however, the forbidding countenance
which imagination would ascribe to him; his features were of the fair
and noble type of the old royal Gothic race of Spain; he had a
profusion of flaxen hair, and large blue eyes, rather too prominent,
and but for his receding forehead, and the expression of his lips, he
would have been a handsome man of princely mien.  Something, too, there
was of fear, something of a scowl; he seemed to shrink from the open
and manly demeanour of Edward, and to turn with greater ease to
converse with John, who, less lofty in character than his brother,
better suited his nature.
There, too, Eustace beheld the stalwart form and rugged features of Sir
John Chandos; the slender figure and dark sparkling southern face of
the Captal de Buch; the rough joyous boon-companion visage of Sir Hugh
Calverly, the free-booting warrior; the youthful form of the young
step-son of the Prince, Lord Thomas Holland; the rude features of the
Breton Knight, Sir Oliver de Clisson, soon to be the bitterest foe of
the standard beneath which he was now fighting. Many were there whose
renown had charmed the ears of the young Squire of Lynwood Keep, and he
looked on the scene with the eagerness with which he would have watched
some favourite romance suddenly done into life and action.
"Eustace!  What, Eustace, in a trance?" said d'Aubricour.  "Waken, and
carry this trencher of beef to your brother.  Best that you should do
it," he added in a low voice, taking up a flask of wine, "and save our
comrade from at once making himself a laughing-stock."
The discontented glance with which Leonard's eyes followed his fellow
Squires, did not pass unobserved by a person with whom d'Aubricour had
exchanged a few words, a squarely-made, dark-visaged man, with a thick
black beard, and a huge scar which had obliterated one eye; his
equipment was that of a Squire, but instead of, like others of the same
degree, attending on the guests at the upper table, he sat carelessly
sideways on the bench, with one elbow on the board.
"You gaze after that trencher as if you wished your turn was come,"
said he, in a patois of English and French, which Leonard could easily
understand, although he had always turned a deaf ear to Gaston's
attempts to instruct him in the latter language.  However, a grunt was
his only reply.
"Or," pursued the Squire, "have you any fancy for carrying it yourself?
I, for my part, think we are well quit of the trouble."
"Why, ay," said Leonard, "but I trow I have as much right to serve at
the Prince's table as dainty Master Eustace.  My father had never put
me under Sir Reginald's charge, had he deemed I should be kept here
among the serving-men."
"Sir Reginald?  Which Sir Reginald has the honour of your service?"
asked the Squire, to whom Leonard's broad Somersetshire dialect seemed
to present few difficulties.
"Sir Reginald Lynwood, he with the curled brown locks, next to that
stern-looking old fellow with the gray hair."
"Ay, I know him of old.  Him whom the Duke of Lancaster is pledging--a
proud, strict Englishman--as rigid a service as any in the camp."
"I should think so!" said Leonard.  "Up in the morn hours before the
sun, to mass like a choir of novices, to clean our own arms and the
Knight's, like so many horse-boys, and if there be but a speck of rust,
or a sword-belt half a finger's length awry--"
"Ay, ay, I once had a fortnight's service with a Knight of that stamp,
but a fortnight was enough for me, I promise you.  And yet Gaston le
Maure chooses to stay with him rather than lead a merry life with Sir
Perduccas d'Albret, with all to gain, and nought to lose!  A different
life from the days he and I spent together of old."
"Gaston d'Aubricour is as sharp as the Knight himself," said Leonard,
"and gibes me without ceasing; but yet I could bear it all, were it not
for seeing Eustace, the clerk, preferred to me, as if I were not heir
to more acres than he can ever count crowns."
"What may then be your name, fair youth, and your inheritance?"
demanded the one-eyed Squire, "for your coat of arms is new in the
camp."
"My name is Leonard Ashton; my father--" but Leonard's speech was cut
short by a Squire who stumbled over his outstretched foot.  Both
parties burst into angry exclamations, Leonard's new acquaintance
taking his part.  Men looked up, and serious consequences might have
ensued, had not Gaston hastened to the spot.  "Shame on you, young
malapert," said he to his hopeful pupil.  "Cannot I leave you one
moment unwatched, but you must be brawling in the Prince's own
presence?  Here, bear this bread to Sir Reginald instantly, and leave
me to make your peace.  Master Clifford," added he, as Leonard shuffled
away, "'tis an uncouth slip whom Sir Reginald Lynwood has undertaken to
mould into form, and if he is visited as he deserves for each piece of
discourtesy, his life will not be long enough for amendment, so I must
e'en beg you to take my apology."
"Most readily, Master d'Aubricour," replied Clifford; "there would not
have been the least offence had the youth only possessed a civil
tongue."
"Is not he the son of one of your wealthy Englishmen?" asked the
one-eyed Squire, carelessly.
"Ha!  Why should you think so?" said Gaston, turning sharply; "because
he shows so much good nurture?"
"Because his brains are grown fat with devouring his father's beeves,
fare on which you seem to thrive, le Maure," said the one-eyed, "though
you were not wont to like English beef and English discipline better
than Gascon wine and Gascon freedom. I begin to think that the cub of
the Black Wolf of the Pyrenees is settling down into a tame English
house-dog."
"He has teeth and claws at your service," replied Gaston.
"Ay?" said the Squire interrogatively; then, changing his tone, "But
tell me honestly, Gaston, repent you not of having taken service with
gallant Sir Perduccas?"
"Why, you have left him yourself."
"Yes, because we had sharp words on the spoil of a Navarrese village.
My present leader, Sir William Felton, is as free and easy as d'Albret,
or Aymerigot Marcel himself.  And is not yon ungainly varlet the hope
of some rich English house?"
"I must see their hopes meet with no downfall," said Gaston, walking
away, and muttering to himself.  "A plague upon it!  To train two boys
is more than I bargained for, and over and above to hinder this
wiseacre Ashton from ruining himself, or being ruined by le Borgne
Basque!  What brought him here?  I thought he was safe in Castile with
the Free Companions.  I would let the oaf take his course, for a wilful
wrong-headed fool, but that it would scarce be doing good service to
Sir Reginald."
The Knights had nearly finished their meal, and the Squires having
served them with wine, returned to their own table, now freshly
supplied with meat, which the yeomen in their turn carved for them.
Gaston kept Leonard under his own eye till the party broke up.
On the way to the tent, he began to take him to task.  "A proper
commencement!  Did you take the Prince's pavilion for one of your own
island hostels, where men may freely brawl and use their fists without
fear of aught save the parish constable?"
"What business had he to tread on my foot?" growled Leonard.
"What business had your foot there?  Was not your office, as I told
you, to stand ready to hand me whatever I might call for?"
"I was speaking a few words to another gentleman."
"The fewer words you speak to le Borgne Basque the better, unless you
think it is Sir Reginald's pleasure that you should be instructed in
all the dicing and drinking in this camp, and unless you wish that the
crowns with which your father stored your pouch should jingle in his
pockets.  It is well for you the Knight marked you not."
"You held long enough parley with him yourself," said the refractory
pupil.
"Look you, Master Leonard Ashton, I do not presume to offer myself as
an example to you save, perhaps, in the matter of sitting a steed, or
handing a wine-cup.  I have no purse to lose, and I have wit to keep it
if I had, or at least," as a recollection crossed him, "if I lost it,
it should be to please myself, and not le Borgne Basque; above all,
my name and fame are made, and yours--"
"What would you say of mine?" said Leonard, with sulky indignation.
"The heir of Ashton is not to be evened to a wandering landless
foreigner."
"It is not in sight of these mountain peaks," said Gaston,
contemptuously, "that I am to be called a foreigner; and as to being
landless, if I chose to take my stand on the old tower of Albricorte,
and call myself Lord of the whole hill-side, I should like to see who
would gainsay me.  For name, I suspect you will find that many a man
has trembled at the sound of Beranger d'Albricorte, to whom Ashton
would be but that of an English clown.  Moreover, in this camp I would
have you to know that the question is, not who has the broadest lands,
but who has the strongest arm.  And, sir Squire, if you are not above
listening to a piece of friendly counsel, to brag of those acres of
yours is the surest way to attract spoilers.  I had rather a dozen time
trust Eustace in such company than you, not only because he has more
wit, but because he has less coin."
"Who is this man?  What is his name?" asked Eustace.
"Le Borgne Basque, I know no other," said Gaston.  "We reck little of
names here, especially when it may be convenient to have them
forgotten.  He is a Free Companion, a routier, brave enough, but more
ready at the sack than the assault, and loving best to plunder, waste,
and plunder again, or else to fleece such sheep as our friend here."
"How could such a man gain entrance to the Prince's pavilion?"
"Stout hearts and strong arms find entrance in most places," said
Gaston; "but, as you saw, he durst not appear at the upper table."
The next morning the army began their march to the Pyrenees.  They
halted for some days at the foot of the hills, whilst negotiations were
passing between the Black Prince and Charles the Bad, King of Navarre,
who might easily have prevented their entrance into the Peninsula by
refusing a passage through his mountain fastnesses.
When the permission was granted, they advanced with considerable danger
and difficulty.  The rugged paths were covered with snow and ice, which
made them doubly perilous for the horses, and but for Gaston's
familiarity with his native hills, Sir Reginald declared that he could
never have brought his little troop across them in safety.
At length they emerged through the celebrated Pass of Roncesvalles,
where Eustace in imagination listened to the echoes of the dying blast
of Roland.  On the following evening he had the delight of reading his
history in the veritable pages of Archbishop Turpin, which precious
work he found in the possession of Brother Waleran, a lay-friar, in the
employment of Sir John Froissart the chronicler, who had sent him with
the army as a reporter of the events of the campaign.  This new
acquaintance gave very little satisfaction to Sir Reginald, who was
almost ready to despair of Eustace's courage and manhood when he found
he had "gone back to his books," and manifested, if not so much serious
displeasure, yet even more annoyance, on this occasion, than when,
shortly after, he found that Leonard Ashton spent every moment at his
own disposal in the company of le Borgne Basque.  That worthy,
meeting the young gentleman, had easily persuaded him that Gaston's
cautions only proceeded from fears of stories that might with too much
truth be told against himself, and by skilful flatteries of the young
Englishman's self-importance, and sympathy with his impatience of the
strict rule of the Knight of Lynwood, succeeded in establishing over
him great influence.
So fared it with the two young Squires, whilst the army began to enter
the dominions of the King of Castile.  Here a want of provisions was
severely felt, for such was the hatred borne to Pedro the Cruel, that
every inhabitant of the country fled at his approach, carrying off, or
destroying, all that could be used as food.  It was the intention of
Bertrand du Guesclin, the ally of Enrique of Trastamare, to remain
quietly in his camp of Navaretta, and allow hunger to do its work with
the invading force, but this prudent plan was prevented by the folly of
Don Tello, brother of Enrique, who, accusing Bertrand of cowardice, so
stung his fiery spirit that he resolved on instant combat, though
knowing how little dependence could be placed on his Spanish allies.
The challenge of the Prince of Wales was therefore accepted; and never
were tidings more welcome than these to the half-famished army,
encamped upon the banks of the Ebro, on the same ground on which, in
after years, English valour was once more to turn to flight a usurping
King of Spain.
CHAPTER IV
The moon was at her height, and shone full into the half-opened tent of
Sir Reginald Lynwood.  At the further end, quite in darkness, the
Knight, bare-headed, and rosary in hand, knelt before the dark-robed
figure of a confessor, while at a short distance lay, on a couch of
deer-skins, the sleeping Leonard Ashton.  Before the looped-up curtain
that formed the door was Gaston d'Aubricour, on one knee, close to a
huge torch of pine-wood fixed in the earth, examining by its flaring
smoky light into the state of his master's armour, proving every joint
with a small hammer.  Near him, Eustace, with the help of John Ingram,
the stalwart yeoman, was fastening his charge, the pennon, to a mighty
lance of the toughest ash-wood, and often looking forth on the white
tents on which the moonbeams shed their pale, tranquil light.  There
was much to impress a mind like his, in the scene before him: the
unearthly moonlight, the few glimmering stars, the sky--whose southern
clearness and brightness were, to his unaccustomed eye, doubly
wonderful--the constant though subdued sounds in the camp, the murmur
of the river, and, far away in the dark expanse of night, the sparkling
of a multitude of lights, which marked the encampment of the enemy.
There was a strange calm awe upon his spirit.  He spoke in a low voice,
and Gaston's careless light-hearted tones fell on his ear as something
uncongenial; but his eye glanced brightly, his step was free and bold,
as he felt that this was the day that must silence every irritating
doubt of his possessing a warrior-spirit.
The first red streak of dawn was beginning to glow in the eastern sky,
when the note of a bugle rang out from the Prince's tent and was
responded to by hundreds of other horns.  That instant the quiet
slumbering camp awoke, the space in front of every tent was filled with
busy men, arming themselves, or saddling their horses.  Gaston and
Eustace, already fully equipped, assisted Sir Reginald to arm; Leonard
was roused, and began to fasten on his armour; the men-at-arms came
forth from their tent, and the horses were saddled and bridled; "And
now," called Sir Reginald, "bring our last loaf, John Ingram.  Keep
none back.  By this day's eve we shall have abundance, or else no
further need."
The hard dry barley-bread was shared in scanty, but equal measure, and
scarcely had it been devoured, before a second bugle blast, pealing
through the camp, caused each mail-clad warrior to close his visor, and
spring into the open plain, where, according to previous orders, they
arrayed themselves in two divisions, the first commanded by the Duke of
Lancaster and Sir John Chandos, the second by Prince Edward and Don
Pedro.
After a pause, employed in marshalling the different bands, the host
advanced at an even pace, the rising sun glancing on their armour, and
revealing the multitude of waving crests, and streamers fluttering from
the points of the lances, like the wings of gorgeous insects.
Presently a wall of glittering armour was seen advancing to meet them,
with the same brilliant display.  It might have seemed some mighty
tournament that was there arrayed, as the two armies stood confronting
each other, rather than a stern battle for the possession of a kingdom;
and well might old Froissart declare, "It was a pleasure to see such
hosts."
But it would be presumptuous to attempt to embellish a tale after
Froissart has once touched it.  To him, then, I leave it to tell how
the rank of banneret was conferred on the gallant old Chandos, how the
Prince prayed aloud for a blessing on his arms, how he gave the signal
for the advance, and how the boaster, Tello, fled in the first
encounter.  The Lances of Lynwood, in the division of the Duke of
Lancaster, well and gallantly did their part in the hard struggle with
the brave band of French, whose resistance was not overcome till the
Black Prince himself brought his reserved troops to the aid of his
brother.
With the loss of only one man-at-arms, the Lances of Lynwood had taken
several prisoners.  It was high noon, and the field was well-nigh
cleared of the enemy, when Sir Reginald drew his rein at the top of a
steep bank clothed with brushwood, sloping towards the stream of the
Zadorra, threw up his visor, wiped his heated brow, and, patting his
horse's neck, turned to his brother, saying, "You have seen sharp work
in this your first battle-day, Eustace."
"It is a glorious day!" said Eustace.  "See how they hurry to the
water."  And he pointed over the low shrubs to a level space on the
bank of the river, where several fugitives, on foot and horseback, were
crowding together, and pressing hastily forward.
"Ha!" cried Sir Reginald, "the golden circlet!  Henry of Trastamare
himself!" and at the same instant he sprang to the ground.  "You," said
he, "speed round the bushes, meet me at the ford they are making for."
This was directed to Gaston, and ere the last words were spoken, both
Sir Reginald and Eustace were already beginning to hurry down the bank.
Gaston rose to his full height in his stirrups, and, looking over the
wood, exclaimed, "The Eagle crest! I must be there.  On,
Ashton--Ingram, this way--speed, speed, speed!" and with these words
threw himself from his horse, and dashed after the two brothers, as
they went crashing, in their heavy armour, downwards through the
boughs.  In less than a minute they were on the level ground, and Sir
Reginald rushed forward to intercept Don Enrique, who was almost close
to the river.  "Yield, yield, Sir King!" he shouted; but at the same
moment another Knight on foot threw himself between, raising a huge
battle-axe, and crying, "Away, away, Sir; leave me to deal with him!"
Enrique turned, entered the river, and safely swam his horse to the
other side, whilst his champion was engaged in desperate conflict.
The Knight of Lynwood caught the first blow on his shield, and returned
it, but without the slightest effect on his antagonist, who, though
short in stature, and clumsily made, seemed to possess gigantic
strength.  A few moments more, and Reginald had fallen at full length
on the grass, while his enemy was pressing on, to secure him as a
prisoner, or to seize the pennon which Eustace held.  The two Squires
stood with lifted swords before their fallen master, but it cost only
another of those irresistible strokes to stretch Gaston beside Sir
Reginald, and Eustace was left alone to maintain the struggle.  A few
moments more, and the Lances would come up--but how impossible to hold
out!  The first blow cleft his shield in two, and though it did not
pierce his armour, the shock brought him to his knee, and without the
support of the staff of the pennon he would have been on the ground.
Still, however, he kept up his defence, using sometimes his sword, and
sometimes the staff, to parry the strokes of his assailant; but the
strife was too unequal, and faint with violent exertion, as well as
dizzied by a stroke which the temper of his helmet had resisted, he
felt that all would be over with him in another second, when his
sinking energies were revived by the cry of "St. George," close at
hand.  His enemy relaxing his attack, he sprang to his feet, and that
instant found himself enclosed, almost swept away, by a crowd of
combatants of inferior degree, as well as his own comrades as Free
Lances, all of whose weapons were turned upon his opponent.  A sword
was lifted over the enemy's head from behind, and would the next moment
have descended, but that Eustace sprang up, dashed it aside, cried
"Shame!" and grasping the arm of the threatened Knight, exclaimed,
"Yield, yield! it is your only hope!"
"Yield? and to thee?" said the Knight; "yet it is well meant.  The
sword of Arthur himself would be of no avail.  Tiphaine was right! It
is the fated day.  Thou art of gentle birth?  I yield me then, rescue
or no rescue, the rather that I see thou art a gallant youth. Hark you,
fellows, I am a prisoner, so get off with you. Your name, bold youth?"
"Eustace Lynwood, brother to this Knight," said Eustace, raising his
visor, and panting for breath.
"You need but a few years to nerve your arm.  But rest a while, you are
almost spent," said the prisoner, in a kind tone of patronage, as he
looked at the youthful face of his captor, which in a second had varied
from deep crimson to deadly paleness.
"My brother! my brother!" was all Eustace's answer, as he threw himself
on the grass beside Gaston, who, though bleeding fast, had raised his
master's head, and freed him from his helmet; but his eyes were still
closed, and the wound ghastly, for such had been the force of the blow,
that the shoulder was well-nigh severed from the collarbone.
"Reginald!  O brother, look up!" cried Eustace.  "O Gaston, does he
live?"
"I have crossed swords with him before," said the prisoner.  "I grieve
for the mishap."  Then, as the soldiers crowded round, he waved them
off with a gesture of command, which they instinctively obeyed.  "Back,
clowns, give him air.  And here--one of you--bring some water from the
river.  There, he shows signs of life."
As he spoke, the clattering of horses' feet was heard--all made way,
and there rode along the bank of the river a band of Spaniards, headed
by Pedro himself, his sword, from hilt to point, streaming with blood,
and his countenance ferocious as that of a tiger. "Where is he?" was
his cry; "where is the traitor Enrique?  I will send him to join the
rest of the brood.  Where has he hidden himself?"
The prisoner, who had been assisting to life the wounded man out of the
path of the trampling horses, turned round, and replied, with marked
emphasis, "King Henry of Castile is, thanks to our Lady, safe on the
other side of the Zadorra, to recover his throne another day."
"Du Guesclin himself!  Ah, dog!" cried Pedro, his eyes glaring with the
malignity of a demon, and raising his bloody weapon to hew down
Bertrand du Guesclin, for no other was the prisoner, who stood with
folded arms, his dark eyes fixed in calm scorn on the King's face, and
his sword and axe lying at his feet.
Eustace was instantly at his side, calling out, "My Lord King, he is my
prisoner!"
"Thine!" said Pedro, with an incredulous look.  "Leave him to my
vengeance, and thou shalt have gold--half my treasury--all thy utmost
wishes can reach--"
"I give him up to none but my Lord the Prince of Wales," returned the
young Squire, undauntedly.
"Fool and caitiff! out of my path! or learn what it is to oppose the
wrath of Kings!" cried Pedro.
Eustace grasped his sword.  "Sir King, you must win your way to him
through my body."
At this moment one of the attendants whispered, "El Principe, Senor
Rey," and, in a few seconds more, the Black Prince, with a few
followers, rode towards the spot.
Hastily dismounting, Pedro threw himself on his knees to thank him for
the victory; but Edward, leaping from his horse, raised him, saying,
"It is not to me, but to the Giver of victories, that you should return
thanks;" and Eustace almost shuddered to see him embrace the
blood-thirsty monster, who, still intent on his prey, began the next
moment, "Here, Senor Prince, is the chief enemy--here is the disturber
of kingdoms--Du Guesclin himself--and there stands a traitorous boy of
your country, who resolutely refuses to yield him to my just vengeance."
As Pedro spoke, the Prince exchanged with Sir Bertrand the courteous
salutation of honourable enemies, and then said, in a quiet, grave
tone, "It is not our English custom to take vengeance on prisoners of
war."
"My Lord," said Eustace, stepping forward, as the Prince looked towards
him, "I deliver the prisoner into your princely hands."
"You have our best thanks, Sir Squire," said the Prince.  "You are the
young Lynwood, if I remember right.  Where is your brother?"
"Alas! my Lord, here he lies, sorely hurt," said Eustace, only anxious
to be rid of prisoner and Prince, and to return to Reginald, who by
this time had, by the care of Gaston, been recalled to consciousness.
"Is it so?  I grieve to hear it!" said Edward, with a face of deep
concern, advancing to the wounded Knight, bending over him, and taking
his hand, "How fares it with you, my brave Reginald?"
"Poorly enough, my Lord," said the Knight, faintly; "I would I could
have taken King Henry--"
"Lament not for that," said the Prince, "but receive my thanks for the
prize of scarcely less worth, which I owe to your arms."
"What mean you, my Lord?  Not Sir Bertrand du Guesclin; I got nothing
from him but my death-blow."
"How is this then?" said Edward; "it was from your young brother that I
received him."
"Speak, Eustace!" said Sir Reginald, eagerly, and half raising himself;
"Sir Bertrand your prisoner?  Fairly and honourably? Is it possible?"
"Fairly and honourably, to that I testify," said Du Guesclin.  "He
knelt before you, and defended your pennon longer than I ever thought
to see one of his years resist that curtal-axe of mine. The routier
villains burst on us, and were closing upon me, when he turned back the
weapon that was over my head, and summoned me to yield, which I did the
more willingly that so gallant a youth should have such honour as may
be acquired by my capture."
"He has it, noble Bertrand," said Edward.  "Kneel down, young Squire.
Thy name is Eustace?  In the name of God, St. Michael, and St. George,
I dub thee Knight.  Be faithful, brave and fortunate, as on this day.
Arise, Sir Eustace Lynwood."
"Thanks, thanks, my gracious Prince," said Reginald, a light glancing
in his fading eyes.  "I should die content to see my brother's spurs so
well earned."
"Die!  Say not so, my faithful Reginald.  Speed, Denis, and send hither
our own leech!  I trust you will live to see your son win his spurs as
gallantly!"
"No, my good Lord, I am past the power of leech or surgeon; I feel that
this is my death-wound.  I am glad it was in your cause.  All I desire
is your protection for my wife--my boy--my brother--"
"Your brother has earned it already," said Edward.  "Your child shall
be as my own.  But, oh! can nought be done?  Hasten the surgeon hither!
Cheer thee, Reginald!--look up!  O! would that Du Guesclin were free,
the battle unfought, so that thou wert but safe, mine own dear
brother-in-arms!"
"Where is the Prince?" called a voice from behind.  "My Lord, my Lord,
if you come not speedily, there will be foul slaughter made among the
prisoners by your Spanish butcher--King I would say."
"I come, I come, Chandos," answered Edward.  "Fare thee well, my brave
Reginald; and you, my new-made Knight, send tidings to my tent how it
is with him."
He pressed Reginald's hand, and sighing deeply, mounted his horse, and
rode off with Sir John Chandos, leaving the wounded Knight to the care
of his own followers.
The stream of blood was flowing fast, life was ebbing away, and Sir
Reginald's breath was failing, as Eustace, relieving Gaston from his
weight, laid his head on his breast, and laved his brow with water from
the river.  "You have done gallantly, my brave brother; I did wrong to
doubt your spirit.  Thanks be to God that I can die in peace, sure that
Arthur has in you a true and loving guardian.  You are young, Eustace,
but my trust in you is firm. You will train him in all Christian and
godly ways--"
"It shall be the most sacred charge of my life," said Eustace, scarcely
able to speak.
"I know it," said Reginald, and making an effort to raise his voice, he
continued, "Bear witness, all of you, that I leave my son in the
wardship of the King, and of my brother, Sir Eustace Lynwood.  And,"
added he, earnestly, "beware of Fulk Clarenham. Commend me to my sweet
Eleanor; tell her she is the last, as the first in my thoughts."  Then,
after a pause, "Is Gaston here?"
"Yes, Sir Reginald," said Gaston, leaning over him, and pressing the
hand which he feebly raised.
"Gaston, farewell, and thanks to you for your true and loving service.
Eustace will find wherewith to recompense you in some sort, in my chest
at Bordeaux, and my brave Lances likewise. And, Gaston, go not back to
the courses and comrades whence I took you. On the word of a dying man,
it will be better for you when you are in this case.  Leonard, strive
to be a true and brave man, though I may not fulfil your father's
trust.  Eustace--my eyes grow dim--is this you supporting my head--are
these your tears?  Weep not for me, brother.  Save for my poor Eleanor,
I would not have it otherwise.  Mercy is sure!  Hold up the blessed
rood--the sign of grace--you are half a clerk, repeat me some holy
psalm or prayer."
Eustace raised the cross hilt of his sword, and with a broken voice,
commenced the Miserere.  Sir Reginald at first followed it with his
lips, but soon they ceased to move, his head sank back, his hand fell
powerless, and with one long gasping breath his faithful and noble
spirit departed.  For several moments Eustace silently continued to
hold the lifeless form in his arms, then raising the face, he imprinted
an earnest kiss on the pale lips, laid the head reverently on the
ground, hung over it for a short space, and at last, with an effort,
passed his hand over his face, and turned away.
His first look was towards d'Aubricour, who sat resting his head on his
hand, his elbow supported on his knee, while with the other hand he
dashed away his tears.  His countenance was deathly pale, and drops of
blood were fast falling from the deep gash in his side. "O Gaston!"
exclaimed Eustace, with a feeling of self-reproach at having forgotten
him, "I fear you are badly wounded!"
"You would think little of it, had you seen more stricken fields, young
Knight," said Gaston, attempting to smile; "I am only spent with loss
of blood.  Bring me a draught of water, and I can ride back to the
tent.  But look to your prisoner, Sir Eustace."
Eustace turned to see what had become of his illustrious captive, and
saw him at a little distance, speaking to a Knight on horseback. "Sir
Eustace," said Bertrand, stepping towards him, "here is Sir William
Beauchamp, sent by the Prince to inquire for your gallant brother, and
to summon me to his tent.  I leave you the more willingly that I think
you have no mind for guests this evening. Farewell.  I hope to be
better acquainted."
Eustace had little heart to answer, but he took up Du Guesclin's sword,
as if to return it to him.  "Keep it, Sir Knight," said Bertrand, "you
know how to wield it.  I am in some sort your godfather in chivalry,
and I owe you a gift.  Let me have yours, that my side may not be
without its wonted companion.  Farewell."
"And, Sir Eustace Lynwood," said Sir William Beauchamp, riding up, "you
will advance to Navaretta, where we take up our quarters in the French
camp.  I grieve for the loss which has befallen us this day; but I
trust our chivalry has gained an equally worthy member."
Eustace bowed and, whilst Messire Bertrand mounted a horse that had
been brought for his use, turned back to his own melancholy duties. The
body of Sir Reginald was raised from the ground, and placed on the
levelled lances of four of his men, and Eustace then assisted Gaston to
rise.  He tottered, leant heavily against the young Knight, and was
obliged to submit to be lifted to the saddle; but neither pain, grief,
nor faintness could check his flow of talk.
"Well, Eustace,--Sir Eustace, I would say,--you have seen somewhat of
the chances of war."
"The mischances you mean, Gaston."
"I tell you, many a man in this host would have given his whole kindred
for such luck as has befallen you.  To cross swords with Du Guesclin is
honour enough.  This cut will be a matter of boasting to my dying day;
but, to take him prisoner--"
"Nay, that was no merit of mine.  Had not the rest come up, my wars had
soon been over, and I had been spared this grief."
"I know what most youths would have done in your place, and been
esteemed never the worse.  Dropped the pennon at that first round blow
that brought you to your knee, and called for quarter.  Poor pennon, I
deemed it gone, and would have come to your aid, but before I could
recover my feet, the fight was over, and I am glad the glory is wholly
yours.  Knighted under a banner in a stricken field!  It is a chance
which befalls not one man in five hundred, and you in your first
battle!  But he heeds me not.  He thinks only of his brother!  Look up,
Sir Eustace, 'tis but the chance of war. Better die under sword and
shield, than like a bed-ridden old woman; better die honoured and
lamented, than worn out and forgotten. Still he has not a word!  Yea,
and I could weep too for company, for never lived better Knight, nor
one whom Squire had better cause to love!"
CHAPTER V
A battle in the days of chivalry was far less destructive than those of
modern times.  The loss in both armies at Navaretta did not amount to
six hundred; and on Pedro's side but four Knights had fallen, of whom
Sir Reginald Lynwood was the only Englishman.
On the following day all the four were buried in solemn state, at the
church of the village of Navaretta, Sir Eustace following his brother's
bier, at the head of all the men-at-arms.
On returning to his tent, Eustace found Gaston sitting on his couch,
directing Guy, and old Poitevin, who had the blue crossletted pennon
spread on the ground before him.  Eustace expressed his wonder. "What,"
exclaimed Gaston, "would I see my Knight Banneret, the youngest Knight
in the army, with paltry pennon!  A banneret are you, dubbed in the
open field, entitled to take precedence of all Knight Bachelors.  Here,
Leonard, bring that pennon to me, that I may see if it can be cut
square."
"Poor Eleanor's pennon!" said Eustace, sadly.
"Nay, what greater honour can it have than in becoming a banner?  I
only grieve that this bloodstain, the noblest mark a banner can bear,
is upon the swallow-tail.  But what do I see?  You, a belted Knight, in
your plain Esquire's helmet, and the blood-stained surcoat!  Ay, and
not even the gilded spurs!" he exclaimed indignantly.  "Would that I
had seen you depart!  But it was Leonard's fault.  Why, man, knew you
not your duty?"
"I am no Squire of Eustace Lynwood," said Ashton.
"Every Squire is bound to serve the Knight in whose company he finds
himself," said d'Aubricour.  "Know you not thus much of the laws of
chivalry?  Come, bestir yourself, that he may be better provided in
future.  You must present yourself to the Prince to-morrow, Sir
Eustace."
"One of his Squires bade me to his presence," said the young Knight,
"but I must now write these heavy tidings to my poor sister, and I am
going to Father Waleran's tent to seek parchment and ink."
"And how send you the letter?"
"By the bearer of the Prince's letters to the King.  Sir Richard
Ferrars knows him, and will give them into his charge.  So farewell,
Gaston, keep quiet, and weary not yourself with my equipment."
With these words he left the tent, and Gaston, shaking his head, and
throwing himself back on his deer-skins, exclaimed, "Tender and true,
brave and loving!  I know not what to make of Eustace Lynwood.  His
spirit is high as a Paladin's of old, of that I never doubted, yet is
his hand as deft at writing as a clerk's, and his heart as soft as a
woman's.  How he sighed and wept the livelong night, when he thought
none could hear him!  Well, Sir Reginald was a noble Knight, and is
worthily mourned, but where is the youth who would not have been more
uplifted at his own honours, than downcast at his loss; and what
new-made Knight ever neglected his accoutrements to write sad tidings
to his sister-in-law?  But," he continued, rising again, "Guy, bring me
here the gilded spurs you will find yonder.  The best were, I know,
buried with Sir Reginald, and methought there was something amiss with
one rowel of the other.  So it is.  Speed to Maitre Ferry, the
armourer, and bid him come promptly."
"And lie you still on your couch meanwhile, Master d'Aubricour," said
Guy, "or there will soon be another Squire missing among the Lances of
Lynwood."
"I marvel at you, d'Aubricour," said Leonard, looking up from a pasty,
which he was devouring with double relish, to make up for past
privations, "I marvel that you should thus weary yourself, with your
fresh wound, and all for nought."
"Call you our brave young banneret nought?  Shame on thee!  All England
should be proud of him, much more his friend and companion."
"I wish Eustace Lynwood well with all my heart," said Leonard, "but I
see not why he is to be honoured above all others.  Yourself, Gaston,
so much older, so perfect in all exercises, you who fought with this
Frenchman too, of whom they make so much, the Prince might as well have
knighted you, as Eustace, who would have been down in another moment
had not I made in to the rescue.  Methinks if I had been the Prince, I
would have inquired upon whom knighthood would sit the best."
"And the choice would have been the same," said Gaston.  "Not only was
Sir Eustace the captor of Messire Bertrand, whereas my luck was quite
otherwise; but what would knighthood have availed the wandering
landless foreigner, as you courteously term me, save to fit me for the
leadership of a band of routiers, and unfit me for the office of an
Esquire, which I do, as you say, understand indifferently well."
"Is it not the same with him?" cried Leonard.  "He does not own a
palm's breadth of land, and for gold, all he will ever possess is on
those broken spurs of his brother's."
"Listen to me, Leonard," said Gaston.  "Rich or poor, Sir Eustace is
the only fit leader of the Lances till the little boy is of age, but
this he could not be without knightly rank.  Even in this campaign,
when I might have taken the command, I being disabled for the present,
it must have devolved on him, who might not have been so readily
obeyed."
"No, indeed," said Leonard.  "Strange that the touch of the Prince's
sword should make so great a difference between him and me."
"If it was the touch of the Prince's sword that did so," said Gaston.
"What else?" sharply retorted Leonard.  "Not height nor strength! His
hand and arm might belong to a girl, I could crush it in my grasp."  So
saying, he extended a huge, hard, red palm.
"Ay?" said Gaston; "I should like to see whether that great paw would
have won Du Guesclin's sword."
"I tell you flatly," proceeded Ashton, "I might follow Sir Reginald,
since he was a man of substance, honoured in our country, and my father
meant to oblige and do him grace by placing me with him."
"Grace!" repeated Gaston.
"But," continued Ashton, angrily, "as to serving Eustace, the clerk, no
older than myself, half a head shorter, and a mere landless upstart,
that my father's son shall never do!"
"Say you so?" said Gaston.  "I recommend you not to do so quite so
loud, or perchance the landless upstart might hand your father's son
over to the Provost Marshal, for preaching disaffection to his men.
And, in good time, here comes the Master Armourer."
The rest of the day was spent by Gaston in the arrangement of the
equipments, so important in his estimation, and scarcely another word
was spoken save on the choice of helm and shield, and the adaptation of
crests and blazonry.  The next point for consideration was the disposal
of the prisoners taken by the Lances of Lynwood in the early part of
the battle.  Two were Squires, the other four, rough-looking
men-at-arms who protested that they could not pay one denier towards
their ransom.  Eustace liberated them, and was greatly inclined to do
the same by the Squires; but Gaston assured him it would be doing wrong
to the Prince's cause to set the rogues free without taking some good
French crowns from them, and therefore, permitting him to name what
ransom he thought fit, he returned to them their horses, and dismissed
them to collect the sum.
Early the next morning, Gaston had the satisfaction of beholding his
young banneret arrayed in knightly guise, the golden spurs on his
heels, Du Guesclin's sword by his side, and his white mantle flung over
his shoulder.  Leonard was summoned to accompany him, but he growled
out something so like an absolute refusal and utter disclaimer of all
duty to Sir Eustace, that Gaston began to reproach him vehemently.
"Never mind, Gaston," said Eustace, "you never mend matters with him in
that way, I shall do very well alone."
"So you shall never go," said Gaston, rising; "I will go myself, I have
been longing to see you received by the Prince.  Where is my sword?"
"Nay, Gaston," said Eustace, "that must not be.  See how the hot
sunbeams lie across that hill between us and the Prince's tent. You
must not waste your strength if it is true that we are to journey to
Burgos to-day."
"It shows how new your chivalry is, that you make so much of a mere
scratch," said Gaston, hastily commencing his preparations; "Guy, go
you and saddle Brigliador."
"No, do not touch Brigliador," said Eustace.  "You deny it in vain,
Gaston; your face betrays that you do not move without pain.  I learnt
some leech-craft among my clerkly accomplishments, and you had better
take care that you do not have the benefit.  Leonard, since it is the
only way to quiet him, I order you to mount."
Leonard hung his head, and obeyed.  They rode towards the village of
Najara, where Eustace found the Prince entering the church, to hear
morning mass.  Giving his horse to John Ingram, he followed among the
other Knights who thronged the little building.
The service at an end, he received more than one kind greeting from his
brother's friends, and one of them, Sir Richard Ferrars, a fine old
man, whose iron-gray locks contrasted with his ruddy complexion, led
him forward to present him to the Prince of Wales.
"Welcome! our new-made Knight," said Edward.  "Brave comrades, I
present to you the youngest brother of our order, trusting you will not
envy him for having borne off the fairest rose of our chaplet of
Navaretta."
Bertrand du Guesclin, who stood among the throng of nobles around the
Prince, was the first to come forward and shake Eustace by the hand,
saying with a laugh, "Nay, my Lord, this is the first time the ugliest
Knight in France has been called by such a name.  However, young Sir,
may you win and wear many another."
"That scarcely may be a sincere wish, Messire Bertrand," said the Duke
of Lancaster, "unless you mean roses of love instead of roses of war.
And truly, with his face, and the fame he owes to you, methinks he will
not find our damsels at Bordeaux very hard of heart.  See, he blushes,
as if we had guessed his very thought."
"Truly, my Lord John," said old Sir John Chandos sternly, "a man may
well blush to hear a son of King Edward talk as if such trifling were
the reward of knighthood.  His face and his fame forsooth! as if he
were not already in sufficient danger of being cockered up, like some
other striplings on whom it has pleased his Highness to confer
knighthood for as mere a chance as this."
"You have coloured his cheek in good earnest," said the Captal de Buch.
"Consider, Chandos, this is no time to damp his spirit."
"It were a spirit scarce worth fostering, if it is to be damped by a
little breath of the lips one way or the other," said Sir John, moving
off, and adding, when out of Eustace's hearing, "A likely lad enough
had he been under his brother's training, but they will spoil him, and
I will have no hand in it."
Eustace had been accustomed to hold the warrior in such veneration,
that he felt considerably hurt and mortified at the want of welcome
which contrasted with the kindness of the rest; and he could hardly
recover his self-possession sufficiently to inquire the pleasure of the
Prince with regard to his brother's troop.
"Take command yourself," said Edward.  "You surely have some Esquire or
man-at-arms who can supply your own want of experience."
"My brother's Squire, Gaston d'Aubricour, is well learned in chivalry,
my Lord," said Eustace, "and I will do my best, with his aid, to fulfil
my trust."
"It is well," said Edward.  "The Lances of Lynwood are too well trained
easily to forget their duty, and I fear not but that you will do well.
How old is your brother's young heir?"
"Eight years, my Lord."
"We will soon have him at Bordeaux," said Edward, "that he may grow up
with my boys in the same friendship as their fathers.  And now," added
he, turning from Eustace to the assembled nobles around him, "let us
part, and prepare for our further journey.  In an hour's time the
bugles shall summon you to depart for Burgos."
The Prince walked away towards his tent with the Captal de Buch, and
Eustace looked round for his horse, which he saw at no great distance
with Ingram, but Leonard Ashton was nowhere in sight. Eustace mounted,
and rode towards his own tent, desiring the yeoman to seek Ashton out,
while he himself proceeded slowly, musing, with feelings of
considerable disappointment and vexation, on the reception he had met
from Sir John Chandos, the man in the whole camp whose good opinion he
would have most valued.  "This is folly," thought he, however, rousing
himself after a minute or two of such meditations.  "What said the good
old Baron but what I know full well myself, that I am far from meriting
my new honours? On whom does it depend, but myself to win his praise?
And by our Lady's grace, I will make him confess at last, that, young
as I am, I can show that I deserve my spurs.  What, ho! Ingram, where
is Master Ashton?"
"Where you will little like to hear of him, Sir Knight," said the
yeoman, galloping up on his tall Flemish horse.  "At the wine-shop,
yonder, in the village, with that ill-favoured, one-eyed Squire that
you wot of.  I called him as you desired, and all that I got for an
answer was, that he would come at his own time, and not at your
bidding."
"Said he so? the ungracious, headstrong fellow!" said Eustace, looking
back wistfully.  "And what to do!  To ride back myself might be the
means of getting the whole troop late in starting, and disorderly--yet,
to leave him!"  Eustace looked at John Ingram's comely and stolid face,
and then almost smiled at himself for seeking counsel from him.  "Ride
you on, John," said he; "tell Master d'Aubricour of the order to
depart--let all be in readiness by the time I return."
Then turning his horse quickly, Eustace rode back to the village. All
was haste and confusion there--horses were being led forth and saddled,
pages, grooms, and men-at-arms hurrying to and fro--bugles
sounding--everything in the bustle incident to immediate departure.  He
could only make his way through the press slowly, and with difficulty,
which ill suited with his impatience and perplexity.  In front of the
venta, a low white cottage, with a wooden balcony overspread with
vines, there was a still closer press, and loud vehement voices, as of
disputants, were heard, while the various men-at-arms crowded in so
closely to see the fray, if such it were, as to be almost regardless of
the horse, which Eustace was pressing forward upon them.  He looked
over their heads to see Leonard, but in vain.  He thought of retreat,
but found himself completely entangled in the throng.  At that moment,
a cry was heard, "The Provost Marshal!"  The crowd suddenly, he knew
not how, seemed to melt away from around him, in different directions,
and he found himself left, on horseback, in the midst of the little
village green, amongst scattered groups of disreputable-looking yeomen,
archers, and grooms, who were making what speed they could to depart,
as from the other side the Provost, the archers of the guard, and Sir
John Chandos entered upon the scene.
"Ha!  What is all this?  Whom have we here?" exclaimed the old Baron.
"Sir Eustace Lynwood!  By my life, a fair commencement for your dainty
young knighthood!"
"On my word, my Lord Chandos," said Eustace, colouring deeply, "I am no
loiterer here; I came but to seek my Squire, Leonard Ashton, and found
myself entangled in the crowd."
"Ay, ay!  I understand," said Chandos, without listening to him; "I see
how it will be.  Off to your troop instantly, Master Knight. I suppose
they are all seeking Squires in the wine-shops!"
"You do me wrong, my Lord," said Eustace; "but you shall be obeyed."
The bugles had already sounded before he reached his own quarters,
where he found that, thanks to Gaston, all was right.  The tent had
been taken down and packed on the baggage mules, the men were mounted,
and drawn up in full array, with his banner floating above their heads;
and Gaston himself was only waiting his appearance to mount a stout
mule, which Martin, the horse-boy, was leading up and down.
"This is well.  Thanks, good Gaston," said Eustace, with a sigh of
relief, as he took off his heavy helmet, which had become much heated
during his hasty ride in the hot sun.
"No news of the truant?" asked Gaston.  "Who but you would have thought
of going after him?  Well did I know you would never prosper without me
at your elbow."
Eustace smiled, but he was too much heated and vexed to give a very
cheerful assent.  He had only time to load Ferragus with his armour,
and mount a small pony, before the signal for the march was given, and
all set forth.  Early in the year as it was, the sun already possessed
great force, and the dry rocky soil of Castile reflected his beams, so
that, long before noon, it seemed to Eustace almost as if their march
lay through an oven.  Nor were his perplexities by any means at an end;
the thirst, occasioned by the heat, was excessive, and at every venta,
in the villages through which they passed, the men called loudly for
liquor; but the hot, fiery Spanish wine was, as Eustace had already
been cautioned by Father Waleran, only fit to increase the evil, by
inflaming their blood.  It was the Holy Week, which was to him a
sufficient reason for refraining entirely, contenting himself with a
drink of water, when it could be procured, which, however, was but
rarely.  He would willingly have persuaded his men to do the same, but
remonstrance was almost without effect, and his dry lips refused to
utter a prohibition, which would have been esteemed at once cruel and
unreasonable.  In his persuasions to Gaston he was, however, more in
earnest, representing to him that he was increasing the fever of his
wound; but the Squire was perfectly impracticable.  At first, he
answered in his usual gay, careless manner, that the scratch was
nothing, and that, be what it might, he had as soon die of a wound as
of thirst; but as the day wore on, it seemed as if the whole nature of
the man were becoming changed. Sometimes he was boisterously loud in
his merriment, sometimes sullen and silent; and when Eustace,
unwearied, reiterated his arguments, he replied to him, not only with
complete want of the deference he was usually so scrupulous in paying
to his dignity, but with rude and scurril taunts and jests on his
youth, his clerkly education, and his inexperience.  Eustace's patience
would scarcely have held out, but that he perceived that d'Aubricour
was by no means master of himself, and he saw in his flushed brow, and
blood-shot eye, reason to fear for the future effect of the present
excess.  There was suppressed laughter among the men at some of his
sallies.  Without being positively in disorder, the troop did not
display the well-arrayed aspect which had always hitherto distinguished
the Lances of Lynwood; and poor Eustace, wearied and worn out, his
right-hand man failing him, dispirited by Chandos's reproach, and
feeling all the cares of the world on his shoulders, had serious
thoughts of going to the Prince, and resigning the command for which he
was unfit.
At last he beheld the Cathedral of Burgos rising in the midst of the
Moorish fortifications of the town, and, halting his men under the
shade of a few trees, he rode on in search of the marshals of the camp,
and as soon as the open space for his tents had been assigned, he
returned to see them raised.  Gaston, who had of late become more
silent, was lifted from his mule, and assisted into the tent, where he
was laid on his couch, and soon after, Eustace was relieved from his
anxiety on Leonard Ashton's account, by his appearance.  He came
stumbling in without one word of apology, only declaring himself as
weary as a dog, and, throwing himself down on a deer-skin on his own
side of the tent, was fast asleep in another minute.
CHAPTER VI
Leonard Ashton was awakened the next morning by the light of the rising
sun streaming in where the curtain of the tent had been raised to admit
the fresh dewy morning air.  The sunbeams fell on the hair and face of
Eustace as he leant over Gaston, who lay stretched on the couch, and
faintly spoke: "I tell you it is more. Such fever as this would not be
caused by this trifling cut.  There is sickness abroad in the camp, and
why should it not be my turn as well as another man's.  Take care of
yourself, Sir Eustace."
No sooner did Leonard understand the sense of these words, than he
sprang up, rushed out of the tent, and never rested till he thought
himself at a safe distance, when he shouted to Eustace to come to him.
"Has he got this fever on him?" exclaimed he, as Eustace approached.
"He is very ill at ease," replied Eustace, "but to my mind it is caused
by yesterday's fatigue and heat, added to the wine which he would
drink."
"It is the fever, I say," replied Ashton; "I am sure it is.  Come away,
Eustace, or we shall all be infected."
"I cannot leave him," said Eustace.
"What?  You do not mean to peril yourself by going near him?" said
Ashton.
"I think not that there is peril in so doing," answered Eustace; "and
even if there were, I could not leave him in sickness, after all his
kindness to me and patience with my inexperience."
"He is no brother nor cousin to us," said Leonard.  "I see not why we
should endanger our lives for a stranger.  I will not, for my own part;
and, as your old friend and comrade, I would entreat you not."
These were kinder words than Eustace had heard from Ashton since the
beginning of his jealousy, and he answered, as he thought they were
meant, in a friendly tone, "Thanks, Leonard, but I cannot look on
Gaston d'Aubricour as a stranger; and had I fewer causes for attachment
to him, I could not leave my post."
"Only you do not expect me to do the same," said Leonard; "my father
sent me here to gain honour and wealth, not to be poisoned with the
breath of a man in a fever."
"Assuredly not," said Eustace.  "I will arrange matters so that you
shall no longer sleep in our tent.  But let me ask of you, Leonard,
what was the meaning of your conduct of yesterday?"
"You may ask yourself," said Leonard, sullenly; "it is plain enough,
methinks."
"Have a care, Leonard.  Remember that my brother's authority is given
to me."
"Much good may it do you," said Leonard; "but that is nothing to me. I
am no vassal of yours, to come at your call.  I have my own friends,
and am not going to stay in this infected part of the camp with men who
keep a fever among them.  Give me but my sword and mantle from the
tent, and I will trouble you no more."
"Wait, Leonard, I will take all measures for your safety; but remember
that I am answerable to the Prince for my brother's followers."
"Answer for your own serfs," retorted Leonard, who had nearly succeeded
in working himself into a passion.  "My father might be willing to
grace Sir Reginald by letting me follow him, but by his death I am my
own man, and not to move at your beck and call, because the Prince laid
his sword on your shoulder.  Knave Jasper," he called to one of the
men-at-arms, "bring my sword and cloak from the tent; I enter it no
more."
"I know not how far you may be bound to me," said Eustace, "and must
inquire from some elder Knight, but I fear that your breaking from me
may be attended with evil effects to your name and fame."
Leonard had put on his dogged expression, and would not listen. He had
already set his mind on joining le Borgne Basque, and leaving the
service which his own envious service rendered galling; and the panic
excited in his mind by Gaston's illness determined him to depart
without loss of time, or listening to the representations which he
could not answer.  He turned his back on Eustace, and busied himself
with the fastenings of his sword, which had by this time been brought
to him.  Even yet Eustace was not rebuffed.  "One more hint, Leonard.
From what I am told, there is more peril to thy health in revelry than
in the neighbourhood of poor Gaston.  If you will quit one who wishes
you well, take heed to your ways."
Still the discourteous Squire made no reply, and walked off in all the
dignity of ill-humour.  The young Knight, who really had a warm feeling
of affection for him, stood looking after him with a sigh, and then
returned to his patient, whom he found in an uneasy sleep. After a few
moments' consideration, he summoned old Guy to take the part of nurse,
and walked to the tent of Sir Richard Ferrars, to ask his counsel.
The old Knight, who was standing at the door of his tent, examining
into some hurt which his steed had received the day before, kindly and
cordially greeted Eustace on his approach.  "I am glad you are not
above taking advice," he said, "as many a youth might be after such
fresh honours."
"I feel but too glad to find some one who will bestow advice on me,"
said Eustace; and he proceeded to explain his difficulties with regard
to Leonard Ashton.
"Let him go! and a good riddance," said Sir Richard; "half your cares
go with him."
"Yet I am unwilling not to attempt to hinder my old comrade from
running to ruin."
"You have quite enough on your own hands already," said the old Knight;
"he would do far more harm in your troop than out of it, and try your
patience every hour."
"He is my old playfellow," said Eustace, still dissatisfied.
"More shame for him," said Sir Richard; "waste not another thought on
so cross-grained a slip, who, as I have already feared, might prove a
stumbling-block to you, so young in command as you are.  Let him get
sick of his chosen associates, and no better hap can befall him.  And
for yourself, what shall you do with this sick Squire?"
"What can I do, save to give the best attendance I may?"
"Nay, I am not the man to gainsay it.  'Tis no more than you ought. And
yet--"  He surveyed the young Knight's slender form and slightly
moulded limbs, his cheeks pale with watching and the oppressive heat of
the night, and the heavy appearance of the eyelids that shaded his dark
blue thoughtful eyes.  "Is your health good, young man?"
"As good as that of other men," said Eustace.
"Men!" said Sir Richard; "boys, you mean!  But be a man, since you
will, only take as good care of yourself as consists with duty.  I had
rather have you safe than a dozen of these black-visaged Gascons."
Eustace further waited to mention to Sir Richard his untoward encounter
with Sir John Chandos, and to beg him to explain it to the old Baron.
"I will," said Sir Richard; "and don't take old Chandos's uncourtliness
too much to heart, young Eustace.  He means you no ill.  Do your duty,
and he will own it in time."
Eustace thanked the old Knight, and with spirits somewhat cheered,
returned to his tent, there to devote himself to the service of his
sick Squire.  The report that the fever was in his tent made most
persons willing to avoid him, and he met little interruption in his
cares.  Of Leonard, all that he heard was from a man-at-arms, who made
his appearance in his tent to demand Master Ashton's arms, horse, and
other property, he having entered the service of Sir William Felton;
and Eustace was too much engaged with his own cares to make further
inquiry after him.
For a day or two Gaston d'Aubricour's fever ran very high, and just
when its violence was beginning to diminish, a fresh access was
occasioned by the journey from Burgos to Valladolid, whither he was
carried in a litter, when the army, by Pedro's desire, marched thither
to await his promised subsidy.  The unwholesome climate was of most
pernicious effect to the whole of the English army, and in especial to
the Black Prince, who there laid the foundation of the disorder which
destroyed his health.  Week after week passed on, each adding heat to
the summer, and increasing the long roll of sick and dying in the camp,
while Gaston still lay, languid and feeble by day, and fevered by
night; there were other patients among the men-at-arms, requiring
scarcely less care; and the young Knight himself, though, owing to his
temperate habits, he had escaped the prevailing sickness, was looking
thin and careworn with the numerous troubles and anxieties that were
pressing on him.
Still he had actually lost not one of his men, and after the first week
or two, began to have more confidence in himself, and to feel his place
as their commander more than he would have done had Gaston been able to
assist him.  At last his trusty Squire began slowly to recover, though
nightly returns of fever still kept him very weak.
"The Pyrenean breezes would make me another man," said he, one evening,
when Eustace had helped him to the front of the tent, where he might
enjoy the coolness which began to succeed the sultry heat of the day.
"I hear," said Eustace, "that we are to return as soon as the Prince
can be moved.  He is weary of waiting till this dog of a Spaniard will
perform his contract."
"By my faith," said d'Aubricour, "I believe the butcherly rogue means
to cancel his debts by the death of all his creditors.  I would give my
share of the pay, were it twenty times more, for one gust of the
mountain air of my own hills."
"Which way lies your home, Gaston?" asked Eustace.  "Near the pass by
which we crossed?"
"No; more to the west.  My home, call you it?  You would marvel to see
what it is now.  A shattered, fire-scathed keep; the wolf's den in
earnest, it may be.  It is all that is left of the Castle d'Albricorte."
"How?" exclaimed Eustace.  "What brought this desolation?"
"Heard you never my story?" said Gaston.  "Mayhap not.  You are fresh
in the camp, and it is no recent news, nor do men question much whence
their comrades come.  Well, Albricorte was always a noted house for
courage, and my father, Baron Beranger, not a whit behind his
ancestors.  He called himself a liegeman of England, because England
was farthest off, and least likely to give him any trouble, and made
war with all his neighbours in his own fashion. Rare was the prey that
the old Black Wolf of the Pyrenees was wont to bring up to his lair,
and right merry were the feastings there. Well I do remember how my
father and brothers used to sound their horns as a token that they did
not come empty-handed, and then, panting up the steep path, would come
a rich merchant, whose ransom filled our purses half a year after, or a
Knight, whose glittering armour made him a double prize, or--"
"What! you were actually--"
"Freebooters, after the fashion of our own Quatre fils Aymon," answered
Gaston, composedly.  "Yes, Beranger d'Albricorte was the terror of all
around, and little was the chance that aught would pursue him to his
den.  So there I grew up, as well beseemed the cub of such a wolf,
racing through the old halls at my will."
"Your mother?" asked Eustace.
"Ah! poor lady!  I remember her not.  She died when I was a babe, and
all I know of her was from an old hag, the only woman in the Castle, to
whom the charge of me was left.  My mother was a noble Navarrese damsel
whom my father saw at a tourney, seized, and bore away as she was
returning from the festival.  Poor lady! our grim Castle must have been
a sad exchange from her green valleys--and the more, that they say she
was soon to have wedded the Lord of Montagudo, the victor of that
tourney.  The Montagudos had us in bitter feud ever after, and my
father always looked like a thunderstorm if their name was spoken.
They say she used to wander on the old battlements like a ghost, ever
growing thinner and whiter, and scarce seemed to joy even in her babes,
but would only weep over them.  That angered the Black Wolf, and there
were chidings which made matters little better, till at last the poor
lady pined away, and died while I was still an infant."
"A sad tale," said Eustace.
"Ay! I used to weep at it, when the old crone who nursed me would tell
it over as I sat by her side in the evening.  See, here is holy relic
that my mother wore round her neck, and my nurse hung round mine.  It
has never been parted from me.  So I grew up to the years of pagehood,
which came early with me, and forth I went on my first foray with the
rest of them.  But as we rode joyously home with our prey before us, a
band of full a hundred and fifty men-at-arms set on us in the forest.
Our brave thirty--down they went on all side.  I remember the tumult,
the heavy mace uplifted, and my father's shield thrust over me.  I can
well-nigh hear his voice saying, 'Flinch not, Gaston, my brave
wolf-cub!'  But then came a fall, man and horse together, and I went
down stunned, and knew no more till a voice over me said, 'That whelp
is stirring--another sword-thrust!'  But another replied, 'He bears the
features of Alienor, I cannot slay him.'"
"It was your mother's lover?"
"Montagudo?  Even so; and I was about to beg for mercy, but, at my
first movement, the other fellow's sword struck me back senseless once
more, and when I recovered my wits, all was still, and the moonlight
showed me where I was.  And a fair scene to waken to! A score of dark
shapes hung on the trees--our trusty men-at-arms--and my own head was
resting on my dead father's breast.  Us they had spared from
hanging--our gentle blood did us that service; but my father and my
three brethren all were stone dead.  The Count de Bearn had sworn to
put an end to the ravages of the Black Wolf, and, joining with the
Montagudos, had done the work, like traitor villains as they were."
"And yourself, Gaston?"
"I was not so badly wounded but that I could soon rise to my feet--but
where should I go?  I turned towards the Castle, but the Bearnese had
been there before me, and I saw flames bursting from every window.  I
was weak and wounded, and sank down, bleeding and bewailing, till my
senses left me; and I should have died, but for two Benedictines
journeying for the service of their Convent.  The good brethren were in
fear for their bags in going through the Black Wolf's country, but they
had pity on me; they brought me to myself, and when they had heard my
tale, they turned aside to give Christian burial to my father and
brothers. They were holy men, those monks, and, for their sakes, I have
spared the cowl ever since.  They tended me nearly as well as you have
done, and brought me to their Convent, where they would fain have made
a monk of me, but the wolf was too strong in me, and, ere a month was
passed, I had been so refractory a pupil, that they were right glad to
open the Convent gates.  I walked forth to seek my fortune, without a
denier, with nothing but the sword I had taken from my father's hand,
and borne with me, much against the good men's will.  I meant to seek
service with any one who would avenge me on the Count de Bearn.  One
night I slept on the hill-side, one day I fasted, the next I fell in
with Sir Perduccas d'Albret's troop.  I had seen him in my father's
company. He heard my tale, saw me a strong, spirited lad, and knew a
d'Aubricour would be no discredit to his free lances.  So he took me as
his page, and thence--but the tale would be long--I became what you see
me."
"And you have never seen your own Castle again?"
"But once.  D'Albret laughed when I called on him to revenge me on the
Count de Bearn, and bade me bide my time till I met him in battle.  As
to my heritage, there was no hope for that.  Once, when I had just
broken with Sir Nele Loring, and left his troop, and times were hard
with me, I took my horse and rode to Albricorte, but there was nought
but the bare mountain, and the walls black with fire.  There was,
indeed, a wretched shepherd and his wife, who trembled and looked
dismayed when they found that one of the Albricortes still lived; but I
could get nothing from them, unless I had taken a sheep before me on
the saddle; so I rode off again to seek some fresh service, and, by
good hap, lit on Sir Reginald just as old Harwood was dead.  All I have
from my father is my name, my shield, and an arm that I trust has
disgraced neither."
"No, indeed.  Yours is a strange history, Gaston; such as we dream not
of in our peaceful land.  Homeless, friendless, I know not how you can
be thus gay spirited?"
"A light heart finds its way through the world the easiest," said
Gaston, smiling.  "I have nothing to lose, and no sorrows to waste time
on.  But are you not going forth this cool evening, Sir Eustace? you
spoke of seeking fresh tidings of the Prince."
Eustace accordingly walked forth, attended by his yeoman, John Ingram;
but all he could learn was, that Edward had sent a remonstrance to the
King of Castile on the delay of the subsidy.
CHAPTER VII
As Eustace was returning, his attention was caught by repeated groans,
which proceeded from a wretched little hovel almost level with the
earth.  "Hark!" said he to Ingram, a tall stout man-at-arms from the
Lynwood estate.  "Didst thou not hear a groaning?"
"Some of the Castilians, Sir.  To think that the brutes should be
content to live in holes not fit for swine!"
"But methought it was an English tongue.  Listen, John!"
And in truth English ejaculations mingled with the moans: "To St.
Joseph of Glastonbury, a shrine of silver!  Blessed Lady of Taunton, a
silver candlestick!  Oh! St. Dunstan!"
Eustace doubted no longer; and stooping down and entering the hut, he
beheld, as well as the darkness would allow him, Leonard Ashton
himself, stretched on some mouldy rushes, and so much altered, that he
could scarcely have been recognized as the sturdy, ruddy youth who had
quitted the Lances of Lynwood but five weeks before.
"Eustace! Eustace!" he exclaimed, as the face of his late companion
appeared.  "Can it be you?  Have the saints sent you to my succour?"
"It is I, myself, Leonard," replied Eustace; "and I hope to aid you.
How is it--"
"Let me feel your hand, that I may be sure you are flesh and blood,"
cried Ashton, raising himself and grasping Eustace's hand between his
own, which burnt like fire; then, lowering his voice to a whisper of
horror, "She is a witch!"
"Who?" asked Eustace, making the sign of the cross.
Leonard pointed to a kind of partition which crossed the hut, beyond
which Eustace could perceive an old hag-like woman, bending over a
cauldron which was placed on the fire.  Having made this effort, he
sank back, hiding his face with his cloak, and trembling in every limb.
A thrill of dismay passed over the Knight, and the giant, John Ingram,
stood shaking like an aspen, pale as death, and crossing himself
perpetually.  "Oh, take me from this place, Eustace," repeated Leonard,
"or I am a dead man, both body and soul!"
"But how came you here, Leonard?"
"I fell sick some three days since, and--and, fearing infection, Sir
William Felton bade me be carried from his lodgings; the robbers, his
men-at-arms, stripped me of all I possessed, and brought me to this
dog-hole, to the care of this old hag.  Oh, Eustace, I have heard her
mutter prayers backwards; and last night--oh! last night! at the dead
hour, there came in a procession--of that I would take my oath--seven
black cats, each holding a torch with a blue flame, and danced around
me, till one laid his paw upon my breast, and grew and grew, with its
flaming eyes fixed on me, till it was as big as an ox, and the weight
was intolerable, the while her spells were over me, and I could not
open my lips to say so much as an Ave Mary.  At last, the cold dew
broke out on my brow, and I should have been dead in another instant,
when I contrived to make the sign of the Cross, whereat they all
whirled wildly round, and I fell--oh! I fell miles and miles downwards,
till at last I found myself, at morning's light, with the hateful old
witch casting water in my face.  Oh, Eustace, take me away!"
Such were the times, that Eustace Lynwood, with all his cool sense and
mental cultivation, believed implicitly poor Leonard's delirious
fancy--black cats and all; and the glances he cast at the poor old
Spaniard were scarcely less full of terror and abhorrence, as he
promised Leonard, whom he now regarded only in the light of his old
comrade, that he should, without loss of time, be conveyed to his own
tent.
"But go not--leave me not," implored Leonard, clinging fast to him,
almost like a child to its nurse, with a hand which was now cold as
marble.
"No; I will remain," said Eustace; "and you, Ingram, hasten to bring
four of the men with the litter in which Master d'Aubricour came from
Burgos.  Hasten I tell you."
Ingram, with his eyes dilated with horror, appeared but too anxious to
quit this den, yet lingered.  "I leave you not here, Sir Knight."
"Thanks, thanks, John," replied the youth; "but remain I must, and
will.  As a Christian man, I defy the foul fiend and all his followers!"
John departed.  Never was Leonard so inclined to rejoice in his
friend's clerkly education, or in his knighthood, which was then so
much regarded as a holy thing, that the presence of one whose entrance
into the order was so recent was deemed a protection. The old woman, a
kind-hearted creature in the main, though, certainly forbidding-looking
in her poverty and ugliness, was rejoiced to see her patient visited by
a friend.  She came towards them, addressing Eustace with what he took
for a spell, though, had he understood Spanish he would have found it a
fine flowing compliment.  Leonard shrank closer to him, pressed his
hand faster, and he, again crossing himself, gave utterance to a charm.
Spanish, especially old Castilian, had likeness enough to Latin for the
poor old woman to recognize its purport; she poured out a voluble
vindication, which the two young men believed to be an attempt at
further bewitching them.  Eustace, finding his Latin rather the worse
for wear, had recourse to all the strange rhymes, or exorcisms,
English, French, or Latin, with which his memory supplied him.  Thanks
to these, the sorceress was kept at bay, and the spirits of his
terrified companion were sustained till the arrival of all the Lances
of Lynwood, headed by Gaston himself, upon his mule, in the utmost
anxiety for his Knight, looking as gaunt and spectral as the phantoms
they dreaded.  He blessed the saints when Eustace came forth safe and
sound, and smiled and shook his head with an arch look when Leonard was
carried out; but his never-failing good-nature prevented him from
saying a word which might savour of reproach when he saw to what a
condition the poor youth was reduced.  As four stout men-at-arms took
up the litter, the old woman, coming forth to her threshold, uttered
something which his knowledge of the Romanesque tongues of Southern
France enabled him to interpret into a vindication of her character,
and a request for a reward for her care of the sick Englishman.
"Throw her a gold piece, Sir Eustace, or she may cast at you an evil
eye.  There, you old hag," he added in the Provencal patois, "take
that, and thank your stars that 'tis not with a fire that your tender
care, as you call it, is requited."
The men-at-arms meditated ducking the witch after their own English
fashion, but it was growing late and dark, and the Knight gave strict
orders that they should keep together in their progress to their own
tents.  Here Leonard was deposited on the couch which Gaston insisted
on giving up to him; but his change of residence appeared to be of
little advantage, for the camp was scarce quiet for the night, before
he shrieked out that the black cats were there.  Neither Eustace nor
Gaston could see them, but that was only a proof that they were not
under the power of the enchantment, and John Ingram was quite sure that
he had not only seen the sparkle of their fiery eyes, but felt the
scratch of their talons, which struck him to the ground, with his foot
caught in the rope of the tent, while he was walking about with his
eyes shut.
The scratch was actually on his face the next morning, and he set out
at the head of half the Lances of Lynwood to find the poor old woman,
and visit her with condign punishment; but she was not forthcoming, and
they were obliged to content themselves with burning her house,
assisted by a host of idlers.  In the meantime, Sir Eustace had called
in the aid of the clergy: the chaplains of the camp came in procession,
sprinkled the patient's bed with holy water, and uttered an exorcism,
but without availing to prevent a third visit from the enemy.  After
this, however, Leonard's fever began to abate, and he ceased to be
haunted.
He had been very ill; and, thoroughly alarmed, he thought himself
dying, and bitterly did he repent of the headstrong insubordination and
jealously which had lead him to quit his best and only friend. He had
not, indeed, the refinement of feeling which would have made Eustace's
generosity his greatest reproach; he clung to him as his support, and
received his attentions almost as a right; but still he was sensible
that he had acted like a fool, and that such friendship was not to be
thrown away; and when he began to recover he showed himself subdued, to
a certain degree grateful, and decidedly less sullen and more amenable
to authority.
In the meantime, the Prince of Wales found himself sufficiently
recovered to undertake to return to Aquitaine, and, weary of the
treacherous delays and flagrant crimes of his ally, he resolved to quit
this fatal land of Castile.
There was a general cry of joy throughout the camp when orders were
given that the tents should be struck and the army begin its march in
the early coolness of the next morning; and, without further adventure,
the Black Prince led his weakened and reduced forces over the Pyrenees
back into France.  Here they were again dispersed, as the war was at an
end; and the young Sir Eustace Lynwood received high commendation from
the Prince, and even from Chandos himself, for being able to show his
brother's band as complete in numbers and discipline as on the day when
it was given into his charge.
"This," as Chandos said, "was a service which really showed him worthy
of his spurs, if he would but continue the good course."
The peace with France, however, prevented the Prince from being
desirous of keeping up the Lances of Lynwood, and he therefore offered
to take their young leader into his own troop of Knights, who were
maintained at his own table, and formed a part of his state; and so
distinguished was this body, that no higher favour could have been
offered.  Edward likewise paid to Sir Eustace a considerable sum as the
purchase of his illustrious captive, and this, together with the
ransoms of the two other prisoners, enabled him to reward the faithful
men-at-arms, some of whom took service with other Knights, and others
returned to England.  Leonard Ashton having no pleasant reminiscences
of his first campaign, and having been stripped of all his property by
his chosen associates, was desirous of returning to his father; and
Eustace, after restoring his equipments to something befitting an
Esquire of property, and liberally supplying him with the expenses of
his journey, bade him an affectionate farewell, and saw him depart, not
without satisfaction at no longer feeling himself accountable for his
conduct.
"There he goes," said Gaston, "and I should like to hear the tales he
will amaze the good Somersetshire folk with.  I trow he will make them
believe that he took Du Guesclin himself, and that the Prince knighted
you by mistake."
"His tale of the witches will be something monstrous," said Eustace;
"but still, methinks he is much the better for his expedition: far less
crabbed in temper, and less clownish in manners."
"Ay," said Gaston, "if he were never to be under any other guidance
than yours, I think the tough ash-bough might be moulded into something
less unshapely.  You have a calmness and a temper such as he cannot
withstand, nor I understand.  'Tis not want of spirit, but it is that
you never seem to take or see what is meant for affront. I should think
it tameness in any other."
"Well, poor fellow, I wish he may prosper," said Eustace.  "But now,
Gaston, to our own affairs.  Let us see what remains of the gold."
"Ah! your bounty to our friend there has drawn deeply on our purse,"
said Gaston.
"It shall not be the worse for you, Gaston, for I had set aside these
thirty golden crowns for you before I broke upon my own store.  It is
not such a recompense as Reginald or I myself would have wished after
such loving and faithful service; but gold may never recompense truth."
"As for recompense," said Gaston, "I should be by a long score the
debtor if we came to that.  If it had not been for Sir Reginald,  I
should be by this time a reckless freebooter, without a hope in this
world or the next; if it had not been for you, these bones of mine
would long since have been picked by my cousins, the Spanish wolves.
But let the gold tarry in your keeping: it were better King Edward's
good crowns should not be, after all else that has been, in my hands."
"But, Gaston, you will need fitting out for the service of Sir William
Beauchamp."
"What!  What mean you, Sir Eustace?" cried Gaston.  "What have I done
that you should dismiss me from your followers?"
"Nay, kind Gaston, it were shame that so finished a Squire should be
bound down by my poverty to be the sole follower of a banner which will
never again be displayed at the head of such a band as the Lances of
Lynwood."
"No, Sir Eustace, I leave you not.  Recall your brother's words, 'Go
not back to old ways and comrades,' quoth he; and if you cast me off,
what else is left for me? for having once served a banneret, no other
shall have my service.  Where else should I find one who would care a
feather whether I am dead or alive?  So there it ends--put up your
pieces, or rather, give me one  wherewith to purvey a new bridle for
Brigliador, for the present is far from worthy of his name."
Accordingly, the Gascon Squire still remained attached to Eustace's
service, while the trusty Englishman, John Ingram, performed the more
menial offices.  Time sped away at the court of Bordeaux; the gallant
Du Guesclin was restored to liberty, after twice paying away his ransom
for the deliverance of his less renowned brethren in captivity, and
Enrique of Trastamare, returning to Castile, was once more crowned by
the inhabitants.  His brother Pedro, attempting to assassinate him,
fell by his hand, and all the consequences of the English expedition
were undone--all, save the wasting disease that preyed on England's
heir, and the desolation at the orphaned hearth of Lynwood Keep.
CHAPTER VIII
Two years had passed since the fight of Navaretta, when Sir Eustace
Lynwood received, by the hands of a Knight newly arrived from England,
a letter from Father Cyril, praying him to return home as soon as
possible, since his sister-in-law, Dame Eleanor, was very sick, and
desired to see him upon matters on which more could not be disclosed by
letter.
Easily obtaining permission to leave Bordeaux, he travelled safely
through France, and crossing from Brittany, at length found himself
once more in Somersetshire.  It was late, and fast growing dark, when
he rode through Bruton; but, eager to arrive, he pushed on, though
twilight had fast faded into night, and heavy clouds, laden with brief
but violent showers, were drifting across the face of the moon.  On
they rode, in silence, save for Gaston's execrations of the English
climate, and the plashing of the horses' feet in the miry tracks, along
which, in many places, the water was rushing in torrents.
At length they were descending the long low hill, or rather undulation,
leading to the wooded vale of Lynwood, and the bright lights of the
Keep began to gleam like stars in the darkness--stars indeed to the
eager eyes of the young Knight, who gazed upon them long and
affectionately, as he felt himself once more at home.  "I wonder," said
he, "to see the light strongest towards the east end of the Castle!  I
knew not that the altar lights in the chapel could be seen so far!"
Then riding on more quickly, and approaching more nearly, he soon lost
sight of them behind the walls, and descending the last little rising
ground, the lofty mass of building rose huge and black before him.
He wound his bugle and rode towards the gate, but at the moment he
expected to cross the drawbridge, Ferragus suddenly backed, and he
perceived that it was raised.  "This is some strange chance!" said he,
renewing the summons, but in vain, for the echoes of the surrounding
woods were the only reply. "Ralph must indeed be deaf!" said he.
"Let him be stone deaf," said Gaston; "he is not the sole inhabitant of
the Castle.  Try them again, Sir Eustace."
"Hark!--methought I heard the opening of the hall door!" said Eustace.
"No!  What can have befallen them?"
"My teeth are chattering with cold," said Gaston, "and the horses will
be ruined with standing still in the driving rain.  Cannot we betake
ourselves to the village hostel, and in the morning reproach them with
their churlishness?"
"I must be certified that there is nothing amiss," said Sir Eustace,
springing from his saddle; "I can cross the moat on one of the supports
of the bridge."
"Have with you then, Sir Knight," said Gaston, also leaping to the
ground, while Eustace cautiously advanced along the narrow frame of
wood on which the drawbridge had rested, slippery with the wet, and
rendered still more perilous by the darkness.  Gaston followed,
balancing himself with some difficulty, and at last they safely reached
the other side.  Eustace tried the heavy gates, but found them fastened
on the inside with a ponderous wooden bar.  "Most strange!" muttered
he; "yet come on, Gaston, I can find an entrance, unless old Ralph be
more on the alert than I expect."
Creeping along between the walls and the moat, till they had reached
the opposite side of the Keep, Eustace stopped at a low doorway; a
slight click was heard, as of a latch yielding to his hand, the door
opened, and he led the way up a stone staircase in the thickness of the
wall, warning his follower now and then of a broken step.  After a long
steep ascent, Gaston heard another door open, and though still in total
darkness, perceived that they had gained a wider space. "The passage
from the hall to the chapel," whispered the Knight, and feeling by the
wall, they crept along, until a buzz of voices reached their ears, and
light gleamed beneath a heavy dark curtain which closed the passage.
Pausing for an instant, they heard a voice tremulous with fear and
eagerness: "It was himself! tall plume, bright armour! the very
crosslet on his breast could be seen in the moonlight!  Oh! it was Sir
Reginald himself, and the wild young French Squire that fell with him
in Spain!"
There was a suppressed exclamation of horror, and a sound of crowding
together, and at that moment, Eustace, drawing aside the curtain,
advanced into the light, and was greeted by a frightful shriek, which
made him at first repent of having alarmed his sister, but the next
glance showed him that her place was empty, and a thrill of dismay made
him stand speechless and motionless, as he perceived that the curtain
he grasped was black, and the hall completely hung with the same colour.
The servants remained huddled in terror round the hearth, and the pause
was first broken by a fair-faced boy, who, breaking from the trembling
circle, came forward, and in a quivering tone said, "Sir, are you my
father's spirit?"
Gaston's laugh came strangely on the scene, but Eustace, bending down,
and holding out his hand, said, "I am your uncle Eustace, Arthur.
Where is your mother?"
Arthur, with a wild cry of joy, sprung to his neck, and hid his face on
his shoulder; and at the same moment old Ralph, with uplifted hands,
cried, "Blessing on the Saints that my young Lord is safe, and that
mine eyes have seen you once again."
"But where, oh! where is my sister?" again demanded Eustace, as his eye
met that of Father Cyril, who, summoned by the screams of the servants,
had just entered the hall.
"My son," replied the good Father, solemnly, "your sister is where the
wicked may trouble her no more.  It is three days now since she
departed from this world of sorrow."
"Oh, had she but lived to see this day," said Ralph Penrose, "her cares
would have been over!"
"Her prayers are answered," said Father Cyril.  "Come with me, my son
Eustace, if you would take a last look of her who loved and trusted you
so well."
Eustace followed him to the chamber where the Lady Eleanor Lynwood lay
extended on her bed.  Her features were pinched and sharpened, and bore
traces of her long, wasting sufferings, but they still looked lovely,
though awful in their perfect calmness.  Eustace knelt and recited the
accustomed prayers, and then stood gazing on the serene face, with a
full heart, and gathering tears in his eyes, for he had loved the
gentle Eleanor with the trusting affection of a younger brother.  He
thought of that joyous time, the first brilliant day of his lonely
childhood, when the gay bridal cavalcade came sweeping down the hill,
and he, half in pleasure, half in shyness, was led forth by his mother
to greet the fair young bride of his brother.  How had she brightened
the dull old Keep, and given, as it were, a new existence to himself, a
dreamy, solitary boy--how patiently and affectionately had she tended
his mother, and how pleasant were the long evenings when she had
unwearily listened to his beloved romances, and his visions of
surpassing achievements of his own!  No wonder that he wept for her as
a brother would weep for an elder sister.
Father Cyril, well pleased to perceive that the kindly tenderness of
his heart was still untouched by his intercourse with the world, let
him gaze on for some time in silence, then laying his hand on his arm
said, "She is in peace.  Mourn not that her sorrows are at an end, her
tears wiped away, but prepare to fulfil her last wishes, those prayers
in answer to which, as I fully believe, the Saints have sent you at the
very moment of greatest need."
"Her last wishes?" said Eustace.  "They shall be fulfilled to the
utmost as long as I have life or breath!  Oh! had I but come in time to
hear them from herself, and give her my own pledge."
"Grieve not that her trust was not brought down to aught of earth,"
said Father Cyril.  "She trusted in Heaven, and died in the sure belief
that her child would be guarded; and lo, his protector is come, if, as
I well believe, my son Eustace, you are not changed from the boy who
bade us farewell three years ago."
"If I am changed, it is not in my love for home, and for all who dwell
there," said Eustace, "or rather, I love them better than before.
Little did I dream what a meeting awaited me!"  Again there was a long
pause, which Eustace at length broke by saying, "What is the need you
spoke of?  What danger do you fear?"
"This is no scene for dwelling on the evil deeds of wicked men
otherwise than to pray for them," said the Priest; "but return with me
to the hall, and you shall hear."
Eustace lingered a few moments longer, before, heaving a deep sigh he
returned to the hall, where he found Gaston and Ingram, just come in
from attending to the horses, and Ralph hurrying the servants in
setting out an ample meal for the travellers.
"My good old friend," said Eustace, holding out his hand as he entered,
"I have not greeted you aright.  You must throw the blame on the
tidings that took from me all other thought, Ralph; for never was there
face which I was more rejoiced to see.
"It was the blame of our own reception of you, Sir Eustace," said old
Penrose.  "I could tear my hair to think that you should have met with
no better welcome than barred gates and owlet shrieks; but did you but
know how wildly your bugle-blast rose upon our ear, while we sat over
the fire well-nigh distraught with sorrow, you would not marvel that we
deemed that the spirit of our good Knight might be borne upon the
moaning wind."
"Yet," said Arthur, "I knew the note, and would have gone to the turret
window, but that Mistress Cicely held me fast; and when they sent
Jocelyn to look, the cowardly knave brought back the tale which you
broke short."
"Boast not, Master Arthur," said Gaston; "you believed in our ghostship
as fully as any of them."
"But met us manfully," said Eustace.  "But why all these precautions?
Why the drawbridge raised?  That could scarce be against a ghost."
"Alas!  Sir Eustace, there are bodily foes abroad!" said Ralph.  "By
your leave, Master d'Aubricour," as Gaston was about to assist his
Knight in unfastening his armour, "none shall lay a hand near Sir
Eustace but myself on this first night of his return; thanks be to St.
Dunstan that he has come!"  Eustace stood patiently for several minutes
while the old man fumbled with his armour, and presently came the
exclamation, "A plague on these new-fangled clasps which a man cannot
undo for his life!  'Twas this low corselet that was the death of good
Sir Reginald.  I always said that no good would come of these fashions!"
In process of time, Eustace was disencumbered of his heavy armour; but
when he stood before him in his plain dress of chamois leather, old
Ralph shook his head, disappointed that he had not attained the height
or the breadth of the stalwart figures of his father and brother, but
was still slight and delicate looking.  The golden spurs and the sword
of Du Guesclin, however, rejoiced the old man's heart, and touching
them almost reverentially, he placed the large arm-chair at the head of
the table, and began eagerly to invite him to eat.
Eustace was too sorrowful and too anxious to be inclined for food, and
long before his followers had finished their meal, he turned from the
table, and asked for an account of what had befallen in his absence;
for there was at that time no more idea of privacy in conversation than
such as was afforded by the comparative seclusion of the party round
the hearth, consisting of the Knight, his arm around his little nephew,
who was leaning fondly against him; of Father Cyril, of Gaston, and old
Ralph, in his wonted nook, his elbow on his knee, and his chin on his
hand, feasting his eyes with the features of his beloved pupil.  In
answer to the query, "Who is the enemy you fear?" there was but one
answer, given in different tones, "The Lord de Clarenham!"
"Ha!" cried Eustace, "it was justly then that your father, Arthur, bade
me beware of him when he committed you to my charge on the battle-field
of Navaretta."
"Did he so?" exclaimed Father Cyril.  "Did he commit the boy to your
guardianship?  Formally and before witnesses?"
"I can testify to it, good Father," said Gaston.  "Ay! and you, Ingram,
must have been within hearing--to say nothing of Du Guesclin."
"And Leonard Ashton," said Ingram.
"It is well," said Father Cyril; "he will be here to-morrow to be
confronted with Clarenham.  It is the personal wardship that is of
chief importance, and dwelt most on my Lady's mind."
"Clarenham lays claim then to the guardianship?" asked Eustace.
Father Cyril proceeded with a narrative, the substance of which was as
follows:--Simon de Clarenham, as has been mentioned, had obtained from
King Edward, in the days of the power of Isabel and Mortimer, a grant
of the manor of Lynwood, but on the fall of the wicked Queen, the
rightful owner had been reinstated, without, however, any formal
revocation of the unjust grant.  Knowing it would cost but a word of
Sir Reginald to obtain its recall, both Simon and Fulk de Clarenham had
done their best to make him forget its existence; but no sooner did the
news of his death reach England, than Fulk began to take an ungenerous
advantage of the weakness of his heir.  He sent a summons for the dues
paid by vassals to their Lord on a new succession, and on Eleanor's
indignant refusal, followed it up by a further claim to the wardship of
the person of Arthur himself, both in right of his alleged feudal
superiority, and as the next of kin who was of full age.  Again was his
demand refused, and shortly after Lady Lynwood's alarms were brought to
a height by an attempt on his part to waylay her son and carry him off
by force, whilst riding in the neighbourhood of the Castle.  The plot
had failed, by the fidelity of the villagers of Lynwood, but the shock
to the lady had increased the progress of the decay of her health,
already undermined by grief.  She never again trusted her son beyond
the Castle walls; she trembled whenever he was out of her sight, and
many an hour did she spend kneeling before the altar in the chapel.  On
her brother-in-law, Sir Eustace, her chief hope was fixed; on him she
depended for bringing Arthur's case before the King, and, above all,
for protecting him from the attacks of the enemy of his family,
rendered so much more dangerous by his relationship.  She did not
believe that actual violence to Arthur's person was intended, but
Fulk's house had of late become such an abode of misrule, that his
mother and sister had been obliged to leave it for a Convent, and the
tales of the lawlessness which there prevailed were such that she would
have dreaded nothing more for her son than a residence there, even if
Fulk had no interest in oppressing him.
That Eustace should return to take charge of his nephew before her
death was her chief earthly wish, and when she found herself rapidly
sinking, and the hope of its fulfilment lessening, she obtained a
promise from Father Cyril that he would conduct the boy to the Abbey of
Glastonbury, and there obtain from the Abbot protection for him until
his uncle should return, or the machinations of Fulk be defeated by an
appeal to the King.
This was accordingly Father Cyril's intention.  It was unavoidable that
Fulk, the near kinsman of the deceased, should be present at the
funeral, but Father Cyril had intended to keep Arthur within the
sanctuary of the chapel until he could depart under the care of twelve
monks of Glastonbury, who were coming in the stead of the Abbot--he
being, unfortunately, indisposed.  Sir Philip Ashton had likewise been
invited, in the hope that his presence might prove a check upon
Clarenham.
CHAPTER IX
With the first dawn of morning, the chapel bell began to toll, and was
replied to by the deeper sound of the bell of the parish church. Soon
the court began to be filled with the neighbouring villagers, with
beggars, palmers, mendicant friars of all orders, pressing to the
buttery-hatch, where they received the dole of bread, meat, and ale,
from the hands of the pantler, under the direction of the almoner of
Glastonbury, who requested their prayers for the soul of the noble Sir
Reginald Lynwood, and Dame Eleanor of Clarenham, his wife.  The
peasantry of Lynwood, and the beggars, whose rounds brought them
regularly to the Keep of Lynwood, and who had often experienced the
bounty of the departed lady, replied with tears and blessings.  There
were not wanting the usual though incongruous accompaniments of such a
scene--the jugglers and mountebanks, who were playing their tricks in
one corner.
Within the hall, all was in sad, sober, and solemn array, contrasting
with the motley concourse in the court.  Little Arthur, dressed in
black, stood by the side of his uncle, to receive the greetings of his
yeoman vassals, as they came in, one by one, with clownish courtesy,
but hearty respect and affection, and great satisfaction at the
unexpected appearance of the young Knight.
Next came in long file, mounted on their sleek mules, the twelve monks
of Glastonbury, whom the Knight and his nephew reverently received at
the door, and conducted across the hall to the chapel, where the parish
Priest, Father Cyril, and some of the neighbouring clergy had been
chanting psalms since morning light.  On the way Sir Eustace held some
conference with the chief, Brother Michael, who had come prepared to
assist in conveying Arthur, if possible, to Glastonbury, but was very
glad to find that the Knight was able to take upon himself the charge
of his nephew, without embroiling the Abbey with so formidable an enemy
as Lord de Clarenham.
The next arrival was Sir Philip Ashton and his son, who could hardly
believe their eyes when Eustace met them.  Leonard's manner was at
first cordial; but presently, apparently checked by some sudden
recollection, he drew back, and stood in sheepish embarrassment,
fumbling with his dagger, while Sir Philip was lavishing compliments on
Eustace, who was rejoiced when the sound of horses made it necessary to
go and meet Lord de Clarenham at the door.  Arthur looked up in Sir
Fulk's face, with a look in which curiosity and defiance were
expressed; while Fulk, on his side, was ready to grind his teeth with
vexation at the unexpected sight of the only man who could interfere
with his projects.  Then he glanced at his own numerous and
well-appointed retinue, compared them with the small number of the
Lynwood vassals, and with another look at his adversary's youthful and
gentle appearance, he became reassured, and returned his salutations
with haughty ceremony.
The whole company moved in solemn procession towards the chapel, where
the mass and requiem were chanted, and the corpse of the Lady Eleanor,
inclosed in a stone coffin, was lowered to its resting-place, in the
vault of her husband's ancestors.
It was past noon when the banquet was spread in the hall; a higher
table on the dais for the retainers and yeomanry, the latter of whom
were armed with dagger, short sword, or quarter-staff.
Sir Philip Ashton and Brother Michael were chiefly at the expense of
the conversation, Eustace meanwhile doing the honours with grave
courtesy, taking care to keep his nephew by his side.  There was no one
who did not feel as if on the eve of a storm; but all was grave and
decorous; and at length Brother Michael and the monks of Glastonbury,
rejoicing that they, at least, had escaped a turmoil, took their leave,
mounted their mules, and rode off, in all correctness of civility
toward the house of Lynwood, which, as Eustace could not help feeling,
they thus left to fight its own battles.
"It waxes late," said Lord de Clarenham, rising; "bring out the horses,
Miles; and you, my young kinsman, Arthur, you are to be my guest from
henceforth.  Come, therefore, prepare for the journey."
Arthur held fast by the hand of his uncle, who replied, "I thank you in
my nephew's name for your intended hospitality, but I purpose at once
to conduct him to Bordeaux, to be enrolled among the Prince's pages."
"Conduct him to Bordeaux, said the Knight?" answered Sir Fulk with a
sneer; "to Bordeaux forsooth!  It is well for you, my fair young
cousin, that I have other claims to you, since, were you once out of
England, I can well guess who would return to claim the lands of
Lynwood."
"What claim have you to his wardship, Sir Fulk?" asked Eustace, coldly,
disdaining to take notice of the latter part of this speech.
"As his feudal superior, and his nearest relation of full age," replied
Clarenham.
"There are many here who can prove that it is twenty-one years past,
since I was born on the feast of St. Eustace," replied the young
Knight.  "The house of Lynwood owns no master beneath the King of
England, and the wardship of my nephew was committed to me by both his
parents.  Here is a witness of the truth of my words.  Holy Father, the
parchment!"
Father Cyril spread a thick roll, with heavy seals, purporting to be
the last will and testament of Dame Eleanor Lynwood, bequeathing the
wardship and marriage of her son to her beloved brother, Sir Eustace
Lynwood, Knight Banneret, and, in his absence, to the Lord Abbot of
Glastonbury, and Cyril Langton, Clerk.
"It is nought," said Clarenham, pushing it from him; "the Lady of
Lynwood had no right to make a will in this manner, since she
unlawfully detained her son from me, his sole guardian."
"The force of the will may be decided by the King's justices," said
Eustace; "but my rights are not founded on it alone.  My brother, Sir
Reginald, with his last words, committed his son to my charge."
"What proof do you bring, Sir Eustace?" said Fulk.  "I question not
your word, but something more is needed in points of law, and you can
scarcely expect the world to believe that Sir Reginald would commit his
only child to the guardianship of one so young, and the next heir."
"I am here to prove it, my Lord," said Gaston, eagerly.  "'To your care
I commit him, Eustace,' said Sir Reginald, as he lay with his head on
his brother's breast; and methought he also added, 'Beware of
Clarenham.'  Was it not so, friend Leonard?"
Leonard's reply was not readily forthcoming.  His father was whispering
in his ear, whilst he knit his brow, shuffled with his feet, and
shrugged his shoulder disrespectfully in his father's face.
"Speak, Master Ashton," said Clarenham, in a cold incredulous tone, and
bending on father and son glances which were well understood. "To your
testimony, respectable and uninterested, credit must be added."
"What mean you by that, Sir Fulk de Clarenham?" cried Gaston; "for what
do you take me and my word?"
"Certain tales of you and your companions, Sir Squire," answered
Clarenham, "do not dispose me to take a Gascon's word for more than it
is worth."
"This passes!" cried Gaston, striking his fist on the table; "you
venture it because you are not of my degree!  Here, ye craven Squires,
will not one of you take up my glove, when I cast back in his teeth
your master's foul slander of an honourable Esquire?"
"Touch it not, I command you," said Clarenham, "unless Master
d'Aubricour will maintain that he never heard of a certain one-eyed
Basque, and never rode on a free-booting foray with the robber Knight,
Perduccas d'Albret."
"What of that?" fiercely cried Gaston.
"Quite enough, Sir Squire," said Fulk, coolly.
Gaston was about to break into a tempest of rage, when Eustace's calm
voice and gesture checked him.
"Sir Fulk," said Eustace, "were you at Bordeaux, you would know that no
man's word can be esteemed more sacred, or his character more high,
than that of Gaston d'Aubricour."
"But in the meantime," said Clarenham, "we must be content to take
that, as well as much besides, on your own assertion, Sir Eustace. Once
more, Master Leonard Ashton, let me hear your testimony, as to the
dying words of Sir Reginald Lynwood.  I am content to abide by them."
"Come, Leonard," said his father, who had been whispering with him all
this time, "speak up; you may be grieved to disappoint a once-friendly
companion, but you could not help the defect of your ears."
"Sir Philip, I pray you not to prompt your son," said Eustace. "Stand
forth, Leonard, on your honour.  Did you or did you not hear the words
of my brother, as he lay on the bank of the Zadorra?"
Leonard half rose, as if to come towards him, but his father held him
fast; he looked down, and muttered, "Ay, truly, I heard Sir Reginald
say somewhat."
"Tell it out, then."
"He thanked the Prince for knighting you--he prayed him to have charge
of his wife and child--he bade Gaston not to return to evil courses,"
said Leonard, bringing out his sentences at intervals.
"And afterwards," said Eustace sternly--"when the Prince was gone? On
your honour, Leonard."
Leonard almost writhed himself beneath the eyes that Eustace kept
steadily fixed on him.  "Somewhat--somewhat he might have said of
knightly training for his son--but--but what do I know?" he added, as
his father pressed hard on his foot; "it was all in your ear, for as he
lay on your breast, his voice grew so faint, that I could hear little
through my helmet."
"Nay, Master Ashton," said John Ingram, pressing forward, "if I
remember right, you had thrown off your helmet, saying it was as hot as
a copper cauldron; and besides, our good Knight, when he said those
words touching Master Arthur, raised himself up somewhat, and spoke out
louder, as if that we might all hear and bear witness."
"No witness beyond your own train, Sir Eustace?" said Clarenham.
"None," said Eustace, "excepting one whose word even you will scarcely
dare to dispute, Sir Bertrand du Guesclin."
"I dispute no man's word, Sir Eustace," said Fulk; "I only say that
until the claim which you allege be proved in the King's Court, I am
the lawful guardian of the lands and person of the heir of Lynwood. The
Lord Chancellor Wykeham may weigh the credit to be attached to the
witness of this highly respectable Esquire, or this long-eared
man-at-arms, or may send beyond seas for the testimony of Du Guesclin:
in the meantime, I assume my office.  Come here, boy."
"I will not come to you, Lord Fulk," said Arthur; "or when I do, it
shall be sword in hand to ask for an account for the tears you have
made my sweet mother shed."
"Bred up in the same folly!" said Fulk.  "Once more, Sir Eustace, will
you yield him to me, or must I use force?"
"I have vowed before his mother's corpse to shield him from you,"
returned Eustace.
"Think of the consequences, Sir Eustace," said Sir Philip Ashton,
coming up to him.  "Remember the unrepealed grant to the Clarenhams.
The Lynwood manor may be at any moment resumed, to which, failing your
nephew, you are heir.  You will ruin him and yourself."
"It is his person, not his lands, that I am bound to guard," said
Eustace.  "Let him do his worst; my nephew had better be a landless
man, than one such as Fulk would make him."
"Think," continued Sir Philip, "of the disadvantages to your cause of
provoking a fray at such a time.  Hold your hand, and yield the boy, at
least till the cause come before the Chancellor."
"Never," said Eustace.  "His parents have trusted him to me, and I will
fulfil my promise.  The scandal of the fray be on him who occasions it."
"Recollect, my Lord," said Ashton, turning to Fulk, "that this may be
misrepresented.  These young warriors are hot and fiery, and this young
Knight, they say, has succeeded to all his brother's favour with the
Prince."
"I will not be bearded by a boy," returned Clarenham, thrusting him
aside.  "Hark you, Sir Eustace.  You have been raised to a height which
has turned your head, your eyes have been dazzled by the gilding of
your spurs, and you have fancied yourself a man; but in your own county
and your own family, airs are not to be borne.  We rate you at what you
are worth, and are not to be imposed on by idle tales which the
boastful young men of the Prince's court frame of each other.  Give up
these pretensions, depart in peace to your fellows at Bordeaux, and we
will forget your insolent interference."
"Never, while I live," replied Eustace.  "Vassals of Lynwood, guard
your young Lord."
"Vassals of Lynwood," said Fulk, "will you see your young Lord carried
off to perish in some unknown region, and yourselves left a prey to an
adventurer and freebooter?"
"For that matter, my Lord," said an old farmer, "if all tales be true,
Master Arthur is like to learn less harm with Sir Eustace than in your
jolly household--I for one will stand by our good Lord's brother to the
last.  What say you, comrades?"
"Hurrah for the Lances of Lynwood!" shouted John Ingram, and the cry
was taken up by many a gruff honest voice, till the hall rang again,
and the opposing shout of "a Clarenham, a Clarenham!" was raised by the
retainers of the Baron.  Eustace, at the same moment, raised his nephew
in his arms, and lifted him up into the embrasure of one of the high
windows.  Sir Philip Ashton still hung upon Clarenham, pleading in
broken sentences which were lost in the uproar: "Hold! Hold! my Lord.
Nay, nay, think but"--(here he was thrust roughly aside by Fulk)--"Sir
Eustace, do but hear--it will be a matter for the council--in the name
of the King--for the love of Heaven--Leonard, son Leonard! for Heaven's
sake what have you to do with the matter? Down with that sword, and
follow me!  Dost not hear, froward boy? Our names will be called in
question!  Leonard, on your duty--Ha! have a care! there!"
These last words were broken short, as Gaston, rushing forwards to his
master's side, overthrew the table, which carried Sir Philip with it in
the fall, and he lay prostrate under the boards, a stumbling-block to a
stream of eager combatants, who one after another dashed against him,
fell, and either rose again, or remained kicking and struggling with
each other.
After several minutes' confused fighting, the tumult cleared away, as
it were, leaving the principals on each side opposite to each other,
and as the fortune of the day rested on their conflict, all became
gradually fixed in attention, resting upon their weapons, in readiness
at any moment to renew their own portion of the combat.
Fulk, tall and robust, had far more the appearance of strength than his
slenderly-made antagonist, but three years in the school of chivalry
had not been wasted by Eustace, and the sword of Du Guesclin was in a
hand well accustomed to its use.  Old Ralph was uttering under his
breath ecstatic exclamations: "Ha!  Well struck!  A rare foil--a
perfect hit--Have a care--Ah! there comes my old blow--That is
right--Old Sir Henry's master-stroke-- There--one of your new French
backstrokes--but it told--Oh! have a care--The Saints
guard--Ay--There--Follow it up!  Hurrah for Lynwood!" as Fulk tottered,
slipped, sank on one knee, and receiving a severe blow on the head with
the back of the sword, measured his length on the ground.
"Hurrah for Lynwood!" re-echoed through the hall, but Eustace cut short
the clamour at once, by saying, "Peace, my friends, and thanks! Sir
Fulk de Clarenham," he added, as his fallen foe moved, and began to
raise himself, "you have received a lesson, by which I hope you will
profit.  Leave the house, whose mourning you have insulted, and thank
your relationship that I forbear to bring this outrage to the notice of
the King."
While Eustace spoke, Fulk had, by the assistance of two of his
retainers, recovered his feet; but though unwounded, he was so dizzied
with the blow as to be passive in their hands, and to allow himself to
be led into the court, and placed on his horse. Before riding out of
the gates, he turned round, and clenching his fist, glanced malignantly
at Eustace, and muttered, "You shall aby it."
Another shout of "Down with the false Clarenham!  Hurrah for the Lances
of Lynwood, and the brave young Knight!" was raised in the court by the
peasantry, among whom Fulk was so much hated, that not even regard for
their future welfare could prevent them from indulging in this triumph.
Probably, too, they expected the satisfaction of drinking the health of
the victor, for there were many disappointed countenances when he spoke
from the steps of the porch:--"Thanks for your good-will, my friends.
Fare ye well, depart in peace, and remember your young Lord."  Then
turning to the parish Priest, he added, in a low voice, "See that they
leave the Castle as soon as possible.  The gates must be secured as
soon as may be."
He turned back into the hall, and at the door was met by little Arthur,
who caught hold of his hand, exclaiming, "So you have won me, and shall
keep me forever, Uncle Eustace; but come in, for here is poor old Sir
Philip, who was thrown down under the table in the scuffle, bemoaning
himself most lamentably."
"Sir Philip hurt?" said Eustace, who, vexed as he was by Sir Philip's
behaviour, preserved a certain neighbourly hereditary respect for him;
"I trust not seriously," and he advanced towards the arm-chair, where
Sir Philip Ashton was sitting, attended by Father Cyril and a
man-at-arms, and groaning and complaining of his bruises, while at the
same time he ordered the horses to be brought out as speedily as
possible.
"Surely," said Eustace, "you should not be in such haste, Sir Philip. I
grieve that you should have met with this mishap.  But you had better
remain here, and try what rest will do for you."
"Remain here!" said Sir Philip, almost shuddering.  "Nay, nay, my young
Sir, I would not have you to remain here, nor any of us, for longer
space than the saddling of a horse.  Alas! alas! my young friend, I
grieve for you.  I loved your father well.--Look from the window,
Leonard.  Are the horses led forth?"
"But why this haste?" asked Sir Eustace.  "You are heavily
bruised--best let Father Cyril look to your hurts."
"Thanks, Sir Eustace; but--Ah! my back!--but I would not remain under
this roof for more than you could give me.  I should but endanger
myself without benefiting you.  Alas! alas! that I should have fallen
upon such a fray!  I am sorry for you, my brave youth!"
"I thank you, Sir Philip, but I know not what I have done to deserve
your concern."
"Hot blood! wilful blood!" said Sir Philip, shaking his head.  "Are the
horses come?  Here! your hand, Leonard, help me to rise--Ah! ah! not so
fast--Oh! I shall never get over it!  There--mind you, I did all to
prevent this unhappy business--I am clear of it!  Fare you well, Sir
Eustace--take an old man's advice, give up the boy, and leave the
country before worse comes of it."
"What is likely to come of it?" said Eustace; "Clarenham made an
uncalled-for, unjust, shameless attempt to seize the person of my ward.
I repelled him by force of arms, and I think he would scarce like to
call the attention of justice to his own share in the matter."
"Ah! well, you speak boldly, but before you have reached my years, you
will have learnt what it is to have for your foe the most mighty man of
the county--nay, of the court; for your foe, Lord de Clarenham, is in
close friendship with the Earl of Pembroke.  Beware, my young friend,
beware!"
When the hall was clear of guests, a council was held between the
Knight, the Priest, and the two Esquires.  Its result was, that
Arthur's person, as the most important point, should be secured, by his
uncle carrying him at once to the Prince's protection at Bordeaux; but
it was only with difficulty that Eustace was prevailed on to fly, as he
said, from his accusers.  The good Father had to say, with a smile,
that after all there was as much need for patience and submission under
the helm as under the cowl, before Eustace at length consented.  Cyril
meanwhile was to lay the case before the Chancellor, William of
Wykeham, and Eustace gave him letters to the Duke of Lancaster and to
Sir Richard Ferrars, in the hopes of their recommending his suit.
Eustace then received from the hands of the Priest a bag of gold coins,
his portion as a younger son, part of which he gave to be distributed
in alms, part he still confided to Father Cyril's keeping, and the rest
he was to take away for present needs--and they parted for the last
night of his brief stay at Lynwood Keep.
CHAPTER X
In the early morning, Sir Eustace and his few followers were in their
saddles, little Arthur riding between his uncle and Gaston. The chief
part of the day was spent on the journey.  They dined, to Arthur's
glee, on provisions they had brought with them, seated on a green bank
near a stream, and at evening found themselves at the door of a large
hostel, its open porch covered by a vine.
The host and his attendants ran out at first to meet them with
alacrity, but, on seeing them, appeared disappointed.  And as the
Knight, dismounting, ordered supper and bed, the host replied that he
could indeed engage to find food, and to accommodate their steeds, but
that the whole of the inn had been secured on behalf of two noble
ladies and their train, who were each moment expected.
"Be it so," said Eustace; "a truss of hay beside our horses, or a
settle by the fire, is all we need.  Here is a taste already of a
warrior's life for you, Arthur."
The boy was delighted, certain that to sleep beside his pony was far
more delightful, as well as more manly, than to rest in his bed, like a
lady at home.
As this was arranged, a sound of horses' feet approached, and a band of
men-at-arms rode up to the door.  Arthur started and seized his uncle's
hand as he recognized the Clarenham colours and badge, uttering an
exclamation of dismay.  "Never fear, Arthur," said Eustace, "they come
from the way opposite to ours. It is not pursuit.  See, it is an
escort--there are ladies among them."
"Four!" said Arthur.  "Uncle, that tall dame in black must be the Lady
Muriel.  And surely the white veil tied with rose-colour belongs to
kind Cousin Agnes."
"True!  These are no Clarenhams to guard against," said Eustace to his
Squire, who looked ready for action.  "Lady Muriel, the step-mother of
the Baron and his sister, is my godmother, and, by birth, a Lynwood."
Then stepping forward, he assisted the elder lady to dismount; she
returned his courtesy by a slight inclination, as to a stranger, but
her companion, who had lightly sprung to the ground, no sooner
perceived him than she exclaimed, "Eustace!" then laying her hand on
Lady 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 not
know 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, much
alarmed.  "What mean you?  Is she worse?  You weep--surely she still
lives!"
"Ah! honoured dame, we come even now from laying her in her grave. Here
is her orphan boy."
Young Agnes could not restrain a cry of grief and horror, and trying to
repress her weeping till it should be without so many witnesses, Lady
Muriel and her bower-woman led her to their apartments in the inn.
Eustace was greatly affected by her grief.  She had often accompanied
her step-mother on visits to Lynwood Keep in the peaceful days of their
childhood; she had loved no sport better than to sit listening to his
romantic 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, the
pale slight Agnes, with no beauty save her large soft brown eyes, that
seemed to follow and take in every fancy or thought of his.  Agnes was
looked down on,--her father thought she would do him little
honour,--her brother cared not for her; save for her step-mother she
would have met with little fostering attention, and when Eustace saw
her set aside and disregarded, his heart had bounded with the thought
that when he should lay his trophies at her feet, Agnes would be
honoured for his sake.  But Eustace's honours had been barren, and he
could only look back with a sad heart to the fancies of his youth, when
he 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 of
Clarenham, and had encouraged her to lay aside her timidity. Agnes wept
for her as a sister, and still could hardly restrain her sobs, when
Eustace and his nephew were invited to the presence of the ladies to
narrate their melancholy tale.
Many tears were shed, and caresses lavished upon the orphan.  The
ladies asked his destination, and on hearing that he was to be taken to
the Prince's court at Bordeaux, Agnes said, "We, too, are bound to the
Prince's court.  I am to journey thither with Fulk. Were it not better
for Arthur to travel with us?  Most carefully would we guard him.  It
would spare him many a hardship, for which he is scarce old enough; and
his company would be a solace, almost a protection to me.  My pretty
playfellow, will you be my travelling companion?"
"I would go with you, Cousin Agnes, for you are kind and gentle, and I
love you well; but a brave Knight's son must learn to rough it; and
besides, I would not go with Sir Fulk, your brother, for he is a false
and 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 did
his young sister, and who was informed of the old enmity between the
two houses, felt considerable anxiety as to what they were now to hear;
when Eustace, beginning, "Ah, Lady, I grieve twice in the day to sadden
your heart; yet since so much has been said, it were best to relate the
whole truth," proceeded to tell what had passed respecting the wardship
of young Arthur.  Agnes's eyes filled with burning tears of
indignation.  "O dear Lady Mother!" cried she, "take me back to our
Convent!  How can I meet my brother!  How conceal my anger and my
shame!"
"This is far worse than even I feared," said Lady Muriel.  "I knew Fulk
to be unscrupulous and grasping, but I did not think him capable of
such foul oppression.  For you, my sweet Agnes--would that I  could
prevail 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 my
trust in Fulk is gone; I shall see round me no one in whom to place
confidence.  Alas! alas!"
"Nay, fair Agnes," said Eustace, "he will surely be a kind brother to
thee--he cannot be otherwise."
"How love and trust when there is no esteem?  Oh, Mother, Mother! this
is loneliness indeed!  In that strange, courtly throng, who will
protect and shelter me?"
"There is an Arm--" began the Baroness.
"Yes, noble Lady, there is one arm," eagerly exclaimed Eustace, "that
would only deem itself too much honoured if it could be raised in your
service."
"I spoke of no arm of flesh," said Lady Muriel, reprovingly--and
Eustace hung his head abashed.  "I spake of the Guardian who will never
be 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 to
them; but let that be as it will, they shall not render my heart heavy
while I can still believe that you give no ear to them."
"Sir Eustace," said the Lady of Clarenham, "I have known you from
childhood, and it would go hard with me to believe aught dishonourable
of the pupil of Sir Reginald and of Eleanor."
"Yes, Sir Eustace," added Agnes, "it would break my heart to distrust
you; for then I must needs believe that faith, truth, and honour had
left the world."
"And now," said Lady Muriel, who thought the conversation had been
sufficiently tender to fulfil all the requirements of the connection of
families, and of their old companionship, "now, Agnes, we must take
leave of our kind kinsman, since, doubtless, he will desire to renew
his journey early to-morrow."
Eustace took the hint, and bent his knee to kiss the hands which were
extended to him by the two ladies; then left the room, feeling, among
all the clouds which darkened his path, one clear bright ray to warm
and gladden his heart.  Agnes trusted his truth, Agnes would be at
Bordeaux,--he might see her, and she would hear of his deeds.
Agnes, while she wept over her kinswoman's death and her brother's
faults, rejoiced in having met her old playfellow, and found him as
noble a Knight as her fancy had often pictured him; and in the
meanwhile, the good old Lady Muriel sighed to herself, and shook her
head at the thought of the sorrows which an attachment would surely
cause to these two young creatures.
It was early in the morning that Eustace summoned his nephew from the
couch 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 chose
to call their little party, safely arrived at Rennes, the capital of
Brittany, where Jean de Montford held his court.  Here they met the
tidings that Charles V. had summoned the Prince of Wales to appear at
his court, to answer an appeal made against him to the sovereign by the
vassals of the Duchy of Aquitaine. Edward's answer was, that he would
appear indeed, but that it should be in full armour, with ten thousand
Knights and Squires at his back; and the war had already been renewed.
The intelligence added to Eustace's desire to be at Bordeaux, but he
could not venture through the enemy's country without exposing himself
to death or captivity; and even within the confines of Brittany itself,
Duke John, though bound by gratitude and affection to the alliance of
the King, who had won for him his ducal coronet, was unable to control
the enmity which his subjects bore to the English, and assured the
Knight that a safe-conduct from him would only occasion his being
robbed and murdered in secret, instead of being taken a prisoner in
fair fight and put to ransom.
If Eustace had been alone with his staunch followers, he would have
trusted to their good swords and swift steeds; but to place Arthur in
such perils would be but to justify Fulk's accusations; and there was
no 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 a
guest at his court until the arrival of a sufficient party of English
Knights, 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 he
and Gaston chafed grievously under their forced captivity; but at
length he learnt that a band of Free Companions had arrived at Rennes,
on their way to offer their service to the Prince of Wales; accordingly
he set forth, and after some interval found himself once more in the
domains 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 had
always lodged.  He met with a ready welcome, and inquiring into the
most recent news of the town, learnt that the Prince was considered to
be slightly improved in health; but that no word was spoken of the army
taking the field, and the war was chiefly carried on by the siege of
Castles.  He asked for Sir John Chandos, and was told that high words
had passed between him and the Prince respecting a hearth-tax, and that
since he had returned to his government, and seldom or never appeared
at the council board.  It was the Earl of Pembroke who was all-powerful
there.  And here the old Gascon wandered into lamentable complaints of
the aforesaid hearth-tax, from which Eustace could scarcely recall him
to answer whether the English Baron de Clarenham had arrived at
Bordeaux.  He had come, and with as splendid a train as ever was
beheld, and was in high favour at court.
This was no pleasing intelligence, but Eustace determined to go the
next day to present his nephew to the Prince immediately after the
noontide meal, when it was the wont of the Plantagenet Princes to throw
their halls open to their subjects.
Accordingly, leading Arthur by the hand, and attended by Gaston, he
made his appearance in the hall just as the banquet was concluded, but
ere the Knights had dispersed.  Many well-known faces were there, but
as he advanced up the space between the two long tables, he was amazed
at meeting scarce one friendly glance of recognition; some looked
unwilling to seem to know him, and returned his salutation with distant
coldness; others gazed at the window, or were intent on their wine, and
of these was Leonard Ashton, whom to his surprise he saw seated among
the Knights.
Thus he passed on until he had nearly reached the dais where dined the
Prince and the personages of the most exalted rank.  Here he paused as
his anxious gaze fell upon the Prince, and marked his countenance and
mien--alas! how changed!  He sat in his richly-carved chair, wrapped in
a velvet mantle, which, even on that bright day of a southern spring,
he drew closer round him with a shuddering chilliness.  His elbow
rested on the arm of his chair, and his wasted cheek leant on his
hand--the long thin fingers of which showed white and transparent as a
lady's; his eyes were bent on the ground, and a look of suffering or of
moody thought hung over the whole of that face, once full of free and
open cheerfulness. Tears filled Eustace's eyes as he beheld that wreck
of manhood and thought of that bright day of hope and gladness when his
brother had presented him to the Prince.
As he hesitated to advance, the Prince, raising his eyes, encountered
that earnest and sorrowful gaze, but only responding by a stern glance
of displeasure.  Eustace, however, stepped forward, and bending one
knee, said, "My Lord, I come to report myself as returned to your
service, and at the same time to crave for my nephew the protection you
were graciously pleased to promise him."
"It is well, Sir Eustace Lynwood," said Edward, coldly, and with a
movement of his head, as if to dismiss him from his presence; "and you,
boy, come hither," he added as Arthur, seeing his uncle rise and
retreat a few steps, was following his example.  "I loved your father
well," he said, laying his hand on the boy's bright wavy hair, "and you
shall find in me a steady friend as long as you prove yourself not
unworthy of the name you bear."
In spite of the awe with which Arthur felt his head pressed by that
royal hand, in spite of his reverence for the hero and the Prince, he
raised his eyes and looked upon the face of the Prince with an earnest,
pleading, almost upbraiding gaze, as if, child as he was, he deprecated
the 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 new
page.  Follow me, boy."
With a wistful look at his uncle, standing alone on the step of the
dais, Arthur reluctantly followed the Prince as, leaning on Clarenham's
arm, he left the hall, and, crossing a gallery, entered a large
apartment.  At one end was a canopy embroidered with the arms and
badges of the heir of England, and beneath it were two chairs of state,
one of which was occupied by Joan Plantagenet, Princess of Wales, once
the Fair Maid of Kent, and though now long past her youth, still
showing traces of beauty befitting the lady for whom her royal cousin
had displayed such love and constancy.
As her husband entered, she rose, and looking anxiously at him, while
she came forward to meet him, inquired whether he felt fatigued.  "No,
my fair dame," replied the Prince, "I came but to present you your new
page; the young cousin, respecting whose safety my Lord de Clarenham
hath 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 even
had the presumption to claim the protection for him that I pledged to
his father, when I deemed far otherwise of this young Eustace."
"What account does he give of the length of time that he has spent on
the 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 believing
that he was coming at full speed to seek my Lord the Prince's
protection for the child, a convenient excuse for eluding the inquiries
of justice into his brawls at the funeral, as well as for the rents
which he carried off with him; but somewhat inconsistent when it is not
for five months that he makes his appearance at Bordeaux, and then in
the 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 goodness
to press the matter no further.  He is still young, and it were a pity
to cast dishonour on a name which has hitherto been honourable.  Since
my young cousin is safe, I would desire no more, save to guard him from
his future machinations.  For his brother's sake, my Lord, I would
plead with you."
"Little did I think such things of him," said the Prince, "when I laid
knighthood on his shoulder in the battle-field of Navaretta; yet I
remember even then old Chandos chid me for over-hastiness. Poor old
Chandos, he has a rough tongue, but a true heart!"
"And, under favour, I would say," answered Clarenham, "that it might
have been those early-won honours that turned the head of such a mere
youth, so entirely without guidance, or rather, with the guidance of
that dissolute Squire, who, I grieve to observe, still haunts his
footsteps.  Knighthood, with nought to maintain it, is, in truth, a
snare."
"Well, I am weary of the subject," said the Prince, leaning back in his
chair.  "The boy is safe, and, as you say, Fulk, that is all that is of
importance.  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 this
conversation, as he stood on the spot to which Edward had signed to him
to advance, when he presented him to the Princess.  He longed ardently
to 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 of
the awful respect with which he regarded the Prince, to attempt to
utter a word, and he could only edge himself as far away as was
possible from Clarenham, and cast at him glances of angry reproach.
His uneasy movements were interpreted as signs of fatigue and
impatience of restraint by one of the ladies, who was sitting at no
great distance, a very beautiful and graceful maiden, the Lady Maude
Holland, daughter to the Princess of Wales, by her first marriage; and
she kindly held out her hand to him, saying, "Come hither, my pretty
page.  You have not learnt to stand stiff and straight, like one of the
supporters of a coat-of-arms.  Come hither, and let me lead you to
company 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 him
across the hall to a tall arched doorway, opening upon a wide and
beautiful garden, filled with the plants and shrubs of the south of
France, and sloping gently down to the broad expanse of the blue waves
of the Garonne.  She looked round on all sides, and seeing no one, made
a few steps forward on the greensward, then called aloud, "Thomas!" no
answer, "Edward!  Harry of Lancaster!" but still her clear silvery
voice was unheeded, until a servant came from some other part of the
building, and, bowing, awaited her orders.  "Where are Lord Edward and
the 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 baby
company your pageship would hardly esteem.  You must try to endure the
quietness of the lady's chamber, unless you would wish to be at once
introduced to the grave master of the Damoiseaux."
At this moment Arthur's eye fell upon a lady who had just emerged from
a long shady alley, up which she had been slowly walking, and the
bright look of recognition which lighted up his face, was so different
from the shy and constrained expression he had hitherto worn, that Lady
Maude remarked it, and following his gaze, said, "Lady Agnes de
Clarenham?  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 young
cousin of yours, whom the Prince has just conducted into my mother's
chamber, where he bore so rueful a countenance that I grew pitiful
enough 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 to
hear."
Away tripped Lady Maude, well pleased to be free from the burthen her
good-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 hear
the 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 could
he--why did he tarry so long on the road?"
"How could we come on when the Duke of Brittany himself said it was
certain death or captivity?  We were forced to wait for an escort. And
now, Agnes, think of your brother saying that Uncle Eustace carried off
the rents of Lynwood, when every man in the Castle could swear it was
only the money Father Cyril had in keeping for his inheritance."
"Alas!" said Agnes.
"And the Prince will believe it--the Prince looks coldly on him
already, and my uncle loves the Prince like his own life.  Oh, he will
be ready to die with grief!  Agnes!  Agnes! what is to be done?  But
you don't believe it!" he proceeded, seeing that she was weeping
bitterly.  "You do not believe it--you promised you never would!  Oh
say you do not believe it!"
"I do not, Arthur; I never believed half they said of him; but oh, that
long delay was a sore trial to my confidence, and cruelly confirmed
their tales."
"And think of Fulk, too, hindering the Prince from inquiring, because
he says he would spare my uncle for my father's sake, when the truth
is, he only fears that the blackness of his own designs should be seen!
And Gaston, too, he slandered.  Oh, Agnes! Agnes! that there should be
such wickedness, and we able to do nought!"
"Nought but weep and pray!" said Agnes.  "And yet I can bear it better
now that you are here.  Your presence refutes the worst accusation, and
removes 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 grieved
to see the use made of your absence.  Your coming should make my heart
light again."
"Shall I often see you, Cousin Agnes? for there is none else in this
wide Castle that I shall care for."
"Oh yes, Arthur, there are full twenty pages little older than
yourself--Lord Thomas Holland, the Prince's stepson, brother to the
lady that led you to me; little Piers de Greilly, nephew to the Captal
de Buch; young Lord Henry of Lancaster; and the little Prince Edward
himself.  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 I
would bear in mind?"
"Well, Arthur," said Agnes, cheerfully, "it is the pages' duty to wait
on the ladies in hall and bower, and the ladies' office to teach them
all courtly manners, and hear them read and say the Credo and Ave. You
shall be my own especial page and servant.  Is it agreed?"
"Oh yes," said the boy.  "I wonder if the master of the Damoiseaux is
as strict as that lady said, and I wonder when I shall see Uncle
Eustace again."
CHAPTER XI
If Arthur Lynwood felt desolate when he left his uncle's side, it was
not otherwise with Sir Eustace as he lost sight of the child, who had
so long been his charge, and who repaid his anxiety with such confiding
affection.  The coveted fame, favour, and distinction seemed likewise
to have deserted him.  The Prince's coldness hung heavily on him, and
as he cast his eyes along the ranks of familiar faces, not one friendly
look cheered him.  His greetings were returned with coldness, and a
grave haughty courtesy was the sole welcome. Chafed and mortified, he
made a sign to Gaston, and they were soon in the street once more.
"Coward clown!" burst forth Gaston at once.  "Would that I could send
all his grinning teeth down the false throat of him!"
"Whose?  What mean you?"
"Whose but that sulky recreant, Ashton?  He has done well to obtain
knighthood, or I would beat him within an inch of his life with my
halbert, and if he dared challenge me, slay him as I would a carrion
crown!  He a Knight!  Thanks to his acres and to Lord Pembroke!"
"Patience, patience, Gaston--I have not yet heard of what he accuses
me."
"No! he has learnt policy--he saith it not openly!  He would deny it,
as did his Esquire when I taxed him with it!  Would that you could not
tell a letter!  Sir Eustace, of your favour let me burn every one of
your vile books."
"My innocent friends!  Nay, nay, Gaston--they are too knightly to merit
such measure.  Then it is the old accusation of witchcraft, I suppose.
So I was in league with the Castilian witch and her cats, was I?"
"Ay; and her broom-stick or her cats wafted you to Lynwood, where you
suddenly stood in the midst of the mourners, borne into the hall on a
howling blast!  How I got there, I am sorry to say, the craven declared
not, lest I should give him the lie at once!"
"But surely, such a tale is too absurd and vulgar to deceive our noble
Prince."
"Oh, there is another version for his ears.  This is only for the lower
sort, who might not have thought the worse of you for kidnapping your
nephew, vowing his mother should remain unburied till he was in your
hands, and carrying off all his rents."
"That is Clarenham's slander."
"Yes."
"And credited by the Prince?  Oh! little did I think the hand which
laid knighthood on my shoulder should repent the boon that it gave!"
exclaimed Eustace, with a burst of sorrow rather than anger.
"Do you not challenge the traitor at once?"
"I trow not, unless he speaks the charge to my face.  Father Cyril
declared that any outbreak on my part would damage our cause in the
eyes of the Chancellor; we must bide our time.  Since Arthur is safe, I
will bear my own burden.  I am guiltless in this matter, and I trust
that the blessing of Heaven on my deeds shall restore a name, obscured,
but not tarnished."
The resolution to forbear was tested, for time passed on without
vindicating him.  With such art had the toils of his enemies been
spread, that no opening was left him for demanding an explanation. The
calumnies could only be brought home to the lowest retainers of
Clarenham and Ashton, and the only result of the zealous refutation by
the followers of Sir Eustace was a brawl between John Ingram and a
yeoman of Clarenham's, ending in their spending a week in the custody
of the Provost Marshal.
Had there been any tournament or like sport at Bordeaux, Eustace could
have asserted his place, and challenged the attention of the court; but
the state of the Prince's health prevented such spectacles; nor had he
any opportunity of acquiring honour by his deeds in arms.  No army took
the field on either side, and the war was chiefly carried on by
expeditions for the siege or relief of frontier castles; and here his
unusual rank as Knight Banneret stood in his way, since it was contrary
to etiquette for him to put himself under the command of a Knight
Bachelor.  He was condemned therefore to a weary life of inaction, the
more galling, because his poverty made it necessary to seek maintenance
as formerly at the Prince's table, where he was daily reminded, by the
altered demeanour of his acquaintance, of the unjust suspicions beneath
which he laboured.  He had hoped that a dismissal from his post in the
Prince's band would give him the much-desired opportunity of claiming a
hearing, but he was permitted to receive his pay and allowance as
usual, and seemed completely overlooked.  It was well that Gaston's gay
temper could not easily be saddened by their circumstances, and his
high spirits and constant attachment often cheered his Knight in their
lonely evenings.  Eustace had more than once striven to persuade him to
forsake his failing fortunes; but to this the faithful Squire would
never consent, vowing that he was as deeply implicated in all their
accusations as Sir Eustace himself; and who would wish to engage a
fellow-servant of the black cats!  There were two others whom Eustace
would fain believe still confided in his truth and honour, his nephew
Arthur, and Lady Agnes de Clarenham; but he never saw them, and often
his heart sank at the thought of the impression that the universal
belief might make on the minds of both.  And to add to his depression,
a rumour prevailed throughout Bordeaux that the Baron of Clarenham had
promised his sister's hand to Sir Leonard Ashton.
Nearly a year had passed since Eustace had left England, and his
situation continued unchanged.  Perhaps the Prince regarded him with
additional displeasure, since news had arrived that Sir Richard Ferrars
had made application to the Duke of Lancaster to interest the King in
the cause of the guardianship; for there was, at this time, a strong
jealousy, in the mind of the Prince, of the mighty power and influence
of John of Gaunt, which he already feared might be used to the
disadvantage of his young sons.
The cause was, at length, decided, and a letter from good Father Cyril
conveyed to Eustace the intelligence that the Chancellor, William of
Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester, having given due weight to Sir
Reginald's dying words and Lady Lynwood's testament, had pronounced Sir
Eustace Lynwood the sole guardian of the person and estate of his
nephew, and authorized all the arrangements he had made on his
departure.
Affairs altogether began to wear a brighter aspect.  The first
indignation against Sir Eustace had subsided, and he was treated, in
general, with indifference rather than marked scorn.  The gallant old
Chandos was again on better terms with the Prince, and, coming to
Bordeaux, made two or three expeditions, in which Eustace volunteered
to join, and gained some favourable, though slight, notice from the old
Knight.  Fulk Clarenham, too, having received from the Prince the
government of Perigord, was seldom at court, and no active enemy
appeared to be at work against him.
Agnes de Clarenham, always retiring and pensive, and seldom sought out
by those who admired gayer damsels, was sitting apart in the embrasure
of a window, whence, through an opening in the trees of the garden, she
could catch a distant glimpse of the blue waters of the river where it
joined the sea, which separated her from her native land, and from her
who had ever been as a mother to her.  She was so lost in thought, that
she scarce heard a step approaching, till the unwelcome sound of "Fair
greeting to you, Lady Agnes" caused her to look up and behold the still
more unwelcome form of Sir Leonard Ashton.  To escape from him was the
first idea, for his clownish manners, always unpleasant to her, had
become doubly so, since he had presumed upon her brother's favour to
offer to her addresses from which she saw no escape; and with a brief
reply of "Thanks for your courtesy, Sir Knight," she was about to rise
and mingle with the rest of the party, when he proceeded, bluntly,
"Lady Agnes, will you do me a favour?"
"I know of no favour in my power," said she.
"Nay," he said, "it is easily done, and it is as much to your brother
as to myself.  It is a letter which, methinks, Fulk would not have read
out of the family, of which I may call myself one," and he gave a sort
of smirk at Agnes;--"but he writes so crabbedly, that I, for one,
cannot read two lines,--and I would not willingly give it to a clerk,
who might be less secret.  So methought, as 'twas the Baron's affair, I
would even bring it here, and profit by your Convent-breeding, Lady
Agnes."
Agnes took the letter, and began to read:--
"For the hand of the Right Noble and Worshipful Knight, Sir
Leonard Ashton, at the court of my Lord the Prince of Wales,
these:--
"Fair Sir, and brother-in-arms--I hereby do you to wit, that the
affair whereof we spoke goes well.  Both my Lord of Pembroke,
and Sir John Chandos, readily undertook to move the Prince to
grant the Banneret you wot of the government of the Castle, and
as he hath never forgotten the love he once bore to his brother,
he will the more easily be persuaded.  Of the garrison we are
sure, and all that is now needful is, that the one-eyed Squire,
whereof you spoke to me, should receive warning before he
arrives at the Castle.
"Tell him to choose his time, and manage matters so that there
may be no putting to ransom.  He will understand my meaning.
"Greeting you well, therefore,
"Fulk, Baron of Clarenham."
"What means this?" exclaimed Agnes, as a tissue of treachery opened
before her eyes.
"Ay, that you may say," said Leonard, his slow brain only fixed upon
Fulk's involved sentences, and utterly unconscious of the horror
expressed in her tone.  "How is a man to understand what he would have
me to do?  Send to Le Borgne Basque at Chateau Norbelle?  Is that it?
Read it to me once again, Lady, for the love of the Saints. What am I
to tell Le Borgne Basque?  No putting to ransom, doth he say?  He might
be secure enough for that matter--Eustace Lynwood is little like to
ransom himself."
"But what mean you?" said Agnes, eagerly hoping that she had done her
brother injustice in her first horrible thought.  "Sir Eustace Lynwood,
if you spake of him, is no prisoner, but is here at Bordeaux."
"He shall not long be so," said Leonard.  "Heard you not this very noon
that the Prince bestows on him the government of Chateau Norbelle on
the marches of Gascony?  Well, that is the matter treated of in this
letter.  Let me see, let me see, how was it to be?  Yes, that is it!
It is Le Borgne Basque who is Seneschal.  Ay, true, that I know,--and
'twas he who was to admit Clisson's men."
"Admit Clisson's men!"
"Ay--'tis one of those Castles built by the old Paladin, Renaud de
Montauban, that Eustace used to talk about.  I ween he did not know of
this trick that will be played on himself--and all of them have, they
say, certain secret passages leading through the vaults into the
Castle.  Le Borgne Basque knows them all, for he has served much in
those parts, and Fulk placed him as Seneschal for the very purpose."
"For the purpose of admitting Clisson's men?  Do I understand you
right, Sir Knight, or do my ears play me false?"
"Yes, I speak right.  Do you not see, Lady Agnes, it is the only way to
free your house of this stumbling-block--this beggarly upstart
Eustace--who, as long as he lives, will never acknowledge Fulk's
rights, and would bring up his nephew to the same pride."
"And is it possible, Sir Leonard, that brother of mine, and belted
Knight, should devise so foul a scheme of treachery!  Oh, unsay it
again!  Let me believe it was my own folly that conjured up so
monstrous a thought!"
"Ay, that is the way with women," said Leonard; "they never look at the
sense of the matter.  Why, this Eustace, what terms should be kept with
him, who has dealings with the Evil One? and--"
"I will neither hear a noble Knight maligned, nor suffer him to be
betrayed," interrupted Agnes.  "I have listened to you too long, Sir
Leonard Ashton, and will stain my ears no longer.  I thank you,
however, for having given me such warning as to enable me to traverse
them."
"What will you do?" asked Leonard, with a look of impotent anger.
"Appeal instantly to the Prince.  Tell him the use that is made of his
Castles, and the falsehoods told him of his most true-hearted Knight!"
and Agnes, with glancing eyes, was already rising for the purpose,
forgetting, in her eager indignation, all that must follow, when
Leonard, muttering "What madness possessed me to tell her!" stood full
before her, saying, gloomily, "Do so, Lady, if you choose to ruin your
brother!"  The timid girl stood appalled, as the horrible consequences
of such an accusation arose before her.
That same day Eustace was summoned to the Prince's presence.
"Sir Eustace Lynwood," said Edward, gravely, "I hear you have served
the King well beneath the banner of Sir John Chandos.  Your friends
have wrought with me to give you occasion to prove yourself worthy of
your spurs, and I have determined to confer on you the government of my
Chateau of Norbelle, on the frontier of Gascony, trusting to find you a
true and faithful governor and Castellane."
"I trust, my Lord, that you have never had occasion to deem less
honourably of me," said Eustace; and his clear open eye and brow
courted rather than shunned the keen look of scrutiny that the Prince
fixed upon him.  His heart leapt at the hope that the time for inquiry
was come, but the Prince in another moment sank his eyes again, with
more, however, of the weary impatience of illness than of actual
displeasure, and merely replied, "Kneel down, then, Sir Knight, and
take the oaths of fidelity."
Eustace obeyed, hardly able to suppress a sigh at the disappointment of
his hopes.
"You will receive the necessary orders and supplies from Sir John
Chandos, and from the Treasurer," said Edward, in a tone that intimated
the conclusion of the conference; and Eustace quitted his presence,
scarce knowing whether to be rejoiced or dissatisfied.
The former, Gaston certainly was.  "I have often been heartily weary of
garrison duty," said he, "but never can I be more weary of aught, than
of being looked upon askance by half the men I meet.  And we may
sometimes hear the lark sing too, as well as the mouse squeak, Sir
Eustace.  I know every pass of my native county, and the herds of
Languedoc shall pay toll to us."
Sir John Chandos, as Constable of Aquitaine, gave him the requisite
orders and information.  The fortifications, he said, were in good
condition, and the garrison already numerous; but a sum of money was
allotted to him in order to increase their numbers as much as he should
deem advisable, since it was not improbable that he might have to
sustain a siege, as Oliver de Clisson was threatening that part of the
frontier.  Four days were allowed for his preparations, after which he
was to depart for his government.
Eustace was well pleased with all that he heard, and returned to his
lodging, where, in the evening twilight, he was deeply engaged in
consultation with Gaston, on the number of followers to be raised, when
a light step was heard hastily approaching, and Arthur, darting into
the room, flung himself on his neck, exclaiming, "Uncle! uncle! go not
to this Castle!"
"Arthur, what brings you here?  What means this?  No foolish frolic, no
escape from punishment, I trust?" said Eustace, holding him at some
little distance, and fixing his eyes on him intently.
"No, uncle, no!  On the word of a true Knight's son," said the boy,
stammering, in his eagerness, "believe me, trust me, dear uncle--and go
not to this fearful Castle.  It is a trap--a snare laid to be your
death, by the foulest treachery!"
"Silence, Arthur!" said the Knight, sternly.  "Know you not what
treason you speak?  Some trick has been played on your simplicity, and
yet you--child as you are--should as soon think shame of your own
father as of the Prince, the very soul of honour."
"Oh, it is not the Prince: he knows nought of it; it is those double
traitors, the Baron of Clarenham and Sir Leonard Ashton, who have
worked upon him and deceived him."
"Oh, ho!" said Gaston.  "The story now begins to wear some semblance of
probability."
Arthur turned, looking perplexed.  "Master d'Aubricour," said he, "I
forgot that you were here.  This is a secret which should have been for
my uncle's ears alone."
"Is it so?" said Gaston; "then I will leave the room, if it please you
and the Knight--though methought I was scarce small enough to be so
easily overlooked; and having heard the half--"
"You had best hear the whole," said Arthur.  "Uncle Eustace, what think
you?"
"I know not what to think, Arthur.  You must be your own judge."
Arthur's young brow wore a look of deep thought; at last he said, "Do
not go then, Gaston.  If I have done wrong, I must bear the blame, and,
be it as it may, my uncle needs must tell you all that I may tell him."
"Let us hear, then," said Eustace.
"Well, then," said Arthur, who had by this time collected himself, "you
must know that this Chateau Norbelle is one of those built by that
famous Paladin, the chief of freebooters, Sir Renaud de Montauban, of
whom you have told me so many tales.  Now all of these have secret
passages in the vaults communicating with the outer country."
"The boy is right," said Gaston; "I have seen one of them in the Castle
of Montauban itself."
"Then it seems," proceeded Arthur, "that this Castle hath hitherto been
in the keeping of a certain one-eyed Seneschal, a great friend and
comrade of Sir Leonard Ashton--"
"Le Borgne Basque!" exclaimed both Knight and Squire, looking at each
other in amaze.
"True, true," said Arthur.  "Now you believe me.  Well, the enemy being
in the neighbourhood, it was thought right to increase the garrison,
and place it under the command of a Knight, and these cowardly traitors
have wrought with my Lord of Pembroke and Sir John Chandos to induce
the Prince to give you this post--it being their intention that this
wicked Seneschal and his equally wicked garrison should admit Sir
Oliver de Clisson, the butcher of Bretagne himself, through the secret
passage.  And, uncle," said the boy, pressing Eustace's hand, while
tears of indignation sprang to his eyes, "the letter expressly said
there was to be no putting to ransom.  Oh, Uncle Eustace, go not to
this Castle!"
"And how came you by this knowledge?" asked the Knight.
"That I may never tell," said Arthur.
"By no means which might not beseem the son of a brave man?" said
Eustace.
"Mistrust me not so foully," said the boy.  "I know it from a sure
hand, and there is not dishonour, save on the part of those villain
traitors.  Oh, promise me, fair uncle, not to put yourself in their
hands!"
"Arthur, I have taken the oaths to the Prince as Castellane.  I cannot
go back from my duty, nor give up its defence for any cause whatsoever."
"Alas! alas!"
"There would be only one way of avoiding it," said Eustace, "and you
must yourself say, Arthur, whether that is open to me.  To go to the
Prince, and tell him openly what use is made of his Castles, and
impeach the villains of their treachery."
"That cannot be," said Arthur, shaking his head sadly--"it is contrary
to the pledge I gave for you and for myself.  But go not, go not,
uncle.  Remember, uncle, if you will not take thought for yourself,
that you are all that is left me--all that stands between me and that
wicked Clarenham.--Gaston, persuade him."
"Gaston would never persuade me to disgrace my spurs for the sake of
danger," replied Eustace.  "Have you no better learnt the laws of
chivalry in the Prince's household, Arthur?  Besides, remember old
Ralph's proverb, 'Fore-warned is fore-armed.'  Think you not that
Gaston, and honest Ingram, and I may not be a match for a dozen
cowardly traitors?  Besides which, see here the gold allotted me to
raise more men, with which I will obtain some honest hearts for my
defence--and it will go hard with me if I cannot find Sir Renaud's
secret door."
"Then, if you will go, uncle, take, take me with you--I could, at
least, watch the door; and I know how to hit a mark with a cross-bow as
well as Lord Harry of Lancaster himself."
"Take you, Master Arthur?  What! steal away the Prince's page that I
have been at such pains to bring hither, and carry him to a nest of
traitors!  Why, it would be the very way to justify Clarenham's own
falsehoods."
"And of the blackest are they!" said Arthur.  "Think, uncle, of my
standing by to hear him breathing his poison to the Prince, and the
preventing him from searching to find out the truth, by pretending a
regard for my father's name, and your character.  Oh that our noble
Prince should be deluded by such a recreant, and think scorn of such a
Knight as you!"
"I trust yet to prove to him that it is a delusion," said Eustace.
"Many a Knight at twenty-two has yet to make his name and fame. Mine,
thanks to Du Guesclin and the Prince himself, is already made, and
though clouded for a time, with the grace of our Lady and of St.
Eustace, I will yet clear it; so, Arthur, be not downcast for me, but
think what Father Cyril hath taught concerning evil report and good
report.  But tell me, how came you hither?"
"She--that is, the person that warned me--let me down from the window
upon the head of the great gurgoyle, and from thence I scrambled down
by the vines on the wall, ran through the court without being seen by
the Squires and grooms, and found my way to the bridge, where happily I
met John Ingram, who brought me hither."
"She?" repeated Gaston, with a sly look in his black eyes.
"I have said too much," said Arthur, colouring deeply; "I pray you to
forget."
"Forget!" proceeded the Squire, "that is sooner said than done.  We
shall rack our brains to guess what lady can--"
"Hush, Gaston," said Eustace, as his nephew looked at him imploringly,
"tempt not the boy.  And you, Arthur, must return to the palace
immediately."
"Oh, uncle!" said the boy, "may I not stay with you this one night? It
is eight weary months since I have ever seen you, save by peering down
through the tall balusters of the Princess's balcony, when the Knights
were going to dinner in the hall, and I hoped you would keep me with
you at least one night.  See how late and dark it is--the Castle gates
will be closed by this time."
"It does indeed rejoice my heart to have you beside me, fair nephew,"
said Eustace, "and yet I know not how to favour such an escape as this,
even for such a cause."
"I never broke out of bounds before," said Arthur, "and never will,
though Lord Harry and Lord Thomas Holland have more than once asked me
to join them."
"Then," said the Knight, "since it is, as you say, too late to rouse
the palace, I will take you back in my hand to-morrow morn, see the
master of the Damoiseaux, and pray him to excuse you for coming to see
me ere my departure."
"Yes, that will be all well," said Arthur; "I could, to be sure, find
the corner where Lord Harry has loosened the stones, and get in by the
pages' window, ere old Master Michael is awake in the morn; but I think
such doings are more like those of a fox than of a brave boy, and
though I should be well punished, I will walk in at the door, and hold
up my head boldly."
"Shall you be punished then?" said Gaston.  "Is your old master of the
Damoiseaux very severe?"
"He has not been so hitherto with me," said Arthur: "he scolds me for
little, save what you too are displeased with, Master d'Aubricour,
because I cannot bring my mouth to speak your language in your own
fashion.  It is Lord Harry that chiefly falls under his displeasure.
But punished now I shall assuredly be, unless Uncle Eustace can work
wonders."
"I will see what may be done, Arthur," said Eustace.  "And now, have
you supped?"
The evening passed off very happily to the little page, who, quite
reassured by his uncle's consolations, only thought of the delight of
being with one who seemed to supply to him the place at once of an
elder brother and of a father.
Early the next morning, Eustace walked with him to the palace.  Just
before he reached it, he made this inquiry, "Arthur, do you often see
the Lady Agnes de Clarenham?"
"Oh, yes, I am with her almost every afternoon.  She hears me read, she
helps me with my French words, and teaches me courtly manners. I am her
own page and servant--but, here we are.  This is the door that leads to
the room of Master Michael de Sancy, the master of the Damoiseaux."
CHAPTER XII
The next few days were spent in taking precautions against the danger
intimated by the mysterious message.  Gaston gathered together a few of
the ancient Lances of Lynwood, who were glad to enlist under the blue
crosslet, and these, with some men-at-arms, who had recently come to
Bordeaux to seek employment, formed a body with whom Eustace trusted to
be able to keep the disaffected in check.  Through vineyards and over
gently swelling hills did their course lead them, till, on the evening
of the second day's journey, the view to the south was shut in by more
lofty and bolder peaks, rising gradually towards the Pyrenees, and on
the summit of a rock overhanging a small rapid stream appeared the tall
and massive towers of a Castle, surmounted by the broad red cross of
St. George, and which their guide pronounced to be the Chateau Norbelle.
"A noble eyrie!" said Eustace, looking up and measuring it with his
eye.  "Too noble to be sacrificed to the snaring of one poor Knight."
"Shame that such a knightly building should serve for such a nest of
traitors!" said Gaston.  "Saving treachery, a dozen boys could keep it
against a royal host, provided they had half the spirit of your little
nephew."
"Let us summon the said traitors," said Eustace, blowing a blast on his
bugle.  The gates were thrown wide open, the drawbridge lowered, and
beneath the portcullis stood the Seneschal, his bunch of keys at his
girdle.  Both Eustace and Gaston cast searching glances upon him, and
his aspect made them for a moment doubt the truth of the warning. A
patch covered the lost eye, his moustache was shaved, his hair appeared
many shades lighter, as well as his beard, which had been carefully
trimmed, and altogether the obsequious Seneschal presented a strong
contrast to the dissolute reckless man-at-arms.  The Knight debated
with himself, whether to let him perceive that he was recognized; and
deciding to watch his conduct, he asked by what name to address him.
"Thibault Sanchez," replied Le Borgne Basque, giving his real name,
which he might safely do, as it was not known to above two men in the
whole Duchy of Aquitaine.  "Thibault Sanchez, so please you, noble Sir,
a poor Squire from the mountains, who hath seen some few battles and
combats in his day, but never one equal to the fight of Najara, where
your deeds of prowess--"
"My deeds of prowess, Sir Seneschal, had better rest in silence until
our horses have been disposed of, and I have made the rounds of the
Castle before the light fails us."
"So late, Sir Knight! and after a long and weary journey?  Surely you
will drink a cup of wine, and take a night's rest first, relying on me,
who, though I be a plain man, trust I understand somewhat of the duties
of mine office."
"I sleep not until I have learnt what is committed to my charge,"
replied the Knight.  "Lead the way, Master Sanchez."
"Ah! there is what it is to have a Knight of fame," cried Le Borgne
Basque.  "What vigilance! what earnestness!  Ah, this will be, as I
told my comrades even now, the very school of chivalry, the pride of
the country."
They had by this time crossed the narrow court, and passing beneath a
second portcullised door defended on either side by high battlement
walls, nearly double as thick as the steps themselves were wide.  At
the head was an arched door, heavily studded with nails, and opening
into the Castle hall, a gloomy, vaulted room, its loop-hole windows, in
their mighty depth of wall, affording little light.  A large wood fire
was burning in the hearth, and its flame cast a bright red light on
some suits of armour that were hung at one end of the hall, as well as
on some benches, and a long table in the midst, where were placed some
trenchers, drinking horns, and a flask or two of wine.
"A drop of wine, noble Knight," said the Seneschal.  "Take a cup to
recruit you after your journey, and wash the dust from your throat."
A long ride in full armour beneath the sun of Gascony made this no
unacceptable proposal, but the probability that the wine might be
drugged had been contemplated by Eustace, who had not only resolved to
abstain himself, but had exacted the same promise from d'Aubricour,
sorely against his will.
"We will spare your flasks till a time of need," said Eustace, only
accepting the basin of fair water presented to him to lave his hands.
"And now to the walls," he added, after he had filled a cup with water
from the pitcher and refreshed himself with it.  Gaston followed his
example, not without a wistful look at the wine, and Sanchez was
obliged to lead the way up a long flight of spiral steps to two other
vaulted apartments, one over the other--the lower destined for the
sleeping chamber of the Knight and his Squire, the higher for such of
the men-at-arms as could not find accommodation in the hall, or in the
offices below.  Above this they came out on the lead-covered roof,
surrounded with a high crenellated stone parapet, where two or three
warders were stationed.  Still higher rose one small octagonal
watch-tower, on the summit of which was planted a spear bearing St.
George's pennon, and by its side Sir Eustace now placed his own.
This done, Eustace could not help standing for a few moments to look
forth upon the glorious expanse of country beneath him--the rich fields
and fair vineyards spreading far away to the west and north, with towns
and villages here and there rising among them; while far away to the
east, among higher hills, lay the French town of Carcassonne, a white
mass, just discernible by the light of the setting sun; and the south
was bounded by the peaks of the Pyrenees, amongst which lay all
Eustace's brightest recollections of novelty, adventure, and hopes of
glory.
Descending the stairs once more, after traversing the hall, they found
themselves in the kitchen, where a large supper was preparing. Here,
too, was the buttery, some other small chambers fit for storehouses,
and some stalls for horses, all protected by the great bartizan at the
foot of the stairs, which was capable of being defended even after the
outer court was won.  By the time the new-comers had made themselves
acquainted with these localities, the evening was fast closing in, and
Sanchez pronounced that the Knight's survey was concluded in good time
for supper.
"I have not yet seen the vaults," said Eustace.
"The vaults, Sir Knight! what would you see there, save a few rusted
chains, and some whitened bones, that have been there ever since the
days of the Count de Montfort and the heretic Albigenses!  They say
that their accursed spirits haunt the place."
"I have heard," returned Sir Eustace, "that these Castles of Gascony
are said to have secret passages communicating with their vaults, and I
would willingly satisfy my own eyes that we are exposed to no such
peril here."
"Nay, not a man in the Castle will enter those vaults after sunset, Sir
Knight.  The Albigenses, Sir Eustace!"
"I will take the risk alone," said Eustace.  "Hand me a torch there!"
Gaston took another, and Thibault Sanchez, seeing them so resolute,
chose to be of the party.  The torches shed their red glare over the
stone arches on which the Castle rested, and there was a chill damp air
and earthy smell, which made both Knight and Squire shudder and start.
No sooner had they entered than Thibault, trembling exclaimed, in a
tone of horror, "There! there!  O blessed Lady, protect us!"
"Where?" asked Eustace, scarce able to defend himself from an
impression of terror.
"'Tis gone--yet methought I saw it again.--There! look yonder, Sir
Knight--something white fluttering behind that column!"
Gaston crossed himself, and turned pale; but Eustace had settled his
nerves.  "A truce with these vain follies, Master Seneschal," said he,
sternly.  "Those who know Le Borgne Basque cannot believe his fears,
either of saints or demons, to be other than assumed."
No ghost could have startled the Seneschal of the Chateau Norbelle as
much as this sobriquet.  He fell back, and subsided into complete
silence, as he meditated whether it were best to confess the plot, and
throw himself upon Sir Eustace's mercy, or whether he could hope that
this was merely a chance recognition.  He inclined to the latter belief
when he observed that the Knight was at fault respecting the secret
passage, searching in vain through every part of the vault, and twice
passing over the very spot.  The third time, however, it so chanced
that his spur rung against something of metal, and he called for Gaston
to hold his torch lower.  The light fell not only upon an iron ring,
but upon a guard which evidently covered a key-hole.
Sanchez, after in vain professing great amazement, and perfect
ignorance of any such entrance, gave up his bunch of keys, protesting
that there was nothing there which could unlock the mysterious door:
but the Knight had another method.  "Look you, Master Sanchez," said
he, "it may be, as you say, that this door hath not been unclosed for
hundreds of years, notwithstanding I see traces in the dust as if it
had been raised of late.  I shall, however, sleep more securely if
convinced that it is an impossibility to lift it.  Go, therefore,
Gaston, and call half a dozen of the men, to bring each of them the
heaviest stone they can find from that heap I saw prepared for a
mangonel in the court-yard."
"Oh, excellent!" exclaimed Gaston, "and yet, Sir Eustace--"
There he stopped, but it was evident that he was reluctant to leave his
master alone with this villain.  Eustace replied by drawing his good
sword, and giving him a fearless smile, as he planted his foot upon the
trap-door; and fixing his gaze upon Le Borgne Basque, made him feel
that this was no moment for treachery.
Gaston sped fast out of the dungeon, and, in brief space, made his
appearance at the head of the men-at-arms, some bearing torches, others
labouring under the weight of the huge stones, which, as he rightly
thought, they were far more inclined to heave at Sir Eustace's head
than to place in the spot he pointed out.  They were, however,
compelled to obey, and, with unwilling hands, built up such a pile upon
the secret door, that it could not be lifted from beneath without
gigantic strength, and a noise which would re-echo through the Castle.
This done, Sir Eustace watched them all out of the vault himself,
closed the door, locked it, and announced to the Seneschal his
intention of relieving him for the future from the care of the keys.
Still watching him closely, he ascended to the hall, and gave the
signal for the supper, which shortly made its appearance.
Thibault Sanchez, who laid claim to some share of gentle blood, was
permitted to enjoy the place of honour together with Sir Eustace and
d'Aubricour--the rather that it gave them a better opportunity of
keeping their eye upon him.
There was an evident attempt, on the part of the garrison, to engage
their new comrades in a carouse in honour of their arrival, but this
was brought to an abrupt conclusion by Sir Eustace, who, in a tone
which admitted no reply, ordered the wine flasks to the buttery, and
the men, some to their posts and others to their beds.  Ingram walked
off, muttering his discontent; and great was the ill-will excited
amongst, not only the original garrison, but the new-comers from
Bordeaux, who, from their lairs of straw, lamented the day when they
took service with so severe and rigid a Knight, and compared his
discipline with that of his brother, Sir Reginald, who, strict as he
might be, never grudged a poor man-at-arms a little merriment. "But as
to this Knight, one might as well serve a Cistercian monk!"
As to Le Borgne Basque, he betook himself to the buttery; and there, in
an undertone of great terror, began to mutter to his friend and ally,
Tristan de la Fleche, "It is all over with us!  He is a wizard! Sir
Leonard Ashton was right--oaf as he was; I never believed him before;
but what, save enchantment, could have enabled him to recognize me
under this disguise, or how could he have gone straight to yonder door?"
"Think you not that he had some warning?" asked Tristan.
"Impossible, save from Clarenham, or from Ashton himself; and, dolt as
he is, I trow he has sense enough to keep his own counsel.  He has not
forgotten the day when he saw this dainty young sprig rise up in his
golden spurs before his eyes.  I know how it is!  It is with him as it
was with the Lord of Corasse!"
"How was that, Thibault?"
"Why, you must know that Raymond de Corasse had helped himself to the
tithes of a certain Church in Catalonia, whereby the Priest who claimed
them said to him, 'Know that I will send thee a champion that thou wilt
be more afraid of than thou hast hitherto been of me.'  Three months
after, each night, in the Castle of Corasse, began such turmoil as
never was known; raps at every door, and especially that of the
Knight--as if all the goblins in fairy-land had been let loose.  The
Knight lay silent all one night; but the next, when the rioting was
renewed as loud as ever, he leapt out of his bed, and bawled out, 'Who
is it at this hour thus knocks at my chamber door?'  He was answered,
'It is I.'  'And who sends thee hither?' asked the Knight.  'The Clerk
of Catalonia, whom thou hast much wronged.  I will never leave thee
quiet until thou hast rendered him a just account.'  'What art thou
called,' said the Knight, 'who art so good a messenger?'  'Orthon is my
name.'  But it fell out otherwise from the Clerk's intentions, for
Orthon had taken a liking to the Knight, and promised to serve him
rather than the Clerk--engaging never to disturb the Castle--for,
indeed, he had no power to do ill to any.  Often did he come to the
Knight's bed by night, and pull the pillow from under his head--"
"What was he like?" asked Tristan.
"The Lord de Corasse could not tell; he only heard him--he never saw
aught; for Orthon only came by night, and, having wakened him, would
begin by saying, 'he was come from England, Hungary, or elsewhere,' and
telling all the news of the place."
"And what think you was he?"
"That was what our Lord, the Count de Foix, would fain have known, when
he had much marveled at the tidings that were brought him by the Lord
de Corasse, and had heard of the strange messenger who brought them.
He entreated the Knight to desire Orthon to show himself in his own
proper form--and then, having seen, to describe him.
"So at night, when Orthon came again, and plucked away the pillow, the
Knight asked him from whence he came?  'From Prague, in Bohemia,'
answered Orthon.  'How far is it?'--'Sixty days' journey.'  'Hast thou
returned thence in so short a time?'--'I travel as fast as the wind, or
faster.'  'What! hast thou got wings?'--'Oh, no.'  'How, then, canst
thou fly so fast?'--'That is no business of yours!' 'No,' said the
Knight--'I should like exceedingly to see what form thou hast.'--'That
concerns you not,' replied Orthon; 'be satisfied that you hear me.'  'I
should love thee better had I seen thee,' said the Knight,--whereupon
Orthon promised that the first thing he should see to-morrow, on
quitting his bed, should be no other than himself."
"Ha! then, I wager that he saw one of the black cats that played round
young Ashton's bed."
"Nay, the Knight's lady would not rise all day lest she should see
Orthon; but the Knight, leaping up in the morning, looked about, but
could see nothing unusual.  At night, when Orthon came, he reproached
him for not having shown himself, as he had promised. 'I have,' replied
Orthon.  'I say No,' said the Knight.  'What! you saw nothing when you
leapt out of bed?'--'Yes,' said the Lord de Corasse, after having
considered awhile, 'I saw two straws, which were turning and playing
together on the floor.'  'That was myself,' said Orthon.
"The Knight now desired importunately that Orthon would show himself in
his own true shape.  Orthon told him that it might lead to his being
forced to quit his service--but he persisted, and Orthon promised to
show himself when first the Knight should leave his chamber in the
morning.  Therefore, as soon as he was dressed, the Knight went to a
window overlooking the court, and there he beheld nothing but a large
lean sow, so poor, that she seemed nothing but skin and bone, with long
hanging ears, all spotted, and a thin sharp-pointed snout.  The Lord de
Corasse called to his servants to set the dogs on the ill-favoured
creature, and kill it; but, as the kennel was opened, the sow vanished
away, and was never seen afterwards.  Then the Lord de Corasse returned
pensive to his chamber, fearing that the sow had indeed been
Orthon!--and truly Orthon never returned more to his bed-side.  Within
a year, the Knight was dead!"
"Is it true, think you, Sanchez?"
"True! why, man, I have seen the Chateau de Corasse, seven leagues from
Orthes!"
"And what think you was Orthon?"
"It is not for me to say; but, you see, there are some who stand fair
in men's eyes, who have strange means of gaining intelligence! It will
be a merit to weigh down a score of rifled Priests, if we can but
circumvent a wizard such as this!"
"But he has brought his books!  I saw that broad-faced Englishman carry
up a whole pile of them," cried Tristan, turning pale.  "With his books
he will be enough to conjure us all into apes!"
"Now or never," said Sanchez, encouragingly.
"When all is still, I will go round and waken our comrades, while you
creep forth by the hole beneath the bartizan, and warn Clisson that the
secret passage is nought, but that when he sees a light in old
Montfort's turret--"
Tristan suddenly trod on his foot, as a sign of silence, as a step
descended the stairs, and Sir Eustace stood before them.
"You appear to be agreeably employed, gentlemen," said he, glancing at
the stoup of wine which was before them; "but my orders are as precise
as Norman William's.  No lights in this Castle, save my own, after
eight o'clock.  To your beds, gentlemen, and a good night to you!"  He
was still fully armed, so that it was unsafe to attack him.  And he saw
them up the spiral stairs that led from the hall, and watched them
enter the narrow dens that served them as sleeping rooms, where many a
curse was uttered on the watchfulness of the wizard Knight.  At the
turn of midnight, Le Borgne Basque crept forth, in some hope that there
might be an opportunity of fulfilling his designs, and earning the
reward promised him both by Clarenham and the French.  But he had not
descended far before a red gleam of torchlight was seen on the dark
stairs, and, ere he could retreat, the black head and dark eyes of
Gaston appeared, glancing with mischievous amusement, as he said, in
his gay voice, "You are on the alert, my old comrade.  You have not
forgotten your former habits when in command here.  But Sir Eustace
intrusts the care of changing the guard to none but me; so I will not
trouble you to disturb yourself another night."  And the baffled
miscreant retreated.
In this manner passed day after day, in a tacit yet perpetual war
between the Knight and the garrison.  Not a step could be taken, scarce
a word spoken, without some instant reminder that either Sir Eustace or
Gaston was on the watch.  On the borders of the enemy's country, there
was so much reason for vigilance, that the garrison could not
reasonably complain of the services required of them; the perpetual
watch, and numerous guards; the occupations which Knight and Squire
seemed never weary of devising for the purpose of keeping them
separate, and their instant prohibition of any attempt at the riotous
festivity which was their only consolation for the want of active
exercises.  They grew heartily weary, and fiercely impatient of
restraint, and though the firm, calm, steady strictness of the Knight
was far preferable to the rude familiarity and furious passions of many
a Castellane, there were many of the men-at-arms who, though not
actually engaged in the conspiracy, were impatient of what they called
his haughtiness and rigidity.  These men were mercenaries from
different parts of France, accustomed to a lawless life, and caring
little or nothing whatever whether it were beneath the standard of King
Charles or King Edward that they acquired pay and plunder.  The
Englishmen were, of course, devoted to their King and Prince, and
though at times unruly, were completely to be depended upon.  Yet,
while owning Sir Eustace to be a brave, gallant, and kind-hearted
Knight, there were times when even they felt a shudder of dread and
almost of hatred pass over them, when tales were told of the
supernatural powers he was supposed to possess; when Leonard Ashton's
adventure with the cats was narrated, or the story of his sudden
arrival at Lynwood Keep on the night before the lady's funeral.  His
own immediate attendants might repel the charge with honest
indignation, but many a stout warrior slunk off in terror to bed from
the sight of Sir Eustace, turning the pages of one of his heavy books
by the light of the hall fire, and saw in each poor bat that flitted
about within the damp depths of the vaulted chambers the familiar
spirit which brought him exact intelligence of all that passed at
Bordeaux, at Paris, or in London.  Nay, if he only turned his eyes on
the ground, he was thought to be looking for the twisting straws.
CHAPTER XIII
There was a village at some distance from the Chateau Norbelle, the
inhabitants of which were required to furnish it with provisions. The
Castellane, by paying just prices, and preventing his men from treating
the peasants in the cruel and exacting manner to which they were
accustomed, had gained their good-will.  Prompt intelligence of the
proceedings of the French army was always brought to him, and he was
thus informed that a large treasure was on its way from Bayonne to
Carcasonne, being the subsidy promised by Enrique, King of Castile, to
his allies, Bertrand du Guesclin and Oliver de Clisson.
It became the duty of the English to intercept these supplies, and
Eustace knew that he should incur censure should he allow the occasion
to pass.  But how divide his garrison?  Which of the men-at-arms could
be relied on?  After consultation with d'Aubricour, it was determined
that he himself should remain with John Ingram and a sufficient number
of English to keep the traitors in check, while Gaston went forth in
command of the party, who were certain to fight with a good will where
spoil was the object.  They would be absent at least two nights, since
the pass of the Pyrenees, where they intended to lie in ambush, was at
a considerable distance, nor was the time of the arrival of the convoy
absolutely certain.
The expedition proved completely successful, and on the morning of the
third day the rising sun beheld Gaston d'Aubricour riding triumphantly
at the head of his little band, in the midst of which was a long line
of heavily-laden baggage mules.  The towers of Chateau Norbelle
appeared in his view, when suddenly with a cry of amazement he
perceived that the pennon of St. George and the banner of Lynwood were
both absent from the Keep.  He could scarcely believe his eyes, but
forcing his horse onward with furious impetuosity to obtain a nearer
view, he discovered that it was indeed true.
"The miscreants!" he shouted.  "Oh, my Knight, my Knight!" and turning
to the men who followed him, he exclaimed, "There is yet hope!  Will
you see our trust betrayed, our noble Knight foully murdered and
delivered to his enemies, or will ye strike a bold stroke in his
defence?  He who is not dead to honour, follow me!"
There was a postern, of which Eustace had given Gaston the key, on his
departure, and thither the faithful Squire hastened, without looking
back to see whether he was followed by many or few--in fact, rather
ready to die with Sir Eustace than hoping to rescue him.  The ten
Englishmen and some eight Frenchmen, infected by the desperation of his
manner, followed him closely as he rushed up the slope, dashed through
the moat, and in another moment, opening the door, burst into the
court.  There stood a party of the garrison, upon whom he rushed with a
shout of "Death, death to the traitor!"  Gaston's arm did the work of
three, as he hewed down the villains, who, surprised and discomfited,
made feeble resistance.  Who they were, or how many, he saw not, he
cared not, but struck right and left, till the piteous cries for mercy,
in familiar tones, made some impression, and he paused, as did his
companions, while, in a tone of rage and anguish, he demanded, "Where
is Sir Eustace?"
"Ah! Master d'Aubricour, 'twas not me, 'twas the traitor,
Sanchez--'twas Tristan," was the answer.  "Oh, mercy, for our blessed
Lady's sake!"
"No mercy, dogs! till ye have shown me Sir Eustace in life and limb."
"Alas! alas! Master d'Aubricour!"  This cry arose from some of the
English; and Gaston, springing towards the bartizan, beheld the
senseless form of his beloved Knight lying stretched in a pool of his
own blood!  Pouring out lamentations in the passionate terms of the
South, tearing his hair at having been beguiled into leaving the
Castle, and vowing the most desperate vengeance against Clarenham and
his accomplices, he lifted his master from the ground, and, as he did
so, he fancied he felt a slight movement of the chest, and a faint moan
fell upon his ear.
What recked Gaston that the Castle was but half taken, that enemies
were around on every side?  He saw only, heard only, thought only, of
Sir Eustace!  What was life or death, prosperity or adversity, save as
shared with him!  He lifted the Knight in his arms, and, hurrying up
the stone steps, placed him on his couch.
"Bring water! bring wine!" he shouted as he crossed the hall.  A
horse-boy followed with a pitcher of water, and Gaston, unfastening the
collar of his doublet, raised his head, held his face towards the air,
and deluged it with water, entreating him to look up and speak.
A few long painful gasps, and the eyes were half unclosed, while a
scarce audible voice said, "Gaston! is it thou?  I deemed it was over!"
and then the eyes closed again.  Gaston's heart was lightened at having
heard that voice once more, even had that word been his last--and
answering, "Ay, truly, Sir Knight, all is well so you will but look
up," he succeed in pouring a little water into his mouth.
He was interrupted by several of the men-at-arms, who came trooping up
to the door, looking anxiously at the wounded Knight, while the
foremost said, "Master Gaston, here is gear which must be looked to.
Thibault Sanchez and half a dozen more have drawn together in
Montfort's tower, and swear they will not come forth till we have
promised their lives."
"Give them no such pledge!--Hang without mercy!" cried another voice
from behind.  "Did not I myself hear the traitorous villains send off
Tristan de la Fleche to bear the news to Carcassonne?  We shall have
the butcher of Bretagne at our throats before another hour is over."
"Cowardly traitor!" cried Gaston.  "Wherefore didst thou not cut the
throat of the caitiff, and make in to the rescue of the Knight?"
"Why, Master d'Aubricour, the deed was done ere I was well awake, and
when it was done, and could not be undone, and we were but four men to
a dozen, what could a poor groom do?  But you had better look to
yourself; for it is true as the legends of the saints, that Tristan is
gone to Carcassonne, riding full speed on the Knight's own black
charger!"
The news seemed to have greater effect in restoring Eustace than any of
Gaston's attentions.  He again opened his eyes, and made an effort to
raise his head, as he said, almost instinctively, "Secure the gates!
Warders, to your posts!"
The men stood amazed; and Eustace, rallying, looked around him, and
perceived the state of the case.  "Said you they had sent to summon the
enemy?" said he.
"Martin said so," replied Gaston, "and I fear it is but too true."
"Not a moment to be lost!" said Eustace.  "Give me some wine!" and he
spoke in a stronger voice, "How many of you are true to King Edward and
to the Prince?  All who will not fight to the death in their cause have
free leave to quit this Castle; but, first, a message must be sent to
Bordeaux."
"True, Sir Eustace, but on whom can we rely?" asked Gaston.
"Alas!  I fear my faithful Ingram must be slain," said the Knight,
"else this could never have been.  Know you aught of him?" he added,
looking anxiously at the men.
The answer was a call from one of the men: "Here, John, don't stand
there grunting like a hog; the Knight is asking for you, don't you
hear?"
A slight scuffle was heard, and in a few seconds the broad figure of
Ingram shouldered through the midst of the men-at-arms.  He came,
almost like a man in a dream, to the middle of the room, and there,
suddenly dropping upon his knees, he clasped his hands, exclaiming, "I,
John Ingram, hereby solemnly vow to our blessed Lady of Taunton, and
St. Joseph of Glastonbury, that never more will I drink sack, or wine
or any other sort or kind, spiced or unspiced, on holiday or common
day, by day or night.  So help me, our blessed Lady and St. Joseph."
"Stand up, John, and let us know if you are in your senses," said
Gaston, angrily; "we have no time for fooleries.  Let us know whether
you have been knave, traitor, or fool; for one or other you must have
been, to be standing here sound and safe."
"You are right, Sir Squire," said Ingram, covering his face with his
hands.  "I would I were ten feet underground ere I had seen this day;"
and he groaned aloud.
"You have been deceived by their arts," said Eustace.  "That I can well
believe; but that you should be a traitor, never, my trusty John!"
"Blessings on you for the word, Sir Eustace!" cried the yeoman, while
tears fell down his rough cheeks.  "Oh! all the wine in the world may
be burnt to the very dregs ere I again let a drop cross my lips! but it
was drugged, Sir Eustace, it was drugged--that will I aver to my dying
day."
"I believe it," said Eustace; "but we must not wait to hear your tale,
John.  You must take horse and ride with all speed to Bordeaux. One of
you go and prepare a horse--"
"Take Brigliador!" said Gaston; "he is the swiftest.  Poor fellow! well
that I spared him from our journey amid the mountain passes."
"Then," proceeded Eustace, "bear the news of our case--that we have
been betrayed--that Clisson will be on us immediately--that we will do
all that man can do to hold out till succour can come, which I pray the
Prince to send us."
"Take care to whom he addresses himself," said Gaston.  "To some our
strait will be welcome news."
"True," said Eustace.  "Do thy best to see Sir John Chandos, or, if he
be not at the court, prefer thy suit to the Prince himself--to any save
the Earl of Pembroke.  Or if thou couldst see little Arthur, it might
be best of all.  Dost understand my orders, John?"
"Ay, Sir," said Ingram, shaking his great head, while the tears still
flowed down his cheeks; "but to see you in this case!"
"Think not of that, kind John," said Eustace; "death must come sooner
or later, and a sword-cut is the end for a Knight."
"You will not, shall not die, Sir Eustace!" cried Gaston.  "Your
wounds--"
"I know not, Gaston; but the point is now, not of saving my life, but
the Castle.  Speed, speed, Ingram!  Tell the Prince, if this Castle be
taken, it opens the way to Bordeaux itself.  Tell him how many brave
men it contains, and say to him that I pray him not to deem that
Eustace Lynwood hath disgraced his knighthood.  Tell Arthur, too, to
bear me sometimes in mind, and never forget the line he comes of.  Fare
thee well, good John!"
"Let me but hear that I have your forgiveness, Sir Knight."
"You have it, as freely as I hope for mercy.  One thing more: should
you see Leonard Ashton, let him know that I bear him no ill-will, and
pray him not to leave the fair fame of his old comrade foully stained.
Farewell: here is my hand--do not take it as scorn that it is my
left--my right I cannot move--"
The yeoman still stood in a sort of trance, gazing at him, as if unable
to tear himself away.
"See him off, Gaston," said the Knight; "then have the walls properly
manned--all is in your hands."
Gaston obeyed, hurrying him to the gate, and giving him more hope of
Sir Eustace's recovery than he felt; for he knew that nothing but the
prospect of saving him was likely to inspire the yeoman with either
speed or pertinacity enough to be of use.  He fondly patted Brigliador,
who turned his neck in amaze at finding it was not his master who
mounted him, and having watched them for a moment, he turned to look
round the court, which was empty, save for the bodies of those whom he
had slain in his furious onset. He next repaired to the hall, where he
found the greater part of the men loitering about and exchanging
different reports of strange events which had taken place:--"He can't
be a wizard, for certain," said one, "or he never would be in this
case, unless his bargain was up."
"It were shame not to stand by him now in the face of the enemy," said
another.  "How bold he spoke, weak and wounded as he was!"
"He is of the old English stock," said a third,--"a brave,
stout-hearted young Knight."
"Well spoken, old Simon Silverlocks," said Gaston, entering.  "I doubt
where you would find another such within the wide realm of France."
"He is brave enough, that no man doubts," answered Simon, "but somewhat
of the strictest, especially considering his years.  Sir Reginald was
nothing to him."
"Was it not time to be strict when there was such a nest of treachery
within the Castle?" said Gaston.  "We knew that murderous miscreant of
a Basque, and had we not kept well on our guard against him, you,
Master Simon, would long since have been hanging as high from
Montfort's tower as I trust soon to see him."
"But how knew you him, Master d'Aubricour? that is the question," said
old Simon with a very solemn face of awe.
"How? why by means of somewhat sharper eyes than you seem to possess. I
have no time to bandy words--all I come to ask is, will you do the duty
of honest men or not?  If not, away with you, and I and the Knight will
abide here till it pleases Messire Oliver, the butcher, to practice his
trade on us.  I remember, if some of the Lances of Lynwood do not, a
certain camp at Valladolid, when some of us might have been ill off had
he not stood by our beds of sickness; nor will I easily desert that
pennon which was so gallantly made a banner."
These were remembrances to stir the hearts of the ancient Lances of
Lynwood, and there was a cry among them of, "We will never turn our
backs on it!  Lynwood for ever!"
"Right, mine old comrades.  Our walls are strong; our hearts are
stronger; three days, and aid must come from Bordeaux.  The traitors
are captives, and we know to whom to trust; for ye, of English birth,
and ye, my countrymen, who made in so boldly to the rescue, ye will not
fail at this pinch, and see a brave and noble Knight yielded to a pack
of cowardly murderers."
"Never! never!  We will stand by him to the last drop of our blood,"
they replied; for the sight of the brave wounded Knight, as well as the
example of Gaston's earnestness and devotion, had had a powerful
effect, and they unanimously joined the Squire in a solemn pledge to
defend both Castle and Knight to the last extremity.
"Then up with the good old banner!" said Gaston, "and let us give
Messire Oliver such a reception as he will be little prepared for." He
then gave some hasty directions, appointed old Silverlocks, a skilled
and tried warrior, to take the place of Seneschal for the time, and to
superintend the arrangements; and sending two men to guard the entrance
of Montfort's tower, where Sanchez and his accomplices had shut
themselves up, he returned to the Castellane's chamber.
Never was there an apartment more desolate.  Chateau Norbelle was built
more to be defended than to be inhabited, and the rooms were rather so
much inclosed space than places intended for comfort. The walls were of
unhewn stone, and, as well as the roof, thickly tapestried with
cobwebs,--the narrow loophole which admitted light was unglazed,--and
there was nothing in the whole chamber that could be called furniture,
save the two rude pallets which served the Knight and Squire for beds,
and a chest which had been forced open and rifled by the mutineers.
They had carried off Eustace's beloved books, to burn them in the court
as instruments of sorcery, and a few garments it had likewise contained
lay scattered about the room.  Gaston hastened to the side of his
beloved Knight, almost dreading, from his silence and stillness, to
find him expiring.  But he was only faint and exhausted, and when
Gaston raised him, and began to examine his wounds, he looked up,
saying, "Thanks, thanks, kind Gaston! but waste not your time here.
The Castle! the Castle!"
"What care I for the Castle compared to your life!" said Gaston.
"For my honour and your own," said Eustace, fixing his eyes on his
Squire's face.  "Gaston, I fear you," he added, stretching out his hand
and grasping that of d'Aubricour; "if you survive, you will forget the
duty you owe the King, for the purpose of avenging me upon Clarenham.
If ever you have loved me, Gaston, give me your solemn promise that
this shall not be."
"It was the purpose for which I should have lived," said Gaston.
"You resign it?" said Eustace, still retaining his hold of his hand.
"You touch not one of my wounds till you have given me your oath."
"I swear it, then," said Gaston, "since you will ever have your own
way, and I do it the rather that Messire Oliver de Clisson will
probably save me the pain of keeping the pledge."
"You have taken all measures for defence?"
"Yes.  The men-at-arms, such as are left, may be trusted, and have all
taken an oath to stand by us, which I do not think they will readily
break.  The rest either made off with the baggage-mules, or were slain
when we broke in to your rescue, or are shut up with Le Borgne Basque
in Montfort's tower.  I have sent the men to their posts, put them
under Silverlock's orders, and told him to come to me for directions."
Eustace at last resigned himself into the Squire's hands.  A broken
arm, a ghastly-looking cut on the head, and a deep thrust with a
poniard in the breast, seemed the most serious of the injuries he had
received; but there were numerous lesser gashes and stabs which had
occasioned a great effusion of blood, and he had been considerably
bruised by his fall.
Gaston could attempt nothing but applying some ointment, sold by a Jew
at Bordeaux as an infallible cure for all wounds and bruises; and,
having done all he could for the comfort of his patient, quitted him to
attend to the defence of the Castle.
His first visit was to Montfort's tower, one of the four flanking the
main body of the Castle.
"Well, Master Thibault Sanchez, or, if you like it better, Le Borgne
Basque," cried he, "thank you for saving us some trouble.  You have
found yourself a convenient prison there, and I hope you are at your
ease."
"We shall see how you are at your ease, Master Gaston le Maure,"
retorted Sanchez from the depths of the tower, "when another Borgne
shall make his appearance, and string you up as a traitor to King
Charles, your liege lord."
"Le Borgne Basque talking of traitors and such gear!" returned Gaston;
"but he will tell a different tale when the succours come from the
Prince."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Thibault, "a little bird whispered in mine ear that
you may look long for succour from Bordeaux."
This was, in a great measure, Gaston's own conviction; but he only
replied the more vehemently that it could not fail, since neither
Knights nor Castles were so lightly parted with, and that he trusted
soon to have the satisfaction of seeing the inhabitants of the tower
receive the reward of their treachery.
Thus they parted--Thibault, perfectly well satisfied to remain where he
was, since he had little doubt that Oliver de Clisson's speedy arrival
would set him at liberty, and turn the tables upon Gaston; and Gaston,
glad that, since he could not at present have the satisfaction of
hanging him, he was in a place where he could do no mischief, and
whence he could not escape.
Now the warder on the watch-tower blew a blast, and every eye was
turned towards the eastern part of the country, where, in the direction
of Carcassonne, was to be seen a thick cloud of dust, from which, in
due time, were visible the flashes of armour, and the points of
weapons.  Gaston, having given his orders, and quickened the activity
of each man in his small garrison, hurried down to bear the tidings to
Sir Eustace, and to array himself in his own brightest helmet and
gayest surcoat.
Ascending again to the battlements, he could see the enemy approaching,
could distinguish the banner of Clisson, and count the long array of
men-at-arms and crossbow-men as they pursued their way through the
bright green landscape, now half hidden by a rising ground, now slowly
winding from its summit.
At last they came to the foot of the slope.  Gaston had already marked
the start and pause, which showed when they first recognized the
English standard; and there was another stop, while they ranged
themselves in order, and, after a moment's interval, a man-at-arms rode
forward towards the postern door, looked earnestly at it, and called
"Sanchez!"
"Shoot him dead!" said Gaston to an English crossbow-man who stood
beside him; "it is the villain Tristan, on poor Ferragus."
The arblast twanged, and Tristan fell, while poor Ferragus, after
starting violently, trotted round to the well-known gate, and stood
there neighing.  "Poor fellow!" said Gaston, "art calling Brigliador? I
would I knew he had sped well."
The French, dismayed by the reception of their guide, held back; but
presently a pursuivant came forward from their ranks, and, after his
trumpet had been sounded, summoned, in the name of the good Knight,
Messire Oliver de Clisson, the garrison of Chateau Norbelle to
surrender it into his hands, as thereto commissioned by his grace,
Charles, King of France.
The garrison replied by another trumpet, and Gaston, standing forth
upon the battlements, over the gateway, demanded to speak with Sir
Oliver de Clisson, and to have safe-conduct to and from the open space
at the foot of the slope.  This being granted, the drawbridge was
lowered, and the portcullis raised.  Ferragus entered, and went
straight to his own stall; and Gaston d'Aubricour came forth in
complete armour, and was conducted by the pursuivant to the leader of
the troop.  Sir Oliver de Clisson, as he sat on horseback with the
visor of his helmet raised, had little or nothing of the appearance of
the courteous Knight of the period.  His features were not, perhaps,
originally as harsh and ill-formed as those of his compeer, Bertrand du
Guesclin, but there was a want of the frank open expression and
courteous demeanour which so well suited the high chivalrous temper of
the great Constable of France.  They were dark and stern, and the loss
of an eye, which had been put out by an arrow, rendered him still more
hard-favoured.  He was, in fact, a man soured by early injuries--his
father had been treacherously put to death by King John of France, when
Duke of Normandy, and his brother had been murdered by an
Englishman--his native Brittany was torn by dissensions and
divisions--and his youth had been passed in bloodshed and violence.  He
had now attained the deserved fame of being the second Knight in
France, honourable and loyal as regarded his King, but harsh, rigid,
cruel, of an unlovable temper, which made him in after years a mark for
plots and conspiracies; and the vindictive temper of the Celtic race
leading him to avenge the death of his brother upon every Englishman
who fell into his hands.
"So, Sir Squire!" exclaimed he, in his harsh voice, "what excuse do you
come to make for slaying my messenger ere he had time to deliver his
charge?"
"I own him as no messenger," returned Gaston.  "He was a renegade
traitor from our own Castle, seeking his accomplice in villainy!"
"Well, speak on," said Oliver, to whom the death of a man-at-arms was a
matter of slight importance.  "Art thou come to deliver up the Castle
to its rightful lord?"
"No, Messire Oliver," replied Gaston.  "I come to bring the reply of
the Castellane, Sir Eustace Lynwood, that he will hold out the Castle
to the last extremity against all and each of your attacks."
"Sir Eustace Lynwood?  What means this, Master Squire?  Yonder knave
declared he was dead!"
"Hear me, Sir Oliver de Clisson," said Gaston.  "Sir Eustace Lynwood
hath a pair of mortal foes at the Prince's court, who prevailed on a
part of the garrison to yield him into your hands.  In my absence, they
in part succeeded.  By the negligence of a drunken groom they were
enabled to fall upon him in his sleep, and, as they deemed, had
murdered him.  I, returning with the rest of the garrison, was enabled
to rescue him, and deliver the Castle, where he now lies--alive,
indeed, but desperately wounded.  Now, I call upon you, Sir Oliver, to
judge, whether it be the part of a true and honourable Knight to become
partner of such miscreants, and to take advantage of so foul a web of
treachery?"
"This may be a fine tale for the ears of younger knights-errant, Sir
Squire," was the reply of Clisson.  "For my part though I am no lover
of treason, I may not let the King's service be stayed by scruples.
For yourself, Sir Squire, I make you a fair offer.  You are, by your
tongue and countenance, a Gascon--a liegeman born of King Charles of
France.  To you, and to every other man of French birth, I offer to
enter his service, or to depart whither it may please you, with arms
and baggage, so you will place the Castle in our hands--and leave us to
work our will of the island dogs it contains!"
"Thanks, Sir Oliver, for such a boon as I would not vouchsafe to stoop
to pick up, were it thrown at my feet!"
"Well and good, Sir Squire," said Clisson, rather pleased at the bold
reply.  "We understand each other.  Fare thee well."
And Gaston walked back to the Castle, muttering to himself, "Had it
been but the will of the Saints to have sent Du Guesclin hither, then
would Sir Eustace have been as safe and free as in Lynwood Keep itself!
But what matters it?  If he dies of his wounds, what good would my life
do me, save to avenge him--and from that he has debarred me.  So, grim
Oliver, do thy worst!--Ha!" as he entered the Castle--"down
portcullis--up drawbridge!  Archers, bend your bows!  Martin, stones
for the mangonel!"
Nor was the assault long delayed.  Clisson's men only waited to secure
their horses and prepare their ladders, and the attack was made on
every side.
It was well and manfully resisted.  Bravely did the little garrison
struggle with the numbers that poured against them on every side, and
the day wore away in the desperate conflict.
Sir Eustace heard the loud cries of "Montjoie St. Denis! Clisson!" on
the one side, and the "St. George for Merry England!  A Lynwood!" with
which his own party replied; he heard the thundering of heavy stones,
the rush of combatants, the cries of victory or defeat. Sometimes his
whole being seemed in the fight; he clenched his teeth, he shouted his
war-cry, tried to raise himself and lift his powerless arm; then
returned again to the consciousness of his condition, clasped either
the rosary or the crucifix, and turned his soul to fervent prayer;
then, again, the strange wild cries without confounded themselves into
one maddening noise on his feverish ear, or, in the confusion of his
weakened faculties, he would, as it were, believe himself to be his
brother dying on the field of Navaretta, and scarce be able to rouse
himself to a feeling of his own identity.
So passed the day--and twilight was fast deepening into night, when the
cries, a short time since more furious than ever, and nearer and more
exulting on the part of the French, at length subsided, and finally
died away; the trampling steps of the men-at-arms could be heard in the
hall below, and Gaston himself came up with hasty step, undid his
helmet, and, wiping his brow, threw himself on the ground with his back
against the chest, saying, "Well, we have done our devoir, at any rate!
Poor Brigliador!  I am glad he has a kind master in Ingram!"
"Have they won the court?" asked Eustace.  "I thought I heard their
shouts within it."
"Ay!  Even so.  How could we guard such an extent of wall with barely
five and twenty men?  Old Silverlocks and Jaques de l'Eure are slain
Martin badly wounded, and we all forced back into the inner court,
after doing all it was in a man to do."
"I heard your voice, bold and cheerful as ever, above the tumult," said
Eustace.  "But the inner court is fit for a long defence--that
staircase parapet, where so few can attack at once."
"Ay," said Gaston, "it was that and the darkness that stopped them.
There I can detain them long enough to give the chance of the succours,
so those knaves below do not fail in spirit--and they know well enough
what chance they have from yon grim-visaged Breton!  But as to those
succours, I no more expect them than I do to see the Prince at their
head!  A hundred to one that he never hears of our need, or, if he
should, that Pembroke and Clarenham do not delay the troops till too
late."
"And there will be the loss of the most important castle, and the most
faithful and kindest heart!" said Eustace.  "But go, Gaston--food and
rest you must need after this long day's fight--and the defences must
be looked to, and the men cheered!"
"Yes," said Gaston, slowly rising, and bending over the Knight; "but is
there nought I can do for you, Sir Eustace?"
"Nought, save to replenish my cup of water.  It is well for me that the
enemy have not cut us off from the Castle well."
Gaston's supper did not occupy him long.  He was soon again in
Eustace's room, talking over his plan of defence for the next day; but
with little, if any, hope that it would be other than his last
struggle.  At last, wearied out with the exertions of that day and the
preceding, he listened to Eustace's persuasions, and, removing the more
cumbrous portions of his armour, threw himself on his bed, and, in a
moment, his regular breathings announced that he was sound asleep.
It was in the pale early light of dawn that he awoke, and, starting up
while still half asleep, exclaimed, "Sir Eustace, are you there? I
should have relieved guard long since!"  Then, as he recalled his
situation, "I had forgot!  How is it with you, Sir Eustace?  Have you
slept?"
"No," said Eustace.  "I have not lost an hour of this last night I
shall ever see.  It will soon be over now--the sun is already reddening
the sky; and so, Gaston, ends our long true-hearted affection.  Little
did I think it would bring thee to thy death in the prime of they
strength and manhood!" and he looked mournfully on the lofty stature
and vigorous form of the Squire, as he stood over him.
"For that, Sir Eustace, there is little cause to grieve.  I have been a
wanderer, friendless and homeless, throughout my life; and save for
yourself, and, perhaps, poor little Arthur's kind heart, where is one
who would cast a second thought on me, beyond, perhaps, saying, 'He was
a brave and faithful Squire!'  But little, little did I think, when I
saw your spurs so nobly won, that this was to be the end of it--that
you were to die, defamed and reviled, in an obscure den, and by the
foul treachery of--"
"Speak not of that, Gaston," said Eustace.  "I have dwelt on it in the
long hours of the night, and I have schooled my mind to bear it.  Those
with whom we shall soon be, know that if I have sinned in many points,
yet I am guiltless in that whereof they accuse me--and, for the rest,
there are, at least, two who will think no shame of Eustace Lynwood.
And now, if there is yet time, Gaston, since no Priest is at hand, I
would pray thee to do me the last favour of hearing the confession of
my sins."
And Gaston kneeling down, the Knight and Squire, according to the
custom of warriors in extremity, confessed to each other, with the
crucifix raised between them.  Eustace then, with his weak and failing
voice, repeated several prayers and psalms appropriate to the occasion,
in which Gaston joined with hearty devotion.  By this time, a slight
stir was heard within the Castle; and Gaston, rising from his knees,
went to the loophole, which commanded a view of the court, where the
French had taken up their quarters for the night in some of the
outbuildings--and the lion rampant of Clisson was waving in triumph on
the gateway tower.
"All silent there," said he; "but I must go to rouse our knaves in time
to meet the first onset."  And, as he clasped on his armour, he
continued, "All that is in the power of man will we do!  Rest assured,
Sir Eustace, they reach you not save through my body; and let your
prayers be with me.  One embrace, Sir Eustace, and we meet no more--"
"In this world."  Eustace concluded the sentence, as Gaston hung over
him, and his tears dropped on his face.  "Farewell, most faithful and
most true-hearted!  Go, I command thee!  Think not on me--think on thy
duty--and good angels will be around us both. Farewell, farewell."
Gaston, for the first time in his life, felt himself unable to speak.
He crossed the room with slow and lingering step; then, with a great
effort, dashed out at the door, closing his visor as he did so, and,
after a short interval, during which he seemed to have stopped on the
stairs, Eustace could hear his gay bold tones, calling, "Up! up! my
merry men, all!  Let not the French dogs find the wolf asleep in his
den.  They will find our inner bartizan a hard stone for their
teeth--and it will be our own fault, if they crack it before the coming
of our brave comrades from Bordeaux!"
CHAPTER XIV
The open space beyond the walls of Bordeaux presented a bright and
lively scene.  It was here that the pages of the Black Prince were wont
to exercise those sports and pastimes for which the court of the palace
scarce offered sufficient space, or which were too noisy for the
neighbourhood of the ladies, and of the invalid Prince.
Of noble and often of princely birth were all who entered that school
of chivalry, and, for the most part, the fine open countenances, noble
bearing, and well-made figures of the boys, testified their high
descent, as completely as the armorial bearings embroidered on the back
and front of their short kirtles. Many different provinces had sent
their noblest to be there trained in the service of the bravest Knights
and Princes.  There, besides the brown-haired, fair-skinned English
boy, was the quick fiery Welsh child, who owned an especial allegiance
to the Prince; the broad blue-eyed Fleming, whose parents rejoiced in
the fame of the son of Philippa of Hainault; the pert, lively Gascon,
and the swarthy Navarrese mountaineer--all brought together in close
and ever-changing contrast of countenance, habits, and character.
Of all the merry groups scattered through that wide green space, the
most interesting was one formed by three boys, who stood beneath a
tree, a little from the rest.  The two eldest might be from ten to
eleven years old, the third two or three years younger, and his
delicate features, fair pale complexion, and slender limbs, made him
appear too weak and childish for such active sports as the rest were
engaged in, but that the lordly glance of his clear blue eye, his firm
tread, and the noble carriage of his shapely head, had in them
something of command, which attracted notice even before the exceeding
beauty of his perfectly moulded face, and long waving curls of golden
hair.
So like him, that they might have passed for brothers, was one of the
elder boys, who stood near--there was the same high white brow, proud
lip, regular features, and bright eye; but the complexion, though
naturally fair, was tanned to a healthy brown where exposed to the sun;
the frame was far stronger and more robust; and the glance of the eye
had more in it of pride and impatience, than of calm command so
remarkable in the little one.  The three boys were standing in
consultation over an arrow which they had just discovered, stuck deep
in the ground.
"'Tis my arrow, that I shot over the mark on Monday," said the elder.
"Nay, Harry," said the younger boy, "that cannot be; for remember
Thomas Holland said your arrow would frighten the good nuns of St.
Ursula in their garden."
"It must be mine," persisted Harry--"for none of you all can shoot as
far."
"Yes, English Arthur can," said the little boy.  "He shot a whole
cloth-yard beyond you the day--"
"Well, never mind, Edward," said Harry, sharply--"who cares for
arrows?--weapons for clowns, and not for Princes!"
"Nay, not so, Lord Harry," interrupted the third boy: "I have heard my
uncle say, many a time, that England's archery is half her
strength--and how it was our archers at the battle of Crecy--"
"I know all that--how the men of Genoa had wet bow-strings, and ours
dry ones," said Henry; "but they were peasants, after all!"
"Ay; but a King of England should know how to praise and value his good
yeomen."
Henry turned on his heel, and, saying, "Well, let the arrow be whose it
will, I care not for it," walked off.
"Do you know why Harry of Lancaster goes, Arthur?" said Edward, smiling.
"No, my Lord," replied Arthur.
"He cannot bear to hear aught of King of England," was the answer. "If
you love me, good Arthur, vex him not with speaking of it."
"Father Cyril would say, he ought to learn content with the rank where
he was born," said Arthur.
"Father Cyril, again!" said Prince Edward.  "You cannot live a day
without speaking of him, and of your uncle."
"I do not speak of them so much now," said Arthur, colouring, "It is
only you, Lord Edward, who never make game of me for doing so--though,
I trow, I have taught Pierre de Greilly to let my uncle's name alone."
"Truly, you did so," said Edward, laughing, "and he has scarce yet lost
his black eye.  But I love to hear your tales, Arthur, of that quiet
Castle, and the old Blanc Etoile, and your uncle, who taught you to
ride.  Sit down here on the grass, and tell me more.  But what are you
staring at so fixedly?  At the poor jaded horse, that yonder
man-at-arms is urging on so painfully?"
"'Tis--No, it is not--Yes, 'tis Brigliador, and John Ingram himself,"
cried Arthur.  "Oh, my uncle! my uncle!"  And, in one moment, he had
bounded across the ditch, which fenced in their exercising ground, and
had rushed to meet Ingram.  "Oh, John!" exclaimed he, breathlessly,
"have they done it?  Oh, tell me of Uncle Eustace! Is he alive?"
"Master Arthur!" exclaimed Ingram, stopping his wearied horse.
"Oh, tell me, Ingram," reiterated Arthur, "is my uncle safe?"
"He is alive, Master Arthur--that is, he was when I came away, but as
sore wounded as ever I saw a Knight.  And the butcher of Brittany is
upon them by this time!  And here I am sent to ask succours--and I know
no more whom to address myself, than the cock at the top of Lynwood
steeple!"
"But what has chanced, John?--make haste, and tell me."
And John, in his own awkward and confused style, narrated how he had
been entrapped by Sanchez, and the consequences of his excess. "But,"
said he, "I have vowed to our Lady of Taunton, and St. Joseph of
Glastonbury, that never again--"
Arthur had covered his face with his hands, and gave way to tears of
indignation and grief, as he felt his helplessness.  But one hand was
kindly withdrawn, and a gentle voice said, "Weep not, Arthur, but come
with me, and my father will send relief to the Castle, and save your
uncle."
"You here, Lord Edward?" exclaimed Arthur, who had not perceived that
the Prince had followed him.  "Oh yes, thanks, thanks!  None but the
Prince can save him.  Oh, let me see him myself, and that instantly!"
"Then, let us come," said Edward, still holding Arthur's hand.
Arthur set off at such a pace, as to press the little Prince into a
breathless trot by his side; but he, too, was all eagerness, and
scorned to complain.  They proceeded without interruption to the court
of the palace.  Edward, leading the way, hastened to his mother's
apartments.  He threw open the door, looked in, and, saying to Arthur,
"He must be in the council chamber," cut short an exclamation of Lady
Maude Holland, by shutting the door, and running down a long gallery to
an ante-chamber, where were several persons waiting for an audience,
and two warders, with halberts erect, standing on guard outside a
closed door.
"The Prince is in council, my Lord."
Edward drew up his head, and, waving them aside with a gesture that
became the heir of England, said, "I take it upon myself."  He then
opened the door, and, still holding Arthur fast by the hand, led him
into the chamber where the Prince of Wales sat in consultation.
There was a pause of amazement as the two boys advanced to the high
carved chair on which the Prince was seated--and Edward exclaimed,
"Father, save Arthur's uncle!"
"What means this, Edward?" demanded the Prince of Wales, somewhat
sternly.  "Go to your mother, boy--we cannot hear you now, and--"
"I cannot go, father," replied the child, "till you have promised to
save Arthur's uncle!  He is wounded!--the traitors have wounded
him!--and the French will take the Castle, and he will be slain! And
Arthur loves him so much!"
"Come here, Edward," said the Prince, remarking the flushed cheek and
tearful eye of his son, "and tell me what this means."
Edward obeyed, but without loosing his hold of his young friend's hand.
"The man-at-arms is come, all heat and dust, on the poor drooping,
jaded steed--and he said, the Knight would be slain, and the Castle
taken, unless you would send him relief.  It is Arthur's uncle that he
loves so well."
"Arthur's uncle?" repeated the Prince--and, turning his eyes on the
suppliant figure, he said, "Arthur Lynwood!  Speak, boy."
"Oh, my Lord," said Arthur, commanding his voice with difficulty, "I
would only pray you to send succour to my uncle at Chateau Norbelle,
and save him from being murdered by Oliver de Clisson."
It was a voice which boded little good to Arthur's suit that now spoke.
"If it be Sir Eustace Lynwood, at Chateau Norbelle, of whom the young
Prince speaks, he can scarce be in any strait, since the garrison is
more than sufficient."
The little page started to his feet, and, regarding the speaker with
flashing eyes, exclaimed, "Hearken not to him, my Lord Prince!  He is
the cause of all the treachery!--he is the ruin and destruction of my
uncle;--he has deceived you with his falsehoods!--and now he would be
his death!"
"How now, my young cousin!" said Clarenham, in a most irritating tone
of indifference--"you forget in what presence you are."
"I do not," replied Arthur, fiercely.  "Before the Prince, Fulk
Clarenham, I declare you a false traitor!--and, if you dare deny it,
there lies my gloves!"
Fulk only replied by a scornful laugh, and, addressing the Prince,
said, "May I pray of your Grace not to be over severe with my young
malapert relation."
The Captal de Buch spoke: "You do not know what an adversary you have
provoked, Fulk!  The other day, I met my nephew, little Pierre, with an
eye as black as the patch we used to wear in our young days of
knight-errantry.  'What wars have you been in, Master Pierre?' I asked.
It was English Arthur who had fought with him, for mocking at his
talking of nothing but his uncle.  But you need not colour, and look so
abashed, little Englishman!--I bear no more malice than I hope Pierre
does--I only wish I had as bold a champion! I remember thine uncle, if
he is the youth to whom the Constable surrendered at Navaretta, and of
whom we made so much."
"Too much then, and too little afterwards," said old Sir John Chandos.
"You do not know all, Chandos," said the Prince.
"You do not yourself know all, my Lord," said Arthur, turning eagerly.
"Lord de Clarenham has deceived you, and led you to imagine that my
uncle wished ill to me, and wanted to gain my lands; whereas it is he
himself who wants to have me in his hands to bend me to his will. It is
he who has placed traitors in Chateau Norbelle to slay my uncle and
deliver him to the enemy; they have already wounded him almost to
death"--here Arthur's lips quivered, and he could hardly restrain a
burst of tears--"and they have sent for Sir Oliver de Clisson, the
butcher.  Gaston will hold out as long as they can, but if you will not
send succours, my Lord, he will--will be slain; and kind Gaston too;"
and Arthur, unable to control himself any longer, covered his face with
his hands, and gave way to a silent suppressed agony of sobs and tears.
"Cheer thee, my boy," said the Prince, kindly; "we will see to thine
uncle."  Then, looking at his nobles, he continued, "It seems that
these varlets will allow us no more peace; and since there does in
truth appear to be a Knight and Castle in jeopardy, one of you had,
perhaps, better go with a small band, and clear up this mystery.  If it
be as the boy saith, Lynwood hath had foul wrong."
"I care not if I be the one to go, my Lord," said Chandos; "my men are
aver kept in readiness, and a night's gallop will do the lazy knaves
all the good in the world."
Arthur, brushing off the tears, of which he was much ashamed, looked at
the old Knight in transport.
"Thanks, Chandos," said the Prince; "I would commit the matter to none
so willingly as to you, though I scarce would have asked it,
considering you were not quite so prompt on a late occasion."
"My Lord of Pembroke will allow, however, that I did come in time,"
said Sir John.  "It was his own presumption and foolhardiness that got
him into the scrape, and he was none the worse for the lesson he
received.  But this young fellow seems to have met with this mischance
by no fault of his own; and I am willing to see him righted; for he is
a good lad as well as a brave, as far as I have known him."
"How came the tidings?" asked the Prince.  "Did not one of you boys say
somewhat of a man-at-arms?"
"Yes, my Lord," said Arthur; "John Ingram, my uncle's own yeoman, has
come upon Brigliador with all speed.  I sent him to the guard-room,
where he now waits in case you would see him."
"Ay," said old Chandos, "a man would have some assurance that he is not
going on a fool's errand.  Let us have him here, my Lord."
"Cause him to be summoned," said the Prince to Arthur.
"And at the same time," said Chandos, "send for my Squire, Henry
Neville, to the ante-chamber.  The men may get on their armour in the
meantime."
In a few minutes John Ingram made his appearance, the dust not yet
wiped from his armour, his hair hanging is disordered masses over his
forehead, and his jaws not completely resting from the mastication of a
huge piece of pasty.  His tale, though confused, could not be for an
instant doubted, as he told of the situation in which he had left
Chateau Norbelle and its Castellane, "The best man could wish to live
under.  Well, he hath forgiven me, and given me his hand upon it."
"Forgiven thee--for what?" said the Prince.
"Ah! my Lord, I may speak of treason, but I am one of the traitors
myself!  Did not the good Knight leave me in charge to make my rounds
constantly in the Castle, while he slept after his long watching? and
lo, there comes that wily rascal, the Seneschal, Sanchez, with his
''Tis a cold night, friend John; the Knight wakes thee up early; come
down to the buttery, and crack a cup of sack in all friendliness!'
Down then go I, oaf that I was, thinking that, may be, our Knight was
over strict and harsh, and pulled the reins so tight, that a poor
man-at-arms must needs get a little diversion now and then--as the
proverb says, 'when the cat's away, the mice may play.'  But it was
drugged, my Lord, else when would one cup of spiced wine have so
overcome me that I knew nought till I hear Master d'Aubricour shouting
treason in the courtyard like one frantic?  But the Knight has forgiven
me, and I have sworn to our blessed Lady of Taunton, and St. Joseph of
Glastonbury, that not a draught of wine, spiced or unspiced, shall
again cross my lips."
"A wholesome vow," said the Prince; "and her is a token to make thee
remember it,"--and he placed in the hand of the yeoman a chain of some
value.  "Go to the guard-room, where you shall be well entertained till
such time as we need thee again, as we may, if you have been, as you
say, long in Sir Eustace Lynwood's service. But what now?  Hast more to
say?"
"I would say--so please you, my Lord--that I pray you but to let me
ride back to Chateau Norbelle with this honourable Knight, for I owe
all service to Sir Eustace, nor could I rest till I know how it fares
with him."
"As you will, good fellow," said the Prince; "and you, Chandos, come
with me to my chamber--I would speak with you before you depart."
"My Lord," said Arthur, "would you but grant me one boon--to go with
Sir John to Chateau Norbelle?"
"You too?  You would almost make me think you all drawn by witchcraft
to this Castle!"  But Arthur's eagerness extorted a consent, and he
rode off amid Sir John Chandos's troop, boldly enough at first, but by
and by so sleepily, that, as night advanced, Sir John ordered him to be
placed in front of a trooper, and he soon lost all perception of the
rough rapid pace at which they travelled.  It was broad day when he was
awakened by a halt, and the first thing he heard was, "There is St.
George's pennon still safe!"
He sat upright, gazed eagerly forwards, and beheld a tall dark tower
rising by the bank of a stream at some distance.  "Chateau Norbelle?"
he asked.
"Oh, ho! my little page," said Chandos.  "You are alive again, are you?
Ay, Chateau Norbelle it is--and we are in time it seems!  But let us
have you on your own steed again.  And let us see--if Oliver be there
himself, we shall have sharp work.  Ay, keep you by the side of the old
master leech there--he will be sure to keep out of peril.  Now--close
in--lances in rest--bows bent.  Forward banner!"
Arthur, by no means approving of the companionship assigned him,
contrived to wedge in his pony a little in the rear of Sir John's two
Squires, as the whole squadron rode down the slope of the hill, and up
the ascent on which the Castle stood.  Loud cries and shrieks from
within began to strike their ears--the clash of arms--all the tumult of
attack and defence raging fearfully high and wild.
"Ho, ho! friend Oliver!--we have you in a trap!" said old Chandos, in
high glee, as he drew up close without the walls.  "Neville, guard the
gates!"
He signed to about half his band to remain without, and cut off the
retreat of the enemy.  The Jew doctor chose his post in their rear,
close to the Castle moat--but not so Arthur.  Unnoticed and forgotten,
he still kept close behind the Squire, who rode alongside of Sir John
Chandos, as he crossed the drawbridge.  The Castle gate was open, and
showed a wild confused mass of struggling men and flashing arms.  It
was the last, most furious onset, when Clisson, enraged by the long
resistance of so weak a garrison, was concentrating his strength in one
effort, and, in the excitement of the assault, he had failed to remark
that his sentinels had transgressed his orders, and mingled with the
crowd, who were striving, by force of numbers, to overwhelm the small
troop of defenders of the bartizan.
In rushed Chandos, shouting his war-cry!--In dashed his stout warriors,
and loud and fierce pealed forth "St. George! St George!" drowning the
now feebler note of "Montjoie, St. Denis!" and fearful were the shrieks
of horror and of pain that rose mingled with it. Hemmed in, attacked in
front and rear, their retreat cut off, the French looked in vain for
escape; some went down beneath the tremendous charge of the English,
some cried for mercy, and surrendered as prisoners.  Oliver de Clisson
himself, seeing that all was lost, swinging round his head his heavy
battle-axe, opened for himself a way, and, with a few followers, broke
through the men whom Chandos had left outside, and, cutting down a
groom who was holding it, captured one of his led horses, on which he
rode off at his leisure, confident in his own gigantic strength.
So little resistance had been offered, that Arthur's bold advance had
involved him in little danger; he was borne onwards, and only was
conscious of a frightful tumult, where all seemed to be striking and
crushing together.  At last, there was something of a lull; the cries
of mercy, and offers to surrender, alone were heard.  Arthur found his
pony standing still, and himself pressed hither and thither by the
crowd, from which he knew not how to escape.
Above these various sounds he heard an opening door--there was a press
forward, which carried him with it.  The heavy doors, shivered here and
there by Clisson's axe, had been thrown wide open; but the crowd closed
in--he saw no more.  He threw himself from his pony, struggled
forwards, and at last, emerging between the arms of two tall men, he
beheld Sir John Chandos dismounting from his war-horse, which was held
by a grim, bloody, dusty figure in broken armour, whose length of limb,
and the crisp, black, curled hair that showed through the shattered
helmet, proved that it could be no other than Gaston d'Aubricour.
Arthur darted forwards, his heart upon his lips; but neither Knight nor
Squire had eye or ear for him; they were hastily exchanging queries
about--he knew not what--they were not of his uncle; and, borne on by
his impatience, he hurried past them up the narrow stone stair.  More
than one corpse--a ghastly sight--lay on the steps, but he hastened on;
half a dozen men were standing on the stones at the top, all, like
Gaston, dusty and gory, and leaning on their weapons, or on the wall,
as if exhausted.  They were looking intently at the court, and gave no
heed to the boy, as he ran on into the hall.  Two men lay there
groaning before the fire. Arthur stood and looked round, hesitating
whether to ask them for his uncle; but, perceiving the spiral stairs,
quickly ascended. Far and far up he wound, till he came to a low-browed
arch; he paused, and saw a large vaulted room, through the loop-hole
window of which shone a yellow stream of golden sunshine.  There was a
low bed in one corner, and on it lay a motionless form.  On tiptoe, and
with a throbbing heart, the boy approached; he saw the face--it was
ghastly pale.  He stood transfixed--could it be?--yes, it must still
be, his own Uncle Eustace.
CHAPTER XV
It was still very early, and the narrow line of sky seen from the
turret window was gilded by the bright pale-green light of morning,
when Sir Eustace awoke.  All around was perfectly still, and he could
have believed himself waking merely from a dream of tumult and
disturbance, but for his feelings of pain and weakness.  At some little
distance lay, on a softly-dressed sheepskin, the oriental figure of the
Jewish mediciner, and, at the foot of his own bed, the unexpected form
of little Arthur reclined, half sitting, half lying, with his head
resting on his crossed arms, and his long curls floating over them.
All was a riddle to his misty remembrance, clouded by weakness; and, in
vague uncertain recollections and conjectures, the time rolled away,
till the sounds of awakening and calls of the warders within the Castle
betokened that it was occupied by no small number of persons. Still
Arthur slept on, and Eustace abstained from the slightest movement that
could disturb him, till a step stole quietly to the door, and Gaston's
head was seen cautiously and anxiously looking in.  Eustace, raising
his hand, beckoned him, and made a sign of silence.
"How is with you, Sir Eustace?  It must needs be better.  I see a light
in your eye once more."
"I am another man since yesterday, Gaston; but be careful--see there."
"Little fear of breaking such sleep as that," said Gaston.  "'Tis a
noble-hearted little fellow, and if matters go better with us
henceforth, it will be his work."
"What is become of Clisson?"
"He was riding off headlong when Master Henry Neville last beheld him,
gaining thereby a sound rating from old Chandos."
"Sir John Chandos here?"
"Fast asleep in your own carved chair, with his feet on the oaken
settle."
"Sir John Chandos!" again exclaimed Eustace.
"Even so.  All thanks to the brave young damoiseau who--"
Here Gaston's ardour had the effect of awakening the doctor, who
immediately began to grumble at his patient's admitting visitors
without permission.  By the time he had examined Eustace's wounds and
pronounced him to be progressing favourably, the whole Castle was up
and awake, and Arthur, against his will, was sent down to attend on Sir
John Chandos at breakfast, when scarce satisfied that his uncle could
speak to him.
In process of time he came up to announce a visit from Chandos himself,
and close on his steps followed the stalwart old warrior. Pausing at
the door, he looked around him, struck with the aspect of the
dungeon-like apartment, still more rugged in the morning light than in
the evening gloom--the bare rough walls, an arrow sticking between the
stones immediately above the Knight's head, the want of furniture, the
Knight's own mantle and that of Gaston both called into requisition to
protect him from the damp chill night air, their bright hues and rich
embroidery contrasting with the squalid appearance of all around, as,
indeed, did the noble though pale features of the wounded man himself,
and the graceful attire and shining hair of the fair young boy who
stood over him. But Sir John beheld all with no dissatisfaction.
"Well, my brave young Sir," said he, advancing, "how is it with you
this morning?  You look cheerily; I trust we shall soon have you on
horseback again."
"Thanks to the blessed Saints and to you, Sir John," replied Eustace.
"I fear you fared ill last night for,"--and he looked round with a
smile--"you see, I occupy the state bed-chamber."
"The better, Sir Eustace," said Chandos.  "It does my heart good to see
such a chamber as this--none of the tapestry and hangings which our
young Knights nowadays fence themselves with, as if they kept out the
foe--this is what it is meant for--a stronghold, and not a bower.  I'll
have my dainty young Master Neville up here, to see how a good Knight
should be lodged."
"I fear he would scarce consider it as an example," said Eustace,
smiling, "since all our simplicity would not have availed to protect
us, but for your coming.  We little dreamt to see this morning's light."
"True, but where should I look for a garrison to make such a defence as
you and your Squire have done?  When I saw the spot, and looked at the
numbers, and heard how long you had held out, methought I was returned
once more to the good old days of Calais.  And here this youth of mine,
not yet with his spurs, though I dare say full five years older than
you, must needs look sour upon it, because he has to sleep on a settle
for one night--and that, too, when he has let Oliver de Clisson slip
through his fingers, without so much as a scratch taken or given on
either side!  It grieves my very soul to think on it!  But all has gone
to rack and ruin since the Prince has been unable to set the example."
"Is the Prince better in health?"
"Yes--so they say--but his looks tell another tale, and I never expect
to see him on horseback again," said the old warrior, with a deep sigh.
"But I have to do his bidding here, and have much to ask of you, Sir
Eustace; and I do it the more willingly, that I rejoice to see a brave
man righted."
"Has the Prince, then, commanded an inquiry into my conduct?" exclaimed
Eustace, joyfully.  "It is what I have ever most warmly desired."
"And know you whom you have to thank?" said Sire John.  "That youngster
who stands at your feet--'twas he that, with little Prince Edward,
burst into the council, and let not another word be said till he had
told your need, given Fulk Clarenham the lie direct, and challenged him
to prove his words.  Pray when is the defiance to be fought out, Sir
Page?"
Arthur coloured crimson, and looked down; then raising his glowing
face, said firmly, "To-morrow, if need were, Sir--for God would defend
the right!"
"Roundly spoken, Master Page!  But let not your early years be all
talk, nothing worth."
"The same warning that you gave to me, Sir John," said Eustace.
"When you thought I looked coldly and churlishly on your new-won
honours," said Sir John.  "I own I thought the Prince was bestowing
knighthood over lightly--and so do I say still, Sir Eustace.  But I
saw, afterwards, that you were not so easily uplifted as I had thought.
I saw you as diligent in the study of all that was knightly as if your
spurs were yet to earn, and I knew the Prince had a brave young servant
in you."
"If he would have trusted me!" said Eustace.
"He hath been deceived by the flatterers who have gained his ear. It
should not have been thus had I been at court; but things have been
much against my counsel.  It may be that I have been too plain
spoken--forgetting that he is not the boy who used to be committed to
my charge--it may be that he hath been over hasty--and yet, when I look
on his changed mien and wasted face, I can scarce blame him, nor must
you, Sir Eustace, though cruel injustice hath, I fear, been done you."
"I blame our glorious Prince!" exclaimed the young Knight.  "I would as
soon blame the sun in heaven because the clouds hide his face from me
for a time!"
"The clouds are likely to be dispersed with a vengeance," said Chandos.
"The confession of yonder mutinous traitors will clear you from all
that your accusers have said, by proving their villainy and baseness!"
"How?  Sanchez and his fellows?  Have they surrendered?"
"Yes.  They kept themselves shut up in Montfort's tower until they lost
all hope of relief from their friends without; then, being in fear of
starvation, they were forced to surrender, and came forth, praying that
their lives might be spared.  I, as you may suppose, would as lief have
spared the life of a wolf, and the halters were already round their
necks, when your dark-visaged Squire prayed me to attempt to gain a
confession from them; and, sure enough, they told a marvellous
tale:--that Clarenham had placed them here to deliver you up to the
enemy, whom they were to admit by a secret passage--and that they would
have done it, long since, save that you and your Squire not only
discovered the passage, but showed such vigilance, and so frustrated
all their plans, that they firmly believed that you held commerce with
the foul fiend.  Did you, in truth, suspect their treachery?"
"Yes," replied Eustace, looking at Arthur.  "The recognition of Le
Borgne Basque in the Seneschal would have been sufficient to set us on
our guard."
"But the passage?" asked Sir John, "what knowledge had you of that? for
they vow that you could never have discovered it but by art magic."
"We found it by long and diligent search."
"And what led you to search, Sir Eustace?  I you can clear up the
matter, it will be the better for you; for this accusation of
witchcraft will hang to you like a burr--the more, perhaps, as you are
somewhat of a scholar!"
"It was I who warned him of it, Sir Knight," said Arthur, stepping
forward.
"You, young Page!" exclaimed Sir John.  "Are you jesting?  Ha! then you
must have, page-like, been eaves-dropping!--I should scarce have
thought it of you."
"Oh, uncle!" exclaimed Arthur, in great distress, "you do not believe
me capable of aught so unknightly?  Do but say that you, at least,
trust my word, when I say that I learnt their plots by no means
unbecoming the son of Sir Reginald Lynwood."
"I believe you fully, Arthur," replied his uncle; "the more, that I
should have been the last person to whom you would have brought
information gained in such a fashion."
"And how was it gained?" asked Sir John.
"That," said the boy, "is a secret I am bound never to disclose."
"Strange, passing strange," repeated the old Knight, shaking his head.
"Clarenham and Ashton would scarce have taken any into their councils
who would warn you.  And you will or can tell no more?"
"No more," replied the boy.  "I was bidden secretly to warn my uncle of
the entrance to the vaults, and of the treachery of this villain
garrison.  I did so, and he who says aught dishonourable of him or of
me lies in his throat."
"Can you read this riddle, Sir Eustace?" asked Chandos, looking rather
suspiciously at the very faint glow which mantled in the white cheek of
the wounded Knight.
"I know nothing but what he has told you, Sir John," replied he.
"Nor guess aught?" said Sir John; "but perhaps that is scarce a fair
query; and I will to the rest of my business, though it is scarce
needed--only I would have the Prince see the full extent of the
falsehoods with which he has been gulled."  And he then proceeded to
inquire into the circumstances of Lady Eleanor's funeral, the brawling,
the violent abstraction of Arthur, and of a considerable portion of his
property, and the long delay, which had given his enemies so much
opportunity to blacken his character.  Eustace explained all fully to
the satisfaction of Chandos, and appealed to numerous witnesses.
"That is well," said the old Knight.  "We shall have it all clear as
daylight;--and the only wonder is, that the Prince could be so long
deceived by such monstrous falsehoods.  Let me see--your right to the
wardship is established?"
"Yes; it hath been so decided by the Bishop of Winchester."
"And let me tell you, Sir Eustace, you did yourself little good by
getting the interest of the Duke of Lancaster.  Methought it still
further prejudiced the Prince."
"It was justice that I sought, not favour," said Eustace.
"The knightly view," said Sir John; "and it was more the work of your
friends than yourself; but I never loved that young John of Lancaster,
and still less since he hath seemed willing to make a party for
himself.  I trow he hath given the Prince a distrust of all uncles.
Ha! little varlet!" added he, as he met Arthur's eyes--"if you can keep
one secret, keep another, or, still better, forget what I have said.
Understandest thou?"
"I will answer for him," said Eustace.
"And now," said Chandos, "I must be on my way back; for that expedition
to Bescancon must be looked to.  But what is to be done with the boy?"
"Oh, I remain here," cried Arthur, eagerly.  "The Prince consented. Oh,
I pray of you let me stay here."
"In this dismal old Castle, Arthur," said Eustace, "apart from all your
playmates?  It will not be like home, remember; for scarce ever will
you be able to go beyond the walls--and with me lying here, and Gaston
always occupied, you will find it weary work."
"Not with you, Uncle Eustace!  I shall sit by you, and tend you, and
read to you.  It is so long since I have been with you!  Oh, send me
not away!  I care for no playmate--for nothing in the wide world, as
for you!"
"Well, let him e'en stay," said Sir John; "it will be a better training
for him than among the gilded little varlets who are cockered up among
Princess Joan's ladies."
The two Knights had next to arrange some matters respecting the
garrison; Sir John leaving a sufficient number of men to secure the
castle in case of a second attack.  He was somewhat inclined to leave
Master Henry Neville to command them; but consideration for Eustace and
Gaston induced him to spare the young gentleman a sojourn which he
would have regarded as so far from enviable. Nor was the leech more
desirous of a lengthened stay with a patient whom he suspected to be
unable to requite him for the discomfort which he might endure in his
service.  He therefore pronounced Sir Eustace to stand in no further
need of his attentions; and recommending rest, and providing him with
good store of remedies, he saddled his mule to accompany Sir John
Chandos.
The old Commander took his leave, with many kind wishes for Sir
Eustace's speedy recovery, and promises that he should ere long hear
from Bordeaux.  In ten minutes more Arthur, standing at the window,
announced that the troop was riding off, with Clisson's pennon borne
among them in triumph, and Sanchez and his accomplices, with their
hands tied, and their feet fastened together beneath the bodies of
their horses.
CHAPTER XVI
Four or five weeks had passed away since Sir John Chandos had quitted
the Chateau Norbelle.
The Knight had nearly recovered his full strength, but still wore his
broken arm in a scarf, when, one evening, as he was sitting on the
battlements, delighting the ears of Arthur and of Gaston with an
interminable romance of chivalry, three or four horseman, bearing the
colours and badges of the Black Prince, were descried riding towards
the Castle.  Knight, Squire, and Page instantly descended to the
courtyard, which, in short space, was entered by the messengers, the
principal of whom, an elderly man-at-arms, respectfully saluted the
Knight, and delivered to him a parchment scroll, tied with silk of
scarlet and blue, supporting the heavy seal of the Prince of Wales and
Duke of Aquitaine, and addressed to the hands of the honourable Knight
Banneret Sir Eustace Lynwood, Castellane of the Chateau Norbelle.  This
document bore the signature of Edward himself, and contained his
mandate to Eustace, to come immediately to his court at Bordeaux,
leaving the command of the Chateau Norbelle to the bearer.
The old man-at-arms was closely questioned all the evening respecting
the state of the court, but he could give little information.  Sir John
Chandos was at Bordeaux, and had daily attended the council, to which
the Prince was devoting more attention than usual; a vessel had also
arrived bearing letters from England to the Prince; this was all the
information that could be obtained.
The next morning Eustace, with Gaston, Arthur, and Ingram, all full of
expectation, and delighted at the change from the gloomy solitary old
Castle, were all posting on their way back to Bordeaux.  They slept at
an hostel about twelve miles from the town, first, however, by desire
of the Prince's messengers, sending Ingram on to announce their speedy
arrival, and about ten in the morning rode into town.
There was evidently some grand spectacle at hand, for the Bordelais,
gentle and simple, in holiday habits, were proceeding in the direction
of the palace; but the Knight and his attendants had no time to wait
for inquiries, and pressed on with the stream to the gates of the
courtyard, where they found warders placed, to keep back the dense
throng of people.  At the mention of Sir Eustace's name they readily
and respectfully admitted him and his companions into the court.
"Ha!" cried Gaston, "what means this? is there a tilt towards?  This
reminds me of the good old days, ere the Prince fell ill.  The lists,
the galleries, the ladies, the Prince's own chair of state, too!  Oh,
Sir Eustace, I could tear my hair that you cannot yet use your sword
arm!"
"Can it be a challenge on the part of Fulk?"  said Eustace, "or a reply
to yours, Arthur?  Yet that can hardly be.  And see, there is no
barrier in the midst, only a huge block.  What can be intended?"
"I do not see Agnes among the ladies in the galleries," said Arthur,
looking up as eagerly, and more openly, than his uncle was doing. "And
oh, here comes the Princess,--yes, and Lord Edward and little Lord
Richard with her!  And here is the Prince himself leaning on the Earl
of Cambridge!  Uncle Eustace, Lord Edward is beckoning to me!  May I
run to him?"
"Come with me, since I must present myself," said Eustace, dismounting,
as one of the Prince's Squires held his horse.
"And, oh! who is yonder dark-browed dwarfish Knight at the Prince's
right hand?" cried Arthur.
Eustace could scarcely believe his eyes, as he looked where the boy
pointed.
The royal party were now seated in full array on their raised platform;
the Prince upon his chair of state, with more brightness in his eye and
of vigour in his movements than when Eustace had last seen him; and at
his side sat his wife,--her features still retaining the majestic
beauty of Joan Plantagenet, the Fair Maid of Kent--but worn and faded
with anxiety.  She watched her princely Lord with an eye full of care,
and could scarcely spare attention for the lovely child who clung to
her side, and whose brilliantly fair complexion, wavy flaxen hair, high
brow, and perfectly formed though infantine features, already promised
that remarkable beauty which distinguished the countenance of Richard
II.  On the other side of the Prince sat his sister-in-law, the
Countess of Cambridge, a Spanish Infanta; and her husband, Edmund,
afterwards Duke of York, was beside the Princess of Wales.  But more
wonderful than all, among them stood the Constable of France.  The two
boys, Prince Edward and his cousin Henry of Lancaster, were stationed
as pages on each side of the Princess, but as their play-fellow,
Arthur, advanced with his uncle, they both sprang down the steps of the
gallery to meet him, and each took a hand.  Edward, however, first
bethinking himself of the respect which, Prince as he was, he owed to a
belted Knight, made his reverence to Sir Eustace, who, at a sign from
the Prince of Wales, mounted the steps and bent his knee to the ground
before him.
"Nay, Sir Eustace," said the Prince, bending forward, "it is rather I
who should kneel to you for pardon; I have used you ill, Eustace, and,
I fear me, transgressed the pledge which I gave to your brother on the
plain of Navaretta."
"Oh, say not so, my gracious liege," said Eustace, as tears gathered in
his eyes,--"it was but that your noble ear was deceived by the slanders
of my foes!"
"True, Sir Eustace--yet, once, Edward of England would not have heard a
slanderous tale against one of his well-proved Knights without sifting
it well.  But I am not as once I was--sickness hath unnerved me, and, I
fear me, hath often led me to permit what may have dimmed my fame.  Who
would have dared to tell me that I should suffer my castles to be made
into traps for my faithful Knights?  And now, Sir Eustace, that I am
about to repair my injustice towards you, let me feel, as a man whose
account for this world must ere long be closed, that I have your
forgiveness."
The Prince took the hand of the young Knight, who struggled hard with
his emotion.  "And here is another friend," he added--"a firmer friend,
though foe, than you have found some others."
"Well met, my chivalrous godson," said the Constable du Guesclin,
holding out his hand.  "I rejoice that my neighbour, Oliver, did not
put an end to your faits d'armes."
"I marvel--," Eustace hardly found words between wonder and condolence.
The Prince caught the import of his hesitating sentences.
"He thinks you a prisoner, Sir Bertrand," he said.  "No, Sir Eustace,
Messire le Connetable is captive only in his good-will to you.  I
wrote, to pray him to send me his witness to those last words of your
brother, since you had ever appealed to him, and he replied by an
offer, which does us too much honour, to become our guest."
"I am no scribe, apart from my fairy Dame Tiphaine," said Du Guesclin,
abruptly.  "It cost me less pains to ride hither,--besides that I
longed to renew my old English acquaintances, and see justice done to
you, fair godson."
"Ha!  Sir Bertrand, thou recreant!--so no other spell drew thee hither?
Thou hast no gallantry even for such an occasion as this!" said a gay
voice.
"How should the ill-favoured Knight deal in gallantries?" said Du
Guesclin, turning.  "Here is one far fitter for your Grace's eyes."
"And you, discourteous Constable, were keeping him for you own behoof,
when all my maidens have been speaking for weeks of no name but the
Knight of the beleaguered Castle!"
And Eustace had to kiss the fair hand of the Princess of Wales.
In the meantime, the three boys were whispering together.  "It is all
well, all gloriously well, is it not, Arthur, as I told you?" said
Edward.  "I knew my father would settle all in his own noble fashion."
"What said the master of the Damoiseaux?"  asked Arthur, as the sight
of that severe functionary revived certain half-forgotten terrors.
"Oh, he, the old crab-stock!" said Henry,--"he looked sour enough at
first; but Edward kept your counsel well, till you were safe at a good
distance from Bordeaux; and then, though he said somewhat of
complaining to my Lord the Prince, it was too late to mend it. And when
Sir John Chandos came back, and bade him be content, he vowed you were
enough to spoil a whole host of pages; but did not we all wish some of
our uncles would get themselves betrayed?"
"But what means all this preparation?" asked Arthur--"these lists! Oh,
surely, there is not to be a tourney, which I have so longed to see!"
"No," said Edward, "that cannot be, my mother says, while my father is
so weakly and ill.  But there are the trumpets! you will soon see what
will befall."
And, with a loud blast of trumpets, the gorgeously arrayed heralds rode
into the court, followed by a guard of halberdiers, in the midst of
whom rode a Knight in bright armour, his visor closed, but his shield
and crest marking the Baron of Clarenham.
When the trumpets had ceased, and the procession reached the centre of
the lists, they halted, and drew up in order,--the principal herald,
Aquitaine, immediately in front of the Prince.  After another short
clear trumpet-blast, Aquitaine unrolled a parchment, and, in a loud
voice, proclaimed the confession of Fulk, Baron of Clarenham, of his
foul and unknightly conduct, in attempting to betray the person of the
good Knight and true, Eustace Lynwood, Knight Banneret, with that of
his Esquire, Gaston d'Aubricour, and of certain other trusty and
well-beloved subjects of his liege Lord, King Edward of England,
together with the fortalice, called Chateau Norbelle, in the county of
Gascogne, appertaining to my Lord Edward, Prince of Wales and Duke of
Aquitaine, into the hands of the enemy--having for that purpose
tampered with and seduced Thibault Sanchez, Seneschal of the Castle,
Tristan de la Fleche, and certain others, who, having confessed their
crime, have received their deserts, by being hung on a gallows--upon
which same gallows it was decreed by the authority of the Prince, Duke
and Governor of Aquitaine, that the shield of Fulk de Clarenham should
be hung--he himself being degraded from the honours and privileges of
knighthood, of which he had proved himself unworthy--and his lands
forfeited to the King, to be disposed of at his pleasure.
Clarenham was then compelled to dismount from his horse, and to, first
one foot, and then the other, upon the block, where a broad red-faced
cook, raising his cleaver, cut off the golden spurs.  Sir John Chandos,
as Constable of Aquitaine, then came forward, and, taking the shield
from the arm of Clarenham, gave it, reversed, into the hands of one of
the heralds, who carried it away.  The belt, another token of
knighthood, was next unbuckled, and Chandos, taking the sword, broke it
in three pieces across his knee, saying, "Lie there, dishonoured
steel!" and throwing it down by the spurs. Lastly, the helmet, with the
baronial bars across the visor, was removed, and thrown to the ground,
leaving visible the dark countenance, where the paleness of shame and
the flush of rage alternated.
"And now, away with the traitor, away with the recreant Knight! out
upon him!" cried in a loud voice Sir John Chandos, while the shout was
taken up by a deafening multitude of voices--in the midst of which the
degraded Knight and landless Baron made his way to the gate, and, as he
passed out, a redoubled storm of shouts and yells arose from without.
"Out upon the traitor!" cried Harry of Lancaster with the loudest.
"Away with him!  But, Edward, and you too, Arthur, why shout you not?
Hate you not traitors and treason?"
"I would not join my voice with the rabble," said Edward, "and it makes
me sad to see knighthood fallen.  What say you, Arthur?"
"Alas! he is my mother's kinsman," said Arthur, "and I loved his name
for her sake as for that of Agnes too.  Where is Agnes?"
"In the Convent of the Benedictine nuns," said Edward.  "But in your
ear, Arthur, what say you to our plan that she shall be heiress of her
brother's lands, on condition of her wedding--guess whom?"
"Not mine uncle!  Oh, Lord Edward, is it really so?  How rejoiced old
Ralph would be!"
"Speak not of it, Arthur--it was my mother who told me, when Agnes
craved permission to go to the Convent, and I feared she would become
one of those black-veiled nuns, and I should never see her more."
"Where is my uncle?" asked Arthur, gazing round.  "I thought he was
standing by the Lady Princess's chair--"
"He went to speak to Sir John Chandos but now," said Prince Henry, "but
I see him not.  Mark! what a lull in the sounds without!"
In fact, the various cries of execration which had assailed Fulk
Clarenham on his exit from the gates of the Castle, after sounding more
and more violent for some minutes, had suddenly died away almost into
stillness--and the cause was one little guessed at within the court.
The unhappy Fulk was moving onwards, almost as in a dream, without aim
or object, other than to seek a refuge from the thousand eyes that
marked his disgrace, and the tongues that upbraided him with it; but,
in leaving the court, he entered upon a scene where danger, as well as
disgrace, was to be apprehended.  The rabble of the town, ever pleased
at the fall of one whose station was higher than their own, mindful of
unpaid debts, and harsh and scornful demeanour, and, as natives,
rejoiced at the misfortune of a foreigner, all joined in one cry
of--"Away with the recreant Englishman!--down with him!--down with
him!" Every hand was armed with a stone, and brief would have been
Fulk's space for repentance, had not the cry in its savage tones struck
upon the ear of Eustace as he stood in the lists, receiving the
congratulations of Sir John Chandos and of other Knights, who, with
changed demeanour, came to greet the favoured hero.
"They will murder him," exclaimed Eustace; and breaking from his new
friends, he made his way to the gate, and hurried into the town, just
as Fulk had fallen to the ground, struck by a heavy stone hurled by the
hand of no other than John Ingram.  He rushed forward amid the hail of
stones, and, as he lifted Clarenham's head, called out, "How is this!
Brave men of Bordeaux, would you become murderers!  Is this like
honourable men, to triumph over the fallen!"
They held back in amazement for a second; then, as Eustace knelt by him
and tried to recall his consciousness, murmurs arose, "Why interferes
he with our affairs?  He is English," and they all held together.
"Another of the purse-proud English, who pay no debts, and ruin the
poor Bordelais."  "His blood we will have, if we cannot have his money.
Away, Master Knight, be not so busy about the traitor, if you would not
partake his fate."
Eustace looked up as the stones were uplifted, and more than one Free
Companion had drawn his sword.  "Hold," he exclaimed in a clear
full-toned voice that filled every ear.  "Hold! I am Eustace Lynwood,
the Castellane of Chateau Norbelle!"
There was an instant silence.  Every one pressed forward to see him,
whose recent adventures had made him an object of much interest and
curiosity, and the attention of the crowd was entirely diverted from
the former unhappy subject of their pursuit.  Whispers passed of "Noble
Knight! flower of chivalry! how generous and Christian-like he bends
over his enemy!  Nay, if he revenge not himself, what right have we?
And see, his arm is still in a scarf from the treachery of those
villains!  Well, I would yet give yon ruffian his desert."
By this time Eustace having observed Ingram among the crowd, summoned
him to his side, and at the same time courteously craving the aid of
one of the by-standers (who, of course, though collectively lions, were
individually lambs), succeeded in conveying Clarenham, whose senses had
so far returned that he was able to rise with their assistance, to the
door of a monastery chapel, the porch of which opened upon the street.
"Holy Fathers," said Eustace, "I crave the protection of the Church for
an unhappy, and, I trust, a penitent man, praying you will tend him
well to aid and relief alike of body and soul, until you hear from me
again."
With these words he quitted the chapel before his late enemy had
sufficiently recovered his faculties to recognize his preserver.
Leonard Ashton, for whom Eustace inquired, had, it appeared, saved
himself by making full confession, and had been sent home, in deep
disgrace, though spared public dishonour.
It was some few days after these events that the presence of Lady Agnes
de Clarenham was requested in the parlour of her nunnery, which was
some miles distant from Bordeaux, by a person who, as the porteress
informed her, was the bearer of a message from the Princess of Wales.
She descended accordingly, but her surprise was great on beholding,
instead of one of the female attendants of her mistress as she had
expected, the slender figure of the young Knight with whom she had last
parted at the hostelry.
Her first feeling was not one of kindness towards him.  Agnes had
indeed grieved and felt indignant when she saw him oppressed and in
danger from  her brother's treachery, but, in these days of favour, she
could not regard with complacency the cause of her brother's ruin, and
of the disgrace of her house.  She started, and would have retreated,
but that he prevented, by saying, in a tone which had in it more of
sorrow than of any other feeling, "Lady Agnes, I pray you to hear
me--for you have much to forgive."
"Forgive!  Nay, Sir Eustace, it is you who have so much to forgive my
unhappy house!  Oh, can you," she added, as the countenance and manner
recalling long past days made her forget her displeasure, "can you tell
me where the wretched one has shrouded his head from the shame which
even I cannot but confess he has merited?"
"I heard of the Bar--of your brother this very morn," said Eustace,
"from one of the good brethren of the Convent where he has taken
shelter, the Convent of the Augustine friars of St. Mary; they spoke of
him as amended in health, and, though sorely dejected, returning, they
hoped, to a better spirit.'
"Thanks, Sir Eustace, even so do I hope and pray it may be--since
repentance is the only good which can yet be his.  But tell me, Sir
Eustace--for vague rumours only reach us in this lonely cell--was it
true that the populace pursued the fallen one with clamours, and might
even have slain him, but for his rescue by a gallant Knight, who braved
their utmost fury?"
"It was even so, Lady," said Eustace, with some embarrassment.
"Oh! who was that noblest of Knights, that I may name him in my most
fervent prayers? who has that strongest claim on the gratitude of the
broken-hearted sister?"
"Nay, Lady, it was but common duty, the mere mercy of a Christian man,
who could not see a fellow-creature die such a death, without
attempting to save him."
"Oh, Sir Eustace! it is not like your former self to deny the greatness
of a noble deed!  I will not be robbed of my gratitude! Tell me the
name of that most noble of men!"
He half smiled, then looking down, and colouring deeply: "Do you
remember, Lady Agnes, the Knight whom you bound by a promise, that in
case of the triumph of his cause--"
"Eustace, Eustace!  Oh, I should have known that nothing was too great
and high for you, that you would not disparage the nobleness of any
other than yourself.  Oh, how shall I ever render you my thanks!  After
such cruel treachery as that from which you have, and, I fear me, are
still suffering!  Alas! alas! that I should be forced to use such harsh
words of my own brother!"
"I trust you may still be comforted, Lady," said Eustace.  "From what
the good Fathers tell me, there is hope that Fulk may yet be an altered
man, and when the pilgrimage to the Holy Land, which he has vowed, is
concluded, may return in a holy temper."
"Return; but whither should he return?" said Agnes, in a broken,
despondent tone,--"landless, homeless, desolate, outcast, what shelter
is open to him?  For if the porteress's tale spoke truth, his lands and
manors are forfeited to the King."
"They are so, in truth; but there is one way, Agnes, in which they may
still be restored to their true owner."
"How so?  What mean you, Sir Eustace?"
"Agnes, I would not have broken upon your sorrow by speaking thus
abruptly, but that the Prince's, or rather the King's desire was
urgent, that the matter should be determined without loss of time. To
you, in all justice, does he will that the castles and manors of
Clarenham should descend, but on one condition."
Agnes raised her eyes, and, while she slowly shook her head, looked
anxiously at him as he paused in considerable embarrassment.
"On condition that you, Lady Agnes, should permit the King and Prince
to dispose of your fair hand in marriage."
Agnes gave a slight cry, and leant against the grate of the parlour.
"Oh, that may never be, and--but how advantageth that poor Fulk?"
"Because, Lady Agnes--because it is to me that they would grant that
hand which I have so long loved passionately and hopelessly. Agnes, it
was not willingly, but at the command of the Prince, that I came hither
with a suit which must seem to you most strangely timed, from one who
has been the most unwilling cause of so much misery to you, whom, from
earliest years, he has ever loved more than his own life.  I know, too,
that you cannot endure to rise on the ruin of your brother, nor could I
bear to feel that I was living on the lands of a kinsman and neighbour
whose overthrow I had wrought.  But see you not, that jointly we can do
what we never could do separately, that, the condition fulfilled, we
could kneel before King Edward, and entreat for the pardon and
restoration of Fulk, which, to such prayers, he would surely grant?"
Agnes' tears were gathering fast, and she spoke in a broken voice, as
she said, "Eustace, you are the  most generous of Knights," and then,
ashamed of having said so much, covered her face with her veil and
turned away.  Eustace stood watching her, with his soul in his eyes;
but before either had summoned courage to break the silence, the
porteress came hurrying in, "Good lack! good lack! if ever my eyes saw
the like--here is the Princess of Wales herself at the gate, and all
her train--where is sister Katherine? where is the mother abbess?
Alas, alas! that nought should be ready to receive her!  Oh, and I have
mislaid the key of the great gate!" While the good woman was bustling
on in her career, Eustace had time to say, "Yea, Agnes, the Princess is
come, in case you hear my suit favourably, to conduct you back to
Bordeaux.  Think of a true and devoted heart, think of Fulk ere you
decide!"  As he spoke, the whole train of black-veiled nuns came
sweeping into the parlour, whence Agnes hastily escaped to collect her
thoughts during the few instants before she could be summoned to attend
the Princess, while Eustace walked into the Convent court, which was by
this time filled by the gay party which accompanied the Princess.
Agnes quickly gained her cell, and sank down on her bed to make the
most of the minutes that might be her own.  Never, probably, had lady
shorter time in which to decide, or did it seem more impossible to come
to a resolution; but Agnes had known Eustace all her life, had never
met one whom she thought his equal, found him raised a thousand-fold in
her estimation by the events of the day, and could not bear to think of
disappointing the hopes which had lighted up that bright eye and
animated that whole face.
Then, too, why by her act completely ruin her brother?  The thoughts
flashed through her mind in rapid succession, and she did not rise with
much reluctance when called to meet the Princess, though longing for
more time, which after all would but have enabled her to harass herself
more.
"Well, my gentle Agnes," said the Princess, "what say you?  Come you
back to the court, where my boys are wearing for their playfellow?
Hasten, then sweet maiden, for I promised little Edward to bring you
back, and I know not how to face his wrath if you come not."
Agnes, still almost dreaming, offered no opposition, but allowed her
dress to be arranged, took leave of the abbess and her nuns, and
shortly found herself, she scarcely knew how, mounted on her palfrey in
the Princess's train, with Sir Eustace Lynwood at her side.
And old Ralph Penrose was one of the happiest of mankind, when he
beheld his pupil return the first Knight in the county--the honoured of
the Prince.
For the next seven years the Clarenham vassals rejoiced in the gentle,
noble, and firm rule of their new Lord and Lady; yet it was remarked,
with some surprise, that the title of Baron of Clarenham was dropped,
and that Sir Eustace and Dame Agnes Lynwood, instead of living at their
principal Castle, took up their abode at a small manor which had
descended to the lady from her mother, while the Castle was placed
under the charge of Gaston d'Aubricour, beneath whose care the
fortifications assumed a more modern character, and the garrison learnt
the newest fashions of handling their weapons.
At the end of that time Sir Eustace and his Lady travelled to the
court, where, alas! of all the royal party who had rejoiced at their
marriage, they found only the Young King Richard II. and his mother,
the Princess Joanna, once the Fair Maid of Kent, but now sadly aged by
time and sorrow, who received kindly, though tearfully, those who
reminded her of those last bright days of her life at Bordeaux, and
readily promised to forward their request at the council, "where,
alas!" she said, shaking her head, "Lord Henry of Lancaster, now Earl
of Bolingbroke, too often loved to oppose her and her son."
No one at the council could refuse, thought the amazement of all was
great, when the request was made known that King Richard would be
pleased to reinstate in his titles, lands, and manors, Fulk, late Baron
of Clarenham, in consideration of his good services to Christendom,
rendered on the coast of Africa under the banner of the Knights of St.
John, whose Grand Master attested his courage and faithfulness.
Soon Clarenham Castle opened its gates to receive its humbled,
repentant, and much-changed Lord, who was welcomed by all the gentle
blood in the county--at the head of whom rode Sir Eustace with his
Squire, and his nephew Arthur, now a gallant young man, only waiting
the summons, promised him by the Princess, to receive knighthood at the
same time as his royal master, Richard II.