Ai* 
 
 i
 
 2.? O 
 
 OWEN TUDOR; 
 
 HISTORICAL ROMANCE. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LONDON : 
 GEORGE WOODFALL AND SON, 
 
 AN6BL COURT, SKINNER STRKET.
 
 OWEN TUDOR; 
 
 HISTORICAL ROMANCE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 WHITEFRIAES," ^^ C^SAE BORGIA,' 
 
 " WTio can control his fate ? . . 
 
 An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune." 
 
 Othello 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1849.
 
 L I B R.A FLY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 8Z3 
 R5C/o 
 
 V.I
 
 4 
 
 
 V. . 
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 >V THE FLOWERING OAK OF PENMYNYDD. 
 
 The Isle of Ano^lesea, once the chief seat of a 
 religion more ancient than the memory of history, 
 and the royal residence of sovereigns who pre- 
 tended to an almost equal antiquity, seems indeed 
 <J to have shared the fate of all things human. At 
 .:^ present it is chiefly as the high road to Ireland 
 j^ that either priests or princes honour it with their 
 attention. The sacred isle of the Druids, the 
 stronghold and refuge of Welsh freedom and 
 royalty during so many ages, has come to a 
 pretty pass, it must be allowed, when it is merely 
 reckoned as so many miles to be posted or railed 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 over with all possible speed, on the way to the 
 " still-vex'd Bermoothes" of the British seas ! 
 
 But so it is; and so in all probability it will 
 remain, even with that indefatigable sight-seer, the 
 summer tourist, whose stock of picturesque en- 
 thusiasm and admiration is in general exhausted 
 by the time he reaches the sea-washed bases of 
 the majestic mountains which bound the main- 
 land. Moreover, there is little to rekindle those 
 sensations when once the stern shores of the isle 
 are passed, and the traveller finds himself crossing 
 the wild tracts of rocky or marshy pasturage 
 which form the interior of Anglesea, scantily 
 wooded, and grazed by endless herds of oxen and 
 sheep, whose heads seem scarcely ever raised 
 from the short sweet herbage which they are 
 unconsciously engaged in converting into the finest 
 beef and mutton eaten under the wide sweep of 
 the British sceptre. 
 
 And yet one would imagine that a country 
 which sends travellers to the plains of Troy, to 
 dispute if such a city ever existed, might occa- 
 sionally spare a few to contemplate the remains 
 of a national antiquity perhaps more remote, in 
 the shape of the numerous Druidical monuments
 
 OWEN TUDOR. O 
 
 scattered amidst the wilds of Anglesea. Even 
 the mediaeval antiquarian might spend as useful 
 hours as he can at a much greater distance and 
 expense, endeavouring to rebuild in fantasy the 
 splendours of the royal Aberffraw, or indeed to 
 discover its site with any certainty; or in wan- 
 dering among the ruined abbeys and castles which 
 still attest a bygone prosperity of no ordinarj^ 
 magnificence. Scarcely any one thinks it worth 
 while to turn aside even to visit what remains of 
 the family residence possessed by the ancestors of 
 that right royal and, truth to say, right truculent and 
 hot-blooded dynasty of the Tudors, who have left 
 such lasting traces in our annals, and who pro- 
 bably owed no slight portion of their deeds and 
 renown to the influence of that fiery Cambrian 
 original. 
 
 It is true, we must again confess, that the most 
 dihgent researches would discover but little to 
 gratify curiosity, and that no one, unenlightened 
 by tradition, could possibly guess that the founder 
 of so lofty and imperial a race first beheld the 
 light in a wild which seems chiefly intended by 
 nature for the breeding and fattening of the jolly 
 beeves and muttons whose praises we have already 
 
 B 2
 
 4 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 chanted. But the tourist who has wandered at 
 AberfFraw over all that remains of the palace of 
 Roderic the Great, without being in the least 
 conscious of the circumstance until admonished 
 by his guide, will not be greatly surprised to find 
 that the dwelling of a race which, after the ac- 
 cession of Henry VII. to the throne, was unani- 
 mously certified by the Welsh bards to descend 
 from the mighty Arthur himself, has shrunk into 
 an inconsiderable farm-house ! A carved mantel- 
 piece, some scattered piles of massive masonry, 
 rude sculptures of escutcheons and heraldic orna- 
 ments, degraded by all sorts of rural intermixtures, 
 are all the vestioes which remain to reward the 
 labours of the antiquary. Oxen may low and 
 pigs may grunt amidst the foundations of the 
 chamber where the progenitor of the fiery-haired 
 and fiery-hearted Elizabeth was born ! 
 
 Penmynydd, as the place is still called (we 
 beseech the reader not to be daunted by the 
 appearance of the word, but to pronounce it boldly 
 as if the y's were u's), was probably at no period 
 much more than the rudely fortified dwelling of a 
 Welsh chieftain, devised rather as the lodging 
 and place of refuge of a half-savage clan of shep-
 
 OWEN TUDOR. O 
 
 herds and huntsmen than as an exhibition of taste 
 or comfort in domestic architecture. But its 
 claims, even to answer purposes so simple, seemed 
 gone by at a period as remote as the beginning of 
 the seventeenth year of the fifteenth century, when 
 our chronicle undertakes the description. The 
 lonor wars between the Welsh and their Anoio- 
 Norman invaders, which closed not many years 
 before in the suppression of the great rebellion of 
 Glendower (for it is a mistake to imagine that the 
 conquest effected by Edward I. in the thirteenth 
 century was a subjugation), covered all Wales with 
 ruin and desolation, but left special traces in An- 
 glesea. At the time we speak of, the greater part 
 of the mansion and all the village of Penmynydd 
 lay in ruins, beneath the observation of a per- 
 sonage who emerged with the earliest peep of day 
 from the remains of a once massive tower of 
 stonework, blackened and browned with the action 
 of fire, if he had been so superfluous as to take 
 notice of circumstances which were probably very 
 familiar to him. 
 
 The mansion or castle of Penmynydd, as ac- 
 cording to Welsh ideas it might be called, origin- 
 ally consisted of a group of buildings of unhewn
 
 b OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 timber, surrounded by a wall and moat, on the 
 summit of an eminence, whence it took its desig- 
 nation, signifying in English the Mountain Head. 
 Two strong towers of masonry, united by a cir- 
 cular keep, formed its chief strength in former 
 times, but were now isolated by the destruction of 
 the central pile, and of the greater part of the 
 towers themselves. The aspect of these buildings 
 and of the ruined huts which strewed the hill side 
 attested that the destroying agent was fire; but 
 several years had evidently elapsed since the time 
 of its appHcation, for grass and foliage covered the 
 traces of devastation in many parts. One of the 
 towers seemed still inhabited, to judge from the 
 smoke which wreathed from among the oak trees 
 surrounding it ; and that from which the person we 
 have alluded to emerged seemed used as a stable, 
 for the shrill neigh of a horse followed him to the 
 exterior. 
 
 He was apparently a young peasant, of the 
 usual middle stature and stout build of the 
 Welsh mountaineer, with a blythe audacity and 
 liveliness in his black eyes, and a shrewdness of 
 expression on his square forehead and strong cut 
 features that betokened well for the qualities of
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 7 
 
 the mind and character which stamp themselves 
 in those Hneaments. He was garbed, according 
 to the simple fashion of the country and time, in 
 a kind of loose frock of blue woollen, which 
 descended to his muscular red knees, and was 
 fastened at the waist with a leather belt, in which 
 was stuck a lono- naked knife. His arms and less 
 were bare, but his feet were twisted with rope in 
 the manner of a low boot, and declared a purpose 
 of locomotion over some peculiarly rough and 
 flinty route, without which such luxuries were 
 seldom affected. The extraordinary pace into 
 which he broke almost as soon as he had leaped, 
 with the aid of a long staff, over a stream which 
 rushed at the base of the castle hill, and gained the 
 open ground, justified the supposition. At first his 
 movement was a rapid walk, which changed to a 
 kind of trot, and finally into the bounding gallop of 
 a stag — with the speed of which animal he passed 
 over the rocky and uneven country stretching in 
 the direction he ,took, in which the view was un- 
 interrupted to the sea-coast and the waves of the 
 Menai, beyond which the skies w^ere piled with 
 the mountains of Caernarvonshire, tipped by the 
 white peaks of Snowdon. Nor did this wild
 
 8 OWEN TUDOR, 
 
 messenger, for such he was, seera to require a 
 moment's breathing pause, or at all events to take 
 one, until he reached the coast and the summit 
 of the precipitous rocks which overlooked the 
 dangerous shoals called the Swelly Rocks, a dis- 
 tance of several miles. 
 
 It was full tide, and the sea was churning with 
 great fury among the sunken rocks in the channel 
 below. But the messenger deigned not a mo- 
 ment's attention to the uproar and tumultuous 
 play of billows. Kneeling on the very verge of 
 the rocks where the violence of the wind would 
 scarcely have suffered him to stand upright, he 
 gazed intently towards the north along the widen- 
 ing straits which divide Anglesea from the main- 
 land. No mighty bridge then flung itself fear- 
 lessly as an arch of heaven over the waters, and 
 no object broke the line of view to Beaumaris save 
 the waves roUing silvery white in the daybreak, 
 and the lonely sail of some fisherman venturing 
 timidly forth in the blustering breeze. Both shores 
 of the straits were visible almost to their termina- 
 tion in the open sea, presenting to the left a lofty 
 but rapidly and deeply undulating shore, on the 
 right a succession of rocky hills rising one above
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 9 
 
 the other till they terminated abruptly in the 
 mountainous precipice of Penmaen Mawr. 
 
 The object of the islander's researches was ap- 
 parently soon discovered, from the joyful manner 
 in which, though alone, he clapped his hands and 
 uttered an exclamation of satisfaction, when, after 
 gazing for a short time, he noticed the appearance 
 of a small barque which, with all its sails spread, 
 rounded a projecting headland on the Anglesea 
 shore. To eyes less keen and practised this might 
 have seemed a common fishinD;-boat of small di- 
 mensions, too remote to be distinguished by any 
 peculiar sign. But Rhys ap Goronwy discerned 
 the colour of the oarsmen's garments, and, above 
 all, the person of the voyager at the rudder, who, 
 with a strong and dexterous arm, guided the course 
 of the vessel. The exceeding rapidity of the cur- 
 rent, which scarcely allowed the rowers to give 
 their oars an occasional dip, made the passage 
 somewhat dangerous, more especially when the 
 barque entered among the rushing gullies and 
 breakers of the channel below the rocks on which 
 the kerne had posted himself. He seemed, how- 
 ever, to have no misgivings with regard to the 
 safety of the voyagers, but, immediately he was 
 
 b3
 
 10 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 satisfied that the object he sought was before him, 
 commenced sliding and shelving like a large sea- 
 fowl down the precipitous declivity, until he reached 
 a little creek at its base which allowed anchorage 
 for such small craft as the one approaching. He 
 had scarcely shaken the sand and weeds with 
 which this transit covered him, from his hair and 
 garments, ere the fling of a huge and overboiling 
 wave sent the boat headlong, but in perfect safety, 
 on the shingles at his feet. Two or three of the 
 voyagers instantly leaped out and dragged it by 
 main force to a higher point ere the return of the 
 wave could carry them out again; and then the 
 youth who acted as pilot, and who was evidently 
 the chief personage of the party, left his hold of 
 the rudder, and placed himself by a single active 
 effort on some rocks which j utted so as to form a 
 kind of landing-place. 
 
 Castino; to one of his attendants a lonoj mantle 
 of wolf-skins which he wore fastened round his 
 throat by the gilded paws of the same animal, and 
 which was covered with sea-froth, and removing his 
 cap of similar material to shake the spray from its 
 heavy plume of white heron's feathers, and from his 
 own thick curling golden brown hair, where it glim-
 
 OWExV TUDOR. 11 
 
 mered like dew on the blossoms of the laburnum, a 
 figure and countenance appeared which would have 
 riveted the admiration of a painter or of a sculptor. 
 Either might have taken it as a perfect model, in 
 stature, proportions, and rich colouring, for the 
 robust beauty of the hunter whom the Queen 
 of Love loved; or perhaps, from the fiery, 
 haughty, and impetuous character of the phy- 
 siognomy, though still in the earliest and almost 
 womanly bloom of youth, as an ideal of the young 
 Achilles when he passed for a nymph among the 
 daughters of the ocean, and the moment ap- 
 proached in which he rushed to seize the shield 
 and spear which revealed his sex and warlike 
 instincts to the craft of Ulysses ! His naturally 
 very fair complexion was of a ruddy, sunny hue, 
 with exposure to the various moods of the change- 
 able mountain skies and the rude exercises to 
 which his fine but very powerful and active frame 
 was evidently accustomed. The freedom and 
 daring of the mountaineer were in all his gestures, 
 and above all in the wild, varying, eagle-like flash 
 of his large steel-blue eyes, which seemed yet, by 
 the rapid shadow which darkened them as his 
 glance fell on the messenger, capable of expressing
 
 12 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 the deepest and gloomiest passions of humanity as 
 vividly as those of martial or amorous ardour — to 
 which, indeed, the fierce and glowing blood of the 
 Cymbri almost equally prompts those in whose 
 veins it flows. When to these personal character- 
 istics of the young voyager we add those of his 
 garb — his short frock, or tunic, of home-spun but 
 most brilHantly hued plaid, the light breastplate of 
 silver mail, the belt in which was set a short sword, 
 the crossbow fastened by a loose scarf over his 
 shoulders, the undressed deerskin boots, and the 
 golden collar which clasped his snowy woollen 
 shirt at the throat and declared the nobility of the 
 wearer — there was scarcely a peasant of the isle or 
 neighbouring mountains who would not have re- 
 cognised young Owen Tudor of Penmynydd, or, 
 as he was more popularly and poetically styled. 
 The Flowering Oak of the Hill. 
 
 The youthful chieftain's eye fell, as we have 
 noted, with evident anxiety upon the person of 
 the messenger, who respectfully claimed his atten- 
 tion by bending almost to his rope mocassins, and 
 wishing the sweetest breath of the morning to his 
 honourable lord's special use. Owen turned pale 
 as he recognised the vassal, and he replied with
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 13 
 
 evident agitation in Welsh, as he was addressed, 
 " How is it with my father, Rhys ? Why art thou 
 here? Is he worse or — what has chanced that 
 thou art here ?" 
 
 "The aged snow melts fast in the spring, but 
 not faster than the Chief of Penmynydd is passing 
 away!" rephed the messenger in the figurative 
 form in which the Celtic dialects delioht. ^'The 
 
 o 
 
 corpse lights have shone on Snowdon, and marked 
 the way of the funeral of a son of Arthur ! I am 
 sent to bid ap Tudor lose no steps on the road, 
 lest his father's mouth be full of dust ere he can 
 leave a blessing on his head." 
 
 " Does the Saxon mediciner then give no hope? 
 and has the sign on Snowdon appeared?" re- 
 turned the young chief, turning still paler, while 
 the wan colours of awe and superstitious dread 
 passed over the visages of his hardy attendants. 
 
 " Penmynydd himself has seen it ! With his 
 own eyes he watched the funeral procession de- 
 scend Snowdon and cross the sea, even to the 
 sandy vaults of Llanvaes ! " replied the clansman. 
 " But he will not suffer the Saxon gatherer of 
 poisons to see him, not even when he learned that 
 you had yourself sent for him to the city of the
 
 14 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 boiling springs. * He may cure the mange among 
 the mongrel dogs of England ! ' he says, * but 
 shall not tamper with the blood of the pure breed 
 of Britain ! ' " 
 
 '' We have received ill enough from the hands 
 of the Saxon, to endure a little good," said Owen; 
 " but, since the Canwyll Corph has shone on the 
 crags of the Eagle, all were in vain ! Let us 
 hasten indeed, lest a stranger should close my 
 father's eyes." 
 
 The belief in the dreary superstition thus de- 
 signated is still prevalent in Wales, but a few cen- 
 turies ago was so firmly rooted among the general 
 mass of popular delusions, that it was no wonder 
 Owen abandoned the slender hopes to which he had 
 hitherto clung, coupling the fact of the appearance 
 of the funeral lights on Snowdon with the state of 
 prostration in which he left his father on the pre- 
 vious day, when, as a last resource, he sailed with 
 an offering to the shrine of St. Elian, on the 
 extremity of the coast. The intercession of this 
 saint was believed to be of the greatest efficacy in 
 restoring the sick to health; but it was probably 
 rather as a means of diverting the sorrow of his 
 son, whom death was about to deprive of his only
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 15 
 
 near kinsman, than with any hope of his own, 
 that the exhausted chieftain despatched him on the 
 errand. Owen imagined he was bringing some hope 
 from the shrine of the benevolent saint ; but the 
 intelHgence he now learned made him almost fear 
 he should be too late even to rejoice his father's 
 dying eyes with his own safe return. For several 
 years the Lord of Penmynydd had been wasting 
 away under the sufferings caused by an incurable 
 wound in his knee, inflicted, as he always averred, 
 by a poisoned arrow from a Saxon bow, at the 
 battle of Shrewsbury, where he fought side by 
 side with Glendower and Hotspur against the 
 House of Lancaster. On a sudden this wound 
 had burst into a bleeding which no effort could 
 staunch, and the patient was sinking fast under 
 the continued drain of the vital fluid, at which, 
 according to Rhys ap Goronwy, death himself 
 was sucking like a hound at the throat of the deer. 
 But we must preface the arrival of our filial devotee 
 at the scene of suffering with some preliminary 
 information, without which we doubt if some of 
 the details to follow can be clearly understood. 
 
 The dying chieftain of Penmynydd, according 
 to Welsh traditions and his own implicit belief,
 
 16 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 was descended in a direct and unbroken line not 
 merely from the historical princes of the land, but 
 from that mighty Arthur of Britain whose very 
 existence it has pleased the incredulous of modern 
 times to dispute. During the centuries of strug- 
 gle which the Welsh maintained against succes- 
 sive races of invaders — Danes and Saxons, Nor- 
 mans and Anglo-Normans — the Tudors were re- 
 nowned in the songs of the bards as being among 
 the most valiant, resolute, and patriotically blood- 
 thirsty in resistance or in vengeance. The father 
 of Owen remained faithful as his ancestors to 
 the cause of national freedom which endeared 
 their name and glories to those empassioned ex- 
 positors of popular feeHng, by taking a most active 
 and determined part in the last great Welsh re- 
 bellion — that of Owen Glendower, which, pros- 
 perous for awhile, ended in the ruin of himself and 
 of all who sided with him, and in the final subjec- 
 tion of those valiant Celtic tribes to the destined 
 supremacy of the Saxo-Norman race. The Chief 
 of Penmynydd was renowned as almost the sole 
 adherent of the illustrious rebel who remained 
 faithful to him through all his varied but finally 
 disastrous fortunes.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 17 
 
 There were not wanting detractors to insinuate 
 that this devotion was in some measure owing to 
 the belief which the Tudors entertained of their 
 descent from the ancient kings of Wales, and to 
 the splendid hopes which such a claim might sub- 
 stantiate in the event of the national triumph. 
 But as nearly all the great families of Wales 
 traced their descent from some source of native 
 royalty, not a few placing the well-spring still 
 more loftily than the Tudors, and Glendower 
 himself assumed the diadem of the principality 
 without abating their zeal in his cause, the sus- 
 picion seems but little founded. That warHke 
 magician possessed every quality which can in- 
 fluence to enthusiasm in a rude, valiant, and 
 superstitious age, without seeking the causes of 
 his success in motives of a selfish and personal 
 nature among his supporters. A brave, and long 
 a successful soldier, a wizard and a star-gazer who 
 was believed by the greater part even of his own 
 followers to have the elements at command, — so 
 well did they serve him in his great needs ! — Glen- 
 dower had every claim on the affection and re- 
 verence of his ardent and half-barbarous parti- 
 sans. Until the heroic Magnus, g-rown old and
 
 18 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 hopeless, deserted himself and yielded to the over- 
 whelming power of his enemies, the Chief of 
 Penmynydd adhered to him with the tenacity 
 of the main timber to some noble wreck when 
 planks and masts, and streamers and cordage are 
 all rent away, leaving only the dismantled hull to 
 brave the fury of the winds and waves. 
 
 But, whatever might have been the motives of 
 theTudors in their adherence to the cause of Glen- 
 dower, the personal results of the warlike labours 
 in which their chieftain spent the years of his man- 
 hood, were simply the forfeiture of such lands as 
 his ancestors had not lost by a similar process, 
 and the satisfaction of finding himself and his 
 wizard prince vanquished by a raw youth, whom 
 all the world thought incapable of any enterprise 
 of valour and conduct. It was little consolation 
 to the Lord of Penmynydd, that in after-years 
 the gay young wassailer, who left the taverns of 
 London to signalize the dawn of his heroic man- 
 hood in the overthrow of the people whose dia- 
 dem he bore as Prince of Wales, proved also the 
 conqueror of France, and made the name of 
 Henry V. for ever glorious in the annals of Eng- 
 land.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 19 
 
 But, though vanquished in the field, and curbed 
 on every side by the strong garrisons introduced 
 by the EngHsh into the very heart of their fast- 
 nesses, the Welsh were far from yielding implicit 
 submission to their conquerors. Still, the wise 
 moderation of the government introduced by 
 Henry V. among his Welsh conquests, the efforts 
 which he made to ingratiate himself with the peo- 
 ple, — above all, the blaze of mihtary glory which 
 surrounded his name, always a dazzhng lure to 
 nations of Celtic blood, — produced in progress of 
 time a remarkable effect on the upper classes of 
 the people and nobility, if not on the great mass 
 of the population of Wales. This was specially 
 the case in the countries more immediately under 
 the English sway, or bordering on the English 
 counties. The remote and mountainous districts 
 were, of course, the latest in suffering this new 
 light to stream in upon them ; but even Snowdon 
 itself could not always interpose its mighty sha- 
 dow between the islanders of Anglesea and the 
 progress of the neighbouring civilization. Almost 
 alone among his equals and former companions 
 in arms, the Lord of Penmynydd continued to defy 
 the conquerors, and, like a dark cloud in a bright-
 
 20 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 ening sky, suffered no shred of his gloom to 
 mingle or dissipate in the new radiance. 
 
 True it is, that very few of those who had suf- 
 fered the most in the penalties of rebellion had so 
 much to complain of as the Tudors. Their chief 
 found himself reduced, by the confiscation of 
 nearly all his inheritance, below the degree of a 
 simple gentleman among the " Saxon heap," as 
 the Welsh term politely designated the collective 
 English people. Little more remained to the an- 
 cient Lords of Penmynydd, of all their once great 
 possessions, but a title which was conceded to 
 them by the courtesy of custom, or the traditionary 
 respect of the serfs and vassals of their alienated 
 lands, rather than by any right of property. 
 DwelUng amidst the ruins of his battered ances- 
 tral home and those of his slaughtered kinsfolk 
 and adherents, it was no wonder that the progress 
 of time had little influence in allaying the animo- 
 sity of the brother-in-arms of Glendower. On 
 the contrary, the daily contemplation of these cir- 
 cumstances, and the consciousness that he was an 
 object of distrust and suspicion with the con- 
 querors, continually added to the rancour of his 
 feelings. It was still more bitter, when he felt at
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 21 
 
 last that he was forgotten and overlooked by his 
 enemies, and that he had not even the distinction 
 to continue feared and disHked by them. The 
 EngHsh governors, secure in the glories of their 
 king, and in the general face of pacification which 
 the country exhibited, thought they could afford 
 to despise the obstinate scorn and hatred of an 
 old half-barbarous chief of a destroyed clan, whom 
 they called, in derision of the lameness caused by 
 the wound in his knee, '' the Torn Wolf." While 
 all the rest of the nobles and gentry of the isle 
 gradually veered round, like the heads of onions, 
 to the warm beams of the sun of power, the 
 Tudors of Penmynydd kept theirs resolutely turned 
 to the wind and the sleet, and continued religiously 
 in the faith and expectation of a time of vengeance 
 and retribution. 
 
 It may be imagined that the beautiful cub of 
 the "Torn Wolf" was not trained in a manner to 
 make it probable he would at any time slip his 
 neck even into the splendid gilded collars offered 
 by the policy of the conquerors. Owen might 
 almost be said to have been born in hatred and 
 warfare with the invaders, since his mother gave 
 him life amidst the wilds of Snowdon, flying from
 
 22 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 the ravages committed throughout Anglesea by 
 the English, in their wrath at the escape of the 
 Welsh army to those mountain fastnesses whither 
 it was impossible for their heavy-armed forces to 
 pursue. His earliest recollections were stored with 
 scenes of the confusion and bloodshed which 
 marked every stage of the last great struggle of 
 the Welsh with their invaders. The very songs 
 which lulled his infancy asleep were rude odes 
 either of triumph or lamentation, legends of the 
 glories of his ancestors or of the misdeeds of the 
 Saxons, as the English were always called, or of 
 fearful acts of retaliation and vengeance, which 
 his very nurses told him he was born to imitate. 
 Hatred of the Eno;lish he thus imbibed with his 
 mother's milk, but the peculiar detestation in 
 which he held their warlike kino^ was something^ 
 more than the mere vague influence of the atmo- 
 sphere of opinion which surrounded his childhood. 
 The very name of Henry of Monmouth was odious 
 to the father of Owen Tudor. Until the young 
 prince appeared on the scene of action, Glendower 
 was almost always successful in his enterprises; 
 but his star paled as soon as Henry's arose. The 
 indefatigable zeal and courage displayed by the
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 23 
 
 youthful warrior at length wearied out even the 
 wiles and patience of the mountaineers. He 
 brought them to encounters in which he always 
 defeated them, and the crafty policy of Henry IV. 
 ably followed up the warlike successes of his son. 
 It could not be doubted that the destruction of the 
 glorious hopes entertained by the Welsh and their 
 leaders was mainly to be attributed to the exer- 
 tions of the royal general, who was now renowned 
 over Europe as the victor on a vaster arena. Ac- 
 cordingly, he was the principal object of the ani- 
 mosity of the vanquished ; and the Lord of Pen- 
 mynydd had the special ground of resentment to 
 know that his mansion was reduced to ruins, and 
 his estates confiscated, by the express commands 
 of the prince, who was exasperated at the obsti- 
 nacy of his adherence to the fallen cause of Glen- 
 dower, and the ferocious defiances which he re- 
 turned to all his offers of pardon and mercy.
 
 24 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PROPHECY OF GLENDOWER. 
 
 Under such auspices Owen Tudor saw the Hght, 
 and passed the first years of his Hfe. The fierce 
 blood of the race which circulated in his veins 
 was not likely to be tamed by any circumstance 
 in his early education. His mother died within a 
 few hours of his birth, and he spent his childhood 
 in the hut of a foster-mother, amidst the wildest 
 and deepest solitudes of Snowdon. Thence he was 
 transferred to the ruined home of his ancestors, 
 and abandoned almost exclusively to the care of 
 the wild retinue who still shared the broken for- 
 tunes of their lord. These consisted of a few 
 servitors, too old to seek neu^ fortunes, had they 
 been willino; to desert their chieftain to eat at the 
 plentiful boards of the Saxons who had shared his 
 lands amongst them, and some maimed relics of 
 the disastrous wars of Glendower. Among the
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 25 
 
 former was a bard who had been in the family 
 nearly a century, and was descended from a long 
 poetical ancestry enjoying the same office. 
 
 The young descendant of their lords was an 
 object of almost idolatrous affection with all these 
 survivors of the shattered clan, and his childish 
 caprices were gratified with even more zeal than if 
 he had still been the inheritor of the princely for- 
 tunes of his ancestors. The beauty of the child 
 might alone have recommended him to the affec- 
 tion of all who beheld him, but his talents and 
 favourite pursuits were of a kind which endeared 
 him more effectually to his father's vassalage. His 
 love of anus, and of every species of robust exer- 
 cise, delighted the old serfs, who had spent their 
 manhood in the restless warfare of Glendower's 
 rebellion. His enthusiasm for the chase, his daring 
 and unwearied pursuit of the ferocious game of 
 the mountains, made the aged huntsmen prophesy 
 in him a second Llewellyn the Great, the rash 
 master of the faithful Gelert, to whom is attri- 
 buted the saying, " that no meat is worth eating that 
 has not been run for from sunrise to sunset." The 
 pleasure he took in music, and his rapid progress 
 through all the stages of science on the harp, from 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 that of Disgybl, or disciple, to the elevated rank 
 of Pencerdd, or doctor, consoled the ancient bard 
 of his house, almost reduced to despair by the 
 obstinate unpoeticalness of his grandson Rhys, 
 who ought to have been his successor in the 
 office. 
 
 It almost seemed as if the Chief of Penmynydd 
 intended to limit his son's accomplishments within 
 this narrow circle, and that he took delight in rear- 
 ing him, as if in defiance of the Saxon civilization, 
 in the rudest fashion of his half-barbarous ances- 
 try. There was, in fact, nothing which he dreaded 
 more than that his son should become a scholar, 
 one terrible example of which had occurred in the 
 family in the person of a great uncle, who studied 
 himself out of all martial and soldierly likings into 
 a fat Saxon abbacy ! The only acquirement 
 which the chieftain seemed to consider neces- 
 sary for his son was a knowledge of the French 
 tongue, which was communicated to him by a 
 learned monk of the neighbouring monastery of 
 Llanvaes, who had studied in his youth at the 
 University of Paris, then the most renowned in 
 Europe. Perhaps even this concession was due 
 to the circumstance that France was the only
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 27 
 
 powerful country whence aid against the English 
 might be hoped or implored, and with whose lan- 
 guage it was therefore of consequence to be fami- 
 liar. The chieftain remembered the great incon- 
 venience which had arisen in the time of Glen- 
 dower, from the inability of the Welsh leaders to 
 comprehend their French allies' incessant dis- 
 course. 
 
 The good old friar was glad of an occasion to 
 brush up the learning of his youth, which in his 
 obscure monastery he had since found of verv 
 little use. But rarely was there a more untract- 
 able pupil, in spite of the singular vivacity of his 
 talents, than Owen Tudor. His free and wander- 
 ing childhood, the robust exeicises in which he 
 delighted, rendered study and confinement inex- 
 pressibly irksome and disgusting to him. He 
 knew all, so the bard assured him, which his an- 
 cestors were accustomed to know. He could dart 
 a spear farther than the strongest man he had yet 
 coped with ; he w as master of the short massive 
 sword and ponderous axe of his fathers; he 
 could ride the fleetest horses, and govern the 
 fiercest ; he could lift seemingly impossible weights 
 not only with his hands but with his teeth ; he 
 
 c2
 
 28 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 could race down the deer of Snowdon on foot, 
 and struggle weaponless with its large and cou- 
 rageous wolf. He was considered the most vigor- 
 ous and active dancer in all the island; and his 
 skill in music was renowned among a people pas- 
 sionately sensitive and alive to its influence. He 
 inherited his father's contempt and hatred not 
 only for the Saxons, but for their arts and arms ; 
 and every kind of science was instinctively con- 
 nected in his mind with their progress and triumph, 
 for the Welsh had learned to dread and despise 
 almost equally the mechanical discipline and supe- 
 riority which had vanquished them. 
 
 Luckily, Father Emrys, or Ambrosius, as he 
 was called in his convent, was in possession of 
 a work in the French language recording the 
 achievements of the chivalry of the Round Table, 
 which he himself had most dihgently compiled 
 from the recitations of minstrels, the lays of jon- 
 gleurs, and the authentic archives of the trou- 
 badours and romancers of France. The subject 
 possessed an inexhaustible interest to the Welsh 
 monk, holding, as he did, these legends to be the 
 true history and record of the most glorious 
 period of his country's supremacy. He delighted
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 29 
 
 to relate the toils and pains he had undergone to 
 acquire the precious contents of the vast tome, in 
 illuminating and emblazoning which, with every 
 variety of illustration and ornament known to the 
 rich though grotesque art of the fifteenth century, 
 he had spent his time and fortune ever since. The 
 pilgrimages he had undertaken to the most dis- 
 tant castles or mansions which possessed any frag- 
 ment of this Hterature, however short ; his zealous 
 pursuit of the minstrels and story-tellers who he 
 imagined might know some tale with which he was 
 unacquainted; his researches in the dusty manu- 
 scripts of colleges and abbeys — furnished anecdotes 
 innumerable to almost every section of the pon- 
 derous narrative. The magnificent volume which 
 enshrined it won the attention and admiration of 
 Owen, and, when every other means of persuasion 
 or menace failed, animated him to attempt the 
 conquest of the language in whose custody the 
 explanation of those gorgeous limnings was firmly 
 locked. 
 
 The achievements of Arthur and his paladins 
 had lost their originally wild and barbarous cha- 
 racteristics in the lays and fabhaux of France, 
 and assumed the costume and parlance of the
 
 30 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 chivalrous courts for whose entertainment the 
 French and Anglo-Norman minstrels adopted 
 those rude but beautiful inventions of Cambrian 
 genius. But a youth in whom the pride of birth 
 and ancestry was fostered by so many circum- 
 stances, even by the misfortunes and degradation 
 of his line, could not but take a strong interest in 
 narratives which painted its founders in possession 
 of such dazzling power and glory. He acquired 
 unconsciously many of the ideas and aspirations 
 of that singular system of heroic manners which 
 ascribed, perhaps justly, to the simple and uncor- 
 rupted ancestors of his race, existed in its pomp 
 and splendours only among the cultivated and 
 chivalric nations of Europe. A deep desire gra- 
 dually grew and matured in his breast to imitate 
 the exploits of the heroes who had left such daz- 
 zling traces behind them in a species of history 
 which the Welsh imagined of all others the most 
 authentic — the memory of the bards — with whom 
 his fancy confounded the polished and inventive 
 minstrels of France. 
 
 The manners of chivalry were not inspired by 
 what we should now consider a pure morality, but 
 they were sufficiently alluring to the imagination
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 31 
 
 of youth, veiled in their gloss of beauty and mili- 
 tary triumph. The loves of the peerless Sir Laun- 
 celot du Lake with the wife of his king and bene- 
 factor; of the faithful Tristram with the queen of 
 his restless and malignant uncle, Mark ; the amo- 
 rous adventures of fairies and sorceresses so libe- 
 rally interspersed in the legends of the Round 
 Table; the general dissolution of manners de- 
 picted; were probably transcribed from the actual 
 state of thino;s among; the cultivated nations of 
 Europe — but were so artfully blended with all that 
 was poetical, tender, and heroic in the ancient 
 inventions, that they possessed an irresistible charm 
 to the mind and heart of the young Welsh chief. 
 Father Ambrosius had soon no reason to com- 
 plain of any want of diligence in his pupiPs labours 
 to gain the power of perusing the volume of glory, 
 and its legends added fuel incessantly to the pur- 
 poses and hopes which glowed in his heart. 
 
 Owen Tudor's ambition had been early awaken- 
 ed by vague intimations from his father of some- 
 thing supernatural and lofty in his destiny con- 
 nected with the numerous prophecies which from 
 age to age sustained the flagging hopes of the 
 Welsh. The Jews themselves scarcely cherish a
 
 32 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 more fervid and implicit confidence in the coming 
 of some great deliverer and restorer than the 
 Welsh preserved to console them under the losses 
 and overthrows which signalized the downfal of 
 Glendower. By some it was believed that Arthur 
 himself would burst from the cavern of his en- 
 chanted slumbers — from the dreams of a thousand 
 years — and restore his land to liberty. Less irra- 
 tional reveries suggested that the prophecy was to 
 be fulfilled by some descendant of his blood ; and 
 it seemed as if the Chief of Penmynydd adopted 
 this belief, or at all events infused it into his son. 
 The traditionary songs of his foster-mother im- 
 bued Owen's childhood with the same notion, and 
 the loftier inspirations and chants of the bard 
 sustained it. He was prompted by almost every 
 motive of revenge and hatred against those who 
 in his own day usurped the heritage of the de- 
 scendants of Arthur. He found himself, with all 
 his royalty of lineage and ancestry, reduced almost 
 to beggary — and circumstances continually re- 
 minded him of it. If he went forth solitary to the 
 chase, the laments of an aged huntsman recalled 
 the time when his fathers never left their halls 
 without a retinue which would have compassed
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 33 
 
 the bounds of Snowdon. He wandered a lurking 
 trespasser in forests which had once owned no 
 other lord than one of his name ; he returned in 
 darkness with his quarry lest the watchers of a 
 stranger should behold him bring home the car- 
 casses of deers and wild boars fed on the mast of 
 his own alienated oaks. The worn-out soldiery of 
 Glendower's wars continually poured into his ears 
 tales of their battles and triumphs; the bard was 
 never weary of repeating the legends of the deeds 
 of his ancestors. Even the lettered monk of 
 Llanvaes — whose monastery was almost consumed 
 and its revenues seized by the vengeance of the 
 English — aided, with querulous murmurs that ex- 
 cited his impatience, in the general effect. Owen's 
 anxiety to play a part on the theatre of events, 
 and his weariness of the solitude and inaction to 
 which he was confined, soon exceeded even the 
 purposes and hopes which the "Torn Wolf" che- 
 rished as the only consolation of his own unwiUing 
 repose. 
 
 But little prospect seemed to remain of any 
 such stirring world, as that in which Owen panted 
 to breathe and have his being, under the skies of 
 his native land. The Welsh populations generally 
 
 c3
 
 34 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 had lost heart under the pressure of continual 111 
 success, and their natural leaders were either 
 seduced by the glory and liberality of Henry V. 
 to fight under his standard, or were reduced to 
 powerlessness by confiscations and banishment. 
 Owen's aversion, and that of his father, to the 
 race of the conquerors included everything be- 
 longing to them, even their useful arts and accom- 
 plishments. It was not, therefore, in their schools 
 that Owen mused on the feasibility of acquiring 
 the warlike skill which might conduct him to the 
 glory for which he thirsted. Moreover, with his 
 youthful strength and unmatched skill in the use 
 of the national weapons, he believed that he only 
 needed opportunity to redeem the reproach of 
 barbarism affixed to their use by the iron-clad 
 chivalry of England. 
 
 France was the only country which seemed to 
 offer him a pathway to renown ; and it had long 
 been the openly announced intention of the Chief 
 of Penmynydd to send his son thither to learn the 
 use of arms in her service. The certainty that his 
 few remaining possessions would become imme- 
 diately forfeit on the perpetration of so open an 
 act of what would be called treason, in the castle
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 35 
 
 of Beaumaris, acted as some check on this pro- 
 ject. The old warrior's excessive fondness for his 
 only issue was another ; but the greatest of all 
 was the distracted state of France itself. Amidst 
 the desolation and danger produced by the pre- 
 sence of a foreign and victorious enemy, a civil 
 war continued to rasie throuo^hout the lens^th and 
 breadth of the land. The faction of Burgundy 
 was long in the ascendancy, and its ferocious duke 
 was supposed to be secretly allied with the Eng- 
 lish to effect the ruin and division of his native 
 land. When at length the partisans of the House 
 of Orleans, called Armagnacs, from the title of 
 their principal leader, succeeded in obtaining pos- 
 session of the government, the Chief of Pen- 
 mynydd was declining so fast into the grave, that 
 neither himself nor his son could endure the 
 thought of a separation to precede the inevitable 
 one approaching. 
 
 Such was the disinherited heir who, with his 
 fleet-footed vassal, was now crossing a drawbridge 
 which had not been raised for years, and, in fact, 
 had fallen from the ruined tower to which it once 
 gave access. This conducted to a space formerly 
 occupied by the central keep, but then by a
 
 36 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 flourishing self-planted wood of alders and birch; 
 and thence to the second tower, which was not so 
 much battered, and was occupied by the shrunken 
 household of Penmynydd. Master and man en- 
 tered a hall where a low fire burned in a chimney 
 formed merely by an open recess in the wall, 
 around which in mournful silence sat nearly all 
 the serfs and domestics of the dying lord, unable 
 in their grief and anxiety to attend to any of their 
 usual occupations. Owen learned with mingled 
 emotion and surprise from an old man covered 
 with the scars of many a ghastly wound, yet who 
 sobbed as he spoke, that the chief was sinking 
 fast, but had commanded them so peremptorily to 
 carry him into the open air on the summit of the 
 tower that they had not dared to disobey. 
 
 And there Owen Tudor found his father, his 
 stalwart but shrunken figure stretched on a kind 
 of litter formed of wreathed branches and a straw 
 mattrass, and covered with a curiously wrought 
 counterpane of the arms and insignia of warriors 
 and princes from whom he believed himself de- 
 scended. In one of those freaks of impatience 
 and irritation which mark the close of lingering 
 maladies, the fancy apparently entered his mind of
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 37 
 
 causing himself to be conveyed to a point whence 
 he could take a last survey of the lands which 
 were once his own, and of the expanse of those 
 mighty hills whose shadows were still sacred in 
 the druidical and traditionary imagination of the 
 Welsh, and amidst whose wild solitudes he had so 
 vainly fought and bled for the liberty of his country. 
 He lay with his eyes closed, ghastly pale in the 
 early light of the morning, but with every feature 
 knit with inward and devouring impatience; for 
 the only anxiety which he expressed in the pros- 
 pect of the unknown change about to pass over 
 him was lest he should perish ere he made some 
 communications to his son, of eminent importance to 
 his welfare, and which he desired to impress upon 
 him with the authority of a parent's last injunc- 
 tion. Two wolf-hounds of enormous stature, almost 
 blind with age, squatted solemnly on their haunches 
 on each side of the chieftain's litter, occasionally 
 licking his cold hands, which lay lifelessly beside 
 him, but looking on in general with a wistful, 
 sorrowful expression, that showed how their sa- 
 gacity was at once roused and baffled by the 
 strange circumstances of the scene. Everything 
 and person around the chieftain seemed aged and
 
 38 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 decayed, as the fortunes of his house. A very old 
 monk, whose long white beard and dark robe 
 gave him much the aspect of an ancient Druid, sat 
 on one corner of the couch, murmuring prayers 
 from his breviary, and with the sacred chah'ce 
 beside him from which he had just administered 
 the last rites of Catholic Christianity. lolch Dhu, 
 or the black, as the bard of Penmynydd was called 
 from his dark complexion, with a number of the 
 chieftain's personal servitors, knelt behind his 
 couch; and Owen's foster mother, herself in the 
 last stage of human existence, but whose bene- 
 volent and affectionate expression of countenance 
 wrinkles could not destroy, was assiduously prop- 
 ping his head, and recalling him from the deep 
 faintness into which he sunk at intervals by wetting 
 his lips with the spongy bark of some tree steeped 
 in water and vinegar. These services, indeed, 
 were rewarded only with muttered reprimands, as 
 if they were acts of needless officiousness; but the 
 old woman ceased not to render them, while the 
 tears which streamed down her withered cheeks 
 attested the grief with which she witnessed the 
 close of her patron's career. But they streamed 
 faster and faster when the step of Owen was heard,
 
 > OWEN TUDOR. 39 
 
 and she saw how the chieftain roused himself at 
 the sound, and looked stiainingly forward through 
 the mists of death which hung on his sight. 
 
 "Owen, thou art here, but I do not yet clearly 
 behold thee," he said, raising himself with the 
 support of his attendants and stretching his hands, 
 as the young man knelt beside his couch in silent 
 awe and grief. "Thou art here, for my soul 
 brightens amidst the darkness, and anon I shall 
 see all things again which have faded around me 
 as when clouds gather round a hunter in a vale of 
 waters! Ay, yonder are the sacred snows once 
 more on whose summits the spirits of our fathers 
 await me!" he continued, gazing steadfastly to- 
 wards the white masses of Snowdon, now looming 
 distinctly into day, " Owen, I have not disgraced 
 their name in battle — no foe has ever seen the 
 back of the son of Llewellyn ap lorwerth. And, 
 therefore, I would have thee bury me upright in 
 my grave at Llanvaes, with my face to the east, 
 that even when the trumpet of judgment sounds I 
 may rise with a look of defiance towards the land 
 of our enemies. This is no dreamy dotage of 
 perishing age; for, when I was struck with the 
 Saxon spear in the pass of the Eagle's Stairs, I
 
 40 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 prayed of Glendower to bury me thus if I died, 
 and he swore it. I was a man then, but a child of 
 the feeble might grapple with me now!" 
 
 This strength of the ruling passion in death did 
 not at all surprise the heir of Penmynydd. He 
 soothed the chieftain's agitation by tearful assur- 
 ances of comphance, and gently reproached the 
 attendants with bringing him to so high and 
 exposed a spot in his state of weakness and ex- 
 haustion. 
 
 " What say'st thou, son ? I am their lord yet, 
 and which of them would dare to disobey me ? " 
 said the chieftain, with much of his characteristic 
 vehemence and irritability. " I bade them bring 
 me hither; and do they not drink my mead? Alas, 
 poor souls, with but little meat or meal to need 
 the draught ! Owen, blame them not : thou art 
 my son ; but, until I am dust, they owe obedience 
 to none but me ! Or have I transferred to thee 
 the orolden belt with which Glendower confirmed 
 me lord of all the land that I could see from the 
 highest tower of my castle ? But that the ac- 
 cursed Plantagenet tossed into the air like the 
 nest of some paltry wren from the sling of a boy ! 
 Where art thou, my son, for I see all things now
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 41 
 
 but thy beautiful face, which is pleasanter in my 
 sight than even the memory of thy fair mother's, 
 when it comes back smihng Hke the moon through 
 the mists of years ? " 
 
 Owen uncovered his features from the folds of 
 the mantle in which he had enveloped it to con- 
 ceal a natural burst of sorrow, and the dying 
 chieftain gazed steadfastly, and with a beam of 
 pleasure breaking over his own, at its noble linea- 
 ments. 
 
 " Let not the Fairy Queen gaze at thee in the 
 woods, or she will woo thee to her halls in the 
 golden sunset!" he said, with a deep sigh. 
 " Thus hath it already chanced with one of our 
 race, or lolch Dhu sings not the legend truly — 
 and thou art the fairest and the noblest to look 
 upon that ever our tree hath blossomed withal ! 
 But I should speak on other matter — for me- 
 thinks I have not long to speak on any ! I have 
 not hanged your Saxon leech, Owen, because he 
 had your summons hither; but I have sent him 
 faster home than ever he came, though his will 
 were as good as the arrow's to its mark ! The 
 good priest has washed my soul as white as the 
 lambs in shearing time — and I have drained
 
 42 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 the parting cup of the long journey ! . . What 
 remains ? — Nay, I have much to say ! — Let all 
 depart but the monk and the bard, and the aged 
 mother of the orphan, and pray for my good 
 speed ; and let the bard sing the song of our de- 
 scent from the son of Uther ! He remembers the 
 things of the past, but he is as the future shall be 
 — he forgets those of yesterday, which no glories 
 mark as they speed along in the track of ages." 
 
 Owen had often listened with pride, but, truth to 
 say, at times with weariness, to the long metrical 
 genealogy of his race, which the bard recited 
 whenever called upon; but always, by duty of 
 his place, on occasions of festival and display. 
 Of course his sole object, under the circumstances 
 of the time, was to afford his father any possible 
 satisfaction, and in a faltering voice he repeated 
 the command to the bard. lolch Dhu needed a 
 repetition of the words ere he could subdue his 
 own voice to the necessary steadiness; and he 
 then commenced in the chanting recitative em- 
 ployed by the bards on these heraldic exercita- 
 tions, but reversing the plan of modern genealo- 
 gists, by ascending the stream instead of tracing 
 its progress downward from its royal source.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 43 
 
 Perhaps an Anglo-Norman herald might not 
 have disputed the descent of the Tudors from the 
 sovereigns of Wales — from the mighty Llewellyn 
 ap lorwerth in the thirteenth century, and the 
 victorious Owen Gwynedd in the twelfth. But 
 Geffrey of Monmouth himself would have 
 hesitated at the exact deduction of the line 
 from the blood of the great institutor of the 
 Round Table. Not so the dying chieftam nor his 
 youthful heir, solemn and mournful as the 
 thoughts might be that mingled with the latter's 
 cogitations. Ancestral pride was a passion rather 
 than a feeling even among the common people of 
 Wales, and it may be imagined with what vehe- 
 mence it glowed in the convictions of men who 
 believed themselves descended from the most 
 illustrious of their country's heroes and princes. 
 With Owen, in whom all the hopes and possible 
 glories of his line seemed to concentrate, it was a 
 kind of fanatic religion, and he would sooner 
 have forgiven a personal injury or insult than the 
 least slur of doubt thrown on the splendours of 
 his genealogy. Aspiring and visionary by tem- 
 perament, the vague hopes with which so glorious 
 a past lighted the future, and which his father
 
 44 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 and all around him encouraged by intimations of 
 marvels and prophecies attending his birth of no 
 ordinary significance, were become the brightest 
 and most alluring of the illusions which danced 
 before him in the brilliant colours lent by youth 
 and inexperience. 
 
 lolch Dhu waxed warm and enthusiastic as he 
 proceeded, and to those who could have read the 
 philosophy of the scene seldom was there pre- 
 sented a more striking example of the mingled 
 grandeur and vanity of human nature than in 
 such a funeral chant. But even the aged monk 
 listened with the interest and respect which only 
 a Welshman could feel in the pronunciation of so 
 long a string of names; and Owen bared his 
 noble brow as if the song was an evocation which 
 would summon the royal and mighty dead around 
 them. The bard concluded with a characteristic 
 lament, into which his excitement seemed to glide 
 naturally, as a high sweeping wind sinks into a 
 mournful base at its close. Bewailing that the 
 branch should outlive the tree — the bard his 
 generous lord ; he declared himself only consoled 
 by the certainty that Penmynydd would be suc- 
 ceeded by a son worthy to inherit so glorious and
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 45 
 
 untarnished a name. He himself was aged as 
 the pine at the foot of the Moel y Don, or as the 
 eagle on the crags of Snowdon, when a hundred 
 winters have whitened its wings. He could not 
 hope to witness the future glories of the race of 
 his henefactors, and no voice would remain after 
 him to sing them. His son was with the tuneful 
 of other days, and his son's son was fit only to 
 hammer red iron into shapes, or to carry the 
 spear of some Saxon lord in battle. Rhys ap 
 Goronwy ap lolch Dhu, and a hundred other 
 "aps" if we had time to enumerate them, was 
 the object of this reproach, and hung his head. 
 But he raised it to mutter passionately, when the 
 bard concluded, " Rhys ap Goronwy will serve 
 no Saxon lord ; but he will run at ap Tudor's 
 stirrup until he holds it for a prince to alight !" 
 
 " Well hast thou spoken, son of Goronwy ! 
 though I bade all depart but the bard and the 
 monk," said the chieftain, " thy faith shall give 
 thee a standing-place in our counsels. And now 
 listen, for strength is given to me only to speak 
 the words which are now flapping their wings in 
 my soul for utterance, dark as ravens over a field
 
 46 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 of the slain ! Let me speak, and then be silent 
 for ever." 
 
 " Say not so, my father! the gold of your 
 oflPerinor fell with a favourable and most musical 
 chink on the stones of St. Elian's confessional, 
 when I knelt and put it through the listening 
 stone," said Owen, with an irrepressible flow of 
 tears. 
 
 " It avails nothing; my corpse-lights have 
 gleamed over Snowdon, and I myself beheld the 
 shadows crossing the sea to Llanvaes," replied the 
 chieftain ; and the belief that such a spectacle 
 always heralded the departure of a descendant of 
 the royal blood of the Cymbri was too deeply an 
 article of family piide and superstition not to be 
 accepted as a certain assurance of the menaced 
 event. 
 
 " Yea, Owen, thou wilt soon be the last, — and 
 may the prophecy of the great Glendower also 
 prove true ! — mayst thou be the most renowned 
 and glorious of all thy race ! " continued the Lord 
 of Penmynydd. — '' Good friar, give me the holy 
 casket in which are inclosed the words of power — 
 which I charge thee on thy life, Owen, and as thy
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 47 
 
 father's blessing shall rest upon thee, to endeavour 
 by every means and at every risk to fulfil; for 
 never, until then, shall the sun go down in peace 
 and glory on the land of the Cymbri!" 
 
 AVhile the chieftain spoke, he impatiently ex- 
 tended his hand to take the object of his request 
 from the monk, who gave it with all possible speed 
 from an inner fold of his habit. A small iron 
 casket appeared, secured by a soldering of lead, in 
 the form of a cross, which it required the services 
 of Rhys ap Goronwy to open. The chieftain's 
 tremulous fingers then drew forth an ornament 
 which appeared like a large hen's egg of frosted 
 silver, hano-ins; bv a massive chain of the same 
 metal wide enough to compass a man's neck. 
 The e^g was a mystic symbol among the Druids, 
 to which tradition preserved some reverence ; and 
 it was said that, in rude imitation of the customs 
 of more civilized sovereignties, Glendower had 
 founded a chivalric order, of which it was the 
 badge. Owen imagined that his father had re- 
 ceived this egg on his admittance into the fra- 
 ternity, and was about to transfer it to himself; 
 but he was surprised to see that, by the application 
 of some slight pressure, a spring suddenly sepa-
 
 48 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 rated the silver shell in halves, and revealed a 
 piece of parchment carefully folded within. The 
 monk spread it open with evident interest, and a 
 square of about a hand's breadth appeared, co- 
 vered with lines and emblazoned figures of the 
 signs of the zodiac. Some verses in a neat small 
 hand filled up all the margins, and no doubt con- 
 tained the explanation of the mysterious illumina- 
 tion thus carefully lodged. The Lord of Pen- 
 mynydd desired the monk to raise it to his lips, 
 and he kissed the writing with great reverence. 
 
 " Glendower himself penned these words, and 
 drew the horoscope on this parchment ! — Glen- 
 dower, to whom the stars spoke as they wandered 
 over the skies of night!" he said, in a tone which 
 had lost all its feebleness. '* Owen, the horoscope 
 is thine ! I have hitherto concealed it, lest danger 
 should come upon thee from the jealous fears of 
 the Saxon ; but death should not carry his secrets 
 with him, lest his rest be disturbed to return and 
 communicate them ! — What did I say ? — The hero 
 was wandering amidst the crags of Snowdon, like 
 the eagle when he watches for the moment of his 
 downward sweep! I was with him; the gleam of 
 our swords was ever as two streams of lightnings
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 49 
 
 that strike the forest together ! Thy mother fled 
 from the brands of the destroyer, and thou wert 
 born in the cavern of night, wherein we rested our 
 weary heads on pillow^s of stone. Glendower 
 watched the stars at the moment of thy birth, and 
 drew the planetary signs, for in all magic he was 
 skilful as Merlin Emrys himself. He was not 
 childless then — the Plantagenet had not met his 
 sons in battle, and the blood was yet warm in the 
 veins of their youth, — yet mark what he read in 
 the Heavens of thee, and concealed not from me, 
 thy father ! " 
 
 The monk, who understood his patron's glance, 
 and was also aware that he could not read, took 
 the horoscope, and, in a voice tremulous with ao-e 
 and emotion, read some Welsh verses, whose 
 abrupt and yet musical passages are but ill imitated 
 in the subjoined translation. 
 
 " art^ufs bloolr, of CutJofs line, 
 ICogal stars atobc ttee stt'ne, 
 ^f tffe tocaber toorfe t^eir raps 
 .^n a tooof of anstoering blaje !— 
 ISrabc anlr taugtitg s^alt tfiou he, 
 a?loqunit— fifrre as libertp 1 
 HL^t toilful tarp sfiall laugf) or toeep 
 Seiwatt tf)B fingers' mastering stoeep; 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 I^et tctoare t^e song of song, 
 Hest t^ou tro or su^ torong ! 
 iSetoare tol^cn in ti^e sultrg ;^cales, 
 C^e aion patos or Iv^trgo pales ! 
 ^Iw ! fear not ttoug^ ^notation leap, 
 ^nlr scgtfies of Iigi^tning rtij com reap, 
 C^ougi^ Hanger, toit^ tis gore^clumpelr ibair, 
 Cross all ttg pat^s, lio tf)ou tut ttare ; 
 €fiti\i i^ast ijut to liare, to tio ! 
 ©niB toi^ere t^ou iuelJltest, tooo ! 
 512^00 no liaugtiter tut a lying's, 
 Stoeetig tTiougt t^e iWerntatlr sings, 
 anD sons of Bings t^g sons stall te, 
 lyings of ti^e toabes anli freer free !" 
 
 " Hearest thou, Owen ! son of Arthur ! Thy 
 sons shall be the sons of kings, and kings ! " said 
 the dying chieftain, with an enthusiasm which 
 revived all his sinking powers. " Kings of men 
 more free than the waves! — What should that 
 mean but that thou shalt inherit the prophecies of 
 our race, redeem our land from slavery, and 
 wreathe thy brows with the diadem which our 
 fathers wore, or the bard lies ! — and who will 
 speak such sacrilege?" 
 
 "And is not the prophecy of the mighty one 
 fulfilled thus far?" exclaimed lolch Dhu, taking 
 up the strain with echoing frenzy. " Do not thy 
 lips distil honey on the listener's ear ? — doth not 
 the harp make subtler music under thy hand than
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 51 
 
 when the winds play on it as it hangs in some 
 lonely hall ? What hast thou dared and not done, 
 and what hast thou not dared ? When thou wert 
 in thy twelfth autumn, did we not seek thee with 
 waihng and lamentations amid the ghastly caverns 
 of the Blue Valley, and didst thou not meet us 
 laughing with the slain wolf on thy shoulder?" 
 
 " And for the matter concerning the Scales and 
 the Lion, and the sign of Virgo, it is thus con- 
 strued," said the monk, with a philosophical 
 gravity which was calculated to add the authority 
 of science to this poetical rhapsody : " Forasmuch 
 as Leo is in the ascendancy from the twenty-second 
 of July to the twenty-first of August, and Virgo 
 from the twenty-second of August to the twenty- 
 first of September, during these months — which 
 methinks are the hottest of the year — it behoves 
 thee, son, to be well on thy guard against fevers 
 and the like diseases which assail men's bodies 
 at those seasons. At least so I read it, and I stu- 
 died in Paris on the same bench with Maitre 
 Nicholas Flamel, who they say hath since dis- 
 covered most marvellous secrets ! " 
 
 " How that may be, I know not — yet methinks 
 it cannot be warlike assault or open danger that 
 
 d2 
 
 '^SnwruiKOts
 
 52 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 my son needs fear at any season, since his horo- 
 scope bids him only dare, to do ! " said the chief- 
 tain. "And, Owen, well I know how brightly 
 pure, though impetuous as the torrent of the Tull 
 Dhu, are thy passions. Therefore T fear not that 
 thou shouldst woo where thou shouldst not or 
 mightst not wed ! And, if thou art to woo the 
 daughter of a king, a king shalt thou be ! — for 
 doth the eagle of the mountain pair with the hedge 
 cuckoo ? Once I thought as did the great Glen- 
 dower himself, when he would have betrothed thee 
 in the cradle to his son's sole daughter, Gwyneth, 
 that it was by alliance that thy children should 
 become kings and rule over Wales set free by our 
 blood ! But Gwyneth is with the blossoms of 
 spring when the leaves of autumn strew the ground 
 — and the race of Glendower have forgotten that 
 the blood of heroes flows in their veins. Once 
 . . . but now ! — look round and see of what a fair 
 inheritance Henry of Monmouth, that falsely pre- 
 tends to inherit our prophecies, has robbed thee ! 
 The flight of thine eyes, which are as the eagle's 
 in the sunrise, once could not have passed our 
 bounds ! Now may a child crawl from its nurse's 
 arms over them, and never look round for help !
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 53 
 
 And wilt thou suffer all with the patience of the 
 muttering serf when his lord rebukes him with the 
 flat of the spear ? — or strive to rend back the in- 
 heritance of Arthur from the grasp of the stranger, 
 and therewith redeem thy land, avenge thy father's 
 grave, and wreathe thy brow with the diadem 
 which prophecies extend to thee from the darkness 
 of time?" 
 
 " What man may do, I will do ! But what is 
 one rower against the stream of the tide?" said 
 Owen, yet with a kindling eye and throbbing heart. 
 
 " If Fate pulls the oar with him, what is 
 the tide against one rower?" returned the Chief 
 of Penmynydd. "Why shouldst thou despair? 
 Are our mountains levelled, and the caves of our 
 safety familiar to the Saxon as to the wild goat ? 
 In what doth Henry of England excel thee ? Is 
 the blood of Plantagenet more royal than that of 
 the sons of Arthur? If he wears a crown from 
 his usurping sire, have the children of York for- 
 gotten that it is of right their own, and that our 
 Welsh blood was poured to make it so in very 
 deed ? In person can he boast himself more fair 
 and princely for the people to gaze upon than the 
 flowering Oak of Penmynydd ? Wherefore should
 
 54 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 thy manly and unsullied youth stand blushing in the 
 presence of the dissolute Henry, whose name was 
 once as common as arithmetic on tapsters' lips?" 
 
 " But, father, it is now the very trumpet-note of 
 fame ! Ask of all the wanderers who return 
 among us, and their first word is his praise !" said 
 Owen, with a degree of bitterness and regret min- 
 gled with the generosity of the avowal. "Con- 
 queror of France, glory of chivalry, most re- 
 nowned and kingly knight! — well doth he de- 
 serve that men should speak only of him !" 
 
 " Traitors are they all, who glorify him to make 
 their own shame the less in serving him ! " re- 
 turned the chieftain. "And dost thou, Owen, 
 echo the praise of the ravager who laid the home 
 of our fathers waste, in battle with whom so many 
 of our blood have fallen that we have no longer 
 tears to shed over the slain ! France is not con- 
 quered — nor are we ! The field of Agincourt 
 must be many times refought ere she kneel in the 
 dust to lay her crown at Englaad's feet ! And 
 amono; us the ashes of Glendower are not extin- 
 guished — they glow in silence ! And this I would 
 have thee tell to France, and — but let the counsel 
 of seventy winters speak with whom I have ever
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 55 
 
 found wisdom a dweller ! Friar Ambrosius, tell 
 my sou thy thought — for I ana exhaust." 
 
 " It is thus," said the. ancient monk, the zeal of 
 the patriot and partisan illuminating his pale and 
 withered countenance, " I have laboured so 
 earnestly to teach thy fluent lips the language of 
 France, that thou mightst hold communion with 
 her chiefs without the need of a cold interceder ! 
 I would have thee hasten thither now, to remind 
 them that in the days of this conqueror's father 
 they turned back the sword of England from their 
 own breasts by striking her in the side with the 
 Welsh hook ! In far heavier jeopardy stands 
 France now — at a desperation which must needs 
 catch at straws ! " 
 
 " And we offer her a branch of the oak which, 
 though stripped of all its leaves, is the oak of 
 a thousand years of storms ! " exclaimed the bard. 
 " Bid them remember the days of Owen Glen- 
 dower, when the steel hauberks of France and 
 the hght mail of our warriors glittered in the same 
 hue of spears — and let the gleam return to our 
 mountains, which will gladly echo to the un- 
 changed name of his godson for a battle-cry ! " 
 
 *' Yet ! — who answers a distant shriek when
 
 56 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 robbers throng around himself?" said Owen. 
 " And, father, hast thou forgotten how times are 
 changed — how many kindred breasts will stand 
 arrayed against our spears ? " 
 
 " So much the better, for traitors' hearts have 
 ever beaten in such !" returned the chieftain, vehe- 
 mently. 
 
 " Nay, son, so much the better — for that the 
 sons of Cambria have thus learned the discipline 
 which vanquished us, since nothing else we lacked 
 either of valour or holy prayers or powerful 
 saints!" replied the monk. "And this, Owen, 
 among other matters mayst thou plead to France, 
 for even the son of the traitor. Gam, who battles 
 beneath the Saxon's standard, has taught her of 
 liow great import it were to withdraw our eager 
 blood from the tramp of her enemies' advance ! " 
 
 '* But what is Owen Tudor when his foot is off 
 the dark soil of his fathers' graves ? who will lend 
 ear to his words?" said Owen, who, young as he 
 was, in all probability possessed more knowledge 
 of the real state of things than any one of the 
 three old men before him, living in great measure 
 among the recollections of a bygone world. 
 
 *' He is a stray eaglet of Snowdon! — ye shall
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 67 
 
 know him by his sharp beak and his pounce on 
 the prey!" exclaimed the enthusiastic bard. 
 
 " Yea, if it might be thus — if when the chiefs 
 of France inquire, on some glorious field, * Who is 
 he ? ' I could stand forth and plead for my country 
 with the streaming sword of victory in my hand 
 — gladly would I hasten to that noblest land of 
 chivalry, and try what ore the last runnings of our 
 blood might yield!" returned Owen, all his mar- 
 tial and romantic visions stirring into splendid 
 activity in his imagination with the words. *' Often 
 would I have prayed my sire to suffer me to join 
 in the battles of some far land, since we had none 
 among ourselves, but that I feared to vex his ear 
 with what might seem complaint, and to leave his 
 age alone! Fain would I have proved to the 
 vaunting chivalry of England, that our Welsh 
 sinews are formed of as tough yew as their own, 
 and that we can raise our arms to strike under as 
 heavy weight of steel as ever Saxon or Norman 
 bore!" 
 
 ** Yea ! and which of the honeysuckle-smelling 
 coxcombs of the Marches could overthrow the 
 son of Penmynydd, even with the Saxon arms?" 
 exclaimed the bard. " Who of all the knio:hthood 
 
 d3
 
 58 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 that have returned among us to boast of their 
 shame in the service of the stranger, can vault 
 hghter into his saddle in armour, or dash the 
 heart feather from the breast of the Saracen 
 danghng from an apple-tree, as he passes wind- 
 borne on the rapid steed?" 
 
 " These are the glories of a boy! — To strike the 
 quintain is even as hardy an exploit as to pluck 
 the thistle's beard in a waste!" returned Owen, 
 colouring. " Are these the deeds, O bard ! which 
 thou wouldst gladly chant of my father's son, in 
 a hall where chiefs and fair women hsten ? — But, 
 father," he continued, with a gush of tears, " pro- 
 mise to live to welcome me home — for what is 
 glory, if none of our love remain to rejoice with 
 us in the harvest of fame? — and I will go forth 
 like the rush of the wind through a narrow val- 
 ley, that returns at sunset clad in brightness and 
 peace ! " 
 
 " I cannot live, Owen! — all skill fails me; even 
 the hissing iron of Ambrosius stanches not the 
 gushing wound ! " said the chieftain, with an em- 
 phatic glance at the discoloured bandages of his 
 limb. " My minutes are like the last drops in an 
 overturned goblet; they Hnger, but they must fall!
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 69 
 
 Among my fathers, I must rejoice in thy fame, 
 when the shouts of battle send thy name thunder- 
 ing up to heaven, whither, I trust, I am summoned 1 
 Forget nought of what we have to avenge on the 
 wassailer of England, who is now as drunk with 
 blood as ever he was with wine! Look how at his 
 verj^ name my wound wells gore, as if a murderer 
 were nigh the corpse of his secret revenge! Pro- 
 mise me this, and I will tell Glendower, when he 
 rushes on his stormy cloud to meet me, that I have 
 left an avenger in the land ! " 
 
 " Promise it, grandson of Llewellyn of the Hill 
 of the Wave of Blood ! " exclaimed the bard — 
 " promise it, and, old as I am, I will once more 
 take my seat in the Gathering of the Bards, and 
 bid them whisper the Prophecy of Glendower to 
 the woods and streams, to the voices of the moun- 
 taing^ that the torrents may repeat it in our lone- 
 liest glens, and when the deliverer comes he may 
 find the spears taken from their hiding-places in 
 the rocks ! I will bid them report that in the 
 south, beyond the waves, a fiery hope arises for 
 Cambria, and the dullest of our peasants will ex- 
 pect rescue from Gaul ! " 
 
 " Do nothing rashly, bard ! " returned the monk.
 
 60 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 whose zeal was more tempered by discretion; 
 '* without aid from France, blood were poured as 
 uselessly as water on the sands: so look that thou 
 do not prove the need of Glendower's warning, 
 when he bade his godson beware of the sons of 
 song, for in truth their rash counsels did oft be- 
 wray himself into passes of mad hazard, and 
 ruined him at last ! " 
 
 " Yet perished he gloriously! When did the 
 counsels of monks give a noble death to him who 
 listened to 'them? — what hero owes to them his 
 renown?" returned the indignant bard; when he 
 was stopped by a gesture of his dying lord, who 
 raised himself with an effort, of which he could 
 scarcely be thought capable, on his elbow. 
 
 *' Peace, peace! — let me look around me once 
 more, and then to my rest!" he said, in a faint 
 tone, while Owen propped him with his vigorous 
 young strength, and hung over him half blinded 
 with tears. " Bard, restore the writing of the 
 prophecy to its secret cell, and let me twine the 
 chain like the holy berries of the misletoe on the 
 oak of Penmynydd, whose acorns are a forest!" 
 
 Father Ambrosius hurriedly obeyed, for he ob- 
 served a change come over the face of the chief-
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 61 
 
 tain. But the Lord of Penmynydd mustered 
 strength sufficient for the last efifort of paternal 
 love. With his own hands he fastened the silver 
 collar round Owen's neck — gazed for an instant 
 with deep and yearning tenderness in the beauti- 
 ful countenance of the youth — murmured some- 
 thing which seemed like a blessing — and sunk 
 back on his couch. But, though evidently ex- 
 hausted, his eyes closed not. The shattered bat- 
 tlement, directly in front, admitted a wide view of 
 the towering mountains on the opposite shores of 
 the straits, and a sudden break of sunshine among 
 the mists which enveloped their summits shone 
 down the vast sides of Snowdon, with that pecu- 
 liar red glow which ancient superstition ascribed 
 to the blood with which its rocks were so often 
 deluged. To point emphatically at this tragic 
 radiance was the last movement of the chieftain 
 of Penmynydd, as he sunk back in his son's arms, 
 and, heaving a sigh of exhaustion rather than of 
 pain, resigned his spirit in an ineffectual attempt 
 to return the kiss which filial love and reverence 
 pressed on his livid brow.
 
 62 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CAMP OF HENRY V. 
 
 It was some months after the death of the Chief 
 of Penmynydd, in the beginning of spring, when 
 his heir departed on the singular and dangerous 
 mission with which he was charged to France. 
 
 Without miHtary aid from that country, even 
 Owen perceived the impossibiUty of raising his 
 own in revolt against the English sway, or at all 
 events of sustaining the struggle which must ensue. 
 The spirit of the people was cowed by recent and 
 severe chastisements, nor was it Hkely, unless en- 
 couraged by some powerful assistance, that the 
 Welsh chiefs would again venture into a contest 
 in which they had suffered already such extremities 
 of humihation and loss. It was, therefore, with a 
 view to obtain armed assistance from the new 
 government of France that Owen resolved to pro- 
 ceed to Paris.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 63 
 
 He took his departure with all possible secrecy, 
 with only one attendant, in a barque which was 
 Httle better than an open fishing-boat, belonging 
 to the industrious natives of the coast of Normandy, 
 who did the Welsh the favour to sweep their sea 
 of riches which they had neither the skill nor in- 
 clination to obtain for themselves. This single 
 attendant was Rhys ap Goronwy, the grandson of 
 the bard, whose shrewdness and fidelity recom- 
 mended him to the post. He had other qualities 
 likely to prove of service in such an expedition. 
 His swiftness we have commemorated, and, as he 
 knew no language but his own wild mountain 
 guttural, it was not possible for him to blab the 
 secrets of the expedition in France. He was 
 skilled in the manufacture and use of arms — at 
 least of the arms used by his countrymen — for 
 Rhys inherited so little of the poetical genius of his 
 ancestors, that lolch Dhu was obliged at last to 
 rejoice that his grandson applied himself to one of 
 the three liberal sciences among the Welsh, and 
 became a smith. 
 
 Necessity, as well as pmdence, dictated this 
 scantiness of retinue to the heir of the Tudors. 
 The funeral rites of his father were performed at
 
 64 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 an expense which testified rather to his own at- 
 tachment to old customs and pride than to his 
 prudence. The great feast with which it was cele- 
 brated, at which half the island was present, con- 
 tributed to the impoverishment of his already very 
 limited exchequer; so that, when Owen's dejection 
 permitted him to take notice of his position, he 
 found that, in addition to his patriotic and politic 
 reasons, he was in a condition which made the 
 sword of a soldier of fortune almost his only 
 chance of winning a livelihood as a gentleman, 
 according to the ideas of the age on the proper 
 occupations of one. 
 
 But, ambitious and superstitious by nature and 
 education, Owen would have needed little other 
 incentive than the magnificence of his horoscope 
 to venture on any enterprise, however rash. The 
 renown of the heroic Magus who had drawn it 
 was not less fixed as a sage deep in all weird 
 science than as a warrior and leader, and the 
 vague grandeur of the destinies assigned to him 
 was more attractive to the poetical imagination of 
 Owen Tudor than perhaps any explicit assurances 
 could have been. The dangers with which he was 
 threatened on their attainment were enveloped in
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 65 
 
 equal mystery, or offered themselves in such strange 
 typical forms, that they were rather allurements 
 than terrors to the curiosity and daring of his 
 youth, athirst for action and excitement. 
 
 Nor was the hope of French aid so doubtful to 
 him as it might have seemed to a less ardent poli- 
 tician, or one better acquainted with the state of 
 the country whence assistance was to be sought. 
 To give the English monarchs employment at 
 home had always been a favourite policy with the 
 French. The exploits of Glendovver and his 
 countrymen were sufficiently recent to inspire 
 hopes as to the results of a new attempt at reviving 
 the flames of war in so dangerous a propinquity. 
 The expediency of effecting so powerful a diversion 
 as Wales had not unfrequently proved was ob- 
 vious — and the desperate condition of France her- 
 self was but imperfectly understood in the remote 
 regions overlooked by Snowdon. The uproar of 
 her civil broils reached its valleys too confusedly 
 to be appreciated in all their ruinous consequences. 
 Moreover, the temporary exhaustion of the Bur- 
 gundian faction produced the appearance of a lull 
 in the storm, and, in the opinion of all men not 
 inflamed by the madness of civil hatred, it seemed
 
 66 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 impossible but that the progress of an enemy so 
 redoubtable as the victor of Agincourt must pro- 
 duce a reconciliation and union even between 
 factions so envenomed as those of Orleans and 
 Burgundy. 
 
 But, unsustained by friends or aUiance of any 
 sort, Owen felt it was only by personal merit that 
 be could hope to introduce himself to the notice of 
 the rulers of France. Another motive, perhaps 
 more powerful than all these put together, influ- 
 enced the determination which he took to offer his 
 sword as a preliminary and introduction to the 
 government of the Constable d'Armagnac, who 
 then exercised its functions in virtue of the pos- 
 session of the king's person and of the capital of 
 France. He burned with desire to remove the 
 stigma of barbarism from his country and lineage 
 — to signalize himself in those chivalrous exploits 
 which alone in that age rendered men glorious in 
 the eyes of their fellows. The wild renown of 
 his ancestors was no longer of a kind to satisfy the 
 aspirations of the diligent peruser of Father Am- 
 brosius's treasury of martial romance. The bril- 
 liant adventures of the knights of King Arthur 
 were so interwoven with descriptions of courts and
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 67 
 
 the pomps of civilized grandeur, that the actuality 
 around him seemed cold and colourless as the 
 common hght of day in the eyes of one quitting 
 the emblazoned gloiies of a Gothic cathedral. 
 Even the beauty of his fair countrywomen, so 
 justly celebrated by the Welsh bards, did not 
 realize the splendid ideal which the courtly min- 
 strelsy of France inspired, including so many 
 adjuncts of glittering accomplishments and orna- 
 ments not as yet to be found among the innocent 
 loveliness of the Cambrian wilds. Owen longed 
 to behold those gorgeous scenes of pomp and 
 pleasure which old renown and the reports of his 
 dazzled countrymen taught him to expect in the 
 court of France. These legends were chiefly the 
 reports of travellers, or rather of emissaries who 
 visited it in the time of Glendower, when the 
 magnificent and profligate Isabeau de Baviere 
 queened it at the height of her power and pride, 
 and when, indeed, the palaces of France were 
 magic scenes of splendour and festivity. 
 
 Owen was aware that more skill than he pos- 
 sessed in the practice of the arms of chivalry was 
 essential to his success as a warrior, on any arena 
 but the fastnesses of his native land. Still, the
 
 68 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 great strength and agility which he united with all 
 the beauty of his person promised to make the 
 task a light one, and France offered a wide school 
 of warfare. He was already perfectly acquainted 
 with the use of the formidable weapons in vogue 
 in his own land, and he was now at liberty to do 
 as he pleased, with the additional spur upon his 
 inclinations of a grand motive and the dying in- 
 junctions of his father. The impression of the 
 first deep grief of his life wore off, and those early 
 visions revived, in all their rich colouring and at- 
 traction. Every petty annoyance of poverty, forced 
 upon his proud nature by the new circumstances 
 of his position, was an incentive to exertion. All 
 combined to deepen the feelings which inspired 
 hatred of Henry of England, and a thirst of re- 
 venge, into the almost landless heir of the 
 Tudors. 
 
 One advantage, however, Owen could not deny 
 he gained from the peaceful and submissive habits 
 into which his countrymen had fallen. A mer- 
 chant of Chester lent him the money necessary to 
 purchase accoutrements for his enterprise, on the 
 security of the little property which remained to 
 his house, for which any quantity of Welsh land
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 69 
 
 would formerly have been thought a very pre- 
 carious pledge. The slender revenues which this 
 mortgage reserved, ill as he could dispense with 
 it, Owen left for the subsistence of his foster- 
 mother, the aged bard, and maimed serfs who 
 remained in his ancestral towers, like withered 
 weeds on a niin. 
 
 The young adventurer husbanded his resources 
 with a care and skill which only necessity teaches ; 
 and yet there was something of a lofty and gene- 
 rous pride in the thrift which he exercised in the 
 array of his person, and that of his attendant, 
 Rhys ap Goronwy. The modestest esquire-at- 
 arms, who had not yet achieved the gloiy of 
 knighthood, and was unconscious of any claims to 
 the distinction, could not have taken his first field 
 with less pretence than the descendant of Arthur. 
 A blank shield and a crestless helmet most cer- 
 tainly did not announce the far-descended Welsh 
 chieftain, though they might declare to the saga- 
 cious herald their owner's resolve to acquire a 
 renown strictly personal. The fashionable ar- 
 mourers of the time would have smiled at the 
 antique workmanship of the shirt of mail and 
 greaves in which Owen sheathed his limbs, but
 
 70 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 which was the masterpiece of Rhys ap Goronwy. 
 In the foreign land to which he was wending, 
 Owen could not expect that his mantle and sur- 
 coat of snowy wool would be recognised as the 
 peculiar garb of a chieftain, which they were con- 
 sidered in Wales ; and, excepting his silver chain 
 and the precious egg containing his horoscope, he 
 wore no ornament denotinof rank or wealth. 
 
 Thus poorly attended and provided, Owen 
 landed in safety at Cherbourg, the only sea-coast 
 town of Normandy which had not yet fallen into the 
 power of the English. The news which he heard 
 of their progress in the interior of the province 
 put a daring thought into the young adventurer's 
 head, which he executed still more rashly. 
 
 The King of England and a portion of his army, 
 he learned, were engaged in the siege of St. Lo, 
 an important town in that part of Lower Nor- 
 mandy distinguished by the name of the Bocage. 
 Owen determined to proceed to the neighbourhood 
 of this encampment, and make his first essay in 
 arms against such of the English chivalry as he 
 could encounter. In the audacity of his youthful 
 courage, he doubted not to overcome some knight, 
 whom he could make the bearer of his defiance to
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 71 
 
 the English king. The custom of repudiating 
 allegiance to the sovereign almost at pleasure was 
 a privilege of the feudal system which, under ac- 
 tive and powerful princes such as Henry V., was 
 not always exercised with impunity; and so great 
 and lasting was the terror which attached to the 
 conqueror's name among the Welsh, that, with all 
 his rebellious disdain, Owen was influenced by it 
 so far as not to desire to come under his personal 
 notice. 
 
 St. Lo is situated on the river Vire, the rapid 
 course of whose waters fits it for various purposes 
 of manufacture, for which it was famous even in 
 the fifteenth century. Ascending the narrow but 
 picturesque shores, whose gulfy valleys reminded 
 him of his own land, Owen was struck with the 
 great number of large mills, whose wheels the 
 obedient waters kept in continual whirl. At first 
 he thought they were intended to grind corn, but he 
 soon observed traces of another kind of industry, 
 and perceived that it was in these valleys they 
 dyed the rich cloths, or bleached the snowy linens, 
 which the unskilful English were compelled to 
 send either to Flanders or Normandy for the pm- 
 pose.
 
 72 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 It was the month of April ; the large green corn 
 waved in the depths of every valley waist-deep; 
 the orchards and vineykrds which hung on every 
 hill and steep were in full and fragrant blossom, 
 when Owen Tudor sought a spot among the wind- 
 ings of the Vire suitable to the purpose he had 
 formed. Mounted on a steed, whose qualities were 
 well described in his name of Wildfire, and arrayed 
 in the light panoply of mail we have mentioned, 
 which was almost entirely superseded by plate 
 armour among the civilized chivalry of Europe, 
 Owen took up a position which, commanding the 
 main ford of the river betw^een St. Lo and the val- 
 leys of the Bocage, seemed likely to afford him 
 the opportunities he sought. It was probable that 
 knights engaged in various military duties would 
 frequently cross the stream to and from the be- 
 siegers' camp, and Owen took up his station at a 
 point since called Pont des Vaux (or Bridge of 
 the Valleys), at the confluence of the rivers Vire 
 and Virene, the rocky channels of which meet 
 there in the form of a cross. 
 
 In front, the view was scarcely bounded save 
 by the waves of the Channel; on either hand 
 stretched the craggy windings of the Virene; and,
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 73 
 
 from behind, the Vire poured its rapid waters to 
 a junction. To the right, St. Lo was plainly visible 
 in the distance, circled in by the white tents of the 
 besiegers, and waving like a flowery field of ripe 
 corn with innumerable standards and pennons. 
 
 A wood descended almost to the ford, and 
 beneath its boughs, and partly of the living 
 branches and foliage, Rhys fashioned two pleasant 
 huts, as lodgment for himself and his lord. They 
 arrived towards nightfall, but the active squire 
 completed his preparations before the dark was 
 fairly set in, and a Welsh encampment on a small 
 scale — such as the walls of Chester often saw 
 pitched with dismay — arose on the shores of the 
 Vire. 
 
 The customs of chivalry were as yet changed 
 but little by the invention of gunpowder, the 
 powers of which were scarcely understood and but 
 very awkw^ardly put in requisition. A century 
 was to elapse ere Ariosto justly anathematised it 
 as the cause of the dechne of all true valour and 
 knightly prowess ; another, ere the master of 
 grave mirth arose, very possibly to make the 
 achievements which we should else detail, with 
 the certainty of exciting the admiration of all 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 lovers of the noble and gentle science of giving 
 and taking blows, of doubtful effect. 
 
 The day after his arrival Owen took up his 
 station, equipped in his barbaric armour, spear in 
 hand, a broad axe gleaming on his thigh, the 
 strong leather noose, with which he had often 
 captured and retained the fiercest bulls, hanging 
 at his saddle bow, and the broad curved falchion, 
 more like a scythe than a sword, dreaded by the 
 Saxons under the name of the Welsh hook, at his 
 girdle. He took post on the verge of the Vire, in 
 the middle of the pathway leading from the ford, 
 A lofty oak shadowed the rapid waters, on which 
 he hung his shield, as a challenge to any passer 
 by. His only defence against the glare and heat 
 of the sun was his surcoat of white wool, which 
 began to show shagged and travel-stained, inso- 
 much that Rhys intimated his intention of strip- 
 ping the first sheep he encountered, and bleaching 
 its fleece to make a new one : a project which 
 he would infallibly have executed but for the 
 stern prohibition of his master, who informed him 
 that he did not come as an enemy, but as a 
 protector, to the countries owning allegiance to the 
 King of France. And thus accoutred Owen
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 75 
 
 awaited the arrival of an antagonist with as much 
 anxiety as we wiser moderns would avoid one. 
 
 During all the first day of his watch fortune 
 seemed not at all inclined to aid him in his 
 project. Not a single knight, nor even man-at- 
 arms, made his appearance at the ford ; and only 
 a few peasants occasionally loitered and stared at 
 the stranger, when they were at sufficient distance 
 to do so without being called in question for pre- 
 sumption. A single pursuivant indeed crossed, 
 who, by the devices on his coat, might be an 
 attendant on the herald of some great baron. He 
 also stared at the wild apprentice of chivalry, 
 surveyed his blank shield on the tree, turned and 
 stared again, and then pricked on his steed, with- 
 something of the rapidit)- of flight, over the ford. 
 Owen cherished the hope that he would report 
 what he had seen in the English camp, and that 
 he should not languish much longer for an op- 
 ponent. 
 
 Yet another day elapsed, and only two knights, 
 coming in a contrary direction to St. Lo, crossed 
 the stream, who, either pressed by business or 
 apprehensive of encountering an unknown cham- 
 pion in the vicinity of so renowned a chivalry, 
 
 e2
 
 76 OWEIs TUDOR. 
 
 went their way without touching his longing 
 shield. 
 
 At last, wearied with his useless abode, Owen 
 determined on the somewhat hazardous step of 
 betaking himself to the English camp, and of- 
 fering defiance in person to the chivalry there 
 assembled. Hazardous, if he were discovered to 
 be a Welshman, as from the haughty character of 
 Henry of England it was not Hkely that he 
 would suffer so daring an impeachment of his so- 
 vereignty if he knew that the challenger was one 
 whom he would consider his subject. But as 
 Rhys spoke no French, and Owen strictly charged 
 him to utter no Welsh, there seemed little danger 
 of detection, and he determined to proceed to the 
 camp before St. Lo. 
 
 Accordingly, on the third morning of his ar- 
 rival at the fords of the Vire, Owen and his squire 
 took the road toward the besieged town; and when 
 he approached the camp he despatched Rhys for- 
 ward with an epistle, which he had carefully 
 worded according to the models which he well 
 remembered in Father Ambrosius's golden record. 
 It was addressed in general — "To the noble English 
 chivalry assembled before St. Lo," and imported
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 77 
 
 that the writer did utterly deny and challenge the 
 pretensions of their king to the crown of France ; 
 in disproof of which, he would abide until sunset 
 at the gates of their camp, to do battle in any 
 manner, and with any number in succession, who 
 might present themselves to maintain it. This 
 epistle was signed, as Owen imagined or at least 
 intended, with great modesty; — " The Maiden of 
 Chivalry." 
 
 Rhys hastened forward with great satisfaction 
 on his embassy, mounted on a little shaggy steed 
 of Welsh breed, and which he seldom used ex- 
 cepting on occasions of state, preferring his own 
 strong and rarely wearied limbs to those of any 
 other animal whatsoever. Owen followed more 
 leisurely, and as he went he could not but admire 
 the exact order and discipline which appeared to 
 reign throughout the camp. Master of the field 
 as he was, Henry left nothing to chance. His 
 camp before St. Lo was fenced in its whole 
 circuit with timber sharpened at the tops, within 
 which he conducted the operations of the siege, 
 on one side of the town only. This precaution 
 was not superfluous, as the number of the be- 
 siegers scarcely exceeded that of the besieged, the
 
 78 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 great masses of the English army being en- 
 gaged in the blockade of the large towns, whence 
 relief might otherwise have been attempted of 
 those minor ones which Henry meanwhile cap- 
 tured almost at pleasure. Barriers guarded by 
 troops of archers defended every entrance to the 
 encampment ; and at one of these Owen halted to 
 await his messenger's return. 
 
 Peering curiously over the inclosure, Owen 
 perceived a street of tents radiating with others 
 from all parts of the camp into a circular space, 
 one side of which was open towards the town. A 
 deep trench thrown into a high mound was in 
 process of formation by the besiegers in this di- 
 rection, raised on which, Owen for the first time 
 beheld pieces of great ordnance. Rude of shape 
 as they were, and scarcely raised above the mound 
 in their awkward carriages, the mountaineer gazed 
 with awe at those black and ponderous machines, 
 which had so often scattered death and terror in 
 the wild ranks of his country. For the first time 
 he felt the beauty and power of discipline, when he 
 beheld with what fearlessness and regularity band 
 succeeded band in the dangerous labours of the 
 trench, protected by masses of bowmen and men-
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 79 
 
 at-arms who stood on raised platforms, and kept 
 up continual discharges against the defenders of 
 St. Lo, whenever they ventured to appear on the 
 walls. This did not often happen: it almost 
 seemed as if the besieged were panic-struck, and 
 awaited passively the progress of toils which must 
 end either in their surrender or destruction. 
 
 The centre of the open space was occupied by a 
 tent which, with a beating heart, Owen conjec- 
 tured must be that of the great Henry himself. 
 It was of canvas as coarse as the covering; of the 
 meanest soldiery, but it was of unusual size, and 
 was surmounted by a royal crown, and guarded by 
 knights, apparently of rank by the magnificence of 
 their armour, two of whom bore the standards of 
 England and of France, crossed so as to make a 
 kind of pointed archway over the entrance. A 
 level space of green turf surrounded the tent, 
 beyond which were arranged, in perfect order and 
 regularity, the canvas dwellings of the great 
 barons and commanders who accompanied the 
 king, each distinguished by its peculiar standard. 
 Many of the tents were surmounted by the crests 
 of their warlike occupants, among which were 
 conspicuous the bear and ragged staff of the re-
 
 80 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 nowned Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, and the 
 purple lion of the heroic Sir John Talbot, after- 
 wards Earl of Shrewsbury, whose name was al- 
 ready the terror of France. Each of the leaders 
 seemed thus to have his soldiery arranged in a 
 canvas street, within sound of the blast of a 
 trumpet from his own tent ; while the king could 
 issue his commands to them with scarcely a mo- 
 ment's delay. Heralds, knights, and men-at-arms 
 in continual movement gave the whole camp an 
 appearance of bustle and animation, without in 
 the least disturbing the general effect of orderli- 
 ness and discipline.
 
 OWKN TUDOR. 81 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HENRY V. 
 
 At the end of the line of tents more imme- 
 diately beneath Owen's observation was one which 
 appeared to belong to some great baron, from the 
 multitude of archers and spearmen in a peculiar 
 livery grouped around it. Outwardly it was of 
 the strong, coarse materials which the king by his 
 own example endeavoured to make general among 
 his nobles, whose emulation in magnificence re- 
 duced the rich to poverty, and filled the poorer 
 ones with rapacity and discontent. But the inte- 
 rior was hung with rich crimson taffetas, and fur- 
 nished with a splendour and luxury of which until 
 then Owen had no idea. The curtains were drawn 
 back, and revealed a table covered with goblets 
 and the materials of a banquet, at which sat or 
 lounged, in various attitudes of repletion and 
 drunkenness, a number of knights and squires, 
 who seemed to have gorged their appetites at the 
 
 E 3
 
 82 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 too plentiful table of their lord. This personage 
 sat at the door of the tent, a powerful figure, in 
 complete armour, excepting the helmet and lance, 
 which were borne behind his chair by two pages, 
 whose rich garbs of star-sown scarlet and black 
 velvet scarcely disguised that they were young 
 girls of remarkable beauty, in male apparel. He 
 was amusing himself with playing at dice on a 
 drum-head with a debauched-looking soldier, who 
 had a very quaint physiognomy, dressed like an 
 officer of one of the king's companies, and appa- 
 rently, by the flag furled beside him, what was then 
 called an ancient, or standard-bearer. The plun- 
 der of the cities of Normandy gave all men some- 
 thing to lose, and the Earl of Stafford — for the 
 gamester was no less a personage — cared not from 
 whom he won. 
 
 Otherwise the earl was possibly very devote, 
 for at every cast of the dice he uttered a long 
 string of ejaculations to our Lady, of almost all 
 the places where she owned a shrine of any cele- 
 brity. " Be good to me this once, our sweet Lady 
 Overies! — kind St. Mary of Boulogne! — our ho- 
 noured Lady of Paris ! — let me win this rogue's 
 money, and I will make thee a much handsomer
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 83 
 
 present at Candlemas than I intended ! " he kept 
 exclaiming, as he rattled the box. 
 
 '' Why should virgins love thee? — The prey is 
 mine ! " said his antagonist, snatching up a heap 
 of silver for which they were playing, as the dice 
 settled on the drum. " Mighty earl, thou losest, 
 for Pistol ever was the love of ladies, and heaven 
 is not too high for beauty's beam ! " 
 
 " Ha, false Lady ! thou shalt have from me the 
 poorest gift that ever was offered at thy shrine, 
 that day we enter Paris ! " said the earl, grinding 
 his teeth. " By Whitebeard and Blackbeard !— by 
 God and the fiend ! I do never win against thee, 
 guidon ! — Thou wretched vassal and pillager, what 
 wilt thou do with all that money thou hast won of 
 me? Buy thee a French lordship?— By the mass, 
 they are like to go cheap enough anon ! — But I 
 will have thee hung the first hen-roost thou rob- 
 best in France, for thy gains to-day ! — Go, go ; 
 take up the king's rag and begone; for if he finds 
 his lieutenant of the ward at play with a common 
 
 thief hke thee! But whom have we here? — A 
 
 wild man of the woods? — Who has caught us this 
 salvage?" 
 
 " His name is Orson; he cometh from afar,"
 
 84 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 replied the ancient, with mock gravity. " I like 
 his looks little. Yet the ballad says he is of line- 
 age great, lost by his weeping mother in the woods, 
 what time the " 
 
 " Peace, idiot ! — but so strange a varlet have 
 I never seen till now," said Stafford. " Knave, 
 who art thou?" 
 
 It was at this unpropitious moment that Rhys 
 ap Goronwy halted with an archer, who, vaguely 
 understanding that he came as a messenger, 
 escorted him to the presence of the Earl of Staf- 
 ford, who, it seemed, enjoyed the command during 
 the king's absence from the camp. This was pro- 
 bably not willingly confided to him by the prudent 
 Henry; but the fierce rivalry of his nobles con- 
 strained him to adopt a course of rotation in the 
 distinction of representing him, when engaged 
 abroad in superintending the operations of the 
 siege. 
 
 Unconscious of the impolite manner in which 
 he was addressed, Rhys had by this time ahghted 
 from his steed, and, with the dignity and import- 
 ance befitting the messenger of the son of Lle- 
 wellyn the Great, delivered his epistle, standing 
 bolt upright, and without uncovering.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 85 
 
 " What impudent ragstafF is this? — Crook thy 
 leg, fellow, or I will have half a dozen new joints 
 broken in it ! " said the haughty and irritated baron, 
 staring at the messenger with his dark beetling 
 brows bent together, and disdainfully tossing back 
 the letter with his rough gauntleted hand, that 
 struck like the kick of a horse. 
 
 The Welshman understood the earl's gesture 
 and look; but, according to his mountain usages, 
 a messenger was supposed so completely to repre- 
 sent his sender, that it w^as only to a personage of 
 superior dignity to the latter that any mark of 
 homag-e was due. It mav be imagined if the son 
 of lolch Dhu considered a Saxon earl in such a 
 light with regard to the heir of his native princes ! 
 Moreover, Rhys remembered, at the moment, that 
 one of his mother's kinsfolk was hanged at Beau- 
 maris Castle, only a few days before his departure, 
 for stealing a single Saxon sheep. He therefore 
 remained inflexibly upright, and abiding by his 
 master's caution, without uttering a single word. 
 
 "The vassal understands me, by his audacious 
 eyes, — what say'st thou, thief Pistol?" said the 
 earl, with increasing wrath and surprise. 
 
 " Thief Pistol answers, he is your poor servant
 
 so OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 to command, but reads no Greek," replied the 
 unruffled ancient. " Mayhap he understands only 
 French of France, and your good lordship speaks 
 to him in angry English." 
 
 " I will speak to him in no French ! — How dare 
 the rogues send their masters fellows who cannot 
 parley French of England, so as we speak it?" 
 returned the haughty baron. ''Tell me, com- 
 panion, who and whence thou art, or, by our sweet 
 Lady of the Tears in Chepe ! I will put thee to a 
 college where thou shalt yell in thy mother-tongue, 
 whate'er it be ! " 
 
 Rhys again extended his epistle; but the earl, 
 enraged at what he concluded to be obstinacy, 
 dashed it out of his hand. " Now, by my father's 
 greybeard, thou shalt not flout me thus!" he 
 shouted with increasing wrath. " Let us see from 
 whom he comes! — If it be from less than the 
 brother of a king, we will teach him a touch of 
 manners, which seems to have been neglected at 
 the school which reared him I " 
 
 He motioned to one of the pages to lift the let- 
 ter from the floor of the tent, and both with emu- 
 lous zeal essayed to do it. But Rhys prevented 
 them. The Welsh kerne's indignation at the
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 87 
 
 treatment of so honourable a document got the 
 better of his good sense, and, snatching up the 
 cartel, he replaced it in the breast of his doublet, 
 gibbering, in his native tongue, "The leaves of the 
 oak are oak-leaves ! — why should the hog trample 
 them?" 
 
 *' Give me the paper, ribald ! — what goose- 
 gabble is this thou speakest?" said the earl, furi- 
 ously. " By the white eyes of our Lady of South- 
 wark! I will make thee olad enouoh to save me 
 the trouble of spelling thy clerkship! — Set him 
 on a wooden horse, Gileon of Hereford, until he 
 speaks in some language we can understand, or 
 until the crows pick his eyes out ! " 
 
 " Espial of France ! thou diest unless tliou 
 speakest!" said the ancient, compassionately. 
 " Knowest thou what 'tis to stride the steed of 
 wood ? — Sharp-backed is he — and saddle hath he 
 none but what on thine own shanks is borne ! " 
 
 " Take him away ! — he defies us ! — 'tis a French 
 espial that feigns to understand no English that 
 he may the more securely listen ! " said the earl. 
 "To the wooden horse with him, archers !" 
 
 " Speak him fairly lest he resist I — it is plain he 
 understands not this at least," said the ancient;
 
 88 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 " Fair sir, will it please you go where you may 
 at leisure rest — if you can?" 
 
 Deceived by the courteous manner of the 
 standard-bearer, and imagining that he was to be 
 simply dismissed for refusing to deliver his mes- 
 sage, Rhys complied with what he understood to 
 be the request made to him. He suffered two 
 archers to take him by the arms, who instantly 
 drew them back and pinioned them with such zeal 
 and suddenness that he had no time to offer any 
 resistance. Others of the men-at-arms, who de- 
 sired no better sport, ran to bring the machine of 
 military torture that was to be employed, and 
 came rattling back with it on its wooden wheels 
 attended, like a fire-engine in a city, by all the 
 rabble it passed on the way. In spite of the most 
 strenuous resistance, but still without uttering a 
 word, Rhys was mounted on the sharp back of 
 this instrument, and secured by a ring which 
 bound his ankles together in the most uncomfort- 
 able manner possible under the belly, which was 
 prickly with nails. 
 
 The wooden horse was so called from its bear- 
 ing some unshapely resemblance to that noble 
 animal, and was intended to inflict both shame
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 89 
 
 and torture on the unhappy being condemned to a 
 ride on its back. Mounted on a sharp-edged 
 stake, which in motion cut Hke a saw, the culprit 
 was drawn for a certain time, according to the 
 degree of punishment assigned, through the camp, 
 exposed to the derision and maltreatment of all 
 who beheld him. And when it was generally- 
 understood that the present victim was a French 
 spy, who feigned himself unable to speak in any 
 intelligible dialect, the indignation of the soldiery 
 was so vehemently excited, that before Rhys and 
 his machine were in movement he was covered 
 with bruises and mud. The Earl of Stafford, his 
 knights, and his pages meanwhile laughed unin- 
 termittedly, until suddenly an armed apparition 
 came as if borne by a whirlwind on the scene, and 
 checked their mirth. 
 
 It was Owen Tudor. He had watched his mes- 
 senger arrive at the tent and enter it, and was 
 only just beginning to wonder wherefore he tar- 
 ried so long, when he saw him hurled precipitatedly 
 forth, and mounted on a steed which was certainly 
 inferior to his own, bad as that was. He heard 
 the shouts of " a French spy, a French spy ! " 
 which resounded amidst the uproar of laughter,
 
 90 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 and, instantly concluding that Rhys*s business was 
 mistaken through his inability to communicate it, 
 he dashed through the barriers without taking the 
 least heed of its defenders, and arrived at a gallop 
 on the scene of action. 
 
 " Sirs ! what mean ye ! — treat ye courteous 
 messengers thus discourteously?" he said, as he 
 arrived, in French, but with great mildness, for, 
 considering the gentle customs of chivalry, he 
 could not think that this affront was knowingly 
 put upon him. 
 
 " Is the blood of ap Tudor the blood of princes 
 or of dogs, that they treat him thus?" yelled 
 Rhys, in Welsh, not injudiciously identifying him- 
 self with his fiery lord. 
 
 " Marry, is this some jongleur's show, and have 
 we here the Polack bear in armour?" said the 
 Earl of Stafford, gazing an instant at Owen, and 
 then bursting into a loud, hoarse peal of laughter. 
 
 " Discuss this question to us — for, if so, thou 
 art the goodliest beast (to be one) that eyes of 
 Pistol ever looked upon ! " said the ancient. 
 
 " If ye speak thus, ye shall learn that I can hug 
 till I make such ribald jesters as ye are gape ! " 
 returned Owen, much irritated. " Release my
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 91 
 
 varlet ! — Wherefore have ye set him on this ill- 
 conditioned steed ? Is it on such backs as these 
 that the English riders learn horsemanship ?" 
 
 "He came to see our camp, and he shall see it ! 
 — and as his horse is something wearied and 
 travel-stained, methinks, we have mounted him 
 afresh," said Stafford, grimly smiling. " If ye 
 like not to part company, Sir Salvage, you can go 
 with him on his lide; and for the better speed, 
 archers, let him gallop ! " 
 
 " Recreant knight, if thou art one ! I tell thee 
 again he is my messenger, and even among savages 
 a messenger is sacred !" shouted Owen. 
 
 " I am a knight and a baron too ! " returned 
 Stafford, fiercely. " And who art thou. French- 
 man, that thou comest like the statue of some old 
 grandsire from a tomb in an abbey ? Wert thou 
 with Cceur de Lion in the first crusade in this suit 
 of mail of thine?" 
 
 " Meet me with thy lance, and I will send thee 
 to him to ask !" returned Owen, his vehement 
 passions catching fire at the taunt. 
 
 " By St. George and his dragon ! I will first 
 hang this insolent messenger of thine, and then 
 I will carve thee as meat for my hounds at
 
 92 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 leisure ! " replied the ferocious earl. " Archers, 
 take me yonder slave to the gibbet ! — We will 
 spare him his ride on the good horse, Cut-Tripe, 
 for his master's sake ! " 
 
 " Defend thy life, then, for it is in danger ! " 
 returned Owen, levelling his light spear at the 
 earl's breast, who instantly snatched his shield 
 from one of the pages, so roughly that he over- 
 threw him, and raising a mighty battle-axe which 
 hung by a golden chain to his girdle, he stood on 
 the defensive, shouting, " Ha, traitor ! — treason ! 
 I am a fool ! Archers, draw your bows and de- 
 fend your lord." 
 
 " Release my varlet — I meant not to assail you 
 thus!" replied Owen, dropping the point of his 
 spear in some confusion. "I would use no ad- 
 vantage, sir earl; mount, and let us see which is 
 the better man." 
 
 "Bring me my horse and lady-love, Dowsabel !" 
 shouted Stafford. " If thou art the best knight of 
 all France, thus masked, I will not shirk thee." 
 
 "My lord, the king forbade any feat of arms to 
 be performed in the camp without his express ap- 
 pointment and command ! " said one of the older 
 knights among the wassailers.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 93 
 
 " The king; never dreamed his Ueutenant should 
 be bearded thus in his own tent! — I were shamed 
 else for ever, Sir Thomas Robesart!" returned 
 Stafford. 
 
 " Listen, nevertheless, to counsel, sweet bully ! 
 Sir Thomas's head is mouldy with experience," 
 said ancient Pistol. 
 
 "Bring me my horse! — ho, Dowsabel ! " was 
 the only reply which the earl deigned, and which 
 he shouted in so loud a tone that the war-steed, 
 which was stabled behind the tent, uttered a shrill 
 neigh as if it had heard a trumpet sound to battle. 
 
 Those present dared no longer hesitate in obe- 
 dience to the commands of their teriible lord, and 
 in the briefest possible space the mighty charger, 
 arrayed in all his ponderous panoply, was brought 
 to the door of Stafford's tent. Meanwhile the earl, 
 uttering a strange volley of blasphemous curses, 
 mingled with pious ejaculations, put on his helmet, 
 and selected a massive lance from a bundle in the 
 tent. He paid no attention whatever to the request 
 which Owen made for the release of his esquire, 
 who now began to suffer great pain, until, vaulting 
 into his charger's high-peaked saddle, he yelled, 
 " No ! — he cannot be better anywhere to see the
 
 94 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 fray. And, that he may take the more interest in 
 it, tell him in the Bohemian gibberish, which ye 
 seem both to understand, that if I win the day he 
 hangs for it ; and, if I lose (which shall not easily 
 chance), he shall ride the camp till sunset!" 
 
 " Pray for the doughty earl's success, friend 
 bear ! " said Pistol ; "'tis the better part for thee — 
 to hang is nothing, but to die is hard ! Therefore 
 pray that it may be thy lot to be hanged at once." 
 
 Owen's indignation was excited to the highest, 
 both by the arrogance of his antagonist, and the 
 sufFerino's of his faithful follower. At the same 
 time he was very well aware that his light mail 
 and steed could scarcely withstand the shock of 
 the English earl's ponderous weapons and panoply. 
 The tournaments held by the English governors 
 and chivalry at Caernarvon and Beaumaris, which 
 he had occasionally witnessed, made him conscious 
 that it would be difficult for him to cope with the 
 skill acquired in those warlike schools. Neither 
 did he see any reason why he should not use his 
 own weapons according to the manner in which 
 he had been taught to wield them, especially after 
 the insulting reproaches cast upon him. Or it 
 might be that these reasons only occurred to him
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 95 
 
 afterwards as apologies, and it was by the instinct 
 of habit that when the earl returned at a headlong 
 speed with his lance in the rest from the course 
 which according to custom he had taken, Owen, 
 who never stirred, arrested the vindictive violence 
 of his approach, from a distance, as if with a 
 thunderbolt. He darted his spear with all the 
 strength of his arm, so that its force almost 
 equalled that of a ball, and, encountering the shield 
 of Stafford, it pierced through it, dashed him 
 senseless from his saddle to the ground, and, fixing 
 in the earth, held his left arm pinioned to it by 
 the shattered shield. 
 
 Instantly there arose so deafening an uproar of 
 "treason, treason! — disloyal knight! — rescue! — 
 vengeance!" that Owen was stunned and be- 
 wildered. Knights and pages instantly rushed in; 
 some caught the horse, others raised their lord; 
 archers levelled their bows and men-at-arms their 
 pikes to protect their fallen chief; and Sir Thomas 
 Robesart, furiously enraged, shouted to them to 
 charge and avenge their lord, disloyally over- 
 thrown. 
 
 Owen tried at first to take advantao^e of the 
 confusion and release his squire. But he had
 
 96 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 only succeeded in cutting the thongs which bound 
 his hands behind him, when a crowd of the irri- 
 tated soldiery of Stafford rushed around them both. 
 Their purpose was evidently deadly, and the ridi- 
 culed coat of mail served Owen in good stead 
 during the first storm of blows and thrusts of 
 pointed weapons which assailed him. But he was 
 apprehensive for the safety of Rhys, w^hose only 
 protection was a jacket quilted with steel wire; 
 and, drawing his mighty falchion, he dashed his 
 charger so fiercely among the assailants that they 
 gave w^ay in every direction. Meanwhile Rhys, 
 though fettered to his steed, contrived to draw his 
 long knife or dirk and defended himself by stabbing 
 everything wnthin his reach, unmindful of the 
 sufferings which he inflicted on his own carcass 
 in the necessary efforts. 
 
 But the issue could not have been long doubtful, 
 as the English soldiery, exasperated and ashamed 
 at their repulse, returned in additional number and 
 fury to the charge. Captured or beaten to pieces, 
 Owen must in the end have been but for an oppor- 
 tune circumstance. Most fortunately for him, the 
 shouts and confusion attracted the notice of a 
 cavalcade which at the moment crossed the open
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 97 
 
 space before Stafford's tent towards the royal one 
 in the centre. Two or three knights were instantly 
 despatched from this group to inquire the cause of 
 the disturbance, who set spurs to their horses, and 
 arrived at a gallop. They rode into the midst of 
 the tumult, and threw themselves between the 
 assailants and their intended victims, like hunters 
 when the hounds are mangling a deer at bay, 
 against the laws of the chase. In the midst of 
 the subsequent uproar of accusation and recrimi- 
 nation the whole cavalcade arrived, and a knight 
 who rode at their head settled the tumult with a 
 single wave of a truncheon which he carried. 
 
 Never until now had Owen beheld so magnifi- 
 cent a squadron as that which appeared to his 
 wondering gaze when he turned to survey his 
 rescuers. The splendour of the accoutrements of 
 the knights, the variety of crests on their helmets, 
 the rich colours of their emblazoned surcoats and 
 of the caparison of their steeds, dazzled his eyes 
 wherever he looked. But it was not without a 
 strange throb of the heart that he perceived the 
 knio-ht with the truncheon wore a crown round his 
 helmet, and over his suit of silver armour a most 
 gorgeous surcoat, wrought in jeweller's work with 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 the arms of France and England quartered, and 
 the significant motto wreathed round it in Hlies 
 of pearl — **Win me and wear me." The vizor of 
 this personage's helmet was down, so that Owen 
 could not distinguish his features; but the magic 
 effect of his presence, the awe and silence which 
 followed his first word, convinced him that it must 
 be the mighty Henry V.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE CHALLENGE OF THE VIRE. 
 
 " What is the matter among ye ? have ye a 
 bear-bait in the camp?" inquired a stern and 
 commanding voice from between the bars of the 
 crowned helmet. 
 
 " Even so, Prince Hal I" muttered ancient 
 Pistol within his teeth. 
 
 By this time the Earl of Stafford had recovered 
 his senses, and was staggering to rise in the arms 
 of his knights. " My men would punish a rogue, 
 my redoubted lord ! — A spy, a French spy I a 
 villanous savage that hath, by treason and in most 
 unknightly sort, discomfited me ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " He hath pleasured me then, Stafford, since 
 thou hast dared to slight mine express ordi- 
 nance ! " said the king, vehemently. " God's 
 life ! thou shouldst be where thou hast set this 
 
 F 2
 
 100 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 poor tattered camp-boy, I '11 warrant me, for a 
 much less breach of discipline." 
 
 " He is no camp-boy. Sir King, but my varlet 
 and messenger thus shamefully maltreated," said 
 Owen, in a tone which, in spite of himself, was 
 full of awe and respect. The conqueror of Glen- 
 dower and victor of Agincourt could not but 
 infuse both. 
 
 " The vassal brought a letter — and did refuse 
 any homage to my person," said the earl, in 
 some confusion. 
 
 " Doth he owe thee any, Stafford ? Is he 
 vassal of some lordship of thine?" returned 
 Henry, sternly. 
 
 " He is a Frenchman, we deem, that feigns he 
 can speak no language save his own, sirej but 
 surely all Frenchmen owe homage to him who 
 represents your royal person — or wherefore are 
 we in France?" said Sir Thomas Robesart, very 
 dexterously. 
 
 " Yet, is this the discipline ye observe, old 
 Robesart," returned the king, more mildly, " to 
 suffer a messenger to be worried in our camp like 
 a strange dog in a kennel ? What message didst 
 thou bring, vassal ? Fear not : the worst we ever
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 101 
 
 heard was not many hours before it mocked its 
 senders." 
 
 The king no doubt alluded to the summons to 
 surrender, brought to him by the French heralds, 
 on the eve of Agincourt, and the recollection 
 lowered the haughty tone in which Owen at first 
 took up a reply for his luckless squire. " He was 
 the bearer of a loving challenge to a passage of 
 arms, couched in a letter which it pleased my Lord 
 of Stafford to reject, as I must needs think !" 
 
 " Nay, false knight, for thy squire himself did 
 raise it from the dust where I had cast it, and 
 where it merited to lie ! " returned the bruised earl. 
 
 "What hast thou done with the letter, Rhys?" 
 said Owen, in Welsh ; and the squire, conceiving 
 that he had now permission to speak, launched 
 into an eloquent flood of narrative in the same 
 tongue. One inheritance at least the grandson of 
 lolch Dhu derived from his poetical ancestors — 
 an extraordinary flow of words. 
 
 " By David and all his leeks, Capitaine Flu- 
 ellen, is not this a countryman of ours ? And is 
 not this most excellent Welsh ? " interrupted 
 Henry, in so altered a tone of gaiety and good
 
 102 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 humour that Owen could scarcely believe that it 
 came from the same man. 
 
 " O, py my Gotts, — Gott pless your highness, 
 that I should say so ! She is either a country- 
 man of ours, or a man of this Prittany of France, 
 where they are all our first cousins, every one of 
 them ! " replied the officer thus addressed, who had 
 come up with a body of billmen escorting a culverin. 
 
 " Of Brittany ? It may well be so," said the 
 king thoughtfully. " We think there is no 
 Welshman living who would come to our camp 
 to deny us homage now ! Let this fellow be 
 released, and himself bring us his missive, which 
 we will receive as a shentleman, and trust he will 
 offer as one." 
 
 " I lost nothing, sithence I cannot read things 
 written with monks' reeds," said Stafford, sulkily, 
 as they released his late captive from his uncom- 
 fortable exaltation. 
 
 "Dost thou boast thy shame, Stafford?" said 
 the king, with evident displeasure. " And how 
 is this?^is this fellow as savage as his attire, 
 that he denies us his knee, and yiplds us only 
 cap-homage ? "
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 103 
 
 " A prince's herald carries his head as near the 
 clouds as a prince ! " said Rhys, somewhat apolo- 
 getically, but perseveringly observing his moun- 
 tain etiquette, in spite of numerous explanatory 
 and angry gestures. 
 
 " What says he, Fluellen?" said the king. 
 
 "Ah, if she pleashes your grace — and if she 
 does not — she says her master is as good a 
 man as she ish — and she lies ! " replied the 
 captain. 
 
 " Softly ! I know not that," said Henry, using 
 his dagger to cut the silken string of the letter 
 which Rhys handed to him, conceding as much 
 as possible in the way of homage, in the form of 
 a bow, to his own brawny knees. 
 
 Owen fixed his gaze, with great anxiety, on the 
 king while he perused his letter of defiance ; but 
 he could only see the glitter of his eyes between 
 the bars of his helmet, as he raised them from the 
 task. 
 
 " Uncle of Exeter ! " he then said, turning to a 
 grey-bearded warrior who rode beside him, 
 " methinks we tarry too long before St. Lo, since 
 a wandering esquire of arms — a maiden of chi- 
 valry by his own confession — deems himself a fit
 
 104 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 challenger for a knighthood, than which, since 
 the times of Arthur or Charlemagne, none more 
 renowned hath exercised itself in arms/' 
 
 " It ish true ! — By Cheshu ! and I would have 
 blown the main tower in pieces this morning if 
 my Lord of Exeter had not been so obstinates ! " 
 said the captain of artillery. " Ah, by my peard, 
 he would not have the men-at-arms killed so 
 cowardly, he said." 
 
 " Well, sirs ! — But who art thou, sir esquire, 
 whose vassal boasts him the equal of Henry of 
 England?" continued the king, with evident 
 curiosity. 
 
 Owen felt for the instant all the ludicrous 
 nature of such a pretension, under the relative 
 circumstances of his position ; and, after a pause 
 of shame and indignation almost amounting to 
 agony, he eluded a direct reply. " I would be 
 known by my deeds, Sir King, not otherwise," 
 were his words. 
 
 " Certes, thou art not our cousin the Dauphin?" 
 said the king, with a gravity which mingled much 
 of mockery and scepticism. "The old fox of 
 Armagnac would not trust the royal gosling so far 
 out of his reach ! Can it be that we are honoured
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 105 
 
 with the visit of our cousin of Burgundy's heir, 
 the Count of Charolois, who, we hear, doth not 
 love us so well as our kind purposes to his house 
 should make him ! But, no, we have it ! — it is 
 Bretagne's brother, Richemont, who speaks so 
 high and haughtily against us, and esteems him- 
 self our destined vanquisher because Duguesclin 
 was born in his country. But how doth he call 
 himself the ^ maiden of chivalry ? ' What sayest 
 thou. Garter? — do we misremember, or was not 
 the Count of Richemont among our prisoners at 
 the Somme ? " 
 
 " And was knighted before the field was struck, 
 my liege — therefore, no maiden of chivalry ! " re- 
 plied the king-at-arms thus appealed to. 
 
 " I am none of those great lords — yet am I 
 what I call myself ! " replied Owen Tudor, 
 haughtily, though aware that every gaze was now 
 bent upon him in curiosity and wonder. 
 
 "Then shouldst thou be better skilled in the 
 gentle usages of chivalry than to presume, being 
 but a simple esquire, to challenge any men of 
 knightly degree, much more this chivalry of Eng- 
 land ; but this is not Gascony, and we must not 
 boast us — though merely to name the deeds of 
 
 F 3
 
 106 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 some around sounds like it ! Know, then, that it 
 became thee not to challenge any but the pages 
 and varlets of my camp, thine equals ! " 
 
 Owen was silent through mingled mortification 
 and anger, but luckily one of the esquires who 
 attended the king broke the pause ere it had time 
 to brew a tempest. He was attired in the peculiar 
 armour adapted to the use of the young aspirants 
 of chivalry, distinguished only by its elegance 
 and beauty of design, and the magnificence of a 
 mantle of rainbow-coloured velvet checkers em- 
 broidered with silver thistles, which descended to 
 his horse's hoofs. 
 
 " Sir and my lord," he said, with much modesty 
 in the earnest entreaty of his tone, " sithence 
 this fair esquire is of so high degree — and like 
 myself a maiden in arms — I pray you grant me 
 the long-promised boon to essay myself against 
 him !" 
 
 " Be it so, fair cousin — the enterprise is for 
 beards of thy length, and we will stand here as 
 judge of the field," said the king, with a smile 
 which none saw but all felt. " We will see what 
 strength is in a hand so skilful on the lutestrings 
 as our gentle James of Scotland's ! But it must
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 107 
 
 be with the proper weapons of pages and varlets 
 — ^^with ashen spears ! Let them be brought." 
 
 Owen was vexed in his heart at the degree 
 of contempt which he thought was included in 
 this regulation ; but the honour of encountering 
 the young King of Scotland — for such he under- 
 stood the esquire to be — was too great to be re- 
 fused. He hoped to display himself in a manner 
 to win respect, at least, from the great English 
 leader ; and, measuring the royal esquire's slim and 
 courtly figure with his eye, he scarcely doubted to 
 overcome him even with the arms of polished 
 warfare. 
 
 But the esquire of Henry V. was one well 
 worthy of him in more respects than in his exalted 
 rank. It was the illustrious and unfortunate 
 James I. of Scotland, so long the prisoner of 
 England, in whose custody he acquired the re- 
 finement and civilization which rendered him at a 
 subsequent period one of the earliest poets and 
 greatest princes of his country. Henry, while 
 persevering in the stern policy of his father, and 
 retaining him captive, took care that no part of 
 regal education should be neglected in him, and 
 least of all the exercises of chivalry. Conse-
 
 108 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 quently Owen had a more formidable antagonist 
 than he imagined. 
 
 The necessaiy preparations were soon com- 
 pleted. The paladins of Henry V. seemed to 
 take a lively interest in the approaching exhi- 
 bition, and arrayed themselves in an open squa- 
 dron along the scene of action, w^hile the monarch 
 himself, with the most distinguished of his mar- 
 tial courtiers and garter king-at-arms, took sta- 
 tion under an oak, whose wavering foliage let in 
 frequent gushes of sunshine on their gorgeous 
 trappings and burnished arms. 
 
 Some sheaves of ashen spears were soon pro- 
 cured, and one was delivered to each of the com- 
 batants. Owen vibrated that which he received 
 with a degree of scorn as if it had been some fairy 
 wand, while the judicious Rhys examined his 
 armour with as much precaution as if it were 
 intended to glance lightning off. The irresistible 
 force of the English discipline infused something 
 of superstitious dread into the minds of the Welsh 
 commonalty. But there could be no great danger 
 in a conflict to be fought with slender spears of 
 ash, blunted at the points, and which easily 
 shivered in a shock. Even the pointless iron
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 109 
 
 lance used in tournaments was not permitted by 
 the strict ordinances of chivalry to the young 
 aspirants not yet admitted to the privileges of 
 knighthood. The dexterous management of their 
 weapons displayed in the strokes given, good 
 horsemanship, and the courtesies of noble breed- 
 ing, were all the qualities looked for in the youth- 
 ful page or esquire. A rough fall or a violent 
 thrust were in general the worst ills that happened 
 in their conflicts. 
 
 The young King of Scots took his spear with a 
 smile of evident confidence, and, bending cour- 
 teously to his antagonist, rode gracefully to the 
 end of the course. It may be imagined with what 
 feelings of emulation Owen was animated when 
 for the first time in his life he prepared for a dis- 
 play of martial skill beneath the gaze of spectators 
 so renowned. A general movement and murmur 
 of conversation amonp- the kniohts marked the 
 general interest, and Henry repeatedly waved his 
 truncheon before their lines were arrayed suffi- 
 ciently apart and steadily fixed. It was certain 
 that he took a lively interest in behalf of the 
 youthful prince, a pupil and esquire of his own, 
 and one like himself a king.
 
 110 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 Owen was little acquainted with these chivalric 
 pastimes, and with his wild Welsh notions ima- 
 gined it was still a contest of strength even with 
 these powerless weapons. He awaited the blast 
 of the trumpet, which he was informed was the 
 signal for onset, straining like a hound in the leash 
 over his horse's neck, and when it sounded rushed 
 forward like the wind. " St. Andrew for Scot- 
 land ! who withstands?" was the young king's 
 cry, and it was answered by a slogan, which 
 Fluellen very accurately and surprisedly trans- 
 lated, "Ah, Gott's wounds! — it ish St. Dafydd 
 for Wales, no doubts ! " 
 
 The two young esquires dashed on to meet 
 each other like stones from slings, and encountered 
 about mid career. But the King of Scots turned 
 all the terrific force of Owen's lance into the air 
 by a single dexterous movement of his shield, 
 which Owen thought would remain on his breast 
 where he held it at the onset. The lance meeting 
 no resistance actually flew by its own violence 
 from the wielder's grasp, and meanwhile the 
 king's weapon passed on, eluded Owen's shield 
 by a skilful dip, and ran full shock on his breast. 
 Had the lance been of iron and pointed, in all
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 Ill 
 
 probability it would have inflicted a dangerous 
 wound; and such a stroke, among pages and 
 esquires, was reckoned a victorious one. The King 
 of Scots, accordingly, held his weapon lightly 
 pressed on Owen's breast, that there might be no 
 doubt of his success ; but, not understanding the 
 etiquette, Owen dashed the lance aside, passed on, 
 and, bending from his steed to the ground, picked 
 up his lost lance without alighting, and, checking 
 his horse in full career, returned with such rapidity 
 and violence, that the King of Scots had scarcely 
 time to perceive his purpose ere he was dashed 
 from his saddle to the ground. 
 
 " Shame ! foul play ! the King of Scots is felled 
 by treachery ! " shouted a hundred voices in a 
 breath. 
 
 " He struck me from my horse even so ! with 
 a distant stroke of the javelin such as cowards 
 cast at a wild boar when they dare not abide his 
 tusks ! " cried Stafford, who was hitherto silent 
 under the consciousness that he had provoked 
 the king's displeasure by disobeying his command 
 in combating at all. 
 
 " It is a false, a foul, a treacherous blow in- 
 deed ! " exclaimed Henry, as the attendant raised
 
 1 12 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 his royal esquire, who was evidently severely hurt 
 and bruised with his fall. " Cousin, you are 
 wrongfully overthrown, and no good knight can 
 deny that the course is yours." 
 
 A general clamour confirmed this judgment, 
 and overwhelmed Owen with surprise and indig- 
 nation. 
 
 " It matters not — I am nothing hurt," said the 
 gallant Scottish prince, standing upright with diflS- 
 culty. " Who could have looked for a blow 
 when the course was finished, and the stroke con- 
 firmed to me ? " 
 
 " By the blessed wells of Winifred ! by the 
 cross on my sword ! I wist not of this usage ! " 
 said Owen, blushing almost every colour in suc- 
 cession, and yet quivering with wrath in every 
 muscle. 
 
 " By what usance of chivalry dost thou combat, 
 then, savage esquire?" said Henry, with a stern- 
 ness which startled all present — even the war- 
 horses, which stirred uneasily and tossed their 
 heads. 
 
 " By those of my native wilds. Sir King, since 
 thou wilt know it ! as ye do by those of your 
 lady-thronged tournays and jousts!" returned
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 113 
 
 Owen Tudor, almost as haughtily. " Give me a 
 field of battle to the knife and teeth, and we shall 
 see if these quaint tricks of horse and lance-play 
 avail against our rude Welsh customs, well exer- 
 cised ! " 
 
 " A Welshman, a Welshman ! by St. George, I 
 began to smell roast cheese ! " exclaimed Henry, 
 bursting into an irresistible peal of laughter, which 
 was echoed in a hundred varied tones around. " I 
 marvel no longer at thy royalty ! A king of goats 
 and snows ! Arthur and Cadvvallader ! I have 
 been on Cader Idris, countryman ! I know how 
 many streams descend Snow don ! Was Noah thy 
 great-grandfather, or dost thou inherit the clouds 
 from thy mother ? Life of God ! being a Welsh 
 vassal of my crown, how darest thou come to 
 France to gainsay thy sovereign's right to wear 
 the hlies in his wreath?" 
 
 " Not only to the realm of France, but to 
 the usurped diadems of England and Wales, do 
 I challenge your right, Henry of Lancaster ! " 
 returned the vehement W^elshman ; and a moment 
 of profound astonishment and even of terror fol- 
 lowed the rash utterance. Stafford laughed within 
 his teeth, and then boldly stepping forward ex-
 
 1 14 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 claimed, " Give me the quarrel, my liege, and I 
 will battle it, not only to the death, but beyond it, 
 if God and our Lady please ! " 
 
 " Stafford ! the quarrel is mine, since I am the 
 king's sworn brother-in-arms ! " said a knight, 
 whose device of the bear and ragged staff an- 
 nounced him to be the Earl of Warwick. " Here 
 is my gauntlet ! Let this rash boy raise it if he 
 dares." 
 
 " In such a quarrel. Lord Warwick, I will 
 suffer no man's precedence ! " exclaimed another — 
 the famous Mountacute, Earl of Sahsbury, whose 
 shield was painted with distaffs to denote that he 
 bore the honours of that house throuoh his wife's 
 
 o 
 
 inheritance. " I am the oldest oflScer of the 
 king present, save my Lord of Exeter, who is 
 too old, and I claim the championship of right." 
 
 " I appeal to the king ! — and ere thou slialt 
 take mine office in this matter, Salisbury, thou 
 shalt do battle with thine oldest friend ! " returned 
 the Earl of Warwick. 
 
 ^' Richard, Richard, softly, or I shall forget that 
 name ! " returned the Earl of Salisbury. 
 
 " The king did give this enterprise to the pages 
 and varlets, for whom I claim it, and for myself
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 115 
 
 first ! " exclaimed a youthful chevalier, whose 
 cheeks reddened with eagerness as he spoke. 
 
 ** Peace, Edmund Beaufort, peace ! " said the 
 king, silencing the whole throng by merely glancing 
 around ; " deem ye that, if this wild Welshman's 
 arrogance merited courteous correction, Henry 
 Plantagenet hath not an arm of his own ? But we 
 need not the addition of a leek to our blazonry to 
 make us conspicuous ! — Answer truly, esquire, 
 and we will forgive thee ! art thou set on by the 
 dregs of that party whose poison still lingers in 
 our veins, to revive old bickerings which we hoped 
 were stilled for ever — by partisans of the House 
 of York?" 
 
 " By mine own heart's hatred and defiance 
 only, and in behalf of mine oppressed and tram- 
 pled native land ! " returned Owen. 
 
 " Ha ! we thought w^e had extinguished the last 
 embers of that flame too ! — What is thy name ?" 
 said the king, with evident surprise and eager- 
 ness. 
 
 " Ap Tudor of Penmynydd!" replied the daunt- 
 less rebel. 
 
 " A stiff race, which fire and steel have hitherto 
 neither bent nor broken ! " said Henry, without
 
 116 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 any tinge of the anger which Owen expected and 
 defied. " Well, we have tried the wind long 
 enough; let us try the sun !-^If you will have it 
 so, sir esquire, I will hold this contest for a va- 
 lorous mean you have hit upon to introduce 
 yourself to our notice, and from this moment 
 number you among the special servants of our 
 person, whom we will knight on some glorious 
 field with our gentle Jamie and such of the best 
 blood of England as shall merit the honour." 
 
 "My powels yearn to emprace you, countryman ! 
 — say but the worts ! " exclaimed honest Fluellen. 
 
 " I trust, indeed, that I shall be knighted on 
 some glorious field — for France I — that shall re- 
 verse the day of Agincourt ! " was Owen's reckless 
 reply, for a thousand galling recollections were 
 kindled in his soul, even with the conqueror's kind 
 and forbearing words. 
 
 " Then depart my camp, Sir Savage ! in safety 
 — but with speed ! " replied Henry, with rising 
 choler. " But that thy wild ignorance of all 
 chivalry — yet, no ! — again, we say, depart ! Take 
 thy valour where thou wilt — it shall be to a worse 
 market, doubt not ! " 
 
 " I will take it no further than the fords of the
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 117 
 
 Vire — where I will abide the best or the worst 
 your famed chivalry can do against me, Duke of 
 Lancaster ! " was Owen's audacious retort. 
 
 " Thou shalt not tarry long, catamountain ! " 
 exclaimed the Earl of Stafford. 
 
 " God's death, no ! " echoed many a voice, 
 for our fathers of the fifteenth century had already 
 achieved for us the title of Goddams, from their 
 profuse habit of swearing. 
 
 " Hearken all, fair sirs ! " exclaimed the king, 
 in a voice which instantly enforced attention. " If 
 any man among ye all shall dare in any manner 
 to answer this rebel's challenge, I will have his 
 head struck from his shoulders, and his blood dis- 
 inherited to all posterity, though it be of our own ! 
 And now ye know the penalties, which I swear by 
 my father's bones shall be inflicted, obey me or not 
 as ye Hst ! " 
 
 " And by the bones of my father ! I swear — 
 three days wall I tarry at the fords of the Vire, all 
 force notwithstanding, Sir King, but such as it 
 shall shame you to use!" returned Owen, with 
 the utmost fierceness ; " and if in that time no 
 knight of all your train appears to do battle with
 
 118 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 me in your quarrel, I will report at Paris — that 
 they dared not ! " 
 
 " They will fain believe thee there, stripling ! — 
 Take him from the camp, Uncle of Exeter; or I 
 shall be angry — which were not healthsome, for it 
 is nigh dinner-time ! " said Henry, controlling him- 
 self with evident difficulty. " Garter, see him 
 safely to the barriers, and leturn to us with the 
 tidings." 
 
 So saying, the offended monarch turned his 
 charger's head, followed by his principal lords 
 and attendants, and in a few more instants Owen 
 quitted the barriers of the camp of St. Lo. 
 
 Owen himself could not but wonder at the for- 
 bearance and temper of a prince of whose contrary 
 qualities so many terrible legends were afloat among 
 the nations he had conquered. But he was exas- 
 perated with the continual reproach of barbarism 
 thrown upoii all his efforts, and with the kind of 
 ignominy in which he felt himself to be expelled from 
 the fellowship of the Enghsh chivalry. These re- 
 flections continued to chafe and fume in his hot 
 blood on his return to the fords of the Vire, where 
 he determined to abide according to his pledge, in
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 119 
 
 defiance of the mighty English king. He was 
 still buried in an irritated revery, in spite of all 
 Rhys's congratulations and triumphant eulogies, 
 when they reached the banks of the Vire, so that 
 he scarcely noticed the approach of a body of 
 horsemen, who descended on the opposite side of 
 the river at the moment when he was about to 
 cross to his former station. 
 
 The riders were nearly all mounted archers, 
 with a broad bado^e of the arms of Eng-land, 
 surmounted by a ducal crown on their breasts. 
 Two knights rode at their head in complete ar- 
 mour. That of one, who appeared to be the 
 younger, was of the most extraordinary magnifi- 
 cence, and seemed, indeed, as if wrought of beaten 
 gold. Even his helmet was surrounded by golden 
 balls and a coronet of precious stones. His horse 
 was sheathed in fantastic armour, which was shaped 
 to resemble some strange monster of romantic 
 zoology, and its trappings were most richly painted 
 with scenes from the legends of Launcelot du 
 Lake. A lofty plume of white feathers added to 
 the knight's stature, which was sufl&ciently marked 
 in itself. 
 
 The elder leader, a man apparently of mature
 
 120 OWEX TUDOR. 
 
 age, was more soberly arrayed, and his vizor being 
 raised revealed a stern and martial countenance, 
 but one whose natural expression of impatience 
 and daring time had but little tempered. In 
 person he was rather short, but so powerfully knit 
 and proportioned that it was impossible to doubt 
 his great strength, which the massive arms he 
 bore also attested. 
 
 As this company came in a contrary direction 
 to St. Lo, Owen at first doubted whether they 
 were Enghsh or not. But he was soon enlightened 
 on this point. " Keep the farther bank till we 
 cross — I am the Duke of Clarence ! " cried the 
 younger knight, haughtily. " That is your war- 
 ranty if you are placed to guard this ford, 
 esquire ! " 
 
 A thought rushed into Owen's mind almost 
 with these words. The brother of Henry V., a 
 knight already greatly renowned, despite his youth, 
 was before him — certainly ignorant of the king's 
 prohibition with regard to himself. On whom 
 could he more fitly show his defiance, or prove 
 that he could use the arms of chivalry according 
 to its own fashions, than on this young Plan- 
 tagenet? Owen considered that it was only neces-
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 121 
 
 sary to wield his iron spear as the King of Scots 
 had wielded one of ash, to accompHsh the object. 
 
 " I guard this ford, not for the King of Eng- 
 land, nor any of his minions, but for Sir Charles 
 de Valois, rightful King of France ! " he repUed. 
 " Wherefore, if you would cross it, make ready to 
 combat me on the way; for I have a vow against 
 the whole usurping blood of Lancaster, which only 
 its last drop can appease ! " 
 
 " Say you so? Make ready, then, for I will 
 meet you half way in the river, and one of us shall 
 swim for it or sink!" replied the Duke of Cla- 
 rence, with the characteristic impetuosity of his ra«e. 
 
 " Peace, Thomas of Clarence ! it becomes not 
 your royal knighthood to do battle with a poor 
 wandering esquire ! " said the elder knight, eyeing 
 the Welsh warrior's garniture with but little ad- 
 miration, and veiy considerable surprise. 
 
 " But much less shall it become my royal 
 knighthood to let this French vaunt pass unchas- 
 tised!" said the duke. "Moreover, Sir John, I 
 need some little exercise to set my blood aflowing, 
 which is chilled with our three days' rest ! There- 
 fore, St. George be my speed, and. Frenchman, I 
 am coming!" 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 12'2 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 And without allowing time for any further remon- 
 strance, the duke set his lance, struck his mighty- 
 steed with spurs of nearly a foot in length, garnished 
 with rowels of the same diameter, and galloped 
 into the ford. Owen lost not an instant in imi- 
 tating the example, while the elder knight, as if 
 doubtful w^hat to do, first urged his horse forward 
 to interpose, and then checked it into a high cur- 
 vet, for at that moment the combatants encoun- 
 tered. On this occasion, at least, no fault could 
 be found with Owen Tudor's manner of fighting. 
 With the natural facility of the Celtic nations in 
 imitation, he almost exactly repeated the lesson 
 taught him by James of Scotland, and hurled both 
 rider and horse over with the shock of a similar 
 stroke, into the Vire, while he himself gained the 
 opposite bank, swift and unshaken as a whirlwind. 
 
 The elder leader instantly dashed into the stream, 
 with some of the archers, to the duke's assistance. 
 But Owen's mountain agility won the start of 
 them, and, flinging himself from his horse, he was 
 the first to raise the prince, who was in some dan- 
 ger of drowning, though the river was shallow at 
 the ford, from the weight of his armour, and the 
 struggles of his heavily caparisoned steed.
 
 OWEX TUDOR. 123 
 
 " Gramercy, knight ! my new surcoat is finely 
 baptized ! " said the duke, shaking himself like a 
 water-dog: when he reached the shore. " What 
 farther pleasure dost thou need at my hands? 
 Shall we have a bout of swords?" 
 
 " My lord, this may not and must not be ! 
 Thomas, I command thee, if I am thy father and 
 master of arms!" said his companion, angrily. 
 " Already have we exceeded the king's ordination, 
 who least of all foroives those whom he loves for 
 disobedience! Therefore, I will suffer no further 
 arbitrement ! " 
 
 " I crave no further pleasure from you, royal 
 knight," said Owen, courteously, " but that you 
 will tell the King of England I am worthy to en- 
 counter other than pages and varlets, since his 
 brother has deigned me the honour of a tilt!" 
 
 " I will make no ill report of you; — but by what 
 name shall I call you?" replied the young duke, 
 with visible vexation. 
 
 " Call me but the Champion of the Ford of the 
 Vire! — by that title the Enghsh chivalry will not 
 have forgotten me," said Owen. 
 
 " I may count myself one of them ; yet have I 
 
 G 2
 
 124 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 never heard of such a champion," rephed the 
 elder knight. 
 
 " In very truth, Talbot, mayst thou ! since it 
 whitens French cheeks merely to hear that name ! " 
 said Thomas of Clarence. " Yet it but flushes 
 our new champion's, as if he thought himself a 
 match for thee too ! " 
 
 " Nay, for the noble Talbot obeys his king too 
 liegemanly; and Henry hath ordained that none 
 of his chivalry shall hinder me in the quittance of 
 my vow!" said Owen, struck with the formidable 
 name of the warrior, but with a sarcastic bitterness 
 which attracted his attention. 
 
 " What vow is this that King Henry will not 
 have broken ? " he inquired with feigned careless- 
 ness. 
 
 " I have sworn that I will keep this ford against 
 any and all of the English chivalry, during three 
 days, in despite of his command to the contrary ! " 
 replied Owen. 
 
 " Sayst thou so. Frenchman ! — and said the 
 king so?" said Talbot, suddenly. "This is not 
 well: it was knightly proffered and should have 
 been knightly answered — and so I will tell the
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 125 
 
 king, who will believe when Talbot says, 'tis so ! 
 But now to your saddle, fair son Thomas, for me- 
 thinks you are more hurt than we deemed, since 
 you lean so heavily on your sword." 
 
 "A shrewder fall had I never — the water no- 
 thing broke it," replied the royal knight. " Yet in 
 faith, it is some comfort to find mine overthrower 
 is known to be so valiant that the king will not 
 trust his famous peers against him ! " 
 
 It is probable that the prince began to suffer no 
 slight degree of pain from his bruises, for with all 
 his pride he winced considerably as he remounted 
 his steed. He then bade farewell to Owen Tudor 
 with much more respect than he had shown at 
 the commencement of the interview, while Talbot 
 somewhat sulkily lowered his lance in sign of 
 greeting, and the whole cavalcade resumed its 
 advance over the ford. Owen watched with great 
 though silent exultation, until the last banderol 
 fluttered out of sight. He was then about to retire 
 to his lodgment, when he was called to an en- 
 counter much more perilous than those he had 
 withstood so far. 
 
 Whether reflection increased the irritation which 
 Talbot naturally felt at seeing his pupil overcome.
 
 126 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 or that he was vexed at the vaunts of the supposed 
 Frenchman, he had ghded away from his company, 
 under pretence of taking a more dehberate survey 
 of the ford, and now recrossed it with two at- 
 tendants. 
 
 "Valiant knight whom it pleases to disguise 
 some renowned shield with a blank field, until I 
 know the king's orders concerning you I cannot 
 disobey them — and I am not bound to know them 
 but from his own lips — wherefore make ready and 
 I will joust with you," said Sir John Talbot. 
 
 " It is too great an honour to one so young in 
 arms; for I cover no glorious achievements with 
 this cloud of nothingness!" replied Owen, mo- 
 destly. 
 
 " The Lord Thomas of Lancaster is as good a 
 knight, of his years, as ever wielded sword or 
 lance ! " returned Talbot. " He who can foin as 
 thou didst with him may well encounter Talbot, 
 for I am famous in battle rather than in tourna- 
 ment. Yet I would try one push with thee, for 
 the mere love of artns and courtesy. Feuter your 
 lance — I am ready." 
 
 To feuter was to set the spear in rest for a 
 charge ; and Owen, fired with a glorious hope, im-
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 127 
 
 mediately complied with the request of his great 
 antagonist. The prophecy of Glendower rushed 
 glowingly upon his recollection, and, as it was 
 certainly the height of daring to venture a contest 
 with so illustrious a knight, now or never might 
 he learn whether to dare and to do were correlative 
 terms in his destiny. 
 
 And in truth the resentment and emulation 
 which burned in his heart made him resolve that 
 nothing short of destruction should prove his 
 overthrow. They met in so fierce a shock that 
 Talbot shivered his own spear on the breast of his 
 young antagonist, while that of Owen pierced his 
 shield and rent his surcoat into tatters. 
 
 Talbot whistled. " Thou hast oak in thy back- 
 bone, knight!" he said, examining Owen with 
 surprise. ** Young Thomas need not grieve so 
 much over his bruised skin, for, by my faith, here 
 is something red coming through the scales of my 
 hauberk! Draw thy sword and let us hurtle to- 
 gether, for I must see thy colours too or ever we 
 part." 
 
 " Noble Talbot, I am but an esquire of arms, 
 and know not whether it is lawful for me to en- 
 counter at short weapons with a knight," said
 
 128 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 Owen, with perfect ingenuousness, for his only 
 anxiety was now not to forfeit the esteem of so 
 renowned a chevalier. 
 
 "Only an esquire! — and joust at sharp spears 
 with knights?" returned Talbot, sheathing his 
 half-drawn sword with a clash. " But mayhap 
 thou hast some vow of a deliverance of arms?" 
 
 " I have left proclamation of one in your king's 
 camp," replied Owen. 
 
 *' I will learn the conditions and return to 
 finish this adventure when my horse and arm are 
 less weary, for we have ridden far to-day — and 
 yonder comes Clarence, who will be vexed if he 
 knows what I have done ! " said Talbot. " I will 
 make confession of thee, natheless, and doubt not 
 thou shalt have sport enough in thy three days of 
 deliverance. Yet could I be right glad so valiant 
 an esquire would turn to our fellowship, for the 
 worst Frenchman among ye all cannot deny our 
 king's right to the duchy of Normandy, which we 
 are now winning for him at our leisure ! " 
 
 " King Henry hath no sharper enemy in all the 
 ranks of France than I am or will prove ! " replied 
 Owen. '' But farewell, Sir John Talbot, for I fear 
 I shall not see thee again."
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 129 
 
 "How so?" replied Talbot; but at this instant 
 the Duke of Clarence was heard shouting on the 
 opposite shore, "Talbot, Talbot! why tarriest 
 thou?" and the famous knight, gathering the rags 
 of his surcoat together, and waving the splinter of 
 his lance as a salute, recrossed the ford of the 
 Vire. 
 
 G 3
 
 130 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE DELIVERANCE OF ARMS. 
 
 Owen went to slumber in his verdant lodgings 
 with a heart full of hope and triumph at the suc- 
 cess of his first chivalric adventure. Such a com- 
 mencement satisfied his most ambitious desires, 
 and administered a rebuke to his haughty enemy 
 which he would not fail to feel. At the same 
 time he had but Httle expectation, after the oath 
 by w hich he had bound himself, that Henry would 
 allow his chivaliy to visit him on his watch. Still 
 he determined to remain the three days to which 
 he had pledged himself, and then to depart for 
 Paris, where he meant to apply himself assiduously 
 to acquire the usages of civilized warfare. 
 
 Two days, indeed, elapsed, and not a single 
 knight nor armed man of any sort crossed at the 
 fords of the Vire. It was certain that Talbot must 
 have found the king inexorable, or he would have
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 131 
 
 returned to renew the conflict according to his 
 promise. Owen's bitter sentiments against the 
 monarch received an accession; he even imagined 
 that this was done for the purpose of preventing 
 him from acquiring a distinction which might have 
 forwarded his views in Paris! His ill temper 
 extended to all the circumstances around him. 
 He began to fancy himself an object of ludicrous 
 attention to the master of a fulling-mill turned by 
 a diverted current of the Vire, in the rocks above 
 his place of watch. 
 
 The fuller was a man of large person, with a 
 nose of extraordinary hues, and fat cheeks richly 
 tinted with the colours of the grape. He was 
 very carelessly and slovenly dressed, seeming 
 scarcely to take the trouble to buckle up his bulky 
 person in its nether habiliments. But apparently 
 he led a joyous life, working little, and singing and 
 drinking almost continually, with a numerous ac- 
 quaintance who delighted in making his mill their 
 rendezvous. The irritated descendant of Arthur 
 began to imagine that this merry plebeian dared 
 to make him the subject of his gaiety — that he 
 even pointed him out to his visitors as he sat on 
 his steed broiling in the noonday sun, as if there
 
 132 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 was something diverting in his appearance, to 
 judge by the shouts of laughter which occasionally- 
 descended to his ears. Once Owen was certain 
 that the fuller nodded with ironical politeness to 
 him as he swilled a deep draught of some generous 
 fluid, perhaps drinking to his health in a freak of 
 sportive mahce. 
 
 The third day arrived, and Owen was so weaned 
 with his tedious and useless sojourn that, but for 
 the pleasure he took in it as an act of defiance, he 
 would have resumed his journey. It was a very 
 warm day, and the chafing of his mind communi- 
 cated itself to his body until his armour glowed 
 like the shell of some unhappy crab cast on a bare 
 rock in the sun. But he would not leave his 
 station at the ford, in dread lest some antagonist 
 should arrive and find him unprepared, which was 
 against all chivalric rule. And thus he remained, 
 until at length he had almost dropped asleep with 
 fatio;ue and the monotonous murmur of the waters 
 and foliage about him, when suddenly the welcome 
 ring of a blow on his shield startled him into life 
 and hope. 
 
 Looking joyfully up, Owen was astonished to 
 perceive, instead of the rider in warlike panoply,
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 133 
 
 with plume and spear and painted shield, whom he 
 expected to behold — a tall stout figure, very loosely 
 arrayed in a suit of greasy leather, a red camlet 
 mantle and hood, and a pair of slovenly buskins 
 which he had not troubled himself to fasten at the 
 knees. Instead of a warrior visage, grimly sha- 
 dowed in a vizor, he beheld a jolly carbuncled face 
 shining with the oil of fatness, and a pair of 
 humorous eyes fixed upon him, with a smiling 
 expression of curiosity and satirical gaiety. The 
 only weapon of this champion was a crab-stick, 
 certainly of formidable dimensions; and, instead 
 of striking the shield with the usual weapon of 
 warriors, it had pleased him to throw a wineskin 
 at it, inflated with air, the explosion of which 
 startled Owen and his steed from their repose. 
 
 The surprise and anger of the champion of the 
 Vire were almost equally excited, more especially 
 as he recognised in this strange antao:onist the 
 laughing fuller to whom the mill above belonged. 
 "Vile churl, what mean you?" he exclaimed; 
 " know you not that this shield is hung as a 
 challenge to passers-by of gentle blood and arms, 
 and not to base-born peasants with cudgels?" 
 
 " I guessed even as much, sir unknown ! for, if I
 
 134 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 were of good and honourable degree, the spurs 
 should be hacked from my heels ere I would 
 undertake so valiant an enterprise," replied the 
 fuller, gravely in words, but with laughter over- 
 flowing in his eyes. " I challenge you to a bout, 
 not with lance, nor sword, nor axe, nor even 
 cudgel — but with a can of our wine of the Bocage; 
 which is not wine at all, but what is much better, 
 jolly red cider. Here is the tankard, and here is 
 the drink. Bacchus never brewed better when he 
 first taught our Normans the art. Yoa are hot, 
 and .it is cool. Will you drink, or must I go 
 reeling to bed, for I have made a vow to see this 
 pot emptied to-night, for the good of my body, 
 since they say too much drinking injures the 
 mind?" 
 
 "Thou art a merry companion," said Owen, 
 who was indeed hot and thirsty, and was pleased 
 with the jovial tone of the invitation. " Pour on; 
 I am a soldier, and unless your cider sets my teeth 
 on edge I shall not complain of it." 
 
 "It sets nothing on edge but the appetite for 
 more — we make it not of green apples," repHed 
 the visitor. " Methought when I nodded to your 
 worshipful knighthood the other day that you
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 135 
 
 looked pleased and as much as to say that you 
 would gladly return the civility. But my wife 
 had the keys of the cellar on that occasion. Mark 
 how brightly it plays, so that I have half a 
 dozen little suns of amber sparkling in my can, 
 rusty as it looks on the outside! Such another 
 am I as my can ! but you know me not, and it 
 will seem like boasting. My name is Olivier 
 Basselin, and I am renowned throughout the 
 length and breadth of the Bocage as the best and 
 jolliest song-maker the world hath seen since the 
 days of Anacreon the Greek." 
 
 " I have never heard of thee, nor of him either," 
 replied the mountaineer. 
 
 " That consoles me — but 'tis no great marvel," 
 said the modest poet of the Vire. " They do not 
 sing my songs in great halls and castles, but in much 
 better places ! Nay, not in pulpits or in oratories, 
 though we have jovial monks, too, in our country — 
 but in taverns where the cup goes fast round and 
 the jolly fellows roar at the top of their voices till 
 the angels cannot hear their own psalms; in 
 cottages on winter evenings, when they sit roasting 
 the chestnuts to make them thirsty, and drink till 
 the grandame dances ! There you might hear me
 
 136 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 sing in fine style, unless the chorus deafened you ! 
 But drink, and let me take my turn." 
 
 And, as he handed a full tankard to Owen, the 
 poet began singing in a lively, though not very 
 musical voice, one of his own Virelays: — 
 
 « I fear I shall be Ul!— 
 
 How could I be so steady ? 
 'Tis an hour since I drank, 
 
 And my face is pale already ! 
 The fish must soon expire 
 
 When it leaves the watery sea, 
 
 'Tis just the same with me 
 When my liquor I require. 
 
 « I fear I shall be ill!— 
 
 How could I be so steady? 
 'Tis an hour since I drank, 
 
 And my face is pale already ! 
 And, though fishes don't want always 
 
 To have their snouts in water. 
 To the gallant Malmoisy 
 
 We should give no moment's quarter. 
 
 "I fear I shall be ill!— 
 
 How could I be so steady ? 
 'Tis an hour since I drank. 
 
 And my face is pale already I 
 Shall we make ourselves like fishes 
 
 For wife or family, 
 And leave the full cup flowing 
 
 When there's such good company ? 
 
 I fear I shall be- 
 
 " Fear it not ! " interrupted Owen, laughing ;
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 137 
 
 " thy face is of all the colours of sunset, and thy 
 nose is like the rainbow of the mist." 
 
 " Honour to my nose, say I then ! — and truly I 
 prophesy that it will be renowned when the hero- 
 ical deeds of its contemporaries are forgotten!" 
 said Basselin. " I wrote a chanson in its praise, 
 which will be sung as long as there are jolly 
 companions in France. It commences thus — but 
 I am a little out of breath to sing the whole — 
 
 " * Beauteous nose ! whose rubies have cost many a pipe 
 Of wine white and red, 
 And with purple and crimson, the richest of stripe, 
 Art gorgeously spread ! 
 
 Big nose ! he who looks at thee through a full glass 
 Deems thee lovelier still ; 
 
 Thou dost not resemble the nose of the ass 
 
 Who makes water his swill !' " 
 
 " In very faith it doth not," said Owen, smiHng. 
 " But I like thy cider better than thy songs : I 
 have drunk but little wine in my day, yet the 
 best mead that I remember no way rivalled it." 
 
 " What manner of drink is mead ? " said the 
 Anacreon of cider, a little piqued in secret with 
 this slight at his poesy. " Surely the tale is not 
 true that in some unhappy countries they drink 
 fermented beeswax and water?"
 
 138 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 ** Honey and water, Maitre Basselin ! " replied 
 Owen, rather testily. 
 
 " Why, then I marvel not that ye are so restless 
 and cannot abide in them. But from what land 
 come you which it has pleased Heaven to think 
 fit only to swill awash of beeswax?" said Bas- 
 selin, pausing as he raised a brimming tankard to 
 his own lips, in seeming curiosity and suspense. 
 
 "Of the sweetest and richest honey, I tell ye, 
 companion, for the which our Wales is famous, 
 and in especial the isle from which I come — the 
 sacred Arvon !" said Owen. 
 
 " The bears of Dauphiny have as good drink, 
 I'll warrant, when they find a swamped bees' nest 
 in a rock," persisted Basselin. " Nay, methinks 
 the fairies brew something like it in all the butter- 
 cups of a meadow, on a dewy morning. But, 
 letting that pass, if you had plenty to drink, even 
 of such poor stuff, why left you your native land, 
 messire, to get hard knocks in making a man 
 king of two countries who can hardly govern 
 one?" 
 
 " I serve not Henry of England ! — I seek for 
 honour and the glory of arms ! " replied Owen. 
 
 " A broken head and aching ribs ! — were none
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 139 
 
 to be had without crossing the seas?" returned 
 the poet of the Vire. 
 
 " Wales is conquered ! — her chiefs no longer 
 gleam along the cloud of battle when it pours 
 down the hills on her foes !" said Owen. " Surely 
 ye have heard the tidings of our defeats and ruin 
 in France ?" 
 
 " We have been too busy of late with our own," 
 said Basselin, calmly refilling his tankard. " But 
 I envy ye, since ye have reached so blessed a 
 state of tranquiUity ! Would to God the duchy of 
 Normandy were well lost ! — For my part I could 
 be content if it were won a dozen times a day, pro- 
 vided it might be effected without the gleam of a 
 lance among our apple-trees. But, alack ! this 
 dispute of our noble kings cannot be settled 
 without damage to our husbandry, it seems ! But 
 how is this, messire, you do me no justice ! Do 
 you call yourself a soldier, and desert a comrade 
 thus in the attack ? Shame ! to arms ! — Drink, 
 drink — here is our weapon ! " 
 
 " I shall need a nobler one, perchance," said 
 Owen, grasping his spear and rising in his stir- 
 rups. " Yonder comes one — that resembles a
 
 140 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 herald ! — perchance some knight follows him, who 
 will joust with me." 
 
 " If you are so anxious for a rough fall, why 
 not jump from some of our rocks here? You can 
 have one of almost any violence at choice," said 
 Basselin ; and, while he spoke, the herald carefully 
 crossed the ford, sounding every step of his way 
 with a long rusty lance. 
 
 There was much that was singular in the ap- 
 pearance of this dignitary which struck both Owen 
 and the merry fuller with surprise. He wore the 
 sleeveless coat of a herald, very rudely painted 
 with a huge lion holding a lily in its paw. He 
 rode on a wretched jade with all its ribs marked 
 as distinctly as on a farrier's skeleton, and his 
 coimtenance was remarkable from its cadaverous 
 paleness, seeming almost as if plastered with white 
 paint. He wore a very flighty herald's cap, set 
 round with peacock's feathers, and the strange 
 contortions into which he writhed his face as he 
 approached amazed the spectators. 
 
 " Art thou the knight of doughty enterprise 
 who waitest here to conquer or to die, and without 
 so much why or wherefore as might stir quarrel
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 141 
 
 and high debate in fowls of wrath, that dunghills 
 tread?" said this singular herald, in full as sin- 
 gular a tone, as he arrived on Owen's side of the 
 ford. 
 
 " I am he who defend this ford — and who art 
 thou ? " returned the Welsh esquire, sternly. 
 
 " I am the herald Peacock, or Paon, as in 
 tongue of court we do it call," replied the herald, 
 with unabated pomposity; and, deliberately draw- 
 ing his legs from the stirrup, he crossed them hke 
 a tailor on his horse's neck. " And eke am I a 
 knight of high renown — at least the servant of one 
 — and like master like man — as your worship may 
 perceive by looking down your varlet's throat agape 
 for news ! — Sent am I to bid you not to go to bed 
 with birds, unworthy company ! — still less to de- 
 part, but to hold yourself in readiness to receive a 
 worthy chevalier who cannot steal from his place 
 of durance to respond to your challenge, till all 
 blessed things are gone to rest." 
 
 " I shall not fail him ! — what are his name and 
 degree ? " said Owen. 
 
 " He is my master — and will shortly be yours — 
 that is all you need know at this present," replied 
 the herald ; and, without any farther conference or
 
 142 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 salutation, he transferred his long legs again to the 
 stirrups, turned his nag's head, and recrossed the 
 water, singing in a loud discordant note, — 
 
 " He vaunted so long and he vaunted so loud, 
 That he startled a dead man out of his shroud ! " 
 
 " Dares Stafford violate his lord's command, or 
 is it some landless adventurer like myself, resolved 
 to win honour at every risk?" mused Owen, after 
 the departure of this strange messenger. But, 
 deeply imbued, as he himself was, with the super- 
 stitions of the age, he was surprised at the terrors 
 which seized Rhys. " It is nothing human, ap 
 Tudor!" he exclaimed. "Look how the good 
 war-horse shudders ! It is the ghost of some 
 herald slain on an embassy ! — Tarry not his 
 sender's coming ; let us begone ! " 
 
 " If it be the fiend himself, spouting flames, I 
 will not budge a foot ! " replied Owen, and yet 
 not altogether undisturbed. 
 
 " I like not yonder herald," said Basselin. 
 " There are no fighters so greatly my aversion as 
 those who have much to win and little to lose ! 
 -Now, to keep a herald and to keep him in rags, 
 argues pride and poverty in equal proportions, — 
 I say, beware his lord, whoever he be ! "
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 143 
 
 This substantial kind of fear removed a much 
 more terrible one in Owen's mind, and he cheer- 
 fully requested Olivier Basselin to stay and wit- 
 ness the result of the encounter. 
 
 " I am so weary of my house and my wife and 
 my children, and all the other good things my 
 thirst has left me, that I consent," replied the 
 Norman, laughing. " It is pleasant to witness an 
 encounter when one cares not which side wins — 
 and it is thus with me at present." 
 
 In the joyous society of the minstrel of the 
 Bocage time passed rapidly, until at length the 
 reddening shadows among the oaks and rocks of 
 the cross rivers reminded Owen that his antagonist 
 ought to have arrived. 
 
 " There will be moonshine enough to be killed 
 by," was Basselin's consolation. " Yonder comes 
 the chaste goddess — staring with her broad im- 
 pudent face over the hills! And yonder, too, 
 comes our adversaiy ! " 
 
 "Can it be Stafford in this strange attire?" said 
 Owen, gazing with astonishment at two figures 
 which appeared deliberately crossing the ford. 
 
 The foremost was a knight of tall and powerful 
 person, but clad in a suit of armour evidently of
 
 144 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 an antiquity so remote that Owen's coat of mail 
 seemed modern in comparison. It was of elaborate 
 and magnificently wrought rings of metal, but 
 rusted and worn in several places as if with the 
 damp of ages. His esquire who followed him and 
 bore his shield, painted with some very ancient 
 blazonry, almost effaced by time, was garbed in a 
 fashion as far out of date, or which one skilled in 
 antiquarian science would have been puzzled to 
 determine. Both wore their vizors closely down. 
 A lion's tail hung by way of plume to the knight's 
 helmet, and a hide of the same animal, grisly as it 
 was torn from its back, was fastened by the front 
 paws over his shoulders and breast. Lance, 
 sword, mace, and battle-axe were his weapons, 
 the brightness of which contrasted with the ill 
 condition of the rest of his array. The extraor- 
 dinary size and strength of his horse and its 
 worm-eaten though still splendid caparison of 
 tapestry velvet, emblazoned with arms in gold and 
 colours, added to the ominous effect of his whole 
 appearance. But Basselin completed it when he 
 exclaimed, — ''Why, who is here — or what? It 
 is the armour of William the Conqueror from his 
 tomb at Caen ! "
 
 GWEN TUDOR. 145 
 
 By this time the stranger knight had crossed 
 the ford, and, reining up his steed in front of his 
 antagonist, seemed to grow stiff and rigid as mar- 
 ble. There was a long silence, during which the 
 Welsh esquire gazed in astonishment and super- 
 stitious dread at the object before him. 
 
 "Art thou not ready, sir champion? — or where- 
 fore dost thou pause?" said the stranger at length, 
 in a deep and hollow voice, in which, however, 
 lurked something of unsteadiness, which might 
 have seemed like laughter to a less pre-occupied 
 listener. 
 
 "You come in marvellous plight, sir unknown !" 
 said Owen at length. "But you are welcome! — 
 by what name shall I bid you so?" 
 
 " Sir of the sheepskin and egg ! — or, by the mass, 
 is it a goatskin? — I know not wherefore aught in 
 my appearance should seem so strange to one who 
 is himself the strangest sight I have beheld for 
 the last four hundred years ! " replied the stranger. 
 "Your vaunts may well rouse the dead, and WiUiam 
 the Norman sleeps at Caen not so soundly as men 
 deem ! Dost thou deny his descendant's right to 
 this land of Normandy, and shall he slumber on ? 
 But, setting aside his bastardy, I trow he was as 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 OWEN TUDOH. 
 
 good a gentleman by birth as any from Wales; 
 and therefore ask me no farther question, but 
 abide the stroke which won England, if thou 
 mayst!" 
 
 During the utterance of this speech, which the 
 speaker himself could scarcely expect to be taken 
 seriously, Owen gazed at him with increasing 
 anxiety. The antique and rusty style of his 
 garniture, the visible remains of a crown which he 
 now discovered on his helmet, the motionless 
 attitude in which he sat his steed, the stony still- 
 ness of the potent animal itself, all contributed to 
 Owen's dismay. 
 
 " Let me behold thy visage — I fear not the face 
 of mortal man — but thou ! — dost thou not jest with 
 me?" he said, in a tremulous voice. 
 
 " Nay, fair esquire, I would not win the victory 
 by indirect means, and to see my face would appal 
 thy life-blood into some thick and breathless 
 coagulation!" replied the unknown. 
 
 "I will not battle with thee! — return in all 
 blessed names to thy tomb ! " said the superstitious 
 Welshman, crossing himself rapidly. 
 
 "Yield thee then my prisoner, and I will lead 
 thee to the camp of Henry Plantas:enet. where
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 147 
 
 thou shalt be passing well received!" returned the 
 stranger. 
 
 "Never! — I will rather perish, and, God and 
 St. Elian aiding, I defy the fiend and all his 
 works ! " exclaimed Owen Tudor. 
 
 " Then take thy distance as I will mine, along 
 this level sward ! " said the knight, turning as if to 
 ride away. But he only moved a few paces, and, 
 laughing outright, he turned again to the youth, 
 who had not stirred. 
 
 "Pardon me, valiant springald!" he said. "It 
 were to carry the jest too far to carry it farther! — 
 I knew how thy Welsh fancies might be worked 
 upon since the dreamer, Glendower, made ye all 
 twice men or twice women with planetary lies! 
 Lo, I am no spectre, but a plain knight of flesh 
 and blood, keeper of the king's trophies — in one of 
 which I was feign to disguise myself to steal from 
 the camp unknown! And this is his lance of 
 Agincourt/* 
 
 So saying, the stranger knight raised his vizor, 
 and, instead of the ghastly countenance of the 
 grave, one appeared, of a somewhat dark com- 
 plexion it is tme, with nostrils, veins, and muscles 
 strongly developed as in a race-horse of the purest 
 
 H 2
 
 148 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 breed, but with a frank good nature and joviality 
 in the bold laughing eyes, the high forehead, the 
 handsome lips, very foreign to that ideal. His 
 black hair clustered in thick rings round his head 
 and on his upper lip. His figure, as he now stood 
 in his weighty armour, was the very model of 
 knightly strength and symmetry, save that the 
 neck was a Httle too long and the flesh was worn 
 somewhat hard and sinewy with constant and 
 violent exercise. 
 
 Indignation and shame contended for mastery 
 in Owen's breast at this discovery, and, with- 
 out in any manner reciprocating the gaiety of 
 his adversary, his fair face grew dark with 
 passion as he exclaimed, — " Let us see if thine 
 earnest be as good as thy jest!" and grasped his 
 lance. 
 
 "Nay, 'tis better; I come again to offer thee 
 our king and his peers' fellowship," replied the 
 knight ; " for, from all I heard, they grieve to 
 lose so mettled a companion." 
 
 "Thou comest in vain, then!" returned Owen, 
 fiercely. " I will hold no fellowship with the son 
 of the murderer of the noble Richard II.! — De- 
 fend him — and thyself ! "
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 149 
 
 "Nay, sir," interposed the stranger's esquire; 
 "you did promise me that — " 
 
 "Peace, peace! — I may not brook this foul 
 slander on the memory of so royal a king — and 
 one who loved me!" repHed the knight, slowly 
 and gloomily, as if recovering from a shock. 
 " Make thee ready, malapert boy ! since nothing 
 but blows can teach thee reason." 
 
 " He will put some false Welsh trick upon thee, 
 my lord ! " said the English esquire. 
 
 " And if he doth ! — I will foil it with a blunt 
 English one," replied the stranger, carelessly ; and, 
 setting his lance in the rest, he rode away to take 
 his course. 
 
 Flaming with passion, Owen dashed off in a 
 contrary direction, and, inwardly revolving how to 
 retaliate the trick which had been played upon 
 him, he bethought himself of the rope and noose 
 used in capturing the wild cattle of the mountains 
 which he bore with him, ignorant that such wild 
 sports were in vogue nowhere out of Wales. He 
 made this ready in his hand as he returned at full 
 speed, apparently to encounter his antagonist, 
 .and, throwing it from a distance, avoided the stroke 
 of his lance, and rushed past with the noose finnly
 
 150 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 fixed round the English knight's girdle ; then, 
 galloping on with all possible speed, he endea- 
 voured to tear him from his saddle. But the 
 promised counteraction was ready. The English 
 knight set spurs to his horse, and, almost instantly 
 coming up to his antagonist, grappled him in his 
 arms with such violence and fury that he tore him 
 from his saddle, and dashed him to the ground. 
 
 "Trick for trick! — cry, umpires, which is the 
 better?" said the English knight, laughing uncon- 
 cernedly and cutting away the rope with his dagger. 
 " 'Tis well it was not round this long crane's neck 
 of mine! So now, good esquire, of all loves I 
 pray thee, let us have a full and honest shock to 
 try which of us is the better man — so may our 
 Lady help us in mortal fray ! " 
 
 " Amen to that ! " cried the exasperated Welsh- 
 man. ** And since thou hast put so great a scorn 
 upon me, and standest here for Henry of England, 
 whom of all men I most hate, let our quarrel 
 be mortal ! " 
 
 "Why, man, I am not of the cannibals of 
 Polonia — what will thy dead carcass advantage 
 me?" said the EngHsh knight, quite calmly. 
 " But I trust ere we part to give thee what shall
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 151 
 
 serve thy turn for awhile, as cutting thy throat 
 would for all eternity ! " 
 
 The English knight's esquire again essayed 
 some remonstrance, but was peremptorily silenced 
 by his lord, and Owen in the meantime remounted 
 and sullenly rode to take the proper distance for a 
 joust, while his antagonist hummed a song and 
 dipped his lance playfully at the daisies as he pro- 
 ceeded in a contrary direction. 
 
 Excited to greater fury by the coolness, amount- 
 ing to contempt, of his antagonist, it is possible 
 that the excessive violence of Owen's onset baffled 
 his own purpose. The matured strength and skill 
 of the English knight also gave him advantages 
 which he well knew how to use. Owen's spear 
 glanced from his breast like light from an iceberg, 
 while himself and his steed were hurled to the 
 ground by the stroke of his opponent's lance. But 
 in a moment he leaped up on his feet, drew his 
 sword, and, flourishing it in wild sparkles in the 
 moonlight over his head, ran with frenzied im- 
 petuosity to meet his adversary on his return from 
 his victorious career. 
 
 "Nay, for I will take no vantages!" said the 
 generous knight, springing to the ground. "Take
 
 152 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 my bridle, Jamie ! — Man to man, I will not shun 
 Hercules himself, that was a good knight when the 
 world was in its pagehood. It hath been foretold 
 to me that only the foe I dread shall overcome me 
 — and I have yet to meet with him ! " 
 
 *' And me that I have but to dare — to do ! " re- 
 turned Owen, reviving in all his strength at the 
 recollection of his prophecy. 
 
 " Aye but mine is the truer oracle, for my own 
 heart tells it me, and no foolish conjuress or sooth- 
 sayer ! " returned the English warrior. And draw- 
 ing his massive sword, though with some slight 
 hesitation, he strode a broad step forward which 
 set him foot to foot with the Welsh esquire. 
 
 Formidable as he was in the strength of his 
 youth and fiery courage, Owen could scarcely 
 be deemed a fitting match for the ripe manhood 
 of his adversary. It struck Olivier Basselin at 
 least in this point of view, and he now ventured to 
 interfere on behalf of his young companion. "Why 
 need ye brattle away like wild boars till one or 
 other is ripped?" he exclaimed. "Ye have done 
 enough to prove yourselves both men of as thick 
 skulls as any warriors in the world, messires ! — 
 and what can ye prove more by splitting them?"
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 153 
 
 " He speaks, sooth ! — I have done as much for 
 thee, esquire, as at this time is needful ! " said the 
 stranger knight, making a gesture as if to sheathe 
 his sword. 
 
 " Then dost thou own thy king a usurper, and 
 his sire an assassin ! " exclaimed the furious Welsh- 
 man; "and I will report in Paris that the 
 English knights dare only fight when they are 
 driven to it, like rats in a ship!" 
 
 " Make ready, then, for I am a little angry — 
 which is a little mad — which is a good deal 
 Welsh ! " said the Enghsh knight, now evidently 
 provoked — and their swords met with a clash which 
 betokened mutual good-will to the encounter. 
 
 It happened with Owen as it had often befallen 
 to his countrymen in their long conflict with the 
 Anglo-Norman conquerors. The fury of his onset 
 exhausted himself, and although the English 
 knight sustained it with more difficulty than he 
 expected, and retreated several steps, receiving 
 some blows which made his rusty armour ring, 
 he was not long in regaining the ascendancy. 
 Owen's breath began to fail, and the vehemence 
 of his attack to slacken. This was the signal for 
 the English knight to return it, which he did with 
 
 H 3
 
 154 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 such violence and overwhelming force that Owen 
 was compelled to retreat before him, scarcely able 
 to cover himself with shield and sword from half 
 the mighty strokes which rained in upon him. 
 Pieces of his armour began to fly about, and, but 
 that it was indeed the masterpiece of Rhys's skill, 
 the flesh must have followed the strokes. The 
 faithful smith himself looked on with the utmost 
 anxiety, but was at the same time unable to con- 
 ceal his exultation and joy in the proof sustained 
 by his handiwork. 
 
 "Blessed David! there's a blow to cleave an 
 anvU! Look how the sparks fly! — but the good 
 steel laughs at it all ! " he exclaimed. " Ha, ha! — 
 hammer away, Saxon ! thou threshest flints." 
 
 " I see no great occasion for rejoicing and 
 laudamus," thought Basselin, "if this gibberish 
 means that." 
 
 "Tut, tut, he is but resting under shelter of 
 those blows ! " said Rhys, adding softly, " But, 
 ap Tudor, they are not shadows of the oak leaves 
 that thou shouldst sleep under them ! " 
 
 Owen felt but too well the necessity of renew- 
 ing his efforts, and these words, pronounced in his 
 native tones, revived infuriating recollections. The
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 155 
 
 English knight was amazed at the excessive vio- 
 lence and rapidity with which he now returned his 
 strokes, intent as it seemed rather on destroying 
 his antagonist than on preserving himself. But 
 his calm and never-wearied sword-play baffled all 
 Owen's attempts to rush in upon him. "Nay, 
 at this sport I could keep all the waves of the sea 
 at bay," he said, neither out of breath nor temper. 
 " Pour on ; so furious a hailstorm cannot last." 
 
 With all his tranquillity, the English knight was 
 watching an opportunity which the blind fury of 
 his antagonist could not be long in yielding him. 
 But several times — as Owen himself could not but 
 feel — when one presented itself, the EngUsh knight 
 refrained from using his advantage. 
 
 "Hold thy hand, good esquire!" he said at 
 last, withdrawing his weapon, when he imagined 
 the Welshman would be glad to do the same. 
 " Let us breathe, and wipe the sweat out of our 
 eyes ! " 
 
 But Owen was unacquainted with the gentle 
 usage of chivalry, which gave all the sanctity of a 
 truce to a pause thus demanded. He was deaf as 
 well as bUnd with fury and pain, and his sword
 
 156 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 descended on the English knight's helmet with 
 such violence that he reeled back several paces. 
 
 " Ha ! disloyal savage ! but it shall little avail 
 thee," shouted the knight, recovering almost in- 
 stantly ; and, rushing forward with a vehemence 
 which he had not yet displayed, Owen's sword 
 shivered like glass beneath his mighty stroke. 
 Still defending himself with what remained of the 
 weapon, he was literally borne down by the blows 
 of his antagonist, on one knee. Yet he manfully 
 maintained the fight, making several vain efforts 
 to regain his feet. In these attempts his guard 
 was necessarily left exposed, and his destruction 
 seemed at hand, when with two blows, heavy as 
 falling timber, the English knight first benumbed 
 his sword arm so that the weapon dropped from 
 it, and then struck off his helmet with another, 
 which followed perhaps without his own desire — 
 for he paused when it needed but another stroke 
 to conclude Owen Tudor's knight-errantry. 
 
 " Yield thee, thou wilful Welshman ! yield thee 
 to Henry of England's mercy ! " shouted the 
 knight. " Helm and sword and leg-bail hast thou 
 lost — and wert thou not unacquainted with any
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 157 
 
 fair usage of chivalry — thine honour too, to strike 
 a knight who proffered parley." 
 
 '' I will not yield to Henry — but rather to 
 death ! " returned the unconquerable esquire. 
 " Take my head to him if thou wilt — but nothing 
 else of me shall go with my consent ! " 
 
 " Why then ! . . " said the English knight, 
 making his sword quiver bluely in the moonhght 
 over Owen's head, who opposed his shield where- 
 ever it seemed likely to descend, with unabated 
 courage. Rhys followed the wavering of sword 
 and shield with clenched hands and panting breast, 
 but without venturing to interfere without his 
 lord's summons. Basselin, however, did not stand 
 on such refined etiquette, and implored mercy in 
 the most vociferous terms. 
 
 " Let him ask and he shall have it ! " returned 
 the English knight. " Answer, boy, for the last 
 time : wilt thou surrender to Henry Plantagenet 
 or not?" 
 
 " Do thy worst, for that will I never ! " repeated 
 the indomitable Welshman. 
 
 " Then with this stroke," exclaimed the Eng- 
 lish knight, raising his sword, and Rhys ut- 
 tered a wild yell, " I dub thee knight, by the
 
 158 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 title of the Chevalier Sauvage ! Live to make 
 ladies simper at banquets, only yielding me as 
 ransom this egg and chain, that Exeter and Talbot 
 may believe when I am boasting at supper." And 
 his sword descended in the gentle ceremonial of 
 chivalry on Owen's shoulder.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 159 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE WAGER OF THE EGG. 
 
 " Generous and noble knight ! — but take rather 
 the heart from my breast ! " said Owen, in mingled 
 WTath and admiration of his victor's generosity. 
 
 ^' Nay, I will have nothing but that egg ! — and 
 that egg I will have," replied the Enghsh knight. 
 " I have a lady's longing for it since you deny it 
 to me so vehemently — and, moreover, I know it is 
 one of your shaggy madman, Glendower's, en- 
 signs of chieftancy in rebeUion." 
 
 " Take it, since it lies, with all its prophecies ! " 
 exclaimed the passionate Welshman, rending off 
 the chain. " Since my first battle yields me only 
 shame and surrender — take it, for it lies most 
 blackly — bidding me only beware of the swordless 
 children of song, and of the strength of the Lion, 
 which is the month that reddens the com, and it 
 is but green grass around us now ! "
 
 160 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 " By St. Lo, it is my company then which has 
 done the harm, and not the windmill strokes of 
 this knight ! " said Bassehn, joyously. " Though 
 my songs are but the whistling of a blackbird in a 
 wood, the girls of these parts have crowned me 
 poet with apple leaves and blossoms — to match 
 my complexion, I suppose ! So let all the shame 
 be mine, and keep the glory to salve your bruises." 
 
 " Meseemeth, I should have my share in 
 bearing that burden," said the English knight's 
 esquire, alighting and raising his vizor. " James 
 of Scotland is known at least for a humble fol- 
 lower and servant of the fair dames whom men 
 call Muses, that do twist their golden hair with 
 stars ! — and I am he." 
 
 " My royal lord ! are you well enough apaid 
 for the wrong put on ye by this wild esquire, or in 
 what further shall I pleasure you?" said the 
 English knight, in a rebuking tone which brought 
 the colour to the young king's cheek. 
 
 " Take from him the chain and egg, and it shall 
 suffice me ! " was his reply. 
 
 " I warn thee, Sir King ! — though at this pre- 
 sent I am not able to withstand, yet will I ac- 
 quire the skill which hath vanquished me, and
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 161 
 
 win back my chain, were it in keeping of the fiend 
 himself ! '* said Owen, whose wrath revived when 
 he perceived the talisman of his fortunes handed 
 over to the Kins^ of Scots. 
 
 " Say you so ? Why, then it shall prove an ad- 
 venture worthy of Tristrem or Launcelot; for I 
 will give it to the keeping of the best knight 
 whom I can find among the chivalry of England 
 — and so of the world ! " returned the prince. 
 
 " And I will challenge it wherever I see it, or 
 whoever dares to withhold it ! " replied the Che- 
 valier Sauvage, flushing darkly. 
 
 " Look that thou remember and observe to keep 
 to the time of this loud music," said the English 
 knight. " And I promise thee fairly that whoever 
 takes this chain shall wear it on all occasions 
 where 'tis hkely ye may meet, be it tournay or 
 field ! — But quarrel not with thy prophecy on this 
 score, for thou seest I bear a lion in my shield — 
 and it was of me, and not of the jolly harvest 
 weather, thy conjuror bade thee beware ! And 
 now give me thine hand in pledge — for I must 
 depart." 
 
 Owen extended his hand in angry ratification 
 of this agreement, and the robust English knight
 
 162 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 gave it a hearty clutch. " Fare thee well ! — I 
 have made thee a knight, and, despite this mishap, 
 a good and stout one wilt thou prove ! But where 
 is the herald, Paon, who may certify the same to 
 show to our friends in Paris, who will else put 
 thee in the rear ranks among the esquires and 
 varletry, where thou canst win no worship on us ? " 
 
 " He is on the farther side of the ford, where 
 you bade him wait — I will summon him," said the 
 King of Scots, with the deference due rather from 
 an esquire to a knight than from a king to a sub- 
 ject. 
 
 "And who art thou, knight, my vanquisher?" 
 said Owen with a deep sigh, but hoping and 
 expecting to hear some illustrious name pro- 
 nounced which might lighten the shame of his 
 defeat. 
 
 "Thou dost not know me then?" returned the 
 knight, carelessly. " But that is well ! — Thou 
 must needs guess that I am poor and landless 
 since I have undertaken this enterprise against 
 the king's terrible menace. But it was not for 
 the honour of England to let thy vaunts pass 
 unanswered, and the King of Scots will stand my 
 friend! My name is Roy — Sir Henry Roy — of
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 163 
 
 the stout English Roys, mark you, and not of 
 those of France, who, for carpet service, wear the 
 lilies in their coats. Thou seest my lily is in a 
 lion's clutch — which is by heralds called a shield 
 of pretence, for I have little more right to wear it 
 than what the claws of my beast afford me. And 
 yet, because my name is Roy, I think to inherit 
 all the lands of these of France — when we have 
 conquered it ! — But this fighting is as hot a trade 
 as a blacksmith's. — Hast a goblet in this wild 
 hostelry of thine whereby I may help myself to a 
 draught from the Hberal stream ? " 
 
 ^' Water ! — dost thou drink water ? Then wilt 
 thou never prove a knight of renown," exclaimed 
 Basselin. *' I hate it worse than a cat, and when 
 I wash myself I am in danger of choking if a 
 drop gets into my mouth! Water! — those who 
 want to poison me need only give me that! If 
 Alexander the Killer had not been dmnk the 
 greater part of his time, he would never have con- 
 quered the world ! Beasts drink water — and is a 
 man a beast? Nay, if you drink water, take 
 fishes for company — not Olivier Basselin ! " 
 
 " Is that thy name? — I have heard of thee, thou
 
 164 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 merry fuller," said the knight of the Lion and 
 Lily, smiling at this effusion. 
 
 " Paon is here — in mother EngUsh hight. Pea- 
 cock the Prudent!" said the pallid herald who 
 arrived at this moment, in obedience to the sum- 
 mons of the King of Scots. 
 
 "Did Garter lend thee one of his emblazoned 
 scrolls, rascaUion?" said the knight, sternly. "If 
 so, produce it, and be silent, unless thou wilt have 
 thy teeth set a-rattling hke thy beloved dice in 
 a box." 
 
 The herald seemed to understand this language, 
 and produced a showily painted parchment, with 
 materials for writing, usually carried by men of 
 his profession, who were frequently called to make 
 sudden exercises in their craft. 
 
 " Thou art skilled in these limnings. Sir King ! " 
 said the English knight. " I pray you write out 
 the whole circumstance of this deliverance of arms, 
 even from the time when we first saw this wild 
 esquire in the camp! Relate with what audacity 
 he came and bearded Henry of England and aU 
 his chivalry ! Omit not his brave encounter with 
 Clarence and Talbot — and then record how Sir
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 165 
 
 Henry Roy, of England, did first beat and then 
 knight him by the title of the Chevalier Sau- 
 vage ! " 
 
 " And add mine oath of the redemption of the 
 chain and egg of destiny!" said Owen, in a man- 
 ner which showed he had valid claims to the de- 
 signation of the Wild Knight. 
 
 "Be it so! — And now, good Olivier, not to 
 speak it profanely, hast thou aught better than 
 the wine they drank in Paradise, within whistle?" 
 said the knight of the Lion and Lily. " For I 
 misHke not thy company, being of those who love 
 a merry chanson and a foaming cup almost as 
 well as fighting." 
 
 "Ay! — but my wife will not let us have any, 
 ueless you send me with an absolute command," 
 replied Basselin. '* I will say ye are marauders ; 
 and, as there are many out on this side of the 
 Vire, we can have as much cider as we please, on 
 that compulsion." 
 
 "Marauders! — it cannot be — the king has 
 strictly forbidden all plundering in these parts," 
 said the knio^ht, starting from an easy attitude in 
 which he had thrown himself on the turf. 
 
 "Truly, messire; but he has only one pair of
 
 166 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 eyes to see his commands obeyed, and the great 
 lords cry 'Halves!' and never another word to 
 our harriers," replied Olivier, calmly. 
 
 " Were not my steed so wear)% I would lend the 
 king the use of mine eyes for the nonce!" re- 
 turned Sir Henry Boy, the strong veins of his 
 forehead swelling, and his brows darkening with a 
 frown of singular fierceness. " But I will repeat 
 what I have learned in a place where words fall 
 acorns and rise oaks." 
 
 "You shall do well— and if you win the king 
 to hang half his army and return with the rest to 
 their own country — better," said Basselin. 
 
 " Bring us as much drink as this purse can 
 answer for," returned the knight, tossing one well 
 filled to Basselin, who looked at it and then at 
 his can, and, turning with solemnity to Rhys, said, 
 " I shall need thee — come with me ! " 
 
 Owen repeated the words to Rhys, who com- 
 plied with some reluctance, murmuring, "She is 
 not a tapster's boy!" and by the time they re- 
 turned with an abundant supply of Basselin's 
 favourite beverages the royal herald had com- 
 pleted the attestation to Owen*s deeds of arms 
 and creation as a knight, which all duly signed.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 167 
 
 "To the health and good speed of our new- 
 made equal ! " said the knight, raising the foaming 
 beaker to his lips. 
 
 " Largesse, largesse ! " shouted the herald, ex- 
 tending both his hands. " I have not long been a 
 herald; but, by the Lord, I do remember me that, 
 when they raise this cry, knights and nobles 
 shower gold upon them ; and good customs should 
 not be lost!" 
 
 " Peace, rogue ! I charge myself with all fines 
 and fees — and take thou this cup as earnest of 
 thine!" said the English knight, handing his 
 empty tankard to the herald, who, after a single 
 maorpie glance into it, forwarded it courteously 
 over to Rhys ap Goronwy. Basselin interfered 
 by refilling the cup in time to prevent the latter 
 fi*om taking offence at what he evidently con- 
 sidered rather in the light of an insult than a jest. 
 But Paon seemed skilled in practical wit, for, when 
 the squire raised his goblet to his lips, it was sud- 
 denly drawn over his shoulder and emptied by 
 another. He glared fiercely around, and Paon, 
 who had done it, fell flat on his face as if dead 
 with fear. 
 
 "Truce with thy follies, ancient! — this is not
 
 16S OWKX TtTDOR. 
 
 Easlcheap, nor are we in the Boar's Head Tarem 
 — Uke wliicli I bade thee bear in miod al some 
 link peril to thy bones^ thou wottest!"* ^Jd his 
 master, sternly* ** Yet, by St George, jolly fuller, 
 thou dost remind me of a lat man whom I loTed 
 once — save that he drank sack and thou driokest 
 cider. Hearen rest his greasy soul! Yet his 
 requiem should be drunk, not sui^!* 
 
 "^^Methinks Ba^shn hath a song that might fit 
 the occasion,^ said Owen, gloomily. ^ Good eat> 
 ing and drinking are all his themets — and, if your 
 fHend was of the same kind, I see not wherefore 
 be should not sing him a fitting dirge."^ 
 
 **Nay, for a aontowlul, lackadaisical, funeral 
 whine, commend yourself to this youi^ chcTalier 
 of your making!^ replied Basselin. ^ I do oft 
 listen to him of an CTening, when he plays on his 
 harp, until I could well consent to go and hang 
 myself up as a scarecrow in mine own orchard, out 
 of mere melancholy ! "^ 
 
 ^ I had liefer hear a trumpet bray, at any time, 
 than the softest lute that eTer warbled loTe!"* said 
 ^ £n^ish kni^t, yawning. ''^ Ther^tMre^ fat 
 IttUer, as I am master of the entertainment, do 
 thou sing something in the tune of thy red
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 169 
 
 nose, and nothing trouble thyself who says nay 
 or no ! " 
 
 " But, fair knight, I am no more a lover of 
 blows than of damsels," returned Basselin. 
 " Hearken, and 'tis ten to one — ye will hear ! " 
 
 VAU-DE-VIRE OF OLIVIER BASSELIN. 
 
 WAR AND WINE. 
 
 " As valiant as CaBsar am I in that war 
 Where the weapons are goblets, and red wine the gore ; 
 Much rather I 'd stagger with drink than a shot 
 That goes slap through your vitals, and, presto — you 're 
 
 TWt! 
 
 The clishclash I love is of bottles and glasses, 
 And the cannons I want will not frighten the lasses* 
 Big pipes of lush crimson are those I require 
 To assail the sole fort, which is thirst, I desire ! 
 
 For my part I think people not over wise 
 Who don't greatly prefer splitting headaches and eyes 
 To a split in good earnest that opens one's crown — 
 What 's the use when one's dead of a world of renown ? 
 
 A head will get better that's hurt with its drink ; 
 It feels badly no doubt when it tries to think; 
 But, once on the pillows, its ills soon depart : 
 And whoever revives from a ball in that part ? 
 
 'Tis much better and safer one's nose to conceal 
 
 In a cup of good liquor than helmet of steel ! 
 
 And, instead of a flag waving glory like mad, 
 
 I should look for a bush that says " Wine's to be had ! " 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 Set me by a good fire, with my cider at hand, 
 And who will, on a rampart, may take his proud stand. 
 I had rather much rather not with mine host make a breach 
 Than mount one to glory, and fall in a ditch ! " 
 
 " Marvellously well ! — I like it well, thou art the 
 bard for me — thy songs will make no rebels," 
 said Sir Henry Roy, laughing heartily, and re- 
 peating the last verse over two or three times. 
 " Basselin, I will live to do thee some good if I 
 may — if ever Normandy is mine ! I mean, if I 
 win my share in it, I will grant thee as much 
 land to grow cider on as a king should grant his 
 minstrel ! — But why does your squire stand, sir 
 knight ? Let him sit with us, for I doubt not he 
 is as good a shentleman as any one of us ! " 
 
 "Nay, sir, for I am held as a prince in my 
 country, and Rhys will not sit in my presence for 
 persuasion or force ! " returned Owen, haughtily. 
 
 " I pity thy courtiers, then, when thou art king ! 
 — their red shanks will ache for it," replied the 
 knight. 
 
 "But I pray you, fair brother,'' said the King 
 of Scots, " let us hear some touch of this Welsh 
 harper's minstrelsy, for men say those of Wales 
 are quaintly skilful on its strings." 
 
 " So be it, my royal lord — yet I trow me your
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 171 
 
 minstrel would rather cry than play," returned the 
 knight of the Lion and Lily. 
 
 This allusion to the mortification and shame he 
 was undoubtedly suffering in secret, stirred Owen's 
 pride and resentment almost equally. But, de- 
 sirous of showing that he set as lightly by the 
 mischance which had befallen him as any Saxon 
 possibly could, he desired Rhys to bring him his 
 harp. So exquisitely did he touch its strings in 
 the strain which first occurred to him, and which 
 was in consonance with the wild defiance and 
 melancholy in his heart, that tears trickled even 
 on 01ivier*s bristly eyelashes. 
 
 " It would coax a squirrel down a tree, and 
 a woman over a housetop," he murmured. " And 
 then look at his fair face ! — Knight, though thou 
 hast vanquished in arms, hear mine oracle ! If 
 women are still the fools they have ever been. 
 thou hast no more chance in contention with him 
 in their favour, than sour beer with claret, in 
 
 mme 
 
 I" 
 
 " Now, by the mass, I deem not so — unless 'tis 
 written in his prophecy ! " said he of the Lion and 
 Lily, who had not listened with so much satisfac- 
 tion as Bassehn. " But to think that a catgut, 
 
 i2
 
 172 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 deftly touched, should make men madmen and 
 rebels ! Yet, withal, I will wager my best suit of 
 armour against the egg-prophecies of the Cheva- 
 lier Sauvage, that if ever he and I should meet 
 among the French dames — and wend you not to 
 Paris, sir ap — ap — Tudor, is it ?" 
 
 "With what speed I may — to crave service 
 against England ! " replied Owen. 
 
 "We may be there not long after thee," said 
 the knight, laughingly. "And I will make this 
 wager, that if thou takest up with any ladye-love 
 there, and wilt give my trumpet-wooing a fair 
 comparison with thy flute music, I will carry off 
 thy dame or damsel or anything but thy widow — 
 which thou may est keep unquestioned ! " 
 
 "That would I freely adventure," repHed the 
 Chevalier Sauvage, colouring, "but that mine 
 horoscope forbids me to woo any but the daughter 
 of a king — with promise that my children shall be 
 kings and the sons of kings ! " 
 
 " By the fiery tail of St. George's dragon ! thy 
 prophecy is the most impudent one that ever lying 
 wizard spoke, and Glendower hath left his withered 
 treasons full of seed ! "exclaimed the English knight. 
 " I will have thy prophecies examined by cunning
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 173 
 
 men, and, if there be any danger in them, either I 
 will cut thy throat or thou shalt wed the daughter 
 of some Welsh king like thyself, and rule to the 
 latest posterity — in imagination ! " 
 
 " Nay, messire, let him take his fair face to the 
 melancholic imprisonment of our Queen Isabeau, 
 in Tours,'* said Basselin; "she is the bird to peck 
 the bloom off a Red- William, or they tell strange 
 Hes of her in Lower Normandy ! And thus shall 
 the prophecy be fulfilled, our good mad king be 
 never the wiser, and our children have pretty 
 kings to rule them ! " 
 
 " Old man, such jests do shame your grey 
 beard ! " said Owen, with a frown and a blush of 
 almost feminine shame and indignation. 
 
 " But Isabeau is no longer a prisoner at Tours," 
 replied the Enghsh knight, " or the project might 
 serve, if we Enghsh wanted more dauphins in 
 the land ! I will let ye into a secret which hath 
 not yet been whispered on many winds. The 
 Duke of Burgundy has rescued Isabeau, and they 
 are now most lovingly complotting the ruin of 
 France in his country of Artois." 
 
 "Then oil and water mingle! — they hate each 
 other like the poisons both are," said Basselin.
 
 174 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 "But these great events matter little to us in Nor- 
 mandy so long as our apples ripen ! Young man, 
 take your elders' advice, and go to the court of 
 John of Burgundy ! The old marygold is not so 
 sweet as a fresh young daisy, it may be ; but what 
 of that? We cannot have everything at once. 
 She is a queen. Go to the court of the Burgun- 
 dian! He will not murder thee at least for her 
 sake; for he has saved her as I might a ferret 
 from the dogs, not that I love it, but to use it in 
 unearthing my game.'* 
 
 "Peace! — or sing us another song!" said the 
 EngHsh knight. "To my thought, BasseUn, and 
 not to flatter thee, I think thou art the best min- 
 strel in all France, he or she, — though I say it, who 
 know not what I say, being altogether unskilled in 
 such lore." 
 
 " Nay, sir, if Mademoiselle Hueline be alive who 
 made those lays the jongleurs sing as hers — there 
 is a much better minstrel in France than Maitre 
 Olivier ! " said the young King of Scots, with en- 
 thusiastic warmth. 
 
 "In her way — which is not mine," replied 
 Basselin, smiling. " She makes the pretty fabliaux 
 and lays that lords and ladies love to Usten to; and
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 175 
 
 in sooth, well enough, for they make one like to 
 die of love and beauty to hear them, though one 
 sees nothing but one's dusty old wife nodding in 
 a corner to the tune." 
 
 " She wrote the beauteous lay of Vulcan and 
 Dame Venus — the gentle legend of the Loving 
 Heart — the tale of the bright Melusine de Lusig- 
 nan!" said the royal literatus. 
 
 "Ay, and half the mad Burgundian ballads they 
 sung in Paris when that side was the upper one ! " 
 said Bassehn. 
 
 "A bardess — a Druidess of the harp ! " exclaimed 
 Owen, whose Welsh ideas associated something of 
 inspired and visionary grandeur with the words, — 
 " If she be alive in Paris, I would rather see such 
 a woman than the stateliest palace or church; for 
 a poet is glorious in the light of his fame, but 
 methinks a poetess that is fair might make man- 
 kind idolaters again ! " 
 
 "I said not she was fair," said Basselin, laugh- 
 ing, at this rhapsody. "And mayhap, if her father 
 had not at one time been chief of the mad com- 
 monalty of Paris, nobody would have discovered 
 that a poor mediciner's daughter can sing like a 
 princess of the old troubadour time ! — for Marie de
 
 176 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 France herself was not fit to tune the lute of Hueline 
 de Troye ! But times are altered : Jean de Troye 
 is in a dungeon, and, for aught I know, she is 
 singing in paradise, for the Armagnacs were not 
 nice as to what sort of birds they put in the pie 
 when three years ago they wrested Paris from the 
 mob/' 
 
 "'Tis like enough," said the Scottish prince. 
 " Raymond of Marseilles was present at a congre- 
 gation of the minstrels in their hospital of St. Juhan 
 of Paris, when she came to resign her chaplet. 
 He hath the fair reasons she delivered, by heart, 
 for, indeed, she sung them in form of a romance, 
 which he calls her lament. This have I EngHshed 
 in what rude manner I best might — for I have 
 rather forgotten my native speech than learned 
 that of the most excellent Chaucer and Lydgate." 
 
 " The crabbed monk ! — I had rather hear a sword 
 sharpened than his rhymes!" said the English 
 knight. " But thou canst use our English tongue 
 better than many of us that were born with it in 
 our heads, and, to be a royal one, art as good a 
 minstrel as I wot of, gentle cousin ! — if I may so 
 call your good highness ! And if this jongleuresse 
 was daughter to that Jean de Troye who ruled the
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 177 
 
 mad Parisians some three months to an end — let 
 us hear her death-notes by all means, — for I like 
 none of the brood." 
 
 " It ran thus — if my memory plays me not 
 truant," said the Scottish prince; and he recited 
 some lines, which we have been obliged to mo- 
 dernize to render intelligible: — - 
 
 hueline's lament. 
 
 " Minstrels, I pray ye list my lay, 
 
 The last Hueline's lips shall breathe : 
 I know that ye will murmur nay, 
 
 Will bid me sing, that Time may wreathe 
 Laurels eternal for my brow : 
 Brothers, it might have been — but now ! — 
 I may not sing of love and joy, 
 
 I will not sing of war and pain, 
 For still, despite of all annoy. 
 
 Laughs in my veins, thy blood, Champagne ! 
 Thy sandiest hills are crowned with vine 
 
 Like sunburned satyrs when they dance — 
 Why should I teach thy lute to pine, 
 
 Thy gayest voice to mourn, my France ? 
 No ! like thy rosy-glittering wine 
 
 My latest memory shall be 
 Whose draughts still in the last drops shine, 
 
 The diamond dews of revelry ! 
 Or if I must perforce lament 
 
 My ruined hopes, my withered prime, 
 
 Minstrels, it shall not be in rhyme. 
 But deeds, of woeful monument ! 
 
 So bid the winds of France rejoice 
 
 Still in Hueline's parting voice ! 
 
 I 3
 
 178 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 Thus 'tis with nightingales that die, 
 
 Thus with the sunset's ruddying close, 
 Thus with the lover's farewell sigh. 
 
 Thus with the dolphin's gorgeous throes 
 I may not sing of joy and love, 
 
 I will not sing of war and pain. 
 And all I am — or yet might prove — 
 
 Must be like brilliant dawns, in vain, 
 Which tempests baffle till 'tis night ! 
 
 Is this a vaunt 1 — ^for well ye know 
 
 If I have sung, and if 'tis so ! — 
 
 Yet might it drearly soothe, to leave 
 Some hearts that watched the bursting light 
 
 Over its sudden dai-k to grieve — 
 And Raymond Marseilles, thou wert one, 
 Wert wont to call my gleam — a sun ! — 
 Ah, well thou know'st that I was born 
 
 Only to sing of love and pleasure : 
 
 But vain were now the laughing measure, 
 The golden wires are rent and torn ! 
 No, friendly minstrel ! do not wrong 
 
 Thine art to bid me yet aspire ! — 
 Once, I had mounting dreams, and song 
 
 Was in my breast like kindled fire 
 That leaps from pile to pile until 
 
 It perishes, still climbing higher ! 
 But quenched is all the generous flame, 
 
 And dead is all the tender glow ! 
 I weary of the hollow fame. 
 
 The shadowy triumph, words bestow ! 
 Yet will I moui'n those vanished years 
 
 Those withered hopes — the fruitless flowers 
 
 Of my profuse spring's budding hours, — 
 And, brothers, yes, these tears are tears ! 
 Though, like the exile of some star 
 
 Ever, in all its gayest moods,
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 179 
 
 My soul hath seemed to dwell afar 
 
 'Neath brighter skies, by greener woods— 
 As if some memory of a past 
 
 More beautiful, more brightly fair, 
 Came over me — and fled too fast — 
 
 As smiling dreams illume despair — 
 Yet did I dream, for 'twas a dream. 
 How, lulled by some enchanted stream, 
 And crowned with flowers of heavenly bloom, 
 
 With one I loved — I know not how — 
 For, veiled as the mystery of the tomb, 
 
 Was all the beauty of his brow,— 
 I sat and sang of love and hope. 
 
 Till all the skies did flush and glow, 
 And my heart swelled beyond its scope 
 
 With some rapt bliss — it ne'er shall know. 
 And say ye nought was given in vain ? 
 
 I tell ye, yea, this soul and heart ! — 
 Save its lost, ineffectual strain, 
 
 In what of theirs have they had part ? 
 Heart ! thou hast sought in vain to fill 
 
 The mighty void that aches within. 
 
 And, soul, what guerdon didst thou win 
 For all thy toil and nameless ill ? 
 A river through a sandy waste 
 
 Through science sped thy gathering wave. 
 By no congenial shore embraced, 
 
 Rolling to some o'erwhelming lave, 
 Some cataract of maddening charm, 
 Where thought may dash itself to calm ! — 
 Oh, were it not a torrent's hell 
 
 To hang for ever fixed though whirling ? 
 'Tis thus with this wild bosom's swell 
 
 O'er the abyss of passion curling ! 
 These thoughts must burst in wrath and ruin, 
 Or be their own dark home's undoinor.
 
 180 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 Therefore, farewell ! — the word is said, 
 
 The thing remains, a blank for ever ! 
 Farewell, my lute ! since hope is dead 
 
 'Tis time, indeed, that we should sever. 
 From lyre of mine no strain shall fall 
 Youth's dancing footsteps to appal 
 Like shrieks unearthly from a vale 
 
 Of magic flowers that seem to bloom, 
 And splendid lights — that fade and pale 
 
 And leave the wretch to night and doom. 
 Farewell ! — it is a lingering word 
 
 That hath methinks a lingering fall ; 
 Farewell, ye minstrels, that have heard 
 
 My first, my latest notes, — ay, all ! 
 Yet, lays my land once loved ! remain 
 
 To say that I have been, but not 
 With any shadow of the pain !— 
 
 I bear, and I will bear, my lot 
 Without a tear, without a sigh, 
 
 For pity or for mockery ! 
 Lonely to live — ^more lonely to die — 
 
 This hath been, minstrels ! — this must be : 
 So let the winds of France rejoice. 
 
 Still in Hueline's parting voice!" 
 
 *'Our Lady's grace! sung she this dolorous 
 dirge — Huehne de Troye?" said Basselin, almost 
 incredulously. 
 
 *^ But what is the wench to us that we waste so 
 much time on her? " interrupted he of the Lion and 
 Lily. " Mine host, our cans are empty, and I 
 remember too well the tapster's charges of old to 
 beheve we have drunk my purse dry."
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 181 
 
 " I will see this minstrelless an she be aUve and 
 in France ! " exclaimed Owen Tudor. "A sorrow- 
 ful lay pleases me well ! What grief was this that 
 darkened so sunny a heart, Maitre Olivier?" 
 
 "Perchance she got married! — I heard she was 
 betrothed to the Master- Butcher's son of the 
 Grande Boucherie," said Basselin, laughing; "so 
 have a care how you venture in among their 
 knives! — Sir knight, I obey: it is not my fault — 
 sobriety is the weaker vessel." 
 
 The bacchant bard staggered a little as he 
 ascended the steep ascent which led to his mill; 
 and during his absence the English knight amused 
 himself by putting a great number of questions to 
 Owen concerning his purposes in France, and the 
 state in which he had left his country. His iras- 
 cible and defying tone, however, at length dis- 
 turbed the good humour of the Englishman. 
 " Ye are a strange race, ye of Wales ! " he ex- 
 claimed. " A man can neither beat nor drink ye 
 into fellowship ! And so, farewell, as your butcher's 
 gleewoman chants it! But wilt thou take the 
 fragile wager of the egg ? I promise thee thou art 
 in no danger to be called upon to remember thy 
 prophecy, in France, where there is only one king's
 
 182 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 daughter to woo — and the lion of England hath 
 already more than an eye on that royal heifer ! Yet 
 the Frenchwomen will not let thy pretty smock 
 face go Scot-free, (I pray thee, pardon me, Sir 
 James!) and 'tis like enough I shall be in Paris 
 when our king gets there — who is on his way! 
 Thou canst not deny I am thy better in arms — 
 and I offer thee a fair and soft means to get back 
 thine egg again, for, in the way of fierceness, I 
 doubt me thou never wilt." 
 
 "It shall be seen!" replied Owen, who was 
 exasperated with the tone of this challenge almost 
 as much as with his defeat. "When we meet 
 again, I may be better skilled in the use of these 
 arms ye vaunt! And for the love of women- 
 yea, where I love, I dare challenge all mankind in 
 rivalry ! " 
 
 " If 'tis with a Frenchwoman, verily, thou wilt 
 find thou hast no fewer to contend withal ! Truly, 
 'tis the wager of the egg since 'tis on a woman's 
 love!" said the knight of the Lion and Lily, 
 laughingly. " Yet thou art more dangerous now 
 since the threats in thy prophecy are spent ! The 
 sons of song and the Lion have done thee all the 
 damage they may ! "
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 183 
 
 Strange as it may appear, Owen's confidence in 
 his horoscope was restored, as if by magic, with 
 these words. His impetuous nature passed rapidly 
 from one extreme to another, and, though piqued 
 by the English knight's generosity, he could not 
 but feel it. BasseUn returned with a new supply 
 of cider, and the conversation was renewed with 
 much more geniality. The vinous humour of 
 Maitre Olivier seemed to the taste of the English 
 knight, whose soldierly joviality won the heart of 
 the minstrel of the Vire. The herald, Paon, and 
 Rhys became the best of friends, and the former 
 retaliated with his stilted eloquence to all the 
 Welsh that poured from Rhys's tongue like a 
 torrent of his own hills, when the snows melt. The 
 poetical King of Scots and Owen Tudor agreed 
 like two fine instruments attuned to one melody — 
 and all was for some time mirth and good fellow- 
 ship where had so lately been war almost to 
 destruction! The morning dawned, the birds 
 sung on every tree, dew glittered on the turf where 
 they held their revelry, when the English knight and 
 his royal esquire departed. Basselin was roaring 
 one of his songs at the pitch of his voice, and was 
 so loth to part with his warlike companion, that
 
 184 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 he fell three times in the effort to embrace him. 
 And Owen was so far elated with the unusual 
 quantity of strong drink which he had swallowed, 
 that he renewed his wager with an addition that 
 showed he was not altogether unaware of his own 
 personal beauty. ''What woman that hath eyes 
 will prefer thee to me?" he said, laughing, as he 
 assisted the Enghshman to his steed. 
 
 "Show me thy love, and I will answer!" re- 
 plied the undaunted knight of the Lion and Lily.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 185 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FRANCE AND PARIS THREE CENTURIES AGO. 
 
 Owen had now fulfilled the terms of his chal- 
 lenge of the Vire, not altogether to his satisfaction; 
 and on the following day he resumed his journey 
 to Paris. He took a kind farewell of Olivier Bas- 
 selin, whom he found in great glee, on ascending 
 to his mill for the purpose. Sir Henry Roy had 
 forwarded him a handsome present of a tun of 
 excellent Bourdeaux, with instructions to send him 
 word if any plunderers again made their appear- 
 ance on the banks of the Vire. We are, therefore, 
 at a loss to discover what "grand' vergogne" it 
 could have been which the manuscript of Ba'ieux 
 records as having been inflicted on the joyous 
 Olivier by the English, and which ultimately 
 caused his demise^-unless some of the barons, 
 whose practices he had revealed, took an oppor- 
 tunity to repay him with a sound cudgelling —
 
 186 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 which is said to be the malady of which he died. 
 It is therefore very unjust of the French minstrels 
 to declare, as they do, in their lamentations on this 
 event, that the English delight in killing poets. 
 
 Quitting Normandy, and entering the Isle of 
 France, Owen pursued his way to the famous city 
 of his aspirations — that Paris which has played a 
 part of mingled brilliancy and terror in all the ages 
 of Christendom. His journey soon brought him 
 on traces of civil warfare, which made him deem, 
 and justly, that the direst foreign one is preferable. 
 Castles in ruin, or tenanted by brigands who 
 ravaged the surrounding districts at pleasure; 
 burned villages; cities jealously guarded, and dis- 
 playing hostile ensigns within a few miles of each 
 other; trampled harvests; smoking farm-houses; 
 peasants wandering in distraction, or perishing of 
 disease and starvation on the roadsides — wearied 
 the gaze of Owen, not unfamiliar in his childhood 
 with the doings of war. 
 
 Eleven years had now elapsed since John the 
 Fearless, Duke of Burgundy, rid himself of his 
 rival in power, and perhaps in love, Louis, Duke 
 of Orleans, by a treacherous and cruel murder. 
 The madness of Charles VI. offered an irresistible
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 187 
 
 prize to the ambition of his brother and cousin. 
 The latter won it — but by means which still excite 
 horror. After long contentions and a feigned re- 
 conciliation — ere the wine of the Eucharist, in 
 which they swore peace and brotherhood, was dry 
 on their lips — Burgundy caused his rival to be 
 brutally assassinated. The brains and gore of the 
 only brother of a king mingled with the mud of 
 an obscure street in Paris, and the deed, openly 
 and daringly avowed by the perpetrator, as a just 
 and necessary act, provoked an undying spirit of 
 revenge. The partizans of the bereaved family 
 flew to arms, and strove with them to obtain that 
 justice which the laws could not inflict on so 
 powerful a criminal. 
 
 Eveiy drop of blood shed in this quarrel fell 
 like the dragon's teeth of Cadmus, on the soil of 
 France, until at length the whole nation might be 
 considered as arrayed in opposite camps. In vain 
 did Charles VI., in one of the intervals of his 
 terrible malady, effect a forced reconciliation be- 
 tween the murderer and the widow and children 
 of the victim. The flames burst out more furiously 
 after every lull, so that, even when the chief of one 
 of the two factions, the young Duke of Orleans,
 
 188 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 became a prisoner in England, his cause flourished 
 so much under the auspices of a new leader, that 
 it finally distinguished itself by his name. The 
 Count d'Armagnac, a Gascon nobleman of great 
 power and possessions, whom the ascendancy of 
 his party created constable of France, wielded the 
 resources, not only of the faction he had espoused, 
 but of the monarchy, in its favour. 
 
 Fortified by the possession of Paris, and of the 
 persons of the king and dauphin, and animated 
 by the most vehement personal hatred of John of 
 Burgundy, the constable directed against his 
 enemy all the force which should have been turned 
 against the foreign foe. Henry continued his 
 conquests in Normandy, with little interruption, 
 save what was offered by the loyalty of the nobles 
 and the ancient hatred between the nations, while 
 the two factions struggled over the rest of the 
 devastated provinces of France. It was even 
 reported and believed that, in his thirst for ven- 
 geance at being deprived of the power he had 
 obtained with so much difficulty, Duke John was 
 in secret alliance with the invaders. 
 
 The constable, though aged, was a man of 
 great sagacity and courage, or he could not have
 
 OWEX TUDOR. 189 
 
 contended so long and successfully with the diffi- 
 culties of his position. He was styled by the 
 Parisians "the fox of Armagnac;" but he well 
 knew how to eke his fox's skin with a piece of the 
 Hon's. And that the Parisians had often dis- 
 covered, or, at least, that large majority of them 
 which the aristocratic languages of Europe have 
 agreed to call the populace. Then, as now, the 
 fiercest and most daring of European common- 
 alties, the mob of Paris was devotedly attached 
 to the Duke of Burgundy. With the usual in- 
 stinct of the rebellious noble, John the Fearless 
 offered himself as a reformer and redresser of 
 grievances — a repealer of taxes — in an age when 
 the ferocious anarchy of feudal government had 
 reached its highest excess in the tyranny of the 
 rulers and the misery of the ruled. All the daz- 
 zling glories of chivalry which accompanied it 
 were only the splendours of a desolating comet. 
 The frantic revolts of the Jacquerie, in the rural 
 districts, and of the Maillotins, in Paris, were 
 indeed quenched in torrents of blood. But the 
 spirit which had kindled them was only spent for 
 the moment, and waited but a chance wind to 
 blow them again into furious flame. Smarting
 
 190 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 under every oppression and degradation which 
 can afflict humanity, it may be imagined how 
 much the reforming pretences of the Duke of 
 Burgundy endeared him to the common people. 
 The terrible energy of his character excited the 
 admiration of so congenial a race, and the jovial 
 familiarity of his manners recommended him won- 
 derfully to men accustomed only to scorn and ill 
 treatment from their masters. His royal birth, 
 and the general success of his enterprises, threw a 
 lustre which half veiled his crimes, while the vast 
 territories and alliances of the house of Burgundy 
 furnished his violent and ambitious policy with 
 ample means and instruments. The Constable 
 d'Armagnac could therefore count among his foes 
 almost the whole populace of the city, which was 
 his chief place of strength and refuge. 
 
 On the other hand, the wealthier citizens and 
 burghers of Paris were Armagnacs to the back- 
 bone. That is to say, they were people who 
 desired to keep what they had got — of which the 
 ascendancy of the mob and of a mob-courting 
 chief, threatened to deprive them. It was by their 
 aid and vigorous support that the Armagnacs 
 expelled their enemies from Paris, and kept pos-
 
 OWEX TUDOR. 191 
 
 session of it against all the efforts of the Bur- 
 gundians. The awe and reverence which even the 
 pageant of royalty inspired, gave incalculable 
 strength to the former faction, who were in pos- 
 session of the persons of the royal family. At the 
 period we are entering upon, the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy had lately retired in discomfiture from an 
 attempt to regain the capital, and the only circum- 
 stance which for a considerable time occurred to 
 revive the hopes of his partizans, was the escape 
 of Queen Isabeau, and her open alliance with him 
 against the authority of her husband and son. 
 
 It scarcely needed such a wife as Isabeau de 
 Baviere to complete the w^oes of Charles VI. 
 But Isabeau de Baviere was his queen — a woman 
 who united very few of the good qualities of her 
 sex to nearly all the bad ones. Haughty, extra- 
 vagant, revengeful, and licentious, France owed to 
 her a great part of all the miseries which wrung 
 its vitals during that unhappy age. In right of 
 some parchment signed by Charles, in what her 
 partisans were pleased to style a lucid interval, 
 Isabeau claimed the government of France and 
 the title of Regent. The dauphin's pretensions 
 to this dignity kindled a rivalry between the mother
 
 192 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 and son which circumstances deepened, in the 
 former, to mortal hatred. Her rapacity, and 
 scarcely disguised profligacy, furnished her enemies 
 with abundant pretexts to effect her overthrow. 
 They even managed to excite the jealous wrath of 
 the royal madman himself against her. He caused 
 one of her favourites, a knight called Louis de 
 Bourbon, to be seized, put to severe tortures, and 
 finally drowned in the Seine, after making such 
 confessions as suited the views of his capturers. 
 On evidence thus obtained, the queen was banished 
 from the court, and confined in the castle of Tours, 
 with every circumstance of indignity likely to chafe 
 a proud and vindictive spirit into fury. The great 
 treasures she had amassed, her jewels, money, 
 plate, and precious furniture — for she delighted in 
 magnificence — were seized and divided as a booty 
 among the spoilers. The poor state, in whose 
 name it was all done, did not certainly receive the 
 lion's share in the scramble. The escape of this 
 turbulent and exasperated woman, by the aid and 
 to the protection of the Duke of Burgundy, once 
 her bitterest foe, struck as much consternation 
 into his enemies as if he had received the assistance 
 of an army !
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 193 
 
 Our knight-errant came as fuel to the fire, yet 
 he could not but feel grief and compassion at the 
 sight of the woes which are the ashes of military 
 glory. The nearer he approached Paris, where 
 the struggle had of course been deadliest, these 
 signs multiplied. The hideous devastation, visible 
 on every side, oppressed his young spirits with a 
 sadness which he never dreamed to experience on 
 approaching the hoped-for scene of glory and 
 success. There were dangers also on the way, 
 from which only his military garb, or perhaps its 
 little splendour, protected him. The ruined villages 
 around Paris were haunted by cut-throats and 
 brigands, who pursued their trade with perfect im- 
 punity. Disbanded soldiers and houseless peasants, 
 or wretches which the city itself disgorged, lay in 
 wait, in almost every solitary spot, to surprise the 
 hapless traveller. This kind of spoliation was 
 exercised at times with the formality and organized 
 rapacity of a state levy. Exemptions were sold in 
 Paris, and protected their bearers a good deal 
 more substantially than a legal passport. Even 
 the wolves, which abounded in the forests around 
 Paris, had acquired a more than natural ferocity. 
 They swam up the Seine by night, and ravaged, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 almost at pleasure, on both shores of the river. 
 One of them, the shortness of whose tail, lopped 
 off in some ancient skirmish, procured him the 
 title of Courtaud, became the terror of the women 
 and children of Paris by worrying divers person- 
 ages of those orders. 
 
 On the whole, therefore, it was not without 
 reason that even the valiant descendant of Arthur 
 congratulated himself when, arriving beneath the 
 walls of Paris, he heard the hollow echo of his 
 horse*s tramp on the draw-bridge of the Gate of 
 St. Germain. Two heads, baked black in the 
 sun, adorned the portcuUis, the cheeks of which 
 were tanned to leather, and showed the teeth in a 
 ghastly grin. Little red sawtres, or crosses of St. 
 Andrew, driven into the skull, showed that they 
 were those of partizans of the Duke of Burgundy, 
 and testified to the relentlessness of civil hate. 
 
 Everything marked the vigilance of apprehen- 
 sion. The long line of wall from the Tower of 
 Nesle on the left, whose gloomy round bulk con- 
 cealed the waters of the Seine, to the fortified 
 masses of the Convent of the Jacobins on the 
 right, gleamed ever and anon with the spears of 
 warders, flaming Hke torches in the sun, whose
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 195 
 
 persons were concealed in the depth of the battle- 
 ments; the long cannon of the age jutted like 
 masts from every " coign of vantage;" and occa- 
 sionally the sparkle of a resplendent suit of ar- 
 mour, or the waving of a lofty plume, announced 
 the superintendence of some knight or officer of 
 rank. 
 
 A Serjeant of the Provost of Paris, attended by 
 a guard of archers, examined Owen and his at- 
 tendant, on their entrance, inquired their country, 
 business, and many other particulars, while a clerk 
 of the same jurisdiction carefully recorded their 
 replies. The expressions of surprise, and signi- 
 ficant smiles which these functionaries exchanged 
 in their task, with his previous experience, admo- 
 nished Owen that it would be necessary to make 
 some change in his attire before presenting him- 
 self to Parisian notice. He therefore inquired his 
 way to the principal part of the town, determining 
 to take a few days' rest, and remodel his warlike 
 array, ere he offered his services to the constable. 
 In the fifteenth century, this was, of course, the 
 Isle of the City, and thither he took his way. 
 
 To one like Owen, who had never seen a larger 
 city than Chester, the aspect of Paris was truly 
 
 K 2
 
 196 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 astonishing. The immense masses of the Uni- 
 versity, which he passed, particularly attracted his 
 notice. He remembered, with a smile, how often 
 he had been wearied with the regrets and eulo- 
 giums of the monk of Llanvaes, his tutor, who 
 w^as educated in its precincts. The stories which 
 he was wont to tell of the great power and pri- 
 vileges enjoyed by this learned corporation, of the 
 audacity with which it measured its strength 
 against the royal authority, occurred to Owen in a 
 less incredible hght now that he beheld its vast 
 estabHshments. The bold pranks of the scholars, 
 their contests with the citizens of Paris, and with 
 the abbot and monks of St. Germain, their licen- 
 tious revelries, related in the way of warning, 
 came back on his memory. Yet the monk de- 
 tailed these reminiscences with an unction which 
 perhaps allowed some nearer connection with the 
 subject-matter than the invariable third person of 
 his narrative seemed to confess. Owen looked 
 about with curiosity to see some of those wild 
 springalds ; but it was probably a time of study, 
 for only a few old friars, or grave professors, cross- 
 ing the squares, book or rosary in hand, met his 
 curious eyes.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 197 
 
 Owen was more surprised to find that a 
 similar silence and desertion reigned in the dis- 
 trict which he traversed towards the city. Passing 
 under a black castellated pile of masonry, called 
 the Petit Chatelet, he found himself, with his at- 
 tendant, on a bridge of three arches, which, being 
 of stone, was considered a wonderful specimen of 
 ait and magnificence by both. This they crossed, 
 and, thus arriving in the Isle of the City, became 
 entangled in a multitude of narrow and winding 
 streets, whence they suddenly emerged in the 
 great square, or parvis, of Notre Dame. 
 
 Hitherto Rhys managed to conceal his share in 
 his lord's admiration with the imperturbability of 
 a man who had seen the world, or of a savage. 
 He confessed, indeed, to some Httle surprise at the 
 deserted aspect of the streets ; but the strangeness 
 and pomp of the spectacle on which they now 
 unexpectedly burst threw him off his guard. He 
 uttered a true Welsh exclamation, that is to say, a 
 yell, which immediately attracted the notice of the 
 bystanders. 
 
 It was not alone the magnificent cathedral, 
 wrought from the summit of its towers to their 
 base with ornaments exquisitely light, graceful,
 
 198 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 and multitudinous, as a pattern of lacework, and 
 which, etched sharply into relief by the noonday 
 sun, seemed chased in silver; nor the coloured 
 splendours of the famous rose-window; nor the 
 majestic line of crowned statues which stood like 
 a guard of kings over the portals of the august 
 edifice, that dazzled Rhys into so unworthy a for- 
 getfulness of the stoicism becoming his dignity. 
 A living and more marvellous spectacle was of- 
 fered to his gaze. 
 
 Rhys and his young lord had reached the end 
 of one of the obscure streets which formerly ren- 
 dezvoused in the parvis of Notre Dame. Farther 
 they could not advance. A vast multitude, closely 
 packed and wedged together, occupied about 
 three-fourths of the whole area, until breasted by 
 the cross-bows of a guard, which kept a consider- 
 able space before the cathedral clear. Behind 
 these weapons was visible a square framework of 
 timber, raised on a stage, which went on iron 
 rollers. It was gaudily painted ; but Owen im- 
 mediately conjectured it to be a moveable gibbet, 
 from the appearance of a personage who seemed 
 to have charge of it. A tall, slender man, the 
 wiry undulations of whose form gave him the ap-
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 199 
 
 pearance of a serpent raised upright on its tail, 
 was leaning in an attitude which he certainly- 
 meant to be rather graceful and seductive, against 
 the main timber of the erection. His thin visage, 
 projecting mouth, and oily brown complexion in- 
 creased the resemblance. Tlie axe which he held 
 on his shoulder, and his bare arms crossed on his 
 breast, seemed to mark him as a public executioner, 
 but that the gaiety of his apparel was opposed to 
 the idea. He was dressed in scarlet baize, flutter- 
 ing all over with parti-coloured ribands, and wore 
 a curious headpiece resembling a crown of red 
 lacquer. And Owen Tudor was not sufficiently 
 civilized to understand what kind of criminal it 
 could be, which, in the shape of a scroll of parch- 
 ment, inscribed with words in large Gothic cha- 
 ractei-s, hung on the gibbet. 
 
 A knight of herculean proportions, massively 
 armed, with vizor barred, and wielding a mighty 
 mace of steel stuck with long spikes, rode slowly 
 up and down the open space as if to observe that 
 it was kept clear. A mass of archers, with bent 
 bows, lined the inner side, behind whom was a 
 squadron of knights armed cap-a-fee, with black 
 plumes in their helmets, and white linen scarfs
 
 200 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 round their waists. Owen knew that this was the 
 badge of the Orleanists, by which they kept 
 themselves in remembrance of their chief's un- 
 timely shroud. 
 
 The next object which caught the eye in its 
 progress, was a tall old warrior, leaning on a naked 
 sword of extraordinary size, on the lowest grade 
 of a platform which ran the whole breadth of the 
 cathedral. His long white hair flowed over his 
 armour like snow on a wintry fir. The mixture 
 of severity and craft visible in his countenance, 
 the antique shape and magnificence of the jewelled 
 baldric and scabbard with which he was girdled, 
 made Owen conclude that he was the Constable 
 d'Armagnac. His robe of black velvet was also 
 embroidered with arms, intertwisted with scrolls, 
 on which was incessantly repeated the motto of 
 the faction of Orleans. "Je V envie^'' — ^^ I want if* 
 — was the plain-spoken device assumed by Louis 
 of Orleans, to express his purpose of wresting fi-om 
 the Duke of Burgundy that power in the state 
 which he believed to be his right. To which John 
 the Fearless replied by a motto which showed that 
 he considered he held his sway by at least nine- 
 tenths of the law, "Je le tiens' — " I have it"
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 201 
 
 The platform itself was occupied by a great 
 number of personages, evidently of the highest 
 rank, seated on a bench covered with black taffe- 
 tas. Much variety of costume was discernible, 
 but the ecclesiastical greatly preponderated, as was 
 natural at a period when all offices, which required 
 a slight sprinkling of learning, were filled either 
 by priests or their rivals of the long robe. More- 
 over, as subsequently appeared, the occasion was 
 of an ecclesiastical character. 
 
 But Owen's gaze was riveted, almost as rapidly 
 as it could traverse the intermediate space, by an 
 object which seemed to be the key-stone of the 
 whole portentous assemblage. About the centre 
 of the platform was an elevation of three grades, 
 covered with black velvet, on the top of which, in 
 a great chair or throne, apparently of beaten gold, 
 under a canopy held aloft on gilded poles by four 
 peers of France, sat a strange yet kingly phan- 
 tom. A long, lean, and pale countenance, every 
 line of which seemed sunk into the deepest fur- 
 rows of grief and mental anguish, bore upon its 
 woful brows a massive crown of gold, set with 
 precious stones, which shot out long beams of 
 parti-coloured light. The figure sat as immove- 
 
 K 3
 
 202 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 ably as if fashioned of stone ; but the royal mag- 
 nificence of the purple robes in which it was ar- 
 rayed, thickly sown with fleur-de-lys of pearls; 
 the long sceptre which it held lifelessly in its 
 hand ; the dazzling shield of the arms of France, 
 supported over the back of the throne by two gor- 
 geous heralds, sufficiently announced to Owen 
 that he beheld the unhappy king, Charles VI. 
 
 Possibly rather as keepers than that etiquette 
 prescribed their presence in such a locality, two 
 personages of august rank stood on each side of 
 the throne. A broad and plump visage on the 
 king's right glowed between the weight of an 
 archiepiscopal mitre ; on his left was a dignitary 
 who, though his robes revealed the fact that he 
 was in armour, judging by the vast bunch of 
 golden seals which he carried, was the Chancellor 
 of France, Henri de Marie. 
 
 Owen glanced with astonishment over this spec- 
 tacle, and then among the surrounding crowd, for 
 an explanation. His surprise increased when he 
 remarked how profound was the stillness which 
 reigned over so great a multitude, among whom 
 were many women and children. He saw that 
 it was chiefly composed of persons belonging to
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 203 
 
 the lower ranks of the people — classes not much 
 given to silent contemplation. But there was a 
 feverish intensity in every gaze, a pallor on every 
 cheek, which testified to some great and general 
 cause of disquietude. 
 
 All that he could observe to account for this, 
 was, that the huge mass was hemmed in on all 
 sides by bodies of well-armed burghers, while the 
 populace seemed altogether without weapons — a 
 very unusual circumstance at a period when every 
 man's safety lay in the strength of his own arm, 
 and individual courage was almost the sole police 
 — certainly the sole efficient one — even in the best 
 managed cities of Europe.
 
 204 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE CLAMOR AD DEUM. 
 
 Owen remembered that, on the triumph of the 
 Armagnacs, they had taken care to disarm the 
 rebelhous populace whom the Burgundians allowed 
 to become despotic lords in Paris. But this did 
 not explain the meaning of the spectacle ; and he 
 turned to inquire it of a young man who had been 
 for some time eyeing him with curiosity. 
 
 The Parisian wore a scarlet robe, fastened by a 
 girdle, and a black furred cap, set dashingly on 
 one side of a great profusion of light, curling, 
 flaxen hair. His nose was rather cocked, but, on 
 the whole, he was very good-looking, and had a 
 gaiety and vivacity of expression which pleased 
 the young knight. Nevertheless, he repHed in a 
 low and hesitating tone, which showed he was not 
 untainted by the general alarm. " We are met
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 205 
 
 for the execution of a criminal, messire, and to 
 celebrate the anniversary of an event which, in 
 certain parts of France, is called a just judgment, 
 and in Paris (at present) a murder ! For my part 
 I call it neither, but the abrupt demise of Mon- 
 sieur Louis of Orleans." 
 
 " But where is the criminal?" said Owen, after 
 an anxious stare at the gibbet. " It is not yonder 
 uncouth wretch, is it, whose carcass seems as bossy 
 and gnarled as a stunted oak, and his visage as dull 
 and ferocious as a red bull's o-larino; tliroug^h a hed2:e?" 
 
 " That gentleman, messire, is the varlet of Mon- 
 sieur Capeluche, the executioner," replied the Pa- 
 risian. " The criminal is already suspended ! — Do 
 you not mark it waving backward and forward in 
 the wind? But you seem of too good hneage to be 
 able to read ; wherefore you will pardon me if I 
 inform you (being myself a poor clerk of the Ba- 
 soche, xulgb, a student of laws), that yonder scroll 
 dangling on the gibbet is inscribed with the pro- 
 position on which Master John Petit based his 
 defence of my Lord of Burgundy, against those 
 who maintain that killing is murder." 
 
 This reply needed some farther explanation be- 
 fore Owen comprehended it, which the student of 
 laws, though with some hesitation, afforded him.
 
 206 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 The University of Paris, which enjoyed great 
 power and influence throughout Christendom, as 
 the repository of the learning and wisdom of the 
 age, was, as a body, attached to the cause of the 
 Duke of Burgundy. This was not wonderful, 
 considering that, since the time of Prometheus, 
 mind and force have been at variance, both wish- 
 ing to enjoy the same thing. One of the members 
 of the University, the famous, or infamous, Doctor 
 Jean Petit, publicly defended the murder of the 
 Duke of Orleans, before the court and parliament, 
 with an audacity of pedantry which covered him 
 with honours and rewards from the Burgundians. 
 The proposition by which he laboured to give a 
 religious and political sanction to a treacherous 
 assassination, was to the effect that it is lawful to 
 destroy a tyrant by any means, and that the Duke 
 of Orleans, being a tyrant, was lawfully destroyed 
 by the horrible means employed. This proposi- 
 tion, painted in fine large Gothic characters on 
 parchment, now graced the moveable gibbet of 
 Montfaucon, before the gaze of the people assem- 
 bled in the parvis of Notre Dame. 
 
 " Truly, to destroy a tyrant, I hold it lawful, too, 
 — but by fair and open means, with lance and 
 sword ! " said the Welsh exile.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 207 
 
 " Verily, say you so — and in this presence ? " 
 replied the student of laws, in a startled under- 
 tone, and surveying the young knight with more 
 attention than ever. "Surely, sir stranger, you 
 do not hold with a proposition which is to be 
 solemnly anathematized this very day, by yonder 
 jolly archbishop and all the clergy of Paris?" 
 
 *' Certes, no!" replied the Chevalier Sauvage, 
 in an awestruck voice, which testified amply to 
 the political expediency of the measure. " But 
 what strange fancy is this, to gibbet a piece of 
 calfskin?" 
 
 " That is to be the least of its sufferings," re- 
 plied the clerk, smiling. " It has to be torn to 
 pieces, disembowelled, turned inside out, by a pub- 
 He executioner ! — Not yonder gory coxcomb, but 
 one of a more dangerous complexion — by a scho- 
 lar of divinity ! " 
 
 " Charity, messires, for the love of the Five 
 Wounds, to an old soldier of the wars ! " inter- 
 rupted a voice almost close behind Owen and his 
 interlocutor. Both — but especially the clerk — 
 looked at the speaker without much satisfaction. 
 A tall, sallow-complexioned beggar, attired in the 
 tattered remnants of a military garb, whose long
 
 208 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 body hung over in a curve, from its habitual attitude 
 of craving or cringing, was there. His head was 
 bound with disgusting rags, and one of his eyes 
 seemed lost, for the socket was covered with a 
 leaden reliquary. But that which remained had 
 an expression of keen penetration and inquiry, 
 from which the clerk of the Basoche involuntarily 
 shrunk. 
 
 " Under whose banner hast thou served, friend?" 
 said he, with an affected carelessness, and throw- 
 ing him a small coin. 
 
 " Under any that was willing to let a poor sol- 
 dier follow it for plunder, and no pay," returned 
 the beggar. " Methinks this young knight should 
 have some fellow-feeling with rae, for he seems to 
 have travelled far on the same errand?" 
 
 " I come from beyond the seas ; but, I trust, to 
 serve more honourably in these wars of France ! " 
 said Owen, haughtily. 
 
 " Honour is a good thing — but gold is a bet- 
 ter," repHed the beggar. "And there are more 
 florins, and of truer weight, in the treasury of the 
 Duke of Burgundy than in that of the King of 
 France!" 
 
 " Gossip, you talk loudly ! — and I do marvel I
 
 OWEX TUDOR. 209 
 
 see not a single butcher in all the crowd ! " inter- 
 rupted the student of laws. " What has become 
 of Simon Caboche, and all his worshipful com- 
 pany? 
 
 " They are penned, like their own oxen, in the 
 shambles," said the beggar, with a husky laugh. 
 " The Armagnacs dare not invite Burgundians 
 with weapons in their hands to their festivals ; and 
 the butchers cannot be disarmed, unless my lord 
 the constable and his knights exercise their w^ar- 
 like skill in the Grande Boucherie, to fell us our 
 meat!" 
 
 " Spears and drawn bows may keep Simon and 
 his men in bounds ; but by what magic do they 
 keep his quicksilver son, Renaud, away from a 
 sight?" said the student, shuffling uneasily to 
 some little distance from the intrusive mendicant. 
 
 " Look, then, Master Roman de la Rose, and 
 see ! " cried a vivacious, ringing voice, close at 
 hand. Owen immediately noticed a youth about 
 his own age, of a dark but lively countenance, 
 and with an expression of recklessness and auda- 
 city which harmonized well with his flaunty holi- 
 day costume. His hose were of different dyes, 
 and he wore a parti-coloured doublet of blue and
 
 210 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 crimson, while his cap, of green and yellow velvet, 
 was set with a singular ornament in the shape of 
 a bull's tail, the hair of which was twisted with 
 gold thread, and hung to his girdle. 
 
 But at the moment Owen made this observa- 
 tion, a violent rush and tumult around him turned 
 his attention in another direction. This was caused 
 by a contrary and simultaneous movement of the 
 crowd, and of the soldiery who guarded the royal 
 scaffolding. On one part the pressure of curiosity 
 caused the populace to roll forward, when a side 
 portal of Notre Dame opened, and the Bishop of 
 Paris, attended by a long procession of his clergy, 
 bearing lighted wax-tapers, and rehcs in magni- 
 ficent shrines of gold wrought with precious stones, 
 and solemnly chanting, came forth. They were 
 followed by the chief doctors and dignitaries of 
 the University, to make room for whose advance 
 the masses were driven violently back. To com- 
 plete the confusion, a multitude of scholars of the 
 University, who were watching their opportunity, 
 suddenly attempted to force a way, in a body, 
 through the crowd to the cathedral. 
 
 The scholars were armed with staves, which 
 they laid about them with the most reckless in-
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 211 
 
 science, shouting and laughing in uproarious 
 tumult. Indignant at the rough, though much 
 more respectful manner in which they endeavoured 
 to push past himself, Owen set his horse in motion, 
 and its iron panoply soon bore him a long way 
 through the foremost pressure, to the barrier of 
 spears and crossbows. 
 
 "Drive them all back, scholars and all, with the 
 veriest rabble ! " shouted the powerful knight with 
 the mace. " I care for no privileges ! While 
 Taneguy Duchatel is Provost of Paris, the king's 
 law shall over-ride all others ! Level your partizans 
 and drive them back — all save our brother of 
 chivalry, whom we marvel to see among them ! " 
 
 The mere voice and gestures of the terrible 
 provost produced a powerful effect even on the 
 riotous scholars, who, in general, despised every 
 species of restraint. Moreover, a good number of 
 them had reached advantageous positions, and 
 now applied their endeavours to prevent the ad- 
 vance of the crowd they had displaced. The 
 tumult quickly subsided, and Owen found himself 
 close on the circle of archers, within which the 
 procession from the cathedral was slowly passing. 
 Rhys was separated from him by a broad expanse
 
 212 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 of heads and shoulders, but was making the most 
 violent efforts to follow his master. He desisted, 
 however, on a signal from the latter; and then 
 Owen had leisure to perceive that he had proved 
 of advantage to those with whom he was con- 
 versing when the movement commenced. The 
 clerk and the beggar were on either side of him, 
 holding by his stirrup; and, with a laugh of boyish 
 gaiety, Renaud Caboche suddenly dismounted 
 from the crupper of his horse, upon which he had 
 leaped with the light dexterity of a clown in a circus. 
 
 "I held up the tail for Master Roman to mount, 
 but he preferred coming a-foot!" said Renaud. 
 "And this makes my father's proverb good, that 
 you may make something of the bark of your 
 enemy's dog, if you are wise." 
 
 " Why dost thou call me an enemy?" said Owen, 
 laughing good- hum ouredly at the trick. 
 
 "Are you not an Armagnac?" returned the 
 youth, suddenly knitting his brows into so fierce 
 a frown that Owen was almost startled, 
 
 " Why, so should we all be, within reach of that 
 mace, Renaud ! " said the law student, in a depre- 
 cating tone. " But let us be silent now, for yonder 
 comes the venerable young man who is appointed
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 213 
 
 to explain the damnable nature of Master Petit's 
 doctrine to the people, and to announce the 
 penalties of believing in it ! Yonder he comes, 
 that flower of deadly nightshade and of the 
 Sorbonne — Master Perrinet le Clerc ! " 
 
 "What is he?" demanded Owen. 
 
 " If you ask his father, old Perrinet the iron- 
 monger, he will tell you he is the most disobedient 
 profligate in all Paris," returned Roman de la 
 Rose. " If you extend your inquiries to the Val 
 d' Amour, or the Pre aux Clercs, you will learn 
 that he is no hater of women nor wine, and that he 
 can cut a throat as valiantly and quarrel as cause- 
 lessly as any soldier of you all ! But, if you step 
 into the halls of the Sorbonne, you will hear that 
 he is so deep in Aristotle — and that there are so 
 few Armagnacs among its scholars to choose 
 from — that the University was compelled to ap- 
 point him to the honourable position he now enjoys. 
 But do not be too much convinced by his argu- 
 ments; he would plead as zealously and con- 
 scientiously on the other side, or on any side." 
 
 The personage thus characterized was now dis- 
 tinctly in view, for he had ascended the gibbet, 
 escorted by a number of grave-looking doctors and
 
 214 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 magnates of the University. His appearance was 
 rather remarkable. He wore the dark robe of a 
 scholar in the theological college of the Sorbonne, 
 and a tonsure, slightly indicated amidst the masses 
 of his shining coarse black hair, marked him as an 
 aspirant to the clerical dignity. He was hand- 
 some, according to a French standard. His 
 features were regular, his cheek-bones only a little 
 too prominent, his eyes bright and audaciously 
 confident, his complexion clear and definitely 
 coloured as the figures on an Etruscan vase. A 
 scroll of parchment in his hand, an attitude of 
 studied elegance and arrogant modesty, completed 
 the personage of the clerical orator. 
 
 Owen looked with particular attention at this 
 specimen of a species of which he had heard so 
 much in his childhood. It happened by chance, 
 or by the singular attraction which the eye exer- 
 cises, that Perrinet's encountered Owen's in the 
 course of this survey. What there could be in his 
 look to cause displeasure Owen could not guess, 
 but the scholar gave him a malignant leer, which 
 was so absolutely unprovoked and instantaneous, 
 that he almost doubted his own observation. 
 
 Meanwhile some ecclesiastical dignitary, pro-
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 215 
 
 bably the rector of the Sorbonne, read aloud a 
 decree of that learned body, appointing Mastei 
 Perrinet, son of Master Perrinet le Feron, citizen 
 of Paris, to the office of defending, against all 
 gainsayers, the anathema of the false and heretical 
 thesis of John Petit, doctor of theolog}^, solemnly 
 condemned in full consistory by the bishop and 
 clergy of Paris. This distinction, the speaker 
 declared in a pompous preamble, was conferred 
 upon the orator, notwithstanding his youth, in con- 
 sideration of his merits and eloquence. 
 
 **That a dean of Notre Dame should lie so 
 grossly in the face of all Paris ! " murmured Roman 
 de la Rose. "But I should hke to know, if 
 Aristotle himself were in these parts and saw that 
 gibbet, whether he would undertake to gainsay its 
 owners?" 
 
 "Let us at least hear what he has to say," ob- 
 served Owen. 
 
 "The cause must be bad indeed that has no- 
 thing," replied the young lawyer. " He will quote 
 the Scriptures, I promise you, for all he alleges! 
 I have heard him keep a tavern in a roar by the 
 hour, merely with good texts villanously applied." 
 
 As he spoke, the scholar of the Sorbonne
 
 216 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 turned his back on the multitude while the doctors 
 descended, leaving him on his strange rostrum. 
 Owen perceived that he even made a gesture of 
 obscene contempt to the populace, when, kneeling 
 down, he asked permission of the august audience 
 on the platform to commence. At least the uproar 
 of laughter among the scholars, and the shouts of 
 "Vivat Petrus!" which resounded on all sides, 
 seemed to indicate that they perceived a jest in 
 his peculiar attitude. 
 
 In the usual style, but with an excess of humi- 
 lity which, to those who were acquainted with the 
 boldness and irreverence of his character, was not 
 far from mockery, Perrinet first professed his ut- 
 ter unworthiness of so great an honour, and then 
 requested permission to prove, from the writings 
 of the fathers, the decrees of councils, the opinions 
 of the wisest doctors, the irrefragable formulas of 
 logic, and the Scriptures, that the proposition of 
 Master John Petit, in defence of the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy, was a heretical and damnable error and 
 falsehood ! 
 
 Instantly there arose a low and dissatisfied 
 murmur among the populace; but it was quelled 
 almost with the gesture of the terrible provost,
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 217 
 
 who raised his mace, and stretched it imperiously 
 towards them. The Archbishop of Rheims, who 
 stood beside the king, affected to receive his com- 
 mands, and arose to signify that the required per- 
 mission was granted. And then — still keeping his 
 back towards the overawed multitude — the distin- 
 guished scholar of the Sorbonne commenced his 
 harangue according to the established forms of 
 oratory in the fifteenth century. 
 
 " Most mighty and redoubtable Lord and King ! — 
 most Reverend Archbishop, Metropolitan of all 
 France, and Duke of Rheims ! — Right Reverend 
 Bishop of Paris, and you, his venerable Clergy and 
 Suffragans ! — My very good and potent lords, the 
 true Constable and Chancellor of France, and not 
 those at Troyes, who are called so by the traitor- 
 ous murtherer of Burgundy, and my ill-advised 
 and most redoubtable lady the queen, who is by 
 no means regent of France, nor has any claim 
 whatever to be so, more especially now that my 
 lord the king is in excellent health, and perfectly 
 understands what is said to him! — To you I ad- 
 dress my discourse as to persons of power, dig- 
 nity, and understanding, and, above all, of autho- 
 rity in the church, the supreme source and fount 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 of all justice and law ! — and not to the poor and 
 senseless people of this evilly disposed, blood- 
 thirsty, and rebellious city of Paris, who have 
 been, are, and will be, in all ages and times, the 
 same ! These I exhort to listen with the greatest 
 attention and respect to the truths I have to de- 
 liver; not because they are mine, but because 
 they are those of God, the church, and all my 
 lords of the king's council, who, when I have done, 
 will, T trust, avow what I have said to be their 
 opinion. 
 
 " I take, as my text, certain words which were 
 formerly thundered in the ears of Cain, who, in 
 my judgment, must have been a Parisian : * Voce 
 sanguinis fratris ttii clamat ad me de terra !^ 
 * The voice of thy brother's blood calls to me for 
 vengeance from the earth ! ' as I may translate it 
 to the ignorant. Not that my royal departed lord, 
 Monsieur Louis of Orleans, was in anything the 
 brother of so vile a scum^ but he was the brother 
 of my lord the king, who is deservedly, and not 
 by any figure of speech, called * France,' — of 
 which country ye are inhabitants, by his gracious 
 sufferance. Yet forasmuch as, but for your ma- 
 lignant aid and support, the Burgundian dared
 
 ^m 
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 219^ 
 
 never have dreamed to shed that royal blood, I 
 say unto you, O ye barbarous Parisians ! ' Vox 
 sanguinis fratris tui clamat ad me de terra /' And 
 now I shall proceed to show, in good order, and 
 with such logic as I trust shall not discredit those 
 ancient and famous schools in which I acquired 
 the use of reason, the damnable and heretical false- 
 hoods contained in the proposition of Master John 
 Petit, doctor of theology, or rather perverter of 
 the same. After which I shall publish the ana- 
 thema of my lord the Bishop of Paris and of his 
 clergy, duly consulted, with the pains and grievous 
 penalties attached to a continued obstinate pravity 
 of belief in this matter. 
 
 " I shall begin by proving, first, that it is not law- 
 ful to slay a tyrant ; next, that my lord the Duke of 
 Orleans was not a tyrant ; and, thirdly, that the 
 Duke of Burgundy is a traitor, murtherer, tyrant, 
 and enemy of the public peace, whom it is lawful 
 to kill by any means, inasmuch, as only where 
 there are laws is anything unlawful, and John of 
 Burgundy has set himself above all laws, either 
 human or divine." 
 
 With these texts, and on these counter-propo- 
 sitions, Perrinet le Clerc proceeded to deliver an 
 
 L 2
 
 220 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 harangue of no ordinary length. The scholastic 
 oratory of the middle ages, without warmth and 
 colouring, or natural sympathies, was but very ill 
 calculated to produce effect on a popular audience. 
 But the ignorance of the age made all science im- 
 posing, and the cloudy dialectics in which the 
 learned wrapped their meaning, greatly magnified 
 its eJBTects on the vulgar imagination. Quotations 
 from all sorts of authors, sacred and profane, the 
 scriptures and the ancient poets, the evangelists 
 and Ovid, the favourite classic of the schools, 
 contributed to the awe of the rude and unlettered 
 multitude. 
 
 Having refuted Master John Petit's arguments 
 in favour of tyrannicide by a series of pompous 
 syllogisms, the scholar of the Sorbonne proceeded 
 to discuss the second branch of his subject, and 
 to prove that the Duke of Orleans had not been a 
 tyrant. Defining tyranny to be the exercise of an 
 unjust authority, he proceeded to show that it was 
 impossible the Duke of Orleans could have been 
 guilty of it, as he had never in any manner ex- 
 ceeded the prerogatives of the crown of France 
 in his administration of its powers. This he 
 proved in an elaborate review of the principal acts
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 221 
 
 of his short ascendancy, assailing, as he went, the 
 several charges of magic, and attempts on the life 
 of the king, which were brought by the Burgun- 
 dians against the Duke of Orleans. The exor- 
 bitant taxes levied by the duke, he compared to 
 the bunches of grapes gathered from a rich vine- 
 yard, to which the cultivator is justly entitled. 
 And, having at great length vindicated the memory 
 of Louis of Orleans, he proceeded to the third 
 branch of his subject — the accusation of the Duke 
 of Burgundy. 
 
 And now the orator waxed eloquent. There 
 was something congenial to the nature of Perrinet 
 le Clerc in the anatomy and exposition of human 
 depravity. And there was scarcely a crime of 
 which humanity can be guilty which he did not 
 lay to the charge of John the Fearless. The 
 troubled murmurs of the people at the defacement 
 of their idol rather increased than diminished the 
 virulence of his invective. Their indignation gave 
 renewed life and energy to the orator's abuse. It 
 seemed to please him, as it pleases the torturer 
 who fears that his victim is dead, to see a convul- 
 sion follow the application of the engine of suf- 
 fering.
 
 222 OWEN TUDOB, 
 
 The career of the Duke of Burgundy furnished 
 abundant scope for the declamations of the Ar- 
 magnac orator. Imitating with great exactness 
 the manner of Cicero in his oration against Verres, 
 he heaped accusation on accusation against him 
 until the pile seemed to touch the skies and 
 threaten to fall of its own weight. He took for a 
 starting point a circumstance which befell the duke 
 early in his career, when at the disastrous battle 
 of Nicopolis he was taken prisoner by the Sultan 
 Bajazet and his Turks. Bajazet was about to 
 order him to be slain with the rest of his captives, 
 when one of his astrologers saved the duke's life 
 by declaring that, if he lived, he would work more 
 mischief to Christendom than all the arms of the 
 followers of the prophet possibly could. Protest- 
 ing against putting any faith in the words of an 
 infidel Saracen, Perrinet asserted, and very truly, 
 that the science of astrology was one of those 
 which it did not require an implicit belief in the 
 doctrines of the church to comprehend. And, in- 
 asmuch as the stars revealed themselves with fuller 
 majesty and splendour in the dry hot heavens 
 of the east, it must be allowed that the infidel 
 professors of the art had an advantage over their
 
 OWEIf TUDOR. 223 
 
 brethren of the west At all events the orator 
 declared that this prophecy was come very exactly 
 true, and that neither Bajazet nor Tamerlane, the 
 destroyer, nor the antichrist, Mahomet himself, 
 had ever caused so much damage and shame to 
 Christendom as John of Burgundy ! 
 
 During the deUvery of this harangue, Owen's 
 attention was not unfrequently distracted by ob- 
 serving its effect on the persons immediately 
 around him. Roman de la Rose listened with the 
 smiling incredulous look of a man who has made 
 up his mind not to be convinced by anything he 
 hears. The knit brows, the fierce though low- 
 toned and short, derisive laughs of Renaud Ca- 
 boche — the manner in which he kept clutching 
 the hilt of his dagger — revealed the vehement 
 workings of partizan feeling in his breast. But 
 the mendicant was the most remarkable : with the 
 utmost outward coolness, and with a smile that 
 never once left his stern and uncongenial Hps, 
 Owen could not but read in his single eye an 
 expression of hatred and contempt so utter that it 
 was wonderful how he could restrain himself from 
 more open manifestations. 
 
 But when the orator wound up his long dis-
 
 224 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 course with a detail of the miseries and humilia- 
 tions inflicted on France by the civil war, which 
 he ascribed altogether to the ambition and cruelty 
 of the Duke of Burgundy — when he declared that 
 he continued obstinately to reject all terms of 
 peace, and was secretly allying himself with the 
 hereditary enemies of the French name — the pa- 
 tience of the beggar seemed almost exhausted. 
 It was evident that this part of the harangue pro- 
 duced a great effect upon the people; and this 
 perhaps more than the accusation itself disturbed 
 him. 
 
 A more unpopular charge could not be brought 
 against a ruler, at a period when the mass of the 
 nation suffered woes so intense from the continu- 
 ance of the civil war. The mendicant gazed rest- 
 lessly around, and Owen heard him mutter several 
 times to himself, " He will not come ! — and this 
 accursed scholar's lies will pass for gospel ! " 
 
 Whatever portent he expected, none appeared, 
 and Perrinet le CI ere mounted, without interrup- 
 tion, to the climax of his oration. " These are 
 the reasons," he exclaimed, " which authorize me 
 to declare the Duke of Burgundy a traitor, a liar, 
 and a murtherer ! and, what is worse than any or
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 225 
 
 all, a schismatic and obstinate heretic, inasmuch 
 as he persists in maintaining and avouching the 
 damnable errors of John Petit, the which I have 
 proved them by argument to be, and my lord the 
 Bishop of Paris and his clergy, by authority. 
 Wherefore I am commanded to inform ye, O ye 
 bloodthirsty men of Paris, that whoever, after the 
 solemn utterance of this anathema, shall dare to 
 believe or put any manner of faith in the doctrine 
 of John Petit, falsely called Doctor of Theology — 
 or shall lend the slightest aid, even so far as a 
 good wish, in his most secret heart, to the cause 
 of the schismatic tyrant and murtherer, his sup- 
 porter, incurs all the penalties of excommunication 
 and spiritual death denounced in the bull of our 
 lord the pope, which will be forthwith read to all 
 who Hsten, by my lord the Archbishop and Duke 
 of Rheims ! After which, all men of good dis- 
 position will sincerely join my lord the constable 
 in the renewal of the oath which he makes every 
 year upon this dismal day, to avenge that worst of 
 murders since the time of Cain! And, hark! 
 indeed it is time that the blood of Monsieur Louis 
 of Orleans were avenged, since even inanimate 
 things join in its cry ! The bells of this holy pile, 
 
 L 3
 
 226 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 founded by his famous ancestor, Philip Augustus, 
 yell aloud ! — It is the Clamor ad Deum !" 
 
 The orator concluded with these words, and by 
 a previously arranged and very effective coup-de- 
 theatre, the bells of Notre Dame suddenly burst 
 into the discordant and dolorous peal known by 
 that designation throughout Christendom.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 227 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE POOR SCHOLAR. 
 
 It is scarcely possible, at this period, to con- 
 ceive the effect of the menace included in the 
 orator's announcement, that a bull of excommuni- 
 cation would be read against all the followers and 
 favourers of the Duke of Burgundy ! The uni- 
 versal consternation which the tidings spread, 
 revealed, indeed, the extent of his popularity, but 
 showed that the action of fears, so vague and 
 mighty as those evoked, might greatly endanger 
 its influence. 
 
 The populace came to this enforced meeting 
 with their rulers probably in no slight dread of 
 some physical chastisement, which they had no 
 longer the means to resist. But the doom now 
 threatened was of a more terrific character. It 
 took away the last hope of the oppressed and 
 miserable. The rites of baptism, marriage, and
 
 228 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 even of burial, were refused to all labouring under 
 such a malediction, and those who perished after 
 having incurred its penalties were supposed to 
 pass at once and irremediably into the fiery gulf. 
 
 Even the lively Roman de la Rose turned pale, 
 and Renaud Caboche looked with an aghast ex- 
 pression at the mendicant. In his agitation the 
 latter forgot who might overhear him, and mut- 
 tered in reply, " God's saints ! I know not where- 
 fore, but never until now did Hueline fail in her 
 promise ! — and she pledged herself to find some 
 scholar of sufficient skill to refute this sophist, 
 and desperate enough to venture life itself on the 
 cast ! " 
 
 " If Huehne promised, she will perform ! " re- 
 pHed the young man, vehemently. " And she 
 looks too deeply into men's souls to have chosen 
 a craven ! But, if they utter this curse upon us, 
 how may we lift our arms against it ?" 
 
 " Even by raising them ! — tut, boy, a curse is 
 only a word, and a word is only a sound ! " re- 
 plied the mendicant, with a smile of contempt, 
 which showed that superstitious fears were not 
 those that possessed him at least. 
 
 The name of Hueline was what chiefly stmck
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 229 
 
 Owen in this discourse, which he overheard, re- 
 membering the connection of a similar one with 
 the eulogiums of the minstrel King of Scots. But 
 he had no time to pursue the association. A low 
 murmur passed like a sullen wind over the multi- 
 tude as each communicated to another the ap- 
 prehension which possessed every heart. Then 
 the shrieks of women were audible, mingled with 
 the cries of children, and a deep under bass of 
 groans and lamentations among the male part of 
 the audience. If an instant and unsparing mas- 
 sacre had been denounced, the consternation could 
 not have been greater ! Finally, infected by each 
 other's dismay and the workings of superstitious 
 terror to a pitch of insanity, the whole mass 
 threw itself grovelling on the pavement of the 
 parvis, and, with outstretched hands and stream- 
 ing eyes, joined in one universal cry of " Mercy, 
 mercy ! " 
 
 At this moment it was observable that the king 
 made a feeble movement as if to rise in his chair, 
 but the chancellor restrained him with words and 
 gestures which seemed to satisfy the unhappy 
 prince. He nodded with a look of vacant intelli- 
 gence, and those who were near enough heard
 
 230 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 him murmur, as if to himself, " Ay, ay, they must 
 be frightened to be kept in any order ! My poor 
 Parisians understand nothing but blows." 
 
 The Archbishop of Rheims had meanwhile risen, 
 and in this respectful attitude received an enor- 
 mous parchment, folded in the form of a letter, 
 with the massive leaden seal upon it whence such 
 instruments derive their designation of boules, or 
 bulls, and which was handed to him by the trea- 
 surer of the cathedral. With all the submission 
 evinced by the populace, and the comforting pre- 
 sence of his powerful allies, the prelate was obvi- 
 ously but ill at ease in his task. His hands 
 trembled nervously and his lips grew very white, 
 as he elevated the document over his mitre, and 
 then, reverentially kissing it, he opened the folds 
 as slowly and quiveringly as if he were about to 
 let forth the lightnings. The cries for mercy 
 thickened into a deafening and frantic uproar, 
 which the orator of the Sorbonne seemed to enjoy. 
 Certainly there was something of sneering and 
 bitter satisfaction in his visage, and he folded his 
 arms as if to show more emphatically, in his own 
 calmness, contempt for the terrors he had so large 
 a share in inflicting.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 231 
 
 The archbishop resumed his courage, after clear- 
 ing his throat with repeated hems, during which 
 an officer of his train commanded silence, in a 
 loud official voice, which was echoed in a kind of 
 thunder by the knights and armed burghers below. 
 The prelate then read the bull by which the 
 Parisians understood that the Duke of Burgundy 
 and all who favoured him, however secretly, were 
 excommunicated and anathematized, according to 
 the most dreadful forms which ecclesiastical wrath 
 could devise. As the bull was, of course, in Latin, 
 the multitude could only comprehend, in general, 
 that the reading of those long sonorous sentences 
 deprived them of the few distinctions which re- 
 mained to separate them from the beasts of the 
 field. During this ceremony the bells of Notre 
 Dame continued the gloomy chime of the Clamor 
 ad Deum. The Armagnacs all uncovered their 
 heads, and Owen, bending to his saddle-bows, 
 murmured a devote paternoster, to avert any pos- 
 sible share of the malediction from himself A 
 few moments of agitated silence followed the 
 awful Amen with which the Bishop of Paris and 
 his clergy ratified the condemnation of their flock.
 
 232 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 or at least of such portion as persisted in their 
 Burgundian heresies. 
 
 Owen was almost the first to raise his head 
 again, and his eye reverting to the scholar of the 
 Sorbonne's pulpit, under guidance of a triumphant 
 cry from Renaud Caboche, he perceived that a third 
 person had mounted the gibbet, unobserved in the 
 general absorption. Even the executioner had no 
 eyes for him, he was so busily engaged in his prayers. 
 But Owen's curiosity was so strongly excited by Re- 
 naud's exclamation of " 'Tis he ! Hueline's scholar !" 
 that it was instantly riveted on the stranger. 
 
 He was apparently a young man, of remarkably 
 graceful person, in the garb of a class of students 
 known in Paris by the name of " poor scholars;" 
 and who were so in reality, for they earned the 
 means of instruction and existence by mendicancy. 
 He wore a long grey mantle and hood, which 
 almost concealed his features; and a pouch, hanging 
 at his girdle for the reception of charitable contri- 
 butions, confessed this scholastic pauperism. 
 
 " Messire Perrinet ! " the stranger said, so- 
 licitino; the attention of the orator of the Sorbonne 
 by tapping him on the shoulder, " you are here to
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 233 
 
 defend the anathema of Master John Petit against 
 all gainsayers ! If you are not, as some have made 
 bold to say, the mere mouthpiece and puppet of 
 more learned men who do not care to appear in 
 the matter, having already argued on the contraiy 
 side to general conviction — let me have hearing ! 
 — Let me have hearing, and I will prove as clearly 
 as that the light of heaven illumines all but the 
 blind, that, far from being an heretical error, this 
 thesis of Master John Petit is the most holy, just, 
 and necessary of doctrines ! " 
 
 The electric effect of these bold words and con- 
 frontation can scarcely be credited, even on so 
 impressionable a populace as that of Paris has in 
 all ages been. Like a million waves moved up- 
 ward by one sweep of the wind, the whole mass 
 arose from their kneeling posture, and deafening 
 shouts resounded on every hand, " Hear him, hear 
 the poor scholar ! — It is not heresy — he will prove 
 it ! — the poor scholar will prove it !" 
 
 The voice of the poor scholar was rather sweet 
 and musical than powerful, yet every word which 
 he uttered was distinctly heard over the whole 
 concourse, in the hush of curiosity which followed 
 this outburst.
 
 234 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 " Yes, my brothers, I will prove it!" he con- 
 tinued, unshaken by the general glare of astonish- 
 ment with which the Armagnacs gazed at him. 
 "But first, in the name of the church and of our 
 deceased father. Pope Urban V. — now nearly a 
 hundred years rejoicing among the elect — I pro- 
 test against this shameful misuse of his bull, ful- 
 minated against the robbers and free companies 
 who ravaged France in the time of the unfortunate 
 John of Cressy ! Which of your subtlest doctors 
 will dare to maintain that it is a sentence of ex- 
 communication on the adherents of the Duke of 
 Burgundy — unless it was also a prophecy?" 
 
 With the people, it is always more dangerous to 
 fail in a trick than in any fair procedure. The 
 Parisian populace, changeable in its moods as the 
 shadows and lights on a field of corn on a breezy 
 day, passed instantly from the extremity of terror 
 to derision and even defiance. A yell of scorn, 
 mingled with laughter and confused outcries, shook 
 the air at this revelation. 
 
 " Aha, messire ! said I not so ? Has Hueline 
 failed to your trust?" exclaimed Renaud, turning 
 exultingly to the mendicant. 
 
 " No, no ! — but who is this beardless scholar
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 235 
 
 that dares thus take Danger by the gorget ? " said 
 the latter, stretching himself forward, and gazing 
 with such intense anxiety that he pushed the 
 leaden covering from his supposed lost eye, and 
 disclosed the fact that he still possessed it. 
 
 Perrinet le Clerc meanwhile turned in great 
 surprise to survey his unexpected antagonist. But 
 the hood, which he wore unusually low, concealed 
 all but the general outline of a noble and very 
 handsome physiognomy, somewhat brown in the 
 complexion, but glowing with a fier}^ paleness, 
 like that of flames in sunlight, ^ith the fervour 
 and excitement of the spirit within. The depth 
 and sparkle of his eyes rendered their hues doubt- 
 fiil, like those of a dark lake under the noonday 
 sky ; but the raven glossiness of the long curling 
 hair, which flowed from beneath his hood, and of 
 his eyelashes, made it probable that the orbs they 
 shaded were also black. Beardless he was, in 
 truth, but for a slight moustache which defined his 
 finely cut and haughty upper lip, and which struck 
 Perrinet to be artificial almost as soon as he 
 beheld it. 
 
 Afi^r a puzzled pause, the orator's vanity sup- 
 plied him \yiih an explanation of this apparition.
 
 236 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 He knew that his idle and profligate career in- 
 duced many of his companions to beHeve that it 
 was impossible he could be master of the learning 
 necessary to the office he had assumed. He thought 
 that a trick was devised by them to strip him of 
 his borrowed plumes and expose him to the ridi- 
 cule of the assembly. His pride and audacity 
 were instantly roused by the attempt, and, with an 
 ironical smile and a glance at the rope dangling 
 over the rostrum, he bade his opponent welcome. 
 
 The distinguished audience on the platform were 
 so completely taken by surprise, that no one offered 
 any opposition. All were aware of the unlimited 
 privileges claimed by the University, and of its 
 attachment to the Burgundian cause. Its chiefs 
 would be certain, it was thought, to interpose with 
 vigour on behalf of one whom they had probably 
 selected to utter their sentiments. The populace 
 would as certainly side with the University, and a 
 dangerous tumult might arise. Moreover, it 
 seemed such a demonstration of weakness to re- 
 fuse to hear the arguments which might be alleged 
 against their view of the case, that, even without 
 the apprehension of a popular sedition, the Armag- 
 nac leaders would have been puzzled how to in-
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 237 
 
 terfere. The constable himself, who was well 
 pleased with Perrinet's oration, imagined it would 
 not be difficult for him to crush so young an 
 antagonist; and it was after consulting the eyes 
 of this dignitary that the Bishop of Paris arose, 
 and, with an air of great impartiality, declared 
 that he was perfectly wilHng to hear any defence 
 that could be offered on behalf of the Duke of 
 Burgundy, satisfied that the hearers would be the 
 more convinced of the fallacy and heresy of the 
 proposition which he had so murtherously main- 
 tained. But for what regarded the mendicant 
 scholar's protest on the promulgation of the bull 
 of Pope Urban against that felonious duke and 
 his adherents, himself, in the name of the clergy 
 of Paris, and of the universal church, informed 
 the people of Paris that nothing could be more 
 fit and proper than its use on the present occasion. 
 Tlae edicts of the spirituahty were not like those of 
 the temporal power, but were of eternal and un- 
 repealable efficacy ! And never, since the creation 
 of man, were there known blacker traitors, rob- 
 bers, murderers, and incendiaries, than Duke John 
 of Burgundy, and his adherents ! 
 
 Sounds like the whistling and rising roar of
 
 238 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 wind and sea when a storm is coming followed 
 this admission of the unfair nse made of an anti- 
 quated thunderbolt. Owen himself was already, 
 against his poUtical views, enlisted by his feelings 
 on the side of the stranger. There was much in 
 the slavish tone of the maxims inculcated by the 
 scholar of the Sorbonne which offended his free 
 mountain notions. The Celtic clanship was a 
 very different thing to the feudal vassalage. The 
 latter was in fact the submission of a conquered 
 people to the conquerors ; the former, of children 
 to a father. The courage of the stranger, though 
 of a new kind to Owen Tudor, being rather moral 
 than physical, could not fail farther to interest one 
 of his daring character. 
 
 The poor scholar accordingly commenced his 
 harangue, in the midst of a general stillness, while 
 Perrinet listened with a contemptuous smile. But 
 his demeanour was very different to his antago- 
 nist's, for, after a deep obeisance to the king, he 
 turned to the people ! This unwonted respect 
 completed his popularity. The air was rent with 
 a universal shout of " Noel ! Noel ! " — the joyful 
 cry of the Parisians, who compared every thing 
 good to the festivities of Christmas. But the
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 239 
 
 garb of the poor scholar at once established a 
 magical sympathy between him and the people. 
 They perceived that he was one of themselves. 
 
 This impression was soon confirmed. At first, 
 indeed, when he surveyed the immense mass of 
 his expectant audience, the young orator seemed 
 to suffer under a degree of timidity. But it wore 
 off rapidly, and in a few moments his exquisitely 
 clear and musical voice was audible to the re- 
 motest parts of the square of Notre Dame. 
 
 "The Clamor ad Deum, ye call it ! — the uproar 
 of these bells that tingles like light against the 
 vaults of heaven ! " he exclaimed. " O ye bells 
 of Notre Dame ! sweet and melancholy voices of 
 this vast pile, whose walls are misty with the sighs 
 of ages ! — shall I tell ye wherefore indeed ye 
 should clamour to the skies ? Yea, sirs ! the 
 earth should cry aloud to its God for vengeance, 
 not for the injuries inflicted on one man, but on 
 all humanity ! It is the cry of thy brother, Cain 
 of power ! It is man who shrieks to Heaven for 
 justice against his brother man ! It is these 
 wronged and trampled myriads who demand jus- 
 tice on your heads, ye few, ye cruel few ! This 
 is the true Clamor ad Deum, which let all the
 
 240 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 earth echo ! Let the mountain and valley alike 
 ring with the cry, and God will hear it, far as He 
 sits above us enthroned in the purple light ! There- 
 fore I take as my text the words of the Psalmist, 
 — ^Quousque, Domine /' How long, O Lord, in- 
 deed ! — for we cannot much longer endure our 
 miseries ! " 
 
 Having thus skilfully destroyed even the effect 
 of the dolorous chime, the poor scholar proceeded 
 in the division of his subject, according to the 
 customary form of orators in that age ; but 
 something new and extraordinary was soon dis- 
 cerned in its evolvement even by the rudest of 
 that half-savage populace. 
 
 " I will not follow you, Master Perrinet le 
 Clerc, in your illogical manner of attacking when 
 you should have defended ! " he said. " It was 
 not your business to prove that my lord the Duke 
 of Burgundy is a tyrant, but that my late lord the 
 Duke of Orleans was tiot one ! Neither would 
 that have mattered much to the point in dispute if 
 you had proved that it is not lawful to slay or 
 depose a tyrant — which I affirm that it is, and 
 will maintain against the thunder itself ! — for then 
 should I know that the wielder is tyrant of the
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 241 
 
 Universe as ye are tyrants of the earth ; a blas- 
 phemy that until then I will not believe ! But 
 you shall not draw from my premises what I con- 
 tentedly do from yours; for it be not lawful to 
 slay or depose a tyrant, and my lord the Duke of 
 Burgundy is one, why do ye urge the king and 
 nobles of France to these enterprises against him ? 
 But I will prove that the proposition is true, and 
 that it doth in no way affect my lord, Duke John 
 the Fearless ! " 
 
 Perrinet le Clerc gnawed his lips and waxed 
 livid with shame and anger on finding himself 
 thus fairly enmeshed in his own argument, which 
 a shout of laughter from the sharp-witted Pa- 
 risians convinced him was fully perceived. 
 
 "Nay, Master Perrinet!" continued the young 
 orator, "rather rejoice than be ashamed, if I con- 
 fute your pernicious sophisms ! Why should the 
 children of science labour to uphold the supremacy 
 of force over reason — of matter over mind ? What 
 insolent supremacy do not these nobles and men 
 of the sword usurp over wisdom and virtue, the 
 only real superiorities? In what contemptuous 
 light do they not regard the professors of human- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 izing arts? Leave them to their own, and the 
 race of the destroyers will soon be destroyed ! " 
 
 After this apostrophe, the Burgundian orator 
 returned to the topic which he had announced 
 he should in the first place discuss. " Ah, noble 
 Duke John, well named the Fearless ! much need 
 have I now of some spark of thy fiery spirit to 
 animate me ! " he exclaimed, gazing up at the 
 proposition nailed to the gibbet, " I, that am to 
 show the lawfulness of destroying tyrants in the 
 presence of nearly all the worst of those under 
 whose sway our miserable land is perishing ! For, 
 among ye all, Armagnac knights and nobles ! 
 which of ye is not red with the blood of France, 
 or glittering in her spoils ? Which of ye hath not 
 the widow's curse on your heads, the orphan's 
 shrieks pealing to heaven against ye ? Cruel men ! 
 ye have never forgotten that ye are the conquerors, 
 and that we are the conquered; that ye are 
 Franks, and we are Gauls ! It is therefore that 
 the poor commonalty of France compassionate 
 her miseries, while in all ages ye have exulted in 
 the bloody revelry of her ruin ! Alas, we are 
 the children of the desolate land — she is our
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 243 
 
 mother ! To you she is only a rich and defenceless 
 prey." 
 
 The nobles and knights present gazed at each 
 other in mute and indignant surprise, while the 
 people responded around in strange murmurs. 
 Often had the populace of Paris listened to the 
 ravings of their partizan demagogues, but never 
 to so general a doctrine as this, which yet flashed 
 like conviction on every heart ! Owen himself — 
 a son of the conquered — felt a thrill glide through 
 his veins. It was a vanquished people — and no 
 longer a mean and despised populace, with which 
 he was called upon to sympathise. Such is the 
 magic of the human voice when it speaks in 
 earnestness ; it gives an impression of truth to the 
 wildest utterances ! 
 
 "But why should I accuse ye of tyranny, 
 tyrants?" continued the audacious orator. "Your 
 anxiety to defend its cause, to persuade men that 
 its crimes should not be punished — confess a con- 
 sciousness which needs not accusation ! And 
 why should I assail your doctrine with words 
 when a natural and inborn feeling: of the human 
 heart arises to confute it ! — when the first free 
 motion of the arm of the serf, when the gleam of 
 
 M 2
 
 244 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 his eye beneath your strokes, assert the thesis ye 
 condemn, with the irrefragable logic of nature? 
 Trample it, crush it, heap mountains on it as ye 
 do, and have, and shall, still this eternal hatred 
 survives, deep glowing in the bosom of the nations 
 — to burst some day in a volcanic flame which 
 shall devour earth ! When, I know not ! But 
 the day shall come ! The patience, neither of 
 Heaven nor of man, lasts for ever ! But why 
 should I prophesy woes ? Are there not enow at 
 hand ? Let the times to come fulfil themselves ! 
 
 " If I have fallen asleep on the shores of the 
 unknown ; if from the murmurings of its ocean 
 I have shaped voices of clear and dreadful utter- 
 ance, not on thy head, unhappy king, fall the 
 vengeance due ! Already the angel of wrath has 
 emptied his vials on it ! What fate more terrible 
 than thine, O king ! to hang for ever enchained 
 over the fathomless abyss of madness, or plunged 
 in its roaring chaos ? Let us weep, brothers ! 
 The people are tender-hearted as women; let us 
 weep for our unhappy king ! And do they accuse 
 us and our generous duke, Burgundians, whose 
 eyes are streaming thus, of working our king to 
 madness by spells and horrible incantations ? Say
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 245 
 
 ye that the mediciner, Jean de Troye, bewitched 
 him with charmed drugs, at the instigation of the 
 royal John? My friends, Jean de Troye be- 
 witched him only by telling him the truth, for 
 our king loves the people; and we of Burgundy 
 most of all require him to be sane, for he hath 
 ever preferred us when he was so ! Well he knew 
 that the House of Orleans had conspired his 
 destruction and the seizure of his crown, and that 
 they will never rest until they have effected it, or 
 are themselves destroyed ! Ancient prophecies 
 assure it ! and never did John of Burgundy prove 
 himself a truer kinsman and subject than when he 
 slew the traitor who was so near to our kino's 
 heart only to strike it more securely ! 
 
 " Perrineti you define tyranny to be the unlaw- 
 ful exercise of the king's authority : you say that 
 Monsieur Louis of Orleans was justly entitled to 
 exercise it when my lord the king was indisposed, 
 and his son of such tender years ! But if ye ask me 
 for a definition of tyranny — I say, look round on 
 France ! It is written in gory hieroglyphs through- 
 out her length and breadth ! And it was the rule 
 of the Duke of Orleans that brought us to this
 
 246 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 pass; or deem ye that, when the convulsions of 
 agony toss the coverings from the sick man's 
 sores, it is the exposure which causes his suffer- 
 ing? Doth it not rather lay them open to the 
 chirurgeon's healing eye ? But ye will have none 
 of him ! The robbers who despoiled the traveller 
 are to have the care of his wounds, and for cool- 
 ing unguents to pour poison and vitriol into 
 them ! 
 
 " It is thus they argue who reject the Duke of 
 Burgundy, and turn to the Armagnacs for succour 
 to France ! Look at her now ! — to what a con- 
 dition have they brought her! In every hand a 
 knife is bared against a brother's breast 1 In every 
 heart, as in a witch's caldron, seethe wrath, fear, 
 vengeance, and despair ! An insupportable ache 
 is in every soul! All have either lost — or fear to 
 lose — all ! And, while we thus mangle and rend 
 one another, in the distance couches the leopard 
 of England ! — the leopard whose claws have so 
 often streamed with our blood 1 Ah, madmen ! — 
 nay, I honour ye too much with that title — ye 
 have not the excuse of madness ! One consola- 
 tion only remains to us [ — Thia grisly beast will
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 247 
 
 avenge us, the oppressed and miserable common- 
 alty of France ! We perish, but our destroyers 
 perish with us ! " 
 
 After this startUng exordium, the Burgundian 
 orator proceeded with his harangue in a more re- 
 gular manner, commencing with his promised de- 
 fence of the thesis of Master John Petit. Whe- 
 ther that learned doctor's proposition is in reality 
 so damnable and heretical as it was declared by 
 the scholar of the Sorbonne, we leave to the 
 casuists ; but never was the grand argument which 
 the dagger of Brutus practically enforced, more 
 eloquently expounded and maintained, than by 
 this mendicant scholar! His inspiration was 
 drawn, it might be, from remote wells of antiquity, 
 or he was possibly one of those lofty eminences 
 of intellect which catch the light long before the 
 lower regions of earth are illuminated ; but rarely, 
 until then, had the Parisians listened to an elo- 
 quence at once so popular and magnificently poeti- 
 cal, so fraught with antique learning, vivified by 
 the fire of a natural enthusiasm — a fervid tender- 
 ness and generosity of spirit, which poured its 
 pathetic glory over all it touched. 
 
 It was the overflow of a sublime and daring
 
 248 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 revery, as yet meditated only by a few of the 
 capacious minds of the age — an assault on feu- 
 dality itself! The populations of the middle ages 
 suffered under all the complicated miseries of ty- 
 ranny, without knowing it by that name. They 
 had formed no abstract idea of it from their actual 
 miseries and beastlike subjection, imputing their 
 sufferings at various periods to the various factions 
 which more immediately inflicted them — which 
 governed! But the broad glance of the poor 
 scholar's intellect was united with a singular power 
 of personifying and grouping, under striking lights, 
 the most abstract conceptions. His discourse 
 might have been styled an ancient " Rights of 
 INIan,'' expounded with the warmth and passion of 
 a poet and of a partizan — the disdain and hatred 
 of intellect oppressed by power ! The light of a 
 future age seemed poured, for a brief period, over 
 the dark and brutish multitude. Men generalized 
 their particular wrongs and sufferings, enlight- 
 ened by an orator who seemed familiar with the 
 forms of the wide and all-embracing tyranny of the 
 feudal government, and comprehended that it was 
 a system, and not a faction merely, that crushed 
 them into the dust 1
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 249 
 
 The contrast between natural and studied elo- 
 quence has seldom been more vividly displayed 
 than on this occasion. Perrinet le Clerc's cold 
 and elaborate catalogue of the woes which he 
 ascribed to the ambition of the Duke of Burgundy, 
 faded into colourlessness in contrast with the ter- 
 rific pictures raised by the imagination of the new 
 artist, of woes which he ascribed to the tyranny of 
 the Armagnacs. Yet they scarcely exceeded the 
 actual state of things in a country abandoned as a 
 prey to every lawlessness, burdened by insupport- 
 able taxes, ravaged within and without ! But, 
 miserable as they were, until then the people 
 seemed never to have felt such pity on themselves, 
 or to have known how pitiable they were ! 
 
 The cruelty and injustice of the feudal dominion 
 had probably been experienced in some bitter sort 
 by the orator, individually. But few of all the 
 multitude had not suffered under its barbarous 
 sway in some manner. The lands, the seas, the 
 rivers, the gates of cities, the very heavens them- 
 selves seemed to belong^ to the rulino: classes of 
 France, so extensive and insatiable were the rights 
 to which they pretended! With what quivering 
 hearts, and flushing cheeks, and fiercely sparkhng 
 
 m3
 
 250 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 eyes, did the multitude follow those words of burn- 
 ing wrath and indignation in which the poor scho- 
 lar dehneated their deplorable condition 1 
 
 But the orator showed himself indeed too 
 far beyond his age, when, in heightening his 
 effects by contrast, he gave utterance to a vision 
 of the happiness and loveliness of Hberty ! Beau- 
 tiful, in truth, — more beautiful than the noblest 
 dream of antiquity, — was that early inspiration of 
 the divine frenzy which, in so many ages, has ani- 
 mated the loftier spirits of the world. Liberty, 
 equality, fraternity! — words which have moved 
 the earth — were not on the lips, but they were in 
 the essence of the splendid dream which the 
 young orator discoursed in glowing poetry to that 
 strange, but fascinated, audience ! The golden 
 age of the world returned — the spell of eloquence 
 made paradise breathe around — and the dark, un- 
 wholesome parvis of Notre Dame, choked in with 
 narrow streets and towering roofs, vanished in 
 some marvellous radiance ! 
 
 Neither Armagnac nor Burgundian had much 
 reason to rejoice, for a time, in this effusion. The 
 people felt that their sanguinary feuds were not 
 needed in the earthly Eden imaged forth by their
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 251 
 
 orator. But the partizan reappeared in the turn 
 which he gave to the tumultuous and sorrowful 
 passions he had excited. He declared that alone, 
 of all the princes of France, the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy had the public good at heart, and was de- 
 termined to abolish the oppressions and iniquities 
 under which the people groaned. He needed but 
 the power of which he had been unjustly deprived ! 
 Ever had he been the friend of the poor and 
 oppressed ; — his hotel, in Paris, had always been 
 their refuge, as his court was still, at Dijon ! They 
 could not have forgotten how he had always lent 
 a favourable ear to any arguments addressed to 
 him by the chiefs of the commonalty ; and, above 
 all, to those of Jean de Troye, that virtuous leader, 
 who abolished the octroi on provisions entering 
 Paris, and had nigh obtained the royal signature 
 to a decree making all men free alike throughout 
 the countries of France ! 
 
 The mention of this name produced a singular 
 effect among the populace. Sighs and murmurs 
 were audibly mingled, for it was one which pro- 
 voked conflicting opinions and sentiments. Jean 
 de Troye had always been the least popular of the
 
 252 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 demagogues who distinguished themselves in the 
 insurrection of Paris, in the year of grace, 1413. 
 He was hated by the monks and priests in ge- 
 neral, who had great influence with the people — 
 doubtless for some good reason ! The Burgundian 
 nobles and knights hked him but little better than 
 those of the Armagnac faction. In the brief 
 duration of his power he had managed to offend 
 all parties of the oppressors. 
 
 The poor scholar paused during this inter- 
 ruption, and there was something of contempt in 
 the expression of anguish which, for a moment, 
 darkened his countenance, and shadowed the light 
 of its enthusiasm. 
 
 " Let us speak no more of Jean de Troye, then, 
 since ye have not yet learned to love those better 
 who serve than those who flatter ye ! " he con- 
 tinued, mournfully. " Ah, Parisians, vain, fickle, 
 heartless nation ! when will ye learn that first 
 lesson of men deserving to be free ? No more of 
 this neither ! — Let us speak of the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy ! — But first, tell me, are you satisfied or 
 not that it is lawful to destroy tyrants, since how 
 else can tyranny be destroyed?"
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 253 
 
 The deafening " yea, messire ! " which replied, 
 made many of the Armagnac chiefs and coun- 
 sellors start from their seats in alarm ! 
 
 " Why then need I defend Duke John on the 
 charge of murther and assassination brought 
 against him, for the death of the Duke of Or- 
 leans?" continued the orator — and yet hurriedly, 
 as if the subject were Httle pleasing to himself 
 " He perished by a just doom — for he governed, 
 and we were miserable ! And do men humbly in- 
 quire of the wolf in what trap he will be pleased 
 to fall, by what arrow he will be pierced, from 
 what lurking place we must dart the javelin ? He 
 perished ! — let him pass away among the shadows 
 of his ancestors! — what is there of marvellous about 
 him or his fate ? All of them are bathed either in 
 their own gore or in the gore they have shed ! 
 The fiends will note nothing singular in the appa- 
 rition of Louis of Orleans ! When was it other- 
 wise with any of the race of our kings — of our 
 destroyers rather ? — And sayest thou, Perrinet, 
 that it is heresy to slay tyrants ? Which of ye, 
 ye hideous kings, is not eternally slain by the 
 justice of God?" 
 
 And the orator stretched his arms in an attitude
 
 254 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 which seemed almost to give Ufe to the crowned 
 statuary over the cathedral gates — to compel them 
 before him in the dark shadows of their guilt — for 
 it was growing towards dusk, and their diadems 
 glowed golden while their forms were sinking fast 
 into obscurity. 
 
 " Is it thou, Clovis, founder of the monarchy ! 
 whose regal robes are dyed so deeply in a brother's 
 blood ? — Or thou, Hugh Capet ! ungrateful usurper 
 of thy master's seat ? — Or thou, Philip Augustus ! 
 who didst wring from the consuming heart of 
 Jacques de Molay the curse which will in times to 
 come consume thy race ? Towers of the Temple, 
 will ye not yet behold it ? — Heresy to slay tyrants, 
 Perrinet ! — Why then, David, that slew the boast- 
 ing giant ! — Deborah, that betrayed Sisera (ah, 
 treason indeed, when death wooed with the ac- 
 cents of love !) — Judith, that slew Holofernes, 
 were heretics ! — When hath the church called 
 them so ? 
 
 " Hear me, Loupgarou, varlet of the hangman 
 of Paris ! thou mere result of oppression, half 
 idiot, half wolf ! " continued the poor scholar, 
 turning to the hideous attendant of Capeluche, 
 " wherefore didst thou receive this name of thine?
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 255 
 
 — Better than thyself, perchance, I know ! — Be- 
 cause thy childhood was spent wandering and 
 untended, in this great city, Hke a savage cub 
 in the woods ! Because thou wert sent into the 
 world, half-fashioned, body and mind, amidst the 
 terrors and agonies of thy wTetched mother, in a 
 pubhc presence, in the Place de Greve ! — whither 
 she had rushed to shriek for mercy on thy father, 
 condemned to the boihng caldron as a coiner of 
 false moneys ! — Thus wert thou thrown by a 
 rough wave on the flinty shores of the world ! Like 
 an ill-planted tree hast thou grown — notched and 
 deformed alike in body and in soul ! And for the 
 crimes which thy untaught and brutalised nature 
 will lead thee to commit — even for what them- 
 selves have done ! — some day they will hang, or 
 burn, or boil, or stone thee out of existence ! Is 
 this justice, Loupgarou ? " 
 
 The varlet's countenance worked strangely du- 
 ring this address ; and a vague terror crossed the 
 minds of the more reflecting portion of the spec- 
 tators, who for the first time saw, as when the 
 spirit of creation moved over chaos, the influence 
 of mind on matter ! The impression was deepened
 
 256 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 when, closing his fanghke teeth, the vaiiet mut- 
 tered, with the intuitive leap of savage thought, 
 " Vengeance ! " 
 
 " Vengeance, ay ! — but on whom, if not on the 
 oppressors, — and who are they?" continued the 
 poor scholar, and he paused an instant, while a 
 confused murmur floated darkly among the crowd. 
 " The Armagnacs, the Armagnacs ! — the accursed 
 Gascons ! — The Duke of Burgundy loves the 
 people.'' 
 
 " Yea, he doth, he doth !— the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy loves the people ! " exclaimed the impas- 
 sioned orator. " Ever hath he identified himself 
 with your wrongs — your rights ! Ah, he loves us — 
 the royal, the valiant, the fearless John, he loves 
 us ! What hath he not done to show it ? — He hath 
 not spared us even his own blood — the blood of 
 the tyrant Orleans ! And do ye dare to tell us, 
 Armagnacs, that he sides with the destroyers of 
 France, the everlasting enemies of our name, the 
 extinguishers of our glory, the English? Never, 
 never, never believe it, Parisians ! — He thirsts but 
 for the moment when with all the power of France 
 arrayed — breast with breast — brother with brother
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 257 
 
 — we shall stand against those fierce islanders, 
 and prove that we are — not their equals — but their 
 masters ! " 
 
 " Cruel England ! remorseless nation ! that, 
 restless and discontented even as the waves that 
 howl around thy shore ! seekest to make all other 
 lands so ! — Land of Wicliff, whose thoughts have 
 gone forth and will not let men pause ! — ah, leave 
 us, leave us our peaceful dances under the verdant 
 chestnut ! — our radiant wines I What need we 
 with thy gloomy aspirations, that climb the stars 
 only to fall in more intolerable vacancy? Leave 
 us to repose, for in the van of thy armies marches 
 Thought, the foe of slumber ! — We should slum- 
 ber, friends ! — We are not men but slaves ! This 
 strange hght shall not come among us to dispel 
 the phantasmagoria wherewith our masters have 
 peopled the heavens themselves with terrors ! Alas, 
 even those perchance among us who deem they 
 behold the light of a coming day, have but gazed 
 so intently on the sun of the past, that we behold 
 a mimicry of his glory in the darkness ! '* 
 
 The mention of the name of Wichff, with such 
 a close, produced a very unfavourable effect for
 
 258 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 the orator, not only with the Armagnac ecclesias- 
 tics, but with the doctors of the Burgundian Uni- 
 versity. The poor scholar continued without ap- 
 pearing to notice the circumstance. 
 
 " But I was to speak of the Duke of Burgundy 
 — let me speak ! It is true that at the battle of 
 Nicopolis, then scarcely in the earHest summer of 
 manhood, he did the work of autumn ; and, in- 
 sensible with wounds, was made the prisoner of 
 the infidel ! It is true that, gazing on his power- 
 ful brows, shadowed with fate, the Turkish astro- 
 loger preserved him by predicting that more 
 damage should happen through his life, than death, 
 to Christendom ! But are we to believe that the 
 Spirit of God inspired a false pagan, unless it 
 were to the confusion of his race ? The Saracen 
 saved John the Fearless, but to the destruction of 
 his own kind ; for he hath sworn that, as soon as 
 he has calmed our dissensions, he will undertake a 
 warlike pilgrimage to Jerusalem, to redeem the 
 holy sepulchre, with such of the princes of Europe 
 as love glory better than their beds ! Our Lady 
 and our dear Lord inspired the astrologer of the 
 Turks to save him — and to this end ! But, for
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 259 
 
 the English, my lord intends only shame and ven- 
 geance to them, for the disasters and ruin they 
 have brought on France ! " 
 
 The populace roared with fury like a herd of 
 famished wild beasts at these words, and the con- 
 stable himself applauded, waving his massive 
 sword as if leadino; on a universal charoe ! 
 Armagnac and Burgundian for a moment were 
 one. 
 
 But this general feeling prevailed not long when 
 the poor scholar proceeded in his vindication of 
 the Duke of Burgundy. There was much in the 
 reckless daring and supremacy of Duke John's 
 character to excite that wild admiration which 
 all that is tempestuous and terrible stirs in the 
 human breast. And the mendicant scholar's 
 enthusiasm was echoed in the hearts of the masses, 
 who only require to have their passions roused to 
 beheve ! The dreadful and doubtful doctrine of 
 tyrannicide, in the eloquent language of the Bur- 
 gundian orator, became a necessary and sublime 
 duty, surrounded by every grandeur of thought 
 and feeling ! It was thus that he defended the 
 cruel homicide of the Duke of Orleans, and traced 
 John the Fearless through every stage of his
 
 260 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 blood-stained career, giving the glory of patriotism 
 to its most dreadful excesses. A powerful effect 
 was obviously produced among the populace, 
 which increased almost to madness as the orator 
 put the last touches on his noble Hmning. 
 
 " Perrinet, ye say the duke denies peace not- 
 withstanding the miseries and disgrace we suffer 
 from the continuance of this wolvish war, where 
 brother rends brother!" he exclaimed. "Ah, 
 kind people of Paris ! how are ye abused ! The 
 false Armagnacs deceive ye ; and therefore am I 
 chiefly here, under sanctity of the privilege of 
 my mother, the University, to tell ye all that, 
 thrice, during this month, has my lord of Bur- 
 gundy offered peace, on the sole and most equi- 
 table condition that he and my lady the queen 
 should be admitted to the councils of the king, 
 who, well he knows, is not able at this time to 
 govern of himself! Thus only can the many 
 mischiefs intended be prevented ! Thrice, during 
 one little month; and yet, Parisians! the scholar 
 of the Sorbonne tells you — the Duke of Burgundy 
 rejects all terms of peace ! "
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE GRAND CHATELET. 
 
 It is not easy to describe the effect of this 
 announcement. The Armagnacs had carefully 
 kept the fact of the proffered peace a secret, well 
 knowing, from the terms demanded, that it was in 
 reahty merely a bait to catch the humour of the 
 populace ; and their orator had solemnly assured 
 the Parisians that the Duke of Burgundy was re- 
 solved against any proposals of peace. 
 
 The wild uproar and confused cries which fol- 
 lowed the revelation seemed to alarm even the 
 Constable d'Armagnac himself. He glanced ir- 
 resolutely at the spears of the knights, and then 
 at Perrinet le Clerc, as if doubtful on which force 
 to rely. Perrinet himself seemed overwhelmed 
 with rage and confusion at this pubHc discom- 
 fiture.
 
 262 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 " The Burgundian lies, and I have spoken the 
 truth !" he shouted, at length. " My lords of the 
 king's council ! I call upon ye to avouch your 
 own instructions, and to witness that I have 
 spoken the truth I " 
 
 " Ye say well, ye say well, good clerk!" said 
 the constable, " We were mad to listen to this 
 mad Burgundian ! — But he shall not escape un- 
 chastised ! — All that you have said we do aver 
 and maintain ! It was insult and not peace that 
 the murtherer offered us ! All who say so, rise ! " 
 
 The Archbishop of Rheims, with the rest of the 
 prelates, and, in fact, all the illustrious audience on 
 the platform, excepting the king, immediately 
 arose in response to this appeal. 
 
 " It is well ! — And now, scholar, where are 
 those who do avouch the truth of your words?" 
 said the constable. His wrath had for once over- 
 come his prudence, or he thought the occasion a 
 good one to strike terror. " By Him who died on 
 the rood ! I will deem them the real traitors who 
 support thee, and punish them for thee ! " 
 
 " I demand the avouchment and protection of 
 my venerable mother, the University, — which hath 
 promised it !" rephed the poor scholar, turning with
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 263 
 
 a confident look to the group of doctors and pro- 
 fessors. 
 
 A hesitating and very discreetly under-toned 
 murmur among the learned dignitaries seemed to 
 take the part of the Burgundian orator. The 
 students, who from time immemorial were riotous 
 sticklers for their privileges, raised a louder cla- 
 mour, seconded by the deep surge-hke mutter of 
 the populace. 
 
 " Messires of the University ! " exclaimed Per- 
 rinet le Clerc, quivering with maHce and wrath, 
 " surely ye will not take the part of a wretch who 
 has openly professed paganism — and the doctrines 
 of Johannes Wicliffus!" 
 
 The terror of the menace uttered by the con- 
 stable disposed the Burgundian doctors to be glad 
 of an opportunity of escape from the performance 
 of the promise of protection which it is very likely 
 they had made. Moreover, the youthful orator had 
 so far exceeded the bounds of the protest which 
 they had probably engaged to countenance, that 
 the silence which followed was natural and ex- 
 cusable. 
 
 *' Do ye desert me, reverend sires?" said the 
 undaunted scholar. " Why, then I demand the
 
 264 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 protection of the church ! — I am on its hearth in 
 this parvis of Notre Dame ! If that be denied me, 
 Parisians, I appeal to you ! — The people are the 
 last appeal ! " 
 
 " By holy St. Denis, and by this sword of mine 
 office ! I swear, I do not value all this rabble, nor 
 all your privileges, so much at any time as to note 
 they stand between the justice of the king and 
 his offenders ! " shouted the constable. " Traitor, 
 rouse your fellows to do their worst, for by the same 
 I doubly swear, that unless some one that is 
 neither churchman nor base-born — unless some 
 one fit to do battle with a nobly born champion 
 — appears in thy behalf — I will hang thee on this 
 gibbet, as a warning to all sedition-mongers, in 
 spite of all Paris and Burgundy to boot ! " 
 
 A silence followed these dreadful words through- 
 out the multitude. The bold orator himself seemed 
 a little shaken, and extended his arms with an 
 imploring gesture to the doctors and magnates of 
 the University. But all were silent with mingled 
 emotions of fear and doubt. 
 
 " Renaud ! — Where is Hueline? — What mad- 
 man is this ? " gasped the mendicant, to his young 
 companion.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 265 
 
 " I know not ! — why ask you, messire ? Shall 
 we draw our knives and shout * Rescue ! '" returned 
 Renaud Caboche. 
 
 " We are unarmed — it were madness — and it is 
 impossible that this can be ! " said the mendicant, 
 partly to himself, as if endeavouring to refute 
 some dreadful thought which arose in his mind. 
 " It is madness! — and must this glorious creature 
 perish — and we live?" 
 
 " Capeluche, make ready ! — And, Montjoye, 
 sound an alarum ! " exclaimed the angry con- 
 stable. " If none of the quality I have named 
 appear in his behalf, he shall make but a short 
 shrive, for I will see him dano-lins: or ever the 
 king goes to supper ! " 
 
 The executioner himself seemed unwilling to 
 perform his oflSce, and it was not until the con- 
 stable repeated his command that he took up the 
 rope. It lay coiled like a serpent at his feet, and 
 with all his efforts he seemed for a time unable 
 to open it out. The king-at-arms obeyed more 
 readily, and, raising his silver trumpet, blew a 
 blast which resembled a shriek, and was the usual 
 point of war to summon aid. 
 
 A deep and deadly silence followed this dismal 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 trumpet-cry. The populace made a faint move- 
 ment, but a panic terror seemed to come over 
 them — and the fearful silence returned. The scho- 
 lar of the Sorbonne uttered a loud laugh of de- 
 rision and rage. He had amply avenged his 
 blighted laurels ! 
 
 " It cannot be, my reverend sirs ! that ye will 
 thus meanly behold your privileges violated ! " 
 exclaimed the scholar, with a degree of dizziness 
 and horror in his tones. " I did not think that 
 life was precious to me — yet to die thus ! Sire, 
 King of France ! it becomes not your royalty to 
 suffer this lawless cruelty to one of your sub- 
 jects ! " 
 
 The king, it was obvious, looked with earnest 
 wildness at his suppliant, and turned to the chan- 
 cellor. The subtle Henri de Marie immediately 
 whispered words which seemed to satisfy him. 
 He nodded mechanically, smiled, and began 
 gnawing the jewelled knobs of his sceptre. 
 
 " Aha, none vouch for him ! " said the con- 
 stable, with a fierce and yet anxious glance over 
 the multitude. " Even these mutinous dogs of 
 Paris do not bark for him ! — Let a priest be 
 sought — Capeluche, make ready."
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 267 
 
 " It is my duty, — and we cannot always unite 
 duty with pleasure, messire ! " said the executioner, 
 reluctantly preparing a noose; and for the first 
 time it seemed as if a conviction of the full danger 
 and terror of his position rushed upon the men- 
 dicant scholar. He uttered a shriek which rent 
 the ears and hearts of almost all who heard, and, 
 turning with wild vehemence to the people, he 
 called aloud, " Save me, for the love of our mer- 
 ciful Lady ! — Will none aid me, that have hazarded 
 all in your cause ? " 
 
 There was another deadly silence — and Cape- 
 luche approached his victim with the rope. At 
 this instant, when all seemed lost, the mellow note 
 of a mountain bugle was heard ! — Yielding to 
 the strong feeling of admiration and pity which 
 worked in his warm Welsh blood, Owen Tudor 
 snatched his horn from the saddle-bow where it 
 usually hung, and answered the heraldic summons 
 with a blast that sufficiently expressed defiance 
 and aid ! 
 
 There was a moment's pause of doubt and as- 
 tonishment among the people, and then a shout 
 arose which made what might be called an air- 
 
 n2
 
 268 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 quake ! It seemed to shake the massive towers of 
 Notre Dame itself. 
 
 " Your pardon, noble constable ! but he doth 
 not deserve to die the death of the red fox, nor 
 shall while mine arm can lift a lance ! " said the 
 Chevalier Sauvage, spurring his horse so as to 
 produce himself into full view. 
 
 "Knight! who art thou, if not some glorious 
 phantom sent to mine aid, by Him who defends 
 the right?" exclaimed the poor scholar, springing 
 from his aghast attitude in a wild revulsion of 
 feeling. 
 
 "What art thou, indeed, masqued in this 
 strange array?" said the Constable d'Armagnac, 
 laying hand on his sword, and gazing around as if 
 in expectation of an immediate outbreak, of which 
 this apparition was to be the signal. 
 
 "My name is of foreign sound — but I am a 
 knight and full nobly born ! " repHed the descen- 
 dant of Arthur, raising the bars of his helmet; 
 "therefore, sir constable, I pray you release your 
 prisoner, — and let me see him, of like degree, who 
 says it is not well done ! " 
 
 "It is enough that I am championed and
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 269 
 
 avouched — let me go free ! " said the poor scholai 
 after an astonished gaze at his youthful rescuer — 
 and he attempted to descend from the gibbet. 
 Capeluche offered facility instead of obstruction, 
 courteously extending his hand; but Perrinet le 
 Clerc, furious at his public disgrace and balked 
 revenge, suddenly clutched him by the girdle. 
 
 "Thou shalt not go, traitorous Burgundian, thus 
 unchastised! This is but some masquer in this 
 antique suit of steel ! Stir, and I strike thee to the 
 core!" he yelled, and, drawing a dagger which he 
 carried in the breast of his student's habit, he held 
 it threateningly over his unarmed and cowering 
 opponent. Whether he meant to gratify the furious 
 passions in his heart by plunging the weapon into 
 that of the poor scholar, cannot be known. It is 
 probable he needed only the provocation of re- 
 sistance; but almost as he spoke the weighty lance 
 of Owen Tudor struck with such good-will on his 
 head that he reeled from the gibbet to the stones 
 of the parvis, senseless and covered with blood ! 
 Then, dashing on his steed with an impetuosity 
 which threw sparks of fire around him in every 
 direction, Owen received the Burgundian scholar 
 in his arms, as he leaped madly from the engine of
 
 270 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 death. A terrific shout of 'Rescue!* resounded 
 on all sides, and in an instant the mendicant 
 scholar was borne away by a mighty wave of the 
 populace ! Universal confusion and uproar reigned 
 for some minutes, during which the scholar seemed 
 to vault like a ball along the ground, through the 
 dense masses of the people — and the Armagnacs 
 gazed in petrified amazement. 
 
 "Recapture him! — Secure this quaintly dis- 
 guised traitor!" were the first words which the 
 constable uttered. Sir Taneguy Duchatel, the 
 Provost of Paris, instantly ordered bis archers to 
 advance, and he himself, with such knights as 
 were nearest, rushed upon Owen. The movement 
 produced a scene of confiision and dismay, which 
 more effectually counteracted these objects than a 
 violent resistance. The people were seized with 
 terror, and, apprehensive of a general massacre, 
 took to flight. But their numbers, and the 
 attempts of the guards posted at the different out- 
 lets to obstruct their retreat, produced a terrific 
 scene of tumult and conflict, amidst which the 
 object of pursuit disappeared. 
 
 Meanwhile, Owen found himself surrounded by 
 a nish of cavalry, and, remembering that he did
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 271 
 
 not come to France to fight the Armagnacs, he 
 attempted an explanation. But his voice was 
 drowned in the universal uproar; and finally he 
 found himself under the disagreeable necessity of 
 yielding as a prisoner to the Provost of Paris, or 
 of batthng his way through a thick squadron of 
 spears, and axes, and crossbows. All his assur- 
 ances that he was a knight and a noble, were 
 answered with cries of "A masquer, a masquer !" 
 — "a Burgundian villein disguised as a knight!" 
 And, very reasonably concluding that he had 
 better wait for some calmer opportunity of assert- 
 ing his rank and dignity, he informed the Provost 
 that he was willing to go wherever he pleased, and 
 prove himself to be as he had said — a knight and 
 a noble — and by no means a Burgundian. In the 
 confusion, the Provost seemed to notice only that 
 he surrendered, and ordered him instantly to be 
 removed to the seat of his jurisdiction — the fortress 
 of the Grand Chatelet. 
 
 In a very brief period, Owen Tudor found himself 
 the solitary tenant of a chamber in this edifice — 
 the terror of all the evil-doers, political and other- 
 wise, of Paris. Thither he was tumultuously 
 escorted by the soldiery of the Provost, and
 
 272 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 a rolling flood of fugitives, pressing to escape 
 through the dismal archway which traversed the 
 whole file like a tunnel. The Chatelet commanded 
 the communication between the shores of the 
 river, which it could at any time cut off by closing 
 its narrow and massive gates. The confidence 
 and sympathy existing between the Parisians and 
 their rulers, may be inferred from the fact that the 
 rush of the mob in this direction was caused by 
 fears that the constable would order them to be 
 closed to effect his massacre. 
 
 The lodging which Owen had procured for him- 
 self proved, on examination, but very little to his 
 taste. It was a small circular chamber, with walls 
 of bare granite, furnished with a wooden stool, a 
 couch of similarly soft materials, and a coarse rug 
 for a coverlet. An opening in the thickness of 
 the wall, so narrow and elevated that it was not 
 thought necessary to secure it with the usual iron 
 lattice, afforded the "stray eaglet of Snowdon," 
 as the family bard styled him, his first glimpses 
 from a dungeon. 
 
 The prospect without was no great improvement 
 on that within. The tower in which he was 
 inured seemed hung to the main building like a
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 273 
 
 lantern on a watch-box, judging by its similarity 
 to one on the opposite side of a gateway below, 
 whose narrowing base terminated in a round stone 
 knob in the air. Some ghastly old mutilated 
 statue, that looked like a corpse in a stone shroud, 
 decorated the centre of the archway, between two 
 useless pillars — above which arose the main pile 
 of the building, flanked by a square and a round 
 tower, both battlemented, and guarded by the 
 archers of Taneguy Duchatel. 
 
 Below, was an open space which seemed used as 
 a fish market; for it was strewed with baskets of 
 that ghstering viand, and tenanted by a chattering, 
 brawling, ragged throng, principally of w^omen, 
 with faces tanned to the hue of ripe chestnuts, 
 feet and legs bare to the knee, and clad in coarse 
 petticoats streaming with weeds and water, as if 
 they were just drawn from the depths of the Seine, 
 with their prey in their arms. Beyond the mar- 
 ket-place, a series of dark and exceedingly narrow 
 streets could be distino-uished, twisted too;ether 
 like a coil of muddy eels. The designations of 
 this quarter, indeed, might sufficiently describe it. 
 The Valley of Misery, the Tripe-Market, and the 
 famous, or rather infamous, street, Trop-va-qui-dur, 
 
 n3
 
 274 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 were included in its precincts. The view was ter- 
 minated by a singular and very lofty tower, which 
 Owen afterwards learned was that of St. Jacques- 
 de-la-Boucherie — the great shambles, or Boucherie 
 of ancient Paris, lying amidst this French St. 
 Giles. 
 
 After a brief survey of these accompaniments of 
 his situation, Owen had leisure to wonder at him- 
 self. By what strange magic of eloquence had he 
 been cajoled into making his appearance in Paris 
 as an antagonist to the cause he came to support? 
 Fraught with so knightly and noble a contempt of 
 vassalage and of the lowly born, he could no 
 longer divine by what art the poor scholar won 
 him, in a manner, to identify himself with the 
 insolent Jacquerie of Paris ! And yet so singular 
 a fascination lingered with the recollection of the 
 young scholastic phantom, that Owen could not 
 find it in his heart to blame himself utterly for the 
 course he had taken. 
 
 Meanwhile, he could not doubt that both parties 
 would consider him as a Burgundian; and he 
 knew enough of the character and achievements of 
 the Provost of Paris to be aware that it was a 
 perilous light in which to stand in his custody.
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 275 
 
 Sir Taneguy was famed for the ferocity of his 
 partizanship with the Armagnacs, and his deadly 
 hatred against the whole faction of the man who 
 murdered his friend and patron, the Duke of Or- 
 leans. He was warmly attached to the young 
 dauphin, whose military education was confided to 
 him. These passions, generous and noble in them- 
 selves, inflamed by his hot Breton blood, had not 
 unfrequently displayed themselves in fearful ex- 
 cesses of revenge and cruelty. 
 
 Still Owen's sanguine inexperience persuaded 
 him that he could easily clear his conduct, and re- 
 establish himself with the Armagnacs, if he could 
 only win an opportunity of explanation. For the 
 first time, he remembered with satisfaction the 
 diploma of knighthood which he had received from 
 the English herald, Paon, and the record of his 
 achievements on the Vire. He hoped that these 
 documents were safe in the possession of the faith- 
 ful Rhys ap Goronwy — and hoped on, until the 
 door of his aerial dungeon flew back, and Rhys 
 was thrust, or rather flung, into the chamber ! 
 
 The good squire's news were even worse than 
 might have been augured from such an arrival. 
 When Rhys beheld his lord engaged in a scufile.
 
 276 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 he made the most violent efforts to come to his 
 assistance. But the rush of the fugitive populace, 
 and the conflict around him, not only prevented 
 his advance, but swept him out of the parvis into 
 one of the streets that debouched into it. In the 
 midst of his struggles to return, a one-eyed beggar, 
 who had with difficulty reached the spot, addressed, 
 him, as it seemed to Rhys, with great vehemence 
 and entreaty, and in a variety of French dialects, 
 exhorting him to flight. By his gesticulations, and 
 continual pointing at the baggage on his steed's 
 crupper, Rhys understood that he warned him his 
 property was in danger. But, frantic at seeing his 
 lord led away captive, he sHghted the caution ; 
 and he supposed it was in the midst of his re- 
 newed efforts to join him, that some thieves ma- 
 naged to lighten his steed of almost all the valu- 
 ables it carried ! To crown his misfortunes, when 
 finally he forced his way to the gates of the Grand 
 Chatelet, the guards could not, or would not, un- 
 derstand that he was the vassal of their prisoner, 
 and desired to share his fate, whatever it might be. 
 An archer on the barbacan discharged an arrow at 
 him, which killed his poor steed ; and he himself 
 would probably have shared the same fate, but for
 
 QWEN TUDOR. 277 
 
 the arrival of a personage who seemed to be the 
 captain of the fortress — and who spoke Welsh ! 
 Not the pure congenial Welsh of Wales, which, 
 according to Rhys, was sweeter than the music of 
 a running stream to a thirsty hunter, on a hill of 
 sunburned furze ! — but such Welsh as was spoken 
 by the Irish and Scots. 
 
 The captain of the fortress was addressed by 
 the name of Sir Taneguy, which Owen remembered 
 was that of the Provost of Paris. He questioned 
 him with the utmost severity concerning his mas- 
 ter — who he was — when he came — where he re- 
 sided — what papers he carried — what houses he 
 frequented in Paris — who were his accomplices! — 
 A torrent of queries — to all which Rhys was too 
 much confused to answer with anything but the 
 truth, until he was put on his guard by the in- 
 credulous exclamations and accusations of the 
 knight. Rhys knew very Uttle indeed of the in- 
 ternal politics of France; but he always under- 
 stood that his lord came to serve a party called 
 Armagnacs, who were masters in Paris. To his 
 amazement, he found that he was seized as a Bur- 
 gundian, in the act of exciting a popular out- 
 break !
 
 278 OWEN TUDOK. 
 
 This fact confused Rhys, and negatived the 
 truth of all the rest of his testimony. Nothing 
 that he said was believed ; and, finally, the Provost 
 worked himself into a towering passion ; swore 
 by half a dozen saints that he would have the 
 seditious scholar's head, if he were alive and in 
 Paris, before another sunset; and that, on the fol- 
 lowing morning, he would hang both Rhys and 
 his lord, unless they confessed the whole secret of 
 the conspiracy, and gave up the scholar to punish- 
 ment! This doom he ordered him to communi- 
 cate to his principal, that he might make up his 
 mind on the subject, and declared that it should 
 be proclaimed throughout Paris, in order that the 
 good effect of the example might not be lost on 
 the friends and supporters of the criminals !
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 279 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HUELINE DE TROYE. 
 
 Owen Tudor spent his first night in Paris, with 
 what degree of satisfaction may be imagined. 
 Once more his confidence in his prophecy sus- 
 tained a severe shock. No condition of the warn- 
 ings it contained seemed included, and yet he was 
 evidently in a pass of mortal jeopardy and, far 
 from becoming the sire of a race of kings, was 
 threatened with a degrading and horrible termi- 
 nation to his career ! 
 
 The rage of the imprisoned eagle, when it beats 
 its wings to pieces against the bars of its cage, 
 was in the heart of the young mountain chief, 
 while he passed the night traversing the narrow 
 limits of his dungeon. He felt it scarcely possible 
 to explain his conduct even to his faithful and 
 confiding vassal ; how, then, to the suspicious and 
 enraged Armagnacs? His credentials were all
 
 280 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 lost, irretrievably, no doubt. The reputation of 
 the thieves of Paris was already fixed. They were 
 known not to be bunglers at their work. Owen 
 had little doubt that the companionable beggar, 
 whose one-eyed blindness he himself observed was 
 a sham, had helped to despoil the trusting Rhys. 
 His only hope was, that the Armagnacs would be 
 stirred to activity in the search for the stolen 
 goods, by their desire to make some political dis- 
 covery in the baggage of a supposed emissary of 
 the Burgundians. 
 
 But what a light hope was this to be cast into 
 the balance, against the terrible possibilities that 
 awaited him ! More than the horror of the punish- 
 ment denounced, its ignominy fretted the proud 
 soul of the Welsh chieftain to madness, while Rhys 
 was scarcely disturbed at the prospect of a doom 
 which he was to share with so great and beloved 
 a personage. Moreover, Rhys's superstitious con- 
 fidence in the prophecy of Glendower was not to 
 be shaken by any refutation whatever, short of 
 actual impossibility. 
 
 The morning came, and brought with it but lit- 
 tle consolation. The prisoners were, however, 
 treated with civility; and a good breakfast of
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 281 
 
 wme, fruit, and chestnut-bread, was brought to 
 them by a gaoler, who appeared to be both deaf 
 and dumb, for he made no reply to the impatient 
 questionings of Owen. And whatever good omens 
 this treatment might raise, were dissipated by the 
 arrival of two personages whose mere appearance 
 was an assurance of evil. One of them was a 
 summoner of the Court of the Grand Chatelet, in 
 his official robes. The other was the executioner 
 of Paris, Monsieur Capeluche, who wore his usual 
 ornament, in the shape of a rope twisted in an 
 elegant arabesque round his arm. 
 
 The summoner delivered himself of his message 
 in a hard, official, uninterested tone, purporting, 
 merely, that the prisoners were required to appear 
 and present themselves before the bar of the King's 
 Justice of the Grand Chatelet within the space of 
 one hour. Capeluche seemed to have little other 
 business, at the moment, than to take a survey of 
 his future victim, which he very deliberately did, 
 until Owen was exasperated at the length and 
 steadiness of his scrutiny. " See ye aught marvel- 
 lous in me, churl," he exclaimed, " that ye gaze 
 at me, as at a wild beast chained?" 
 
 " Nay, messire," repHed the executioner blandly.
 
 282 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 " Contrariwise, I do oft wonder why men come to 
 stare at others in your condition, as if it were so 
 rare and amazing a thing to be hung ! I am but 
 taking the measure of your drop — you are a gen- 
 tleman of goodly stature! Continue your repast, 
 I pray you, sir; I am not as a tailor, or a coffin- 
 maker, that must test his eye with his tape and 
 yard ! I thank you, messire ! — you need not 
 draw yourself to your full height ! I comprehend 
 that I must shorten my dear Choke-Rogue by a 
 loop ! Eat, sir," he continued, with a courteous 
 gesture to Rhys, " for you have not long even to 
 live, and time grows precious, like other things, at 
 the moment when we are about to lose it for 
 ever." 
 
 " Shall I teach him how wild cats embrace, ap 
 Tudor, lest he live to hang more of his betters ?" 
 exclaimed the Welsh esquire. 
 
 " Peace, peace, ap Goronwy ! his lords will not 
 condemn us, thou seest, unheard ! " said Owen, 
 much agitated. " Sir summoner, I will obey in- 
 stantly, if I may, — but rest assured, if ye put me 
 to the doom ye threaten, thou shalt hang a dead 
 man, for the first time, thou dismal varlet of 
 death ! "
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 283 
 
 " Not for the first time, messire — I have hung 
 many men after they were dead ! " rephed Cape- 
 luche, poHtely. " I am ashamed to differ from so 
 noble a personage — but it is sometimes of con- 
 sequence that people should rather seem gone one 
 way than another, into our glorious inheritance in 
 the other world. Ah, how many owe to me their 
 beatification ! How many that in their lives were 
 held for pestilent rogues and perturbers of the 
 peace have owed to me their rank of martyrs and 
 saints with our good Parisians ! I promise it, 
 messire, you shall be well mourned, by the women 
 at least — you were made to excite their pity — and 
 our Parisian women are exceedingly kind-hearted ! 
 They weep for everybody who is good-looking 
 and seems to deserve his fate, that is, who dies 
 a dog's death like a man ! And certes, messire, 
 either I am no judge of men's breeding, or you 
 will not disgrace yours by dying in any other 
 manner." 
 
 " Begone, wretch ! — I have heard the summons 
 — begone, ere I send thee to keep company with 
 the worst of the slaves thou hast despatched ! " 
 exclaimed Owen. 
 
 The messenger of the provost seemed glad to
 
 284 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 make his retreat; but, in spite of this menace, 
 Capeluche lingered. When the summoner was 
 fairly outside the door, he halted in following him, 
 and turned with a singular and anxious stare at 
 the prisoner, — which was reciprocated, but not 
 apparently as he expected. Owen was still more 
 surprised on beholding him raise his hands, clutch 
 them firmly over his head, and mutter, as if it 
 were some mysterious shibboleth, the Burgundian 
 motto, " Je le tiens ! " 
 
 Owen's uncomprehending look seemed in his 
 turn to surprise the executioner. "Messire," he 
 said, approaching Owen on tiptoe, stretching his 
 long serpent neck, and whispering almost with the 
 hiss of that reptile in his ear, " You may put all 
 the faith remaining on earth, in me ! My lord 
 the duke well knows me for a faithful Bur- 
 gundian, notwithstanding I am obliged to hang 
 on the side which is master in Paris ! Trust in 
 me — what can I do to serve you ? My name 
 is Capeluche — it is another name for fidelity ! — 
 Capeluche, King of the Rogues of Paris ! — the 
 duke must have spoken of me to you ?" 
 
 Owen had never spoken to any duke in the 
 whole course of his life, much less on such a
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 285 
 
 topic as this Roi des Ribands, as his title ran 
 in French. He stated as much, and in language by 
 no means compHmentary to this strange majesty. 
 
 " I am not in the least offended — ' rogue, vil- 
 lain, loathsome butcher ! ' — I perceive your cau- 
 tion," said Capeluche, with marked approbation. 
 ** But, noble knight, you will trust in me when 
 I tell you that I have a message to you — from the 
 Grande Boucherie ! " 
 
 " From the Great Shambles ?" repeated Owen, 
 in vacant astonishment at the impressive and ex- 
 tremely confidential manner in which these words 
 were uttered. 
 
 " From Simon Caboche and Mademoiselle 
 Hueline ! " returned the executioner, in the same 
 prodigious and significant tone, though still in a 
 whisper. 
 
 "Hueline! — what Hueline?" repeated Owen, 
 forcibly struck with the sound of this melodious 
 and remarkable name, and yet amazed to find it 
 thus used and associated. 
 
 Capeluche understood the question as a test 
 of his acquaintance with the personages of whom 
 he spoke, and he readily replied, — 
 
 " Mademoiselle Hueline ! — the daughter of the
 
 286 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 mediciner, Jean de Troye — she whom the Armag- 
 nacs call, for scorn, the minstrelless of the Bou- 
 cherie, whose lays it is forbidden to all jongleurs, 
 under penalty of the pillory and a bored tongue, to 
 sing in Paris ! " 
 
 " She who composed the Lament — the farewell 
 to minstrelsy?" said Owen, eagerly. 
 
 " 'Tis like enough ; she is for doing now, and 
 not for talking," replied Capeluche, a little sur- 
 prised in his turn. 
 
 ^'And who is Simon Caboche?" said Owen, 
 with an anxiety for which he himself would have 
 been at a loss to account. 
 
 "Nay, who of all Paris — and all France to 
 boot — knows not that?" said Capeluche, with a 
 sly smile. " Ask me a more difficult question ! — 
 ask me who the one-eyed beggar of the parvis is ? 
 He is not known to every child, as is the ]\Iaster- 
 Chief of the Boucherie !" 
 
 "Why! who is the blind beggar then?" re- 
 turned the amazed Welshman. 
 
 " Nay, messire, you carry your caution too far ; 
 but men's heads are the safer in your hands!'' 
 said Capeluche. " This is the message which I 
 bring to you from the Boucherie — from Simon
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 287 
 
 Caboche and Demoiselle Hueline — that you may 
 safely send them word through me who you are 
 and wherefore in Paris — and what news you bring 
 from Arras ? And they exhort you not to be dis- 
 mayed or affrighted into perilous confessions — for 
 that, sooner than any harm shall befall so valiant 
 and generous a knight, they, she — for methinks 
 Simon knows not who the poor scholar was — will 
 surrender him as your ransom ! " 
 
 " I know nothing of Simon Caboche — of the 
 Boucherie — or of its minstrelless ! " exclaimed 
 Owen, in great vexation ; " therefore tell them all 
 to work no treason or betrayal on my account, for 
 I am none of their fellowship, and what I did was 
 in the pure love of honour and fair play ! " 
 
 " Keep to that story on the rack, and the poor 
 youth need not be given up ; but, alas, very few 
 young persons sustain the second wrench un- 
 blenchingly ! " said Capeluche, tenderly. " You 
 seem, indeed, sir knight, to have your story well 
 by heart, and so I will report. Meanwhile, 
 wherever you see a sprig of violet ('tis the only 
 purple we dare to wear now in Paris), rest assured 
 that he who carries it as his cognisance is a friend, 
 and one in whom you may confide."
 
 288 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 " Either thou jestest with me, or wouldst betray 
 me ! " said Owen, turning disdainfully away. 
 Capeluche stared at him for a moment, and then, 
 shrugging his shoulders, muttered, "Ah, it is a 
 well-shaped neck for the axe !" and retired. 
 
 These sig^ns of the rebeUious humour of the 
 Parisians, and of the deep-seated conspiracy exist- 
 ing among them against the Armagnac sway, 
 completed Owen's anger at his own imprudence. 
 Neither could it be pleasing to the proud and 
 aspiring Tudor to find himself become the ally 
 of butchers and beggar scholars! All his roman- 
 tic notions of a poetess whose lays the refined 
 James of Scotland deemed worthy of translation, 
 vanished in the gross and even horrible ideas 
 associated with the shambles. The minstrelless of 
 the Boucherie ! — the wife, no doubt, of some 
 dreadful master of the craft, whose very messenger 
 was a hangman, in no wise answered either to his 
 native traditions of the Druidesses of old, or to his 
 ideal of the splendid professors of the "gaye 
 science" in France. 
 
 Supposing that the hangman had not tendered 
 him a snare, which Owen greatly suspected, his 
 indignation was roused to loathing and contempt
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 289 
 
 by the intention announced of redeeming him at 
 the price of the betrayal of the poor scholar. The 
 treacherous baseness of such a proceeding with 
 one who had sei'ved their cause so well, increased 
 his abhorrence of everything Burgundian. He 
 thirsted for an opportunity of proving that he had 
 in reahty no sympathy with that mutinous com- 
 monalty whose cause he seemed to have espoused ! 
 The archers who were sent to bring the prisoners 
 before the tribunal of the Grand Chatelet were 
 astonished at the alacrity with which the strange 
 knight complied with their summons. 
 
 Owen was escorted in this mood of impatient 
 anxiety into the great hall in which the Provosts 
 of Paris held their courts. Perhaps in no other 
 European jurisdiction was there ever so singular a 
 union of offices as in this military magistracy; 
 Owen himself was struck with a sense of unfitness 
 when he perceived the judge of the court, clad in 
 complete armour, and seated in an iron chair 
 under a canopy emblazoned with the royal arms 
 of France, who was surrounded by a mino-led 
 crowd of men-at-arms, attorneys, and pleaders 
 anxiously awaiting briefs. Robes of silk and coats 
 of steel — ushers and spearmen — sergeants of law 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 with rods, and sergeants of arms with axes — the 
 military baton and the civil hand of justice, laid 
 together on a cushion before the Provost — all 
 marked the confusion of a jurisdiction in which 
 law was pronounced through the barred vizor of a 
 helmet. 
 
 " A fair morning to you, Sir Springald, — but 
 'tis like enough to prove your last,'' said the 
 Provost, sternly, as Owen was placed at the bar 
 of his tribunal. " You have brought your Bur- 
 gundy wares to a bad market, as this great lord 
 and noble knight — in the pink velvet beflowered 
 with golden luces — the Sire de la Trimouille, may 
 at his pleasure unfold." 
 
 " The commands. Lord Provost, which I bear 
 from my very good lord the constable are to you 
 — not to the criminals under your judgment," 
 replied the great noble thus introduced, who stood 
 beside the Provost's chair in an elegant and 
 courtly attitude, his left hand propped on his 
 haunch so as to display the magnificent mantle 
 to the best advantage, which Sir Taneguy selected 
 as a main article in his characterisation. He was 
 attired in all the most splendid fopperies of the 
 age, as if his sole care was the adornment of his
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 291 
 
 person, and was a man but a few years past the 
 prime of youth. But his dissatisfied and sus- 
 picious eye, the smoothness of his practised smile, 
 the somewhat livid tint of his complexion, marked 
 the aspiring politician quite as much as the cour- 
 tier and votary of pleasure. He might else have 
 been held a handsome and well-made personage — 
 which he was undoubtedly considered by the ladies 
 of the court, with whom his high rank, large pos- 
 sessions, and rising favour with the dauphin, ren- 
 dered him irresistible. He was in truth that Lord 
 de la Trimouille, who subsequently and for so 
 many years exercised a pernicious and enervating 
 influence on the counsels of the future Charles VII. 
 "Well, sir! — the constable sends me word 
 that, unless you confess to me immediately the 
 whole plan of your conspiracy — who were its ac- 
 complices — and give up your seditious mouthpiece 
 to his vengeance — I am to cause you to be sud- 
 denly throttled in the Place de la Greve, that all 
 men may behold what reception we give the Bur- 
 gundians in Paris ! " said Sir Taneguy Duchatel. 
 " And therefore either make your shrift to me, or 
 to a jacobin brother who receives ten crowns a year 
 
 o 2
 
 292 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 to absolve our rogues of the Chatelet ! — and com- 
 plains that he is ill paid." 
 
 " Methought you were a crested knight, Sir 
 Provost, and not a shaveling pardoner ! " returned 
 Owen, haughtily. " But my confession is soon 
 made ! The conspiracy on which I came to Paris 
 was, to serve the King and Constable of France 
 with the forwardest — my accomphces were my 
 shield and lance — and of the poor scholar I know 
 only that he seemed to me wronged in being 
 challenged to a fair field and then denied it — and, 
 according to my duty and office of chivalry, I 
 interfered on behalf of the weak and oppressed! — 
 That is all." 
 
 " It is well spoken — your vassal said as much 
 before ye ! — nevertheless you must hang for your 
 orator, or he for you, Burgundian ! " said Sir 
 Taneguy, gazing with much interest at the fine 
 countenance of Owen, which was, in truth, what 
 Isabel the Catholic styled a similar one — an open 
 letter of recommendation. 
 
 " Nay, sir, you are too harsh ! — My lord the 
 constable desired that in the first place you should 
 try what effect the rack might have in removing
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 293 
 
 this fair stranger's objection to speak ! " said the 
 Lord de la Trimouille, with the most insinuating 
 mildness of tone. 
 
 " The rack !" exclaimed Owen, furiously — '* the 
 rack to freeborn man and a knight!" 
 
 " You have marred my plan, according to cus- 
 tom, Sire de la Trimouille ! — but you did not know, 
 perchance, that shame has more terrors than suf- 
 fering to the valiant ! " said the Provost. " The 
 rope would affright him more than the rack, or 
 I will abandon all study of men's faces. — We 
 must try both upon him unless he answers to the 
 point ! — Tell me, youth — if Hfe be not yet so 
 irksome to thee that thou art wiUing to relinquish 
 it in torments ! — who was the insolent clerk that 
 bearded us, and what conspiracy is at work in this 
 ever-boiling caldron of Paris ? It is not possible 
 but that ye had some secret understanding with 
 the rebellious rogues of this city ! Ha ! is not the 
 Boucherie in it ? — By Heaven, I will have it 
 stormed and fired if there be never an other ox 
 killed deftly in Paris again ! " 
 
 " I had scarcely been in Paris an hour when 
 the chance befell ! — What conspiracies, what ac- 
 complices could I form?" said Owen.
 
 294 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 " The miner makes all things ready before he 
 applies the match/' rephed the Provost. 
 
 " And to be a knight, as you call yourself, who 
 ever, since the days of Charlemagne, saw one in 
 such an array ? " said the elegant Lord de Tri- 
 mouille, unable to repress a smile, as he surveyed 
 the antiquated armour and accoutrements of the 
 ChevaHer Sauvage. " I'll warrant me, thou art 
 some base-born loon who, for a reward, hast staked 
 thy poor life on a desperate cast, and, as an 
 assured token to the seditious, maskest in this 
 wild network of steel ! " 
 
 " Thou ' callest thyself noble, doubtless, lord of 
 France ! " replied Owen. " Stripped to the skin, 
 and weaponed with a straw, I will prove myself 
 thy better wert thou in harness of inlaid gold, and 
 hung like a chieftain's hall with swords and spears." 
 " Peace, peace ! — the Lord de la Trimouille 
 employs more tailors than armourers — and this 
 vaunt says, thou hast heard of it," said the Pro- 
 vost, with a hard wrench of the jaws which, with 
 him, was a smile. " But, now thou hast heard 
 the conditions, speak out — or I must hang thee, 
 in very truth, from my highest battlements, as a 
 scarecrow to the mutineers of the Boucherie."
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 295 
 
 '' It were a full great dishonour to you, Sir Ta- 
 neguy ; but ye shall rather hack me to pieces than 
 put me to so unknightly a doom!" returned Owen. 
 
 " Pardon your servant, messire! it is not so un- 
 knightly a doom as you seem to apprehend," said 
 Capeluche, with his characteristic politeness and 
 suavity. " Of later years — since these wars began 
 — I have had the honour to hang many gen- 
 tlemen of the most excellent blood and lineage I 
 There was Messire Louis de Bourdon, whom my 
 lady the queen held in the highest consideration 
 — one but little less pleasant to look upon than 
 your worshipful knighthood- — I hung him ! " 
 
 " Nay, the minion had not so blooming a visage 
 as this one's, were it a trifle less flushed," said the 
 Provost, with a mixture of pleasure and trouble 
 in the remembrance of the deed which conjured 
 up a fearful phantom of the avenging Isabeau. 
 *' And dost thou remember, Capeluche, how he 
 prayed thee to strangle him so as not to twist it 
 out of shape? But were thy beauty a woman's, 
 Burgundian, I would not spare it; for I am that 
 Taneguy who so hates the murderer, your lord, 
 that it angers me worse than a bull at crimson to 
 see aught of the beautiful purple colour which he
 
 296 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 has made his own! And, therefore, Capeluche, 
 no farther pause ; and, since he will not confess, 
 make carrion of him ! " 
 
 " Pennit me, messire ! — it is as soft as a para- 
 mour's arms round the neck," said the courteous 
 executioner, offering a noose which he adroitly 
 slipped from his arm. "If you are patient, all will 
 go well. I never put any one to inconvenience in 
 hanging him — much less a gentleman of degree." 
 
 " Achieve me then — for I will not die this 
 death ! " shouted Owen ; and, frantic with de- 
 spair and rage, he made so sudden and bold a 
 snatch, that he possessed himself of the jewelled 
 sword that hung at the belt of the Lord de la 
 Trimouille. His own he had surrendered to the 
 Provost in the parvis of Notre Dame, as a volun- 
 tary sign that he intended not resistance. The 
 Lord de la Trimouille uttered an exclamation of 
 alarm, and sprang behind the provost's tribunal, 
 out of reach. 
 
 " Marry, must I brain this cockatrice myself? 
 Are you hurt, Messire de la Trimouille, that you 
 leap like a parched chestnut? — I would the dau- 
 phin could see how skilled you are in vaulting ! " 
 said the Provost, scornfully; but, laying his hand
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 297 
 
 on the huge spiky mace beside his chair, '' Thou 
 art of good metal, by my beard, boy ! — And what 
 tongue is this thou speakest? — Is it Breton?" 
 
 In his emotion, Owen had unwittingly uttered 
 his defiance in his native languaoe. 
 
 "It is Welsh — I am a knight of Wales! — I 
 have spoken truly — I come to serve the King of 
 France and the Constable d'Armagnac against the 
 English, and all of their alliance, to the death ! " 
 exclaimed Owen. 
 
 " Christ's sweat! I understand thee well 
 enough ! — I thought thy varlet was a seacoast 
 man of St. Malo, and told a lying legend ! " said 
 Sir Taneguy, with something of the feeling which 
 the associations of childhood seldom fail to evoke 
 in the sternest breasts. " I do remember me, my 
 mother was wont to say that those of Wales are 
 cousins of ours, some score times removed; and, 
 though you speak the tongue of Bretagne, it is 
 not altogether after our fashion! — I could be glad 
 to beheve thee, for I find thee vahant! But how 
 canst thou pretend thou art come among us to 
 serve against thine own liege lord ? " 
 
 " Such is not Henry of England — nor ever shall 
 be ! " returned Owen, vehemently. " I am of 
 
 o3
 
 298 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 those of my country who are faithful to her as 
 the last leaves are to the oak of winter, and defy 
 and refuse all homage to him ! " 
 
 " Credit him not, Sir Taneguy ! " said the Lord 
 de la Trimouille, recovering from his panic, but 
 still deadly pale. " Who can believe such folly 
 as he alleges concerning his interference on behalf 
 of the false scholar? What knight of our days 
 deems the old oaths and obligations of chivalry 
 more than a ceremonious mutter? King Henry 
 hath enow of Welshmen in his service — and he is 
 known to be the fast friend of the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy, in secret. If this be a knight, England 
 hath lent him for this treasonable service, since 
 those of the murderer are too well known among 
 us ! Put him to the rack, and, my life on it, we 
 shall hear strange secrets babbled — secrets which 
 may concern our very existence — our very lives, 
 messire ! '^ 
 
 *' Thou hearest, cousin? — I must crack these 
 goodly limbs of thine, as a squirrel cracks a nut, 
 to get at the kernel of thy business in Paris ! " 
 said the Provost. " But give my Lord de la 
 Trimouille his pretty knife again; — it was never 
 meant to ward a blow from this mace of mine."
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 299 
 
 " I had papers — the attestations of the Enghsh 
 heralds — but they have been stolen from me!" 
 said Owen, now much agitated. " Ye shall not 
 win this sword but with mine arm at its hilt! — 
 Penmynydd, thy son shalt die no felon's death!" 
 
 " Search has been made, but no such papers 
 nor robbers found ! " returned Taneguy, wrinkhng 
 his stern brows. " Yet it would better please me 
 — if these papers of thine contain what we might 
 wring from thee by torture — to spare thee, if thou 
 wilt confess where they are to be found?" 
 
 " I cannot — would to all blessed saints I knew I 
 But I have nothing to confess, though ye put me 
 through a wine-press, and squeezed the last drop 
 out of my veins!" said Owen. 
 
 " The attestations of English heralds, he says ! 
 — and yet you doubt from what quarter he comes ! " 
 exclaimed the malicious Sire de la Trimouille. 
 " Sir Provost, you have enemies that say you are 
 but ill fitted for your office, and, by my faith, the 
 constable will begin to think so too, when I re- 
 turn with my report." 
 
 " Men's thoughts are free — provided they utter 
 them not — let the constable think what best pleases 
 him; but let me not hear that any man speaks
 
 300 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 against me, whatever peacock garb he wears!" 
 said Sir Taneguy, significantly; and the menace 
 implied produced an effect. "Let some disarm 
 the prisoner of that steel wand — and, Capeluche, 
 bring some of thy trifles hither — such as the little 
 thumb-screws thou didst invent for pastime." 
 
 "Certes, my lord," rephed Capeluche. "Loup- 
 garou, my child, go and bring me some of my 
 curiosities out of my chamber called the Devil's 
 Lodgings — those marked with the crosses sawtre- 
 wise — St. Andrew's crosses, by your pardon, sirs — 
 for I invented them in my Lord of Burgundy's 
 time!" 
 
 He said these last words with an emphatic 
 glance at Owen, and added, in a manner which he 
 meant to be, and which was, very significant — 
 '* Surrender, sir ! — I will not hurt you more than I 
 can help ! " 
 
 But Owen was not in the least seduced by this 
 promise. "I brought these limbs here to your 
 service, Armagnacs ! but ye shall not cripple them 
 thus!" he shouted. "Come and learn how much 
 rather I will die ! " 
 
 " Yield up this foolish twig ! " said the Provost, 
 rising fiercely on his tribunal and raising his
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 301 
 
 mighty weapon, "Or I must brain thee, boy, with 
 mine own hand ; for I do at times confound mine 
 offices." 
 
 " Let the blow fall — I can take death unflinch- 
 ingly from a knightly hand, but not from this foul 
 hangman's ! " returned Owen. 
 
 "By the king's life, I know not what to do! — 
 and behold thy varlet has thrust himself in the 
 way to receive death in thy place ! " said Taneguy, 
 letting his mace sink gradually down in great per- 
 plexity of thought. 
 
 "Touching fidelity! — wilt thou do as much for 
 thy dear master, Loupgarou, when my time 
 comes?" said Capeluche, pretending for the first 
 time to notice that his assistant was not present. 
 "Ah, false disciple, indolent apprentice! — whither 
 is he gone? But what is all here? Ah, sir 
 knight of Burgundy! — is it rescue? Here comes 
 the whole gang of the royal milice ! I mean the 
 honourable guild of the butchers, marching in 
 procession, with Simon Caboche himself at the 
 head of them!" 
 
 It was under the designation of milice royale 
 that the Duke of Burgundy organised the populace 
 of Paris, and committed it to the guidance of the
 
 302 OWEN TUDOB. 
 
 chiefs of the corporation of the Boucherie, whose 
 necessary connection with the multitude, and de- 
 votion to his person, pointed them out as the fittest 
 instruments in raising the tumults and insurrections 
 necessary to his designs. Simon Caboche, the 
 hereditary chief of the butchers, executed the ofiice 
 of mob leader with such sanguinary zeal and spirit 
 that the lower classes of the Burgundians of Paris 
 were in general designated from his name — 
 Cabochiens. 
 
 Owen started and looked round when Capeluche 
 uttered the emphatic introduction recorded above. 
 He perceived that the doors of the great hall of 
 the Chatelet were thrust violently open, and that a 
 crowd of persons were pushing their way in, before 
 whom the ushers of the court retreated in mingled 
 expostulation and resistance. It consisted of a 
 rabble, very apparently of the lowest populace, in 
 attendance upon a more regular and organized 
 body of men, who marched some three or four 
 abreast, in a species of uniform. A red woollen 
 habit descending to their naked knees, hoods of 
 greasy blue, girdles at which hung the long knives, 
 chains, and steel appropriate to the butcher's craft, 
 monstrous poleaxes used in felling oxen in their
 
 OWEX TUDOR. 303 
 
 hands, composed a formidable array, coupled with 
 the brutal ferocity and strength of their personal 
 appearance. But Owen — who had never before 
 beheld the populace of a great city — gazed with 
 disgust and even alarm at the dreadful multitude 
 which accompanied this more disciplined band. 
 Their wild and haggard visages, their ragged garbs, 
 their yells, and shrieks, and confusion, the stench 
 which exhaled from their filthy carcasses, filled 
 the mountain chief with horror. This feehng was 
 rather heightened than diminished, when he noticed 
 that, although not armed with such dangerous 
 weapons as the butchers, this mob carried instru- 
 ments used by various crafts of artizans, which, 
 on occasion, might prove of terrible service to any 
 cause they espoused. In especial, Rhys marvelled 
 at the numerous hammers of the ponderous metal 
 used by professors of his own Vulcanic art, which 
 were borne by men whom he should not otherwise 
 have taken to be smiths. The populace were no 
 longer compelled to appear without the implements 
 of their trade, as was ordained when they were 
 assembled in the parvis of Notre Dame ; and, 
 moreover, the events of that day had revived their 
 seditious humour and audacity.
 
 304 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 "Death of my life! what is the matter?" said 
 the Provost, starting up on his judgment seat, and 
 now seizing his mace in good earnest. 
 
 "Never tell me, my masters!" a voice, almost 
 as deep in its roaring tones as that of a bull, was 
 heard saying, "This is the king's chamber, and it 
 is open to all his liegemen, and especially those 
 who come for redress of grievances! We are 
 here on lawful business — we may beg, if we may 
 not take justice! So let us see your Provost!" 
 
 "It is Simon Caboche and all his tatterde- 
 maUions!" exclaimed Sir Taneguy, "with evident 
 alarm. " Knight, my prisoner ! if thou hast spoken 
 the truth and art no Burgundian, come within the 
 bars of the tribunal lest they make thy rescue a 
 pretext of tumult ! " 
 
 "Go not within the bars, sir knight! — they are 
 all your friends — ^look at the purple in their caps ! 
 they will rescue you!" whispered the executioner, 
 affecting to push the prisoner towards the barred 
 inclosure of the tribunal. 
 
 Owen glanced, indeed, at the approaching 
 rabble, and perceived that some of the leaders of 
 the Cabochiens wore sprigs of violet in their hoods 
 and other head-gear; but it only quickened the
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 305 
 
 pace at which he complied with the Provost's 
 desire. He even vaulted the massive bar which 
 an affrighted usher was striving to raise to admit 
 him, and found himself among a body of lawyers 
 and halberdiers belonging to the court. 
 
 "It is well! — I do begin to believe in thee," 
 said the Provost, with much satisfaction. " I will 
 trust in a man's face another time, if it be not an 
 old one ! Some of ye go round and close the 
 gates, for I see all thy subjects, Capeluche, are 
 abroad to-day ! This comes of giving the Pa- 
 risians a holiday against their will; they always 
 take another against their masters' ! Look not so 
 liver-hued, my Lord de la Trimouille ! — he who 
 would rule the kingdom of France must know 
 how to face the republic of Paris ! " 
 
 "Who hath told you that I desire to meddle 
 with either. Lord Provost?" said La Trimouille, 
 tremulously. " You grudge that any man should 
 be of the smallest consideration with my lord the 
 
 dauphin save yourself, or else " 
 
 " I love my lord the dauphin, and I love 
 France; and so your 'or else' is answered !" re- 
 turned Taneguy Duchatel ; " The saints enlighten 
 me, but I see not that it is to the advantage of
 
 306 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 either that all the warlike skill I toiled to give 
 him should be devoted to the marshalling of a new 
 dance or to the cut of a gaudy surcoat ! " 
 
 "Sir, by your fair leave, are you in want of 
 a pleader to your cause, or do these gentry come 
 to urge it with their axes ?" said a young man of 
 laws who bustled his way up to Owen's side. 
 The latter immediately recognised in him his in- 
 terpreter of the spectacle before Notre Dame, 
 on the previous day. But the gibing clerk was 
 changed into the solemn procureur expectant, 
 with a face made up to the most demure and 
 lawyer-like standard of gravity. Owen's wonder- 
 ing powers were destined to frequent exercise in 
 his passage to civilisation. 
 
 " What mean ye ? " he said with surprise. 
 
 " 1 have been a year and more licensed to have 
 a tongue on this side of the bar of the Chatelet ! " 
 continued the young procureur, eagerly; "and 
 although no one has as yet had the sagacity to 
 select me in his behalf, credit me, I can plead 
 a cause as well as the most grey-bearded of our 
 seniors who prides himself on never having his 
 spectacles off his nose ! Nay, you will have all 
 the advantage which the enthusiasm of a first
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 307 
 
 attempt inspires, and of my talents, for I am a 
 genius of a very different order from those crabbed 
 old men you see about you." 
 
 " Shame on you, Maitre Gilles de Chastaing ! 
 to take the bit from my very mouth ! " said an old 
 pleader who arrived hot and breathless through 
 the press, at this juncture. " I had my eye upon 
 this nohilis vir ever since he made his entry to 
 judgment. I have a wife and five children — I am 
 perfectly skilled in the pandects — the code — the 
 customs of Paris — of Burgundy most especially. — 
 I know everything ! — and this greenbeard to whom 
 you are speaking only knows how to drink and 
 make jests at a tavern." 
 
 " I thought your name was Roman de la 
 Rose?" said Owen. ** But quarrel not on the 
 score of me : I have all the law I mean to plead, 
 or understand, at my girdle — or had ! " 
 
 " I am called Roman de la Rose in the king- 
 dom of the Basoche ! — It is the law and the 
 gospel both ! " replied the rapid clerk of the 
 Basoche. "Maitre Pierre, I am scandaHsed to 
 see you cross my game in this manner ! Wisdom 
 is not always thatched with grey hairs ! Go 
 home to your wife and children, where you will
 
 308 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 be a consolation ; here you are a nuisance ! Ah, 
 it takes the patience of ten martyrs to be a pro- 
 cureur of the Chatelet, else I would appeal to any 
 one in bliss if it would not be much better for 
 me to follow the natural bent of my talents." 
 
 " And turn Merry Andrew at a fair ! " inter- 
 rupted the indignant Maitre Pierre. 
 
 "And turn Merry Andrew at a fair — at this 
 great fair of Paris ! " echoed the young clerk. 
 " Messire, you make the best of all possible pleas 
 — the foundation of all law — force ! There is to 
 be a rescue, no doubt, Maitre Pierre, and we shall 
 soon see who have brains if it comes to club- 
 work ! " 
 
 And thus did Owen find himself, by a new freak 
 of the singular chance which persecuted him, 
 likely to prove the pretext of a Burgundian 
 tumult. All the desperation of the circumstances 
 that involved him did not reconcile him to the 
 prospect, and he continued to gaze upon the roll- 
 ing surges of the approaching mob and the pre- 
 parations made to withstand them with almost 
 equal misgivings. 
 
 Simon Caboche meanwhile led on his phalanx 
 with military precision and regularity, frequently
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 309 
 
 bellowing to the rabble to be quiet, and even 
 striking and cuffing some of the more obstre- 
 perous on the ears. The person of this worthy, 
 unlike that of many other great men, was answer- 
 able to his renown. He was of such stature, 
 bulk, and gloomy ferocity of visage that he resem- 
 bled a huge bison walking upright on its hinder 
 limbs, if it were possible to imagine one clad in a 
 rich costume of crimson cloth and robes of some 
 fine fur decorated with numerous insignia of its 
 wearer's dignity as Master-Chief of the Boucherie. 
 He delighted in the terror of his appearance, which 
 he increased by the quantity of his shaggy grey 
 hair and beard ; and, demagogue as he was, there 
 was a good deal more of the despot in his ges- 
 tures and tone of voice, though it must be allowed 
 that this was only when he found himself resisted, 
 or when addressing personages who might other- 
 wise have considered themselves his equals, or 
 superiors, in place and dignity. All his misfor- 
 tunes — and he had lost three sons and much of 
 his wealth in those deadly broils — had not tamed 
 the rude energy of his character, and he now pre- 
 sented himself at the tribunal of the Provost of
 
 310 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 Paris with as bold a front as if it was still occu- 
 pied by a fellow Burgundian. 
 
 But, almost as soon as Owen had glanced at 
 the formidable carcass of this leader, his attention 
 was caught and riveted by a very different object. 
 Amidst the crimson frieze of the Cabochiens was 
 conspicuous a female form, clad as it was in a 
 dark mourning robe, and remarkable for the grace 
 and dignity of its stature and movements. Per- 
 haps it might have been considered a thought too 
 tall, but for the musical undulation of the outHnes 
 which kept the eye wandering and satisfied with 
 perpetual variety of charm. The hood of her short 
 mantle was thrown back and revealed a counte- 
 nance which enthralled the ardent and poetical 
 imagination of Owen Tudor much more by its 
 expression than even its great and exalted beauty. 
 A kind of subdued fire lurked in its whole charac- 
 ter — a singular union of vivacity and languor, pas- 
 sion and resignation — that gleamed or shadowed 
 away by turns over the features with an inexplica- 
 ble play of ever-varying fascination. The possessor 
 of this fine face was in the bloom of ripened wo- 
 manhood — probably about three or four and twenty
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 311 
 
 — andjwhen the rich colours of her blood suffused 
 her cheeks, seemed naturally of a glowing brunette 
 complexion, more dazzling in its hues than the 
 utmost fairness. But premature thought or sorrow 
 had paled this richness of colouring, or the lustrous 
 blackness of the long tresses that escaped be- 
 neath a cawl of silver lacework on her face and 
 neck, contrasted it too strongly. Yet altogether 
 she was so noble an impersonation of those lofty 
 dreams of female beauty which haunted the visions 
 of the young Welsh chieftain, that he could not 
 withdraw his eyes from the first look he cast 
 at her. 
 
 The interest of so noble a female form was cer- 
 tainly not diminished to Owen Tudor by the cir- 
 cumstance that she carried what it seemed was 
 his cognizance — a bunch of violets- — in her bosom. 
 In other respects she was clad with a simplicity 
 that infringed none of the severe sumptuary edicts, 
 rarely observed, by which the use of the more 
 splendid kinds of stuffs was confined to persons 
 of rank. But in vain were the mantle and robe 
 she wore, fashioned of the commonest mate- 
 rials, permitted to the burgher class to which 
 she apparently belonged. No queenly robe ever
 
 312 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 became its wearer more royally than the garment 
 that flowed round her graceful form, and in which 
 she moved with the elegance and majesty of a 
 Venus amidst the waves. Nor could wealth have 
 purchased an ornament of richer or more elaboraj;e 
 design than the zone on her waist, which was of 
 wrought silk, and probably owed all its beauty to 
 her own needle — representing an endless variety 
 of figures, in all the costumes of the nations then 
 known to Europeans, linked together hand in 
 hand, and dancing round it, beneath wreaths of 
 stars that seemed to share the revelry. 
 
 " What noble lady is this among this hideous 
 throng?" inquired Owen, abstractedly and yet 
 aloud. 
 
 " Lady, messire ! — she is none — she is a woman 
 of the burgesses, who has exactly complied with 
 the edict of Bourges — vulgarly called of ^ Proud 
 Madame!' — for our lady. Queen Isabeau, was so 
 scandalised to see petty merchants' and traders' 
 wives vying with nobility in garb that — " began 
 the formal Maitre Pierre, when his liveHer com- 
 petitor cut him shorf . 
 
 " Ah, my dear client, you are quite right ! — 
 That lady yonder is — one of Heaven's making ! —
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 313 
 
 Heard ye never of the glorious minstrelless — if she 
 were not a Burgundian ! — the nightingale of love ! 
 — the modern Heloise ! — the Sappho of our times ! 
 — the beautiful, the inspired ! — but least said is 
 soonest mended. — Her name is Hueline ! — Made- 
 moiselle Hueline de Troye ! " 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 314 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF TANEGUY DUCHATEL. 
 
 " HuELiNE de Troye ! — In truth, Sir James of 
 Scotland spoke of her ! — Have I seen her ere 
 now — for some memory comes back upon me like 
 the echo of a departed strain of sw^eetest music ! " 
 said the dreamy Celt; " but 'tis impossible ! — And 
 is this gorgeous creature the wife of yonder savage 
 churl— of a butcher ? " 
 
 " Not yet, but she ought to be — she has long 
 been betrothed to that Renaud Caboche who 
 stmts beside her — you are not mistaken, mine 
 honoured cHent ! " said the acquiescive Roman, 
 edging himself still nearer to the knight. " Maitre 
 Pierre, you may go — I think we have no need of 
 a consultation at present. — It is astonishing, mes- 
 sire, how soon we forget things in Paris ! — It is 
 not three months, well counted, since Mademoi- 
 selle Hueline appeared on a plea before this tri- 
 bunal — and you see how my Lord Provost stares
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 315 
 
 at her as if he had never seen a handsome woman 
 ere now in his life ! " 
 
 " Before this tribunal ! — What crime had she 
 committed ?" said Owen, with a very disagreeable 
 start. 
 
 " Crime ! — yet truly, it is a crime to be the 
 dauo:hter of a man so unfortunate as Jean de 
 Troye — an atheist, a wizard, a poisoner — I know 
 not what we did not call him after his fall ! " re- 
 phed the pleader. " She came to implore that he 
 might be released, or at least suffered to leave the 
 solitary and loathsome dungeon of the Chatelet, in 
 which he is confined. They do not kill him, 
 because it is said he made the king mad by certain 
 potent drugs — and can unmad him, if he pleases ! 
 — God only knows ! — None of our officers dared 
 undertake the plea — and so she pleaded it herself 
 — and so wisely and eloquently that the tears 
 came to the eyes of the stocks and stones of the 
 Chatelet — I mean of the procureurs and clerks ! — 
 There was not a single word of law in all she said, 
 but none of us could have done it half so well ! " 
 
 " It was not in nature to withstand her, me- 
 thinks?" ejaculated Owen. 
 
 " But it was in yonder piece of jointed iron- 
 
 p 2
 
 31^ OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 work," said Roman, in a discreetly low tone; 
 " Sir Taneguy would rather let the devil loose in 
 Paris than Jean de Troye, for he did marvellous 
 mischiefs in his time ! He was the mind of all the 
 huge carcass of Parisian tumult ! It is all body 
 now, and none the more manageable for that ! 
 For my part I would let him out were it only that 
 I might calculate against reason and not against 
 madness, which sets all rules of polity at de- 
 fiance ! " 
 
 At this moment the voice of the Lord Provost 
 was heard above the noise and confusion which 
 accompanied the entrance of the Cabochiens. 
 
 " Life of the king ! what is all this ?— Pest and 
 death! what uproar have we here?" he shoutied, 
 as the crowd rolled up to his tribunal. " Mine 
 old tormentors again! — What the fiend do ye 
 here, Simon, with your red bands ? — Know ye not 
 that you are forbidden imder penalties, worth 
 noting, to appear in any number ? " 
 
 " We are one under it. Lord Provost, whatever 
 it be! — the main part follow me of their own free 
 will and Hking, which is their business and not 
 mine ! " replied the Master-Chief of the Boucherie. 
 " But, if we may not ask for justice, I know not
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 317 
 
 what will be denied us next — unless it be the very 
 air we breathe ! " 
 
 "What justice would ye have? — the gallows?" 
 said the Provost. "That would I deny to no 
 Burgundian, and least of all to the Chief of the 
 •Grande Boucherie! — Well, whose throat have ye 
 cut and come to complain about ? — You gave rare 
 justice, Simon, when you and your calf-killers 
 were lords in Paris ! " . 
 
 " Yea, but not enough of it — since you Hve to 
 complain of it. Lord Provost!" replied Caboche, 
 and the ferocious wit involved in the repartee 
 elicited a loud shout of laughter among his fol- 
 lowers, in which he himself seemed too fierce to 
 join. 
 
 " Do you threaten, Master Simon?" said the 
 Provost, with an emphatic nod at his armed retinue. 
 
 " No, messire ! — a blow and a word, not a word 
 and a blow, has ever been the motto of the Ca- 
 boches — for we have mottoes, too, though we 
 paint them not so gaudily on our banners as you 
 knights and lords!" said Simon. "But speak 
 thou, Hueline, for I have no patience with these 
 questionings — and thou waggest the best tongue
 
 318 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 " Dost thou mean the noisiest clapper ? — But let 
 her speak — a woman's prating is the less wearisome, 
 that we expect it," said Sir Taneguy. " Speak, 
 maiden, if thou still art such — which is greatly to 
 the shame of the Boucherie, an it be ! " 
 
 " She will not marry Renaud till her father is 
 released — so look if the wedding be like to please 
 you, messire ! " returned Simon Caboche, with a 
 glare of defiance and anger. 
 
 " And hast thou no skiU to teach her any other 
 lesson, boy ! — tridy, thou art one ! " continued the 
 Provost, glancing at Renaud Caboche, who, be- 
 dizened like a young peacock, flaunted it auda- 
 ciously beside his betrothed. 
 
 " Had I an Armagnac throat in my grasp, you 
 would not call me boy ! " returned the young 
 butcher, for he was touched in his most sensitive 
 point. 
 
 " Dost thou not call him ' boy,' damsel, that 
 gives thee nothing else to think about than musty 
 old traitors rotting in dungeons?" said Taneguy, 
 with a mixture of gallantry and irritation in his 
 tones. *' By holy Denis ! I would I had thee out 
 of the shambles on one of these moony May 
 nights — and, if thou wert ever of the mind to
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 319 
 
 return, it should not be for lack of good meat and 
 lodging ! — Tell me, sweetheart, were it not better 
 to be a noble knight's leman than a greasy 
 butcher's spouse?" 
 
 " I would at least thou wouldst try the experi- 
 ment, fair damosel ! " said the Lord de la Tri- 
 mouille, who had been gazing with great and 
 licentious admiration at the suppliant. "I speak 
 not for Sir Taneguy — though I am his friend — 
 but, by the rood! thou hast oaly to choose to 
 take, were it among kings ! " 
 
 " The Caboches yield not to the noblest in any 
 true quality of descent ! " fiercely interposed the 
 aristocratic demagogue. " We have been the 
 sons of our fathers for the last three hundred 
 years, which is much more than many knights 
 and nobles can truly aver ! " 
 
 " Tut, tut, ye beheve, and so do wiser men — 
 but the cuckoos find nests in the Boucherie as 
 well as elsewhere ! " replied the Provost, laughing 
 hoarsely. " Do not hsten to this false courtier, 
 damsel! — his speech goes more trippingly oflP the 
 tongue than mine, but it is not so true ! — Think of 
 this at thy leisure, — and now let us hear of what 
 weighty matter thou art spokeswoman?"
 
 320 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 " Messire ! — you have, as we know too well, a 
 prisoner in your hands — a noble chevalier, whose 
 only offence is even the excess of his valour and 
 generosity ! " said Hueline de Troye, after a slight 
 pause — ^^her complexion flushing more deeply than 
 during the whole of this rough interlude, which 
 made it glow like the scarlet hues of red-hot 
 metal. Then kneehng, she added, in a faint but 
 impassioned and most winning voice, " Noble 
 Lord Provost ! if, of your own justice, you have 
 not yet enlarged him, we come to implore you, by 
 your knightly honour, by the rights of the free 
 city of Paris, by the king's royal majesty, ag- 
 grieved in a wrong done to his poorest subject, — 
 to set him free at once as the winds of heaven, 
 which have never yet obeyed the mastery of 
 man ! " 
 
 "He is in good faith, then, a Burgundian?" 
 said Taneguy, with a reproachful look at Owen 
 Tudor. "Alack, I find I am but a green boy 
 still, to believe in faces and in words !" 
 
 " By all the oaths that ever were sworn ! I am 
 none!" exclaimed the Chevalier Sauvage, but with 
 an involuntary regret and hesitation in his utter- 
 ance. He saw that, almost the instant she
 
 OWExN TUDOR. 321 
 
 entered, the eye of Hueline de Troye signalized 
 him out, and there was something so subduingly 
 eloquent and penetrating in its expression that 
 it seemed to exercise the power of a spell over 
 him. 
 
 "We come to witness even as the noble knight 
 declares — to make his purgation with our oaths !" 
 said Hueline, earnestly. '* He is no Burgundian, 
 unless to be too rashly generous, on the weak 
 side of law and right, makes men Burgundian 
 in these days ! A compliment you will not pay 
 to us, my Lord Sir Taneguy, of all men ! But 
 here they stand — the leaders and masters of the 
 commonalty, as the Caboches are called — ready 
 to take any form of adjuration that we know 
 nought of this knight ; that no conspiracy existed, 
 no outbreak was planned, as your proclamation 
 avers; and, consequently, that this knight is clear 
 of all blame and offence, and unjustly placed in 
 durance !" 
 
 ''If uords were proofs, thou hast eno v, we 
 know, damosel, to melt away the solid earth, and 
 turn all beliefs topsy-turvy !" replied the Provost. 
 " But we shall need more than words to believe in 
 so strange a prodigy." 
 
 p :3
 
 322 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 *' We are here ready to take the oath of the 
 cross, or abide the ordeal of fire even, that she 
 speaks the truth, and methinks we should know 
 if aught Burgundian was afoot in Paris !" said the 
 Master-Chief of the Boucherie, with a grim smile. 
 *' Here are Philippe Thibert, the three Le Goix, 
 Gualtier Sainctyon, and all the rest of us who are 
 proud to call the king's cousin, captain ; and we 
 witness that we know nothing of this knight, 
 whence he comes, nor whither he goes, his father, 
 nor his grandfather ! Therefore, if ye keep him 
 your guest, we owe you no thanks, for he is none 
 of ours ! " 
 
 " I would fain beheve this, Simon ; nay, I have 
 some better reason to do so than your loud talk- 
 ing," said the Provost, thoughtfully. " What say 
 you. Sire de la Trimouille?" 
 
 " I say, that the constable's commands are ex- 
 press ; he is to be tortured, to wring the truth from 
 his vitals ! " repHed that vigorous statesman. 
 
 "Tortured! — everlasting shame be on thee for 
 that word, gaudy man, whoe'er thou art!" ex- 
 claimed Hueline de Troye. " But know ye not, 
 learned interpreters of the laws ! — will ye not wit- 
 ness for me, that no man can be put to the tor-
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 323 
 
 ture to win confession of any crime, who hath not 
 a direct and open accuser? — And who accuses 
 this noble knight?" 
 
 " Here come accusers in a cloud, or I err mar- 
 vellously ! " said La Trimouille, triumphantly point- 
 ing to some personages habited Hke the beadles 
 of a cathedral in dark robes, with wands in their 
 hands, who had been silently making their way 
 to the bar of the tribunal. Finding themselves 
 noticed, two or three began brawhng aloud toge- 
 ther, that the University of Paris had arrived in 
 the square of the Chatelet, and demanded an 
 audience of the Lord Provost of Paris ! 
 
 " Saints ! have we not mischief enough abrew- 
 ing, but we must have these meddlers too?" said 
 Sir Taneguy. "What want they? But their 
 accursed charters give them the privileges of stun- 
 ning the ears of those who sit in my place, at 
 pleasure ! — Tell my lady, the University, that I 
 await her honoured presence, entreating her to 
 put herself to no inconvenient haste, for well we 
 know she is aged, and full of infirmities and 
 malady ! " 
 
 The beadles of the University withdrew, and
 
 324 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 the Provost turned with a look of more kindness, 
 than he had hitherto shown, to Owen. ^' Lo ye 
 now, knight, I will wager my noble roan charger 
 against your squire's dead gelding that these doc- 
 tors are coming to prate about the broken head of 
 their scholar and their privileges ! They sent me 
 word as much by one of their magpies last night, 
 which did the rather dispose me to believe thy 
 story ; for if thou wert a Burgundian they would 
 know it ! The Grande Boucherie itself is not so 
 rank a dunghill of treason, and well should 1 like 
 to be among their learned pates with my mace !" 
 
 " Messire, it is not for me to enlighten your 
 experience ; but all, not wilfully blind, can see 
 that this is only a trick to support the saying 
 of the Cabochiens, to set another tra'tor loose in 
 Paris, with his plots ripening in concealment !" 
 said the suspicious Lord de la Trimouille. " But 
 at least the Cabochiens cannot deny that they are 
 acquainted with the person and hiding-place of 
 the seditious scholar who preached the overthrow 
 of all things human and divine, yesterday, in the 
 parvis of Notre Dame ! " 
 
 ^' Do they think to do thee service by disavow-
 
 OWEX TUDOR. 325 
 
 ing thee ? or are they glad of a pretext to harass 
 us, at any cost?" said the Provost, infinitely per- 
 plexed. 
 
 Owen*s early impressions of the dignity and 
 power of the University made the tidings of their 
 hostile purposes against himself sufficiently for- 
 midable. And he found that he was destined to 
 the aggravation of having their enmity construed 
 into friendly zeal! In his indignation he gave 
 no reply to the Provost's question, whose gloom 
 returned and deepened. 
 
 During the pause that followed, the procession 
 of the University entered, preceded by its beadles, 
 and headed by the rectors and chief dignitaries of 
 the numerous colleges. After these personages 
 came a much more formidable body, in an age 
 when physical force was undoubtedly in the 
 ascendant. The scholars of the University, in- 
 cluding young men from almost every country of 
 Christendom, armed ostensibly with staves — their 
 only unprohibited weapon — but very probably 
 with more dangerous ones, under their long habits, 
 followed those reverend leaders, in a compact 
 mass. Amidst them came the occasion, or per- 
 haps the pretended occasion, of the visit — Per-
 
 326 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 rinet le Clerc ! The look of hatred and fury 
 which glared at Owen from a swathe of ensan- 
 guined clouts and bandages, distinguished his 
 enemy to him, but only stirred his contempt. He 
 folded his arms, and surveyed the whole group with 
 a smile of defiance. 
 
 Taneguy Duchatel received his visitors with 
 inward dislike and contempt, but with great ex- 
 terior respect. He arose from his tribunal, and 
 would not resume his seat till he had compelled 
 the magnates of the University to accept the 
 benches which were brought for them. Mean- 
 while he observed, with a smile of grim humour, 
 the effect which the presence of the Cabochiens 
 produced on the doctors and students. The latter, 
 who were at war with all government and all 
 Parisians indiscriminately, seemed little pleased 
 with the recognition. Their seniors, knowing 
 that there were no better Burgundians to be found 
 anywhere than in the Grande Boucherie, were 
 greatly strengthened and comforted. 
 
 The Rector of the University, a pompous, full- 
 blown dignitary, evidently gathered additional 
 pride, and haughtily declined the offered accom- 
 modation. " We come for justice, Lord Pro-
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 327 
 
 vost ! until we obtain which, the king's most 
 faithful daughter, the University of Paris, shall 
 never rest in my person ! " said the august func- 
 tionary. ** Fiat justitia mat caelum ! — justice is 
 the life, the breath, the nostrils of the king ! We 
 come for justice, Sire Duchatel, and in assertion 
 of our privileges ! " 
 
 " It is not always that these objects can be 
 reconciled ; but why come ye as thick as hornets 
 to a hive ? What armed resistance did your reve- 
 rend lordship expect to meet by the way?" re- 
 turned the Provost. 
 
 "The whole body is hurt when the finger is 
 injured ; yea, when the minutest hair is plucked ! " 
 replied the dignitary. "Would you. Sir Tane- 
 guy, that the teachers, friends, masters, and com- 
 panions of this ill-treated young man, Perrinet le 
 Clerc, should have no more feeling of his wrongs 
 than if they were inflicted on a member of some 
 other carcass ? " 
 
 " This doctrine would put all knighthood on the 
 side of this young chevalier," said the Provost. 
 " But my sword and wand of justice are of equal 
 length : what justice do ye demand ?" 
 
 "Vengeance, Sire Duchatel! — vengeance on
 
 328 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 the false Burgundian knight who struck my skull 
 bare for obeying the commands of my honoured 
 mother, the University of Paris ! " shouted Per- 
 rinet, the froth flying from his lips with fury. 
 
 '* You are noted for fihal reverence ; we have 
 had you before us ere now," said Sir Taneguy, 
 bitterly. "What mean you, dan scholar? If 
 your skull be cracked, it will let in the more 
 light ! " 
 
 " My lord, this jesting ill becomes your office," 
 said the Rector, bristling up. " The privileges of 
 the University of Paris are not matters of idle 
 mirth to the King of France himself, whose chair 
 you but occupy for a season ! Here are the 
 volumes of our rights, granted by that ever-memo- 
 rable prince and lord (whose soul God keep in 
 bliss, Amen!) — Philip, surnamed most justly, if 
 for no other reason, Augustus ! — extended, con- 
 firmed, and assured, by that mirror of all vir- 
 tuous dominations. King Philip the Long ! — 
 
 altered, improved, and greatly enlarged by " 
 
 " Enough, reverend messire ! I am but too 
 well aware that the scholars of Paris are per- 
 mitted by law to exercise all rebellion and enor- 
 mities unpunished !" interrupted Sir Taneguy.
 
 OWEN TL'DOR. 329 
 
 " I say not that, Lord Provost; but the punish- 
 ment of these offences belongs only to the eccle- 
 siastical jurisdiction," replied .the Rector, vehe- 
 mently. "The dignity of this great University, 
 which from Athens came to Rome, and from Rome 
 to Paris, .bringing with it all human science and 
 learning, as a sponge absorbs the humidity of the 
 spots on which it is placed, demands no less ! Lo, 
 then! I put my requisition in form, Lord Provost; 
 and the annals of your jurisdiction will inform you 
 at what peril your predecessors have dared to 
 deny us justice ! In nomine Domini^ Amen ! 
 I demand that the violator of our privileges be 
 immediately surrendered to our officers, that he 
 may be kept in safe confinement, until he has 
 suffered the fine and corporal amends which a so- 
 lemn convocation may deem adequate to the 
 offence ! " 
 
 " Be not cajoled, my Lord Provost; the prisoner 
 will not be long in any custody but your own — 
 the University will find some loophole for a Bur- 
 gundian emissary to escape at ! " said the Lord de 
 la Trimouille. 
 
 " I will remain your prisoner. Sir Taneguy ! — 
 You shall not surrender me alive to the scorns
 
 330 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 and maltreatment of schoolmen and traitorous 
 greybeards!" said Owen Tudor, with the vehe- 
 mence of sincerity. 
 
 " Fair knight, I fear me, it is the best kindness 
 I can now show thee, even so to yield thee," re- 
 plied the Provost. " At least they will not put 
 thee to the rack; and if thou remainest with me, my 
 lord the constable is bent, thou seest, either to 
 learn thy secrets, or to make thee invent some to 
 trouble him withal ! — Answer me in all sincerity, 
 for thy life perchance hangs on the word ! wouldst 
 thou not have it so ? " 
 
 Taneguy himself hardly knew whether he was 
 offering an evasion or a snare ; it would have de- 
 pended on the turn which his passions took at the 
 prisoner's reply. But the Cabochiens seemed to 
 have some private reasons for misdoubting any 
 friendly purpose in the efforts of the University to 
 obtain possession of the person of the culprit. At 
 all events, their bright spokeswoman made an 
 emphatic signal to Owen to be silent; and, step- 
 ping forward, with perfect modesty, but with a 
 tranquil firmness that showed she was not alto- 
 gether unaccustomed to a public audience, — " My 
 Lord Rector ! " she said, " full well you know, and
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 331 
 
 can bear witness, that this knight is no Burgun- 
 dian, and that you do really and truly desire to 
 have him in your power to maltreat him ! Where- 
 fore, I tell you, it shall not be ; — nor have ye any 
 the least right to demand him as a sacrifice to the 
 pride and insolence of your privileges! — Ye have 
 the sole violator of them already in your custody, 
 and may punish him at your will ! — It was Master 
 Perrinet le Clerc only who violated them, by draw- 
 ing his dagger, and assailing the life of the poor 
 scholar that pleaded for the commonalty ! This 
 knight, who defended him at his proper hazard, 
 deserves only your thanks and gratitude ! " 
 
 "By holy Jude, 'tis so! — who will deny it?" 
 shouted Simon Caboche. 
 
 An officer commanding his men to fire on an 
 enemy, and suddenly finding their muskets turned 
 to his own breast, could scarcely look more aston- 
 ished than the Rector of the University, at this 
 manifestation. 
 
 " What, Hueline de Troye! — what, Simon Ca- 
 boche ! — what, take part against the University ! 
 — He is no Burgundian ! — 'tis true! — What mean 
 ye?" exclaimed the bewildered Rector.
 
 332 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 " He is a Burgundian ! — Sir Provost, do not be- 
 lieve them ! — They are all Burgundians together 
 — they would deceive you ! " shouted the furious 
 scholar of the Sorbonne. 
 
 " Thou liest, clerk ! falsely thou best — I am 
 none ! '' returned Owen, yielding to the indigna- 
 tion which had Ions; been fermentino- in his heart. 
 " Let him who maintains the contrary stand forth ! 
 Here is my glove ! " 
 
 '* Tis full knightly spoken! — What say ye? 
 shall we grant a field?" said Sir Taneguy, laugh- 
 ing till his breastplate shook again. " Men must 
 answer with such weapons as they wield. The 
 scholar uses his tongue, the knight his lance." 
 
 " Hear ye, sirs ! scholars of Paris ! — this is the 
 answer that knights and nobles give to honest 
 men's prayers for justice ! " cried Perrinet, " Clad 
 in complete steel, wielding their heavy lances, they 
 challenge us to battle them in our flimsy robes, 
 skilless in arms ! " 
 
 A furious uproar among the scholars responded 
 to this appeal, mingled with excellent imitations 
 of the shrieks and yells of various birds and wild 
 beasts, and a sudden wood of staves appeared iu
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 333 
 
 the air. But the Provost seemed rather to rejoice 
 than be dismayed at the prospect of an onset. 
 " Hark ye, devils of scholars!" he exclaimed, 
 " Master Rector, and doctors all ! I hold that 
 your jongleuresse has sufficiently answered all 
 that you can urge, unless ye defend assassination in 
 every case! This knight has maintained and not 
 violated your privileges; and I will not surrender 
 him to your petty cruelties, which yet slay, as the 
 Bohemians pierce cattle with so fine a steel, that 
 neither gore nor wound mark why the beast dies ! " 
 
 " Look to it, Lord Provost! if you deny me 
 justice, I will take it!" yelled Perrinet, delirious 
 with rage. 
 
 " Master Perrinet, you are hurt in the head, 
 and are raving," said Sir Taneguy, calmly. " And, 
 but that your father is a good Armagnac, I could 
 be tempted to help cure your fever, by letting you 
 a little more blood." 
 
 " Take comfort, sir clerk ! he is spared to no 
 good," said the Lord de la Trimouille, whom rest- 
 less suspicions and cowardice deprived of all hu- 
 manity. " We must learn what is conspiring in 
 Paris against our lives, at whatever cost! And 
 therefore, my Lord Provost, the king's council des-
 
 334 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 patches to you this missive, which disregard on 
 peril of your head ! " 
 
 " It is even so ! '* said the Provost, in a regret- 
 ful tone, as he opened and perused the parchment 
 handed to him by the noble bearer. " Either, 
 sirs, ye must surrender the seditious mendicant 
 scholar to me, or — or — I must put this handsome 
 lad to the cruellest tortures to wring the truth from 
 him! — Life of the king! thou art neither woman 
 nor minstrelless, fair Hueline, if thou wouldst not 
 rather betray a dozen such sapHngs to the axe, 
 than suffer those comely limbs to be wrenched out 
 of all shape and fitness ! " 
 
 The minstrelless of the Boucherie flushed deeply, 
 and then an extreme pallor visited her cheeks. 
 But suddenly a thought seemed to strike her, like 
 a gleam of light ; and, raising her brilliant eyes, she 
 exclaimed, " Since it must be so, why, so let it be ! 
 Of what moment is the Ufe of a poor talker of 
 words, compared with that of this noble doer of 
 deeds? — The mendicant scholar shall be surren- 
 dered — I trust, to your mercy — on sworn condition 
 that you suffer this knight to depart with me — 
 with us of the Boucherie — free, unquestioned, and 
 unscathed ! "
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 335 
 
 " I swear it, by whatever oath thou wilt, 
 maiden ! and am right glad to be rid of him so 
 peacefully, for I pity and honour him!" said Sir 
 Taneguy, eagerly. " Speak ! who was the sedi- 
 tion-monger ; and depart with the knight whither 
 thou wilt, as well matched a pair as the fiery sword 
 drove out of Eden ! '* 
 
 The consternation among the grandees of the 
 University was very visible, and even the Cabo- 
 chiens stared and murmured. But these emotions 
 were lost in that caused by a burst of fiery senti- 
 ment from the young Welsh chief. 
 
 " Damsel of the Boucherie ! show not thyself 
 so baseborn in very deed ! " he exclaimed. " I 
 will not live at the price of such treachery ! The 
 poor scholar served ye bravely and nobly, and, if 
 thou betrayest him, a curse will light on such in- 
 gratitude, and henceforth thy fair face shall seem, 
 in all men's eyes, a flowery bed for snakes to 
 nestle in!" 
 
 "I may no longer pause!" exclaimed Hueline, 
 with enthusiasm. " Your oath is on record, noble 
 Lord Provost! and thus I claim its condition — 
 thus I surrender the poor scholar — thus I am 
 treacherous ! — Behold him at your feet, at your
 
 336 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 mercy — for I am he — my father's ancient mantle 
 the sole difference ! " 
 
 The astonishment with which this revelation was 
 received was universal, and, for some moments, 
 mingled with incredulity. The Cabochiens, them- 
 selves, shared it, and were evidently altogether un- 
 conscious that the Boucherie had furnished the 
 daring champion of their party, marvellously 
 daring, being a woman ! But the general recol- 
 lection of the resemblance between the features of 
 the poor scholar and those of Hueline de Troye — 
 of her learning, eloquence, and impassioned de- 
 votion to the Burgundian cause — her experience 
 in the exercise of a still more difficult and beau- 
 tiful art, for the minstrels of the middle ages did 
 not confine themselves to the labours of compo- 
 sition, but often sung their own verses in public 
 meetings of the craft — the total disappearance of 
 the poor scholar — the danger, united to all the 
 magnificent generosity of the avowal — forced con- 
 viction on the most reluctant minds. 
 
 "Go, go, 1 will not believe thee — and yet 'tis 
 like enough ! " said Taneguy Duchatel, after a 
 breathless pause. " Go — he is better able to en- 
 dure the torture than thou."
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 337 
 
 " Let him go with me free and unharmed, or 
 your pledged knighthood is forfeit!" exclaimed 
 the minstrelless. 
 
 " It is impossible I tell thee, girl ! — my lord 
 the constable will have one victim or another! 
 Shall I believe thee, and put thee to the torture to 
 discover what complot ye had formed which our 
 sudden measures discomfited?" returned the 
 Provost, at a high pitch of his loud voice. 
 
 " Nay, if you bellow it, Provost, we have lungs 
 too ! " said Caboche, in a voice so like an articulate 
 roaring of thunder, that the assertion was amply 
 supported. " But as to putting Hueline to the 
 torture — albeit she hazarded herself against all our 
 knowledge and consents — look first to win the 
 Boucherie, stone by stone ! " 
 
 *' Nay, sir, you have sworn by your knightly 
 word that if I revealed the Burgundian prater to 
 you, this knight, and we of the Boucherie, should 
 depart in peace ! " said Hueline, fervidly. "And, 
 ah, good knight, ah, noble Sir Taneguy, chivalry 
 still pretends to be herself, in words, and what 
 will knights say if they hear how falsely thou 
 didst deny a damsel her sworn boon?" 
 
 So sacred was such a promise held, at least in 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
 '^
 
 338 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 theory, that the fierce provost himself was con- 
 fused with the address. It is also more than pro- 
 bable that he was secretly well inclined towards 
 Owen Tudor, and that the heroic daring of the 
 minstrelless touched answering chords in his own 
 stern but lofty heart. Luckily at this moment 
 the enraged scholar of the Sorbonne thrust in his 
 word. 
 
 "You have promised to release the Burgundian, 
 in exchange for the traitorous scholar, if this mad- 
 woman — the daughter of mad Jean de Troye — be 
 he!" yelled Perrinet le Clerc. '^ But not on the 
 charges brought against him by the University 
 for my shameful maltreatment and persecution ! 
 Surrender him to my honoured mother, and we 
 will see if we cannot chastise treason as well as 
 any royal officer in the land ! " 
 
 The hatred which Taneguy entertained against 
 the University in general was immediately con- 
 centrated against this individual of that distin- 
 guished body. 
 
 "Already I have told ye, that I deem ye had 
 only scant justice, inasmuch as the stroke was not 
 hard enough !" he replied. "I see well that this 
 sly wench has caught me in a trap, but our Lady
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 339 
 
 forbid that Taneguy and his word should travel 
 different roads. I give the knight to the party 
 who can, or who will keep him, and, I trow me, 
 the constable will not weep over the slain if ye do 
 battle for him, Cabochiens, and scholars ! " 
 
 "Come with us then, very noble knight, glory 
 of dying chivalry ! " exclaimed the youthful poetess, 
 extending her hand to Owen. And although 
 he was enwrathed to find the confirmation which 
 circumstances seemed to offer against him, and 
 uttered some murmurs of refusal and remonstrance, 
 his eye encountered the glance of streamy fire 
 which the minstrelless cast upon him — and he was 
 silent. 
 
 " Ay, go with her, boy, to the Boucherie — the 
 quarters are good, though rough!" said Taneguy, 
 good-humouredly. " Go with her — and I would 
 I were in thy shoes ! And if when I send for thee 
 I find thou art still in the Boucherie, and hold'st 
 to thine Armagnac tale, I will myself present thee 
 at the dauphin's court for one of the best and 
 most promising (albeit, something too rash) of all 
 our youthful chivalry ! " 
 
 Owen blushed deeply; but, atlecting not to 
 understand the innuendo, he replied " Whoever 
 
 Q 2
 
 340 OWEN TXJDOR. 
 
 seeks me there, my Lord Provost, or wherever I 
 may be in Paris, friend or foe, shall not miss his 
 aim ! — I will find my papers out, though they be 
 hidden in the fiery gulf! — and yonder surely is one 
 of the rogues who robbed my varlet of them ! " 
 
 At this instant Owen's glance hghted by the 
 merest chance on the one-eyed beggar of the 
 parvis of Notre Dame, who had thrust himself 
 forward from among the crowd in his anxiety at 
 the turn which events had taken. 
 
 The Provost's attention was instantly attracted 
 by the observation, and he listened very attentively 
 while Owen stated his reasons for believing the 
 mendicant cormected with the plunder of his bag- 
 gage. Yet the accused party seemed to take no 
 notice of what was said, though all the audience 
 perceived who was meant, until the Provost raised 
 his voice to its highest pitch, and commanded him 
 to come forward. "Good, my lord, I am deaf as 
 well as purblind ! — what is the matter?" said the 
 beggar, advancing with a step that seemed to 
 tremble with years rather than agitation. 
 
 The matter was soon explained to him; but, far 
 from confessing the offence with which he was 
 charged, the mendicant burst into such vehement
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 341 
 
 ejaculations and protestations of innocence, that 
 Owen was greatly shaken in his opinion, and 
 declared that he had only suspicions to allege. 
 
 "What rogue is this? Dost thou know him, 
 Capeluche?" said the Provost at last, out of 
 patience. 
 
 " Yes, my lord, he is a poor brother in our 
 Lady's love who lives on the steps of St. Jacques 
 de la Boucherie — and does no harm to any one, 
 much less his neighbour!" replied the authority 
 appealed to. *' I have seen him there for years, 
 and always give him a sol for charity when I have 
 a good hang ! " 
 
 " Let a reward be offered for these papers — and, 
 as I have said, let who will, or can, carry off the 
 prize!" said Sir Taneguy. "I will sit here to see 
 fair play between the University and the Cabo- 
 chiens ! But let this hall of the Chatelet be clear 
 and silent as a grave within ten ticks of the clock 
 — or I will make it one in reality ! " 
 
 "Godfather! the knight is your g-uest — bear 
 him safely with us!" said HueHne de Troye. 
 
 " But if he is not a Burgundian?" said Renaud 
 Caboche. 
 
 " Still, he saved the life of Hueline — of thy
 
 342 OWEN TUDOR. 
 
 betrothed, Renaud!" said the victorious minstrel- 
 less, and Simon Caboche immediately took the 
 word and marshalled his men as if to force a 
 passage through all opposition. The magnates of 
 the University were evidently puzzled, having in 
 reality no great zeal in the cause of the Armagnac 
 scholar, save in so far as it furnished them with a 
 means of annoyance to the government. While 
 they consulted, the Cabochiens acted. Huehne, 
 in an accent of irresistible sweetness and tender- 
 ness, implored the Welsh knight to honour the 
 Boucherie with his presence for a few days, until 
 he could safely venture forth — until the " cruel 
 and choleric" constable might be pleased to hear 
 his explanations. 
 
 " Come with us, youth," said Simon Caboche, 
 who had been musing awhile, but who started 
 into activity the instant he heard aught that 
 savoured of resistance and defiance. " I will 
 wager a drove of the fattest beeves of Poitou the 
 constable shall not take you easily from the Bou- 
 cherie against your will — and, with it, you may 
 stay as long there as it pleases you, an honoured 
 guest!" 
 
 *'It is the only way to prove that thou art what
 
 OWEN TUDOR. 343 
 
 thou callest thyself, — a Burgundian would not 
 abide our summons in Paris long," said Taneguy, 
 cheerfully. "I will remember my promise; so go 
 with them, and let me see how ye will ravage it, 
 like monks of St. Germain, among these fellows 
 that call themselves scholars, though little known 
 to Paris by that name ! " 
 
 With this permission Owen yielded with his 
 natural impetuosity to the various passions which 
 inspired him. " Have with you then, Master 
 Butcher!" he exclaimed. "My sword is a bor- 
 rowed one, but its owner will not ask it of me 
 while I need it so much ! Let us make a way for 
 Mademoiselle Huehne to pass on quietly." 
 
 Simon Caboche instantly set his butchei"s in 
 motion; and Renaud, uttering an eager cry, dashed 
 forward with his dagger bared, to side with the 
 Chevalier Sauvage. But the dignitaries of the 
 University awaited not the charge. Pronouncing 
 a hasty protest against all the proceedings, and 
 strictly commanding their followers to make no 
 resistance, they moved off with as much dignity 
 and slowness as were compatible with a good deal 
 of alarm. The scholars, finding themselves de- 
 serted by their leaders, and beholding the advance
 
 344 jOWEN TUDOR. 
 
 of" opponents so formidable, scarcely hesitated a 
 moment, and then rushed out pell-mell in their 
 train. In vain did Perrinet le Clerc gesticulate, 
 shout, yell, call them cowards and Burgundians, 
 while the froth flew from his lips, until, yielding to 
 the excess of his fury, he threatened the Provost 
 himself and his whole party with his vengeance ! 
 Taneguy only replied by peals of scornful laughter, 
 and finally Perrinet himself took to indignant 
 flight before the threatening advance of the 
 Chevalier Sauvage. 
 
 END OF VOL. 
 
 G. Woodfall and Son, Printers, Angel Court, Skinner Street, London. 
 
 ;'