All Oxford was thrown into excitement by the news. Hugh le Barbier, whose disappearance after the jousting in Beaumont meadows two months before had created a certain stir in some quarters, had now been found in fetters in the Magician's Tower, as people sometimes called it, and had been carried off to the Castle for security by the Constable.
It was in all mouths that the foreign magician, whose doings and wonders had attracted no small notice during the Fair of St. Frideswyde, was none other than the Italian youth Tito Balzani, who had grown up in their midst, and had therefore an intimate knowledge of those who consulted him. It was further said that both he and Roger de Horn had been in the plot for abducting and imprisoning the missing man, and that they were now being searched for all through the neighbouring forests, to which they had most likely fled for safety so soon as they found themselves discovered.
Jack Dugdale was forward to tell the tale to the gaping throng who surrounded him whenever he appeared in the streets.
He had spent pretty nigh three days himself searching for the fugitives, and had often been hot upon their trail; but they had eluded him and the other pursuers with a cunning which had in it almost a touch of the supernatural, some thought, and now the chase had been reluctantly abandoned, and it was admitted that the quarry had escaped for the present.
But the excitement did not immediately die down. The story was in every one's mouth. Pedro Balzani's house was thronged with guests, all eager to learn what was to be known; and though the house was watched closely by the authorities, the man himself was not interfered with. He had made it plain that he was ignorant of the doings of his son, and as he himself bore a good character, the misdeeds of Tito were not visited upon his head.
But great anger prevailed against that young man throughout the town. Numbers of the citizens, and still more their wives and daughters, had consulted the magician, and had paid him what to them were large sums for scraps of information which had seemed to them marvellous as coming from the lips of a stranger from beyond the seas, but which lost all their value when it was known that Tito was the speaker. Others had been lured by him to the tower, and had paid heavily for a glance into the magic mirror, the crystal bowl, or that other bowl the thought of whose dark contents now made them shudder. Some still declared that he had dealings with the Evil One, and that the things they had seen could only be produced by the co-operation of spirits; but others vowed that it was nothing but trickery from first to last, and longed to see Tito brought back into the city, that he might be made to disgorge his ill-gotten gains, which doubtless he had kept securely fastened upon his person, so as to be ready for any emergency.
As for the other members of the Balzani household, the mother was deeply indignant at the trick which had been played upon her daughter by the girl's half-brother and his friend. She saw clearly that they sought to impose upon her credulity, and to induce her by that means to pledge her hand to Roger de Horn as the price of the life and liberty of her lover, Hugh. The mother learned much from the delirious ravings of the girl, who had been stricken with brain-fever, and lay in a most precarious condition. Indeed so dangerous was her state, and so imperative was it that she should be kept perfectly quiet, that after three days she had been conveyed by water up the river to the little village of Eynsham, where her mother's sister lived; and there, far away from the tumult of the city, which always set up excitement and paroxysms of fear, it was hoped she would recover from the shock to her system, and regain her normal health.
"And learn to forget the past," spoke the mother to her sister, before leaving the patient in her kindly care. "She is full young for thoughts of love. Methinks in these troublous days the less a maid dreams of such things the better. Hugh le Barbier is a goodly youth, and I desire none better for child of mine; but he is above her in rank. When he sees more of life and of the world, he will make more fitting choice. It would be better that they should not meet—that both should learn to forget. Naught but trouble and peril have followed from their early affection. Better it should be put aside and forgotten. Wherefore I will the more gladly leave Linda here, where, amid new scenes and surroundings, she may well forget the past, and cease to think of him for whom she is no fitting spouse in the eyes of the world."
Bridget Marlow, who had no child of her own, was willing enough to have the care of her sister's daughter. She promised to guard her jealously and tend her lovingly, and to keep her as long as her mother could spare her.
"I always said, when I did hear of thy twin daughters, that one ought surely to be mine," she said with a smile. "Fear not for her, sister—I will guard her like the apple of mine eye; and she shall find a second father and mother in us. In this quiet place few, save the good monks of the Abbey hard by, pass our way. My husband, as thou dost know, acts as porter of the gate by day; and living as we do neath the shadow of the cloister wall, we are not molested by the comings and goings of worldlings from the city. The maid will have peace and quiet here, and may well forget the troubles through which she has passed."
So Linda was, after a few days, left in that quiet place by her mother, in the fond hope that she and Hugh would now forget one another, and that the troubled dream of love would be effaced by illness from her daughter's brain.
Lotta nodded with approval when she learned what had been done.
"She had better take the veil herself, and live the life of a nun," she said, tossing her handsome, haughty head. "She is not fit for the battle of life. She is a poor, puling creature at best! She is not fit to be the bride of any save a man of dreams and books. The clash of arms turns her cheek white; the thought of peril to one she loves drives her out of her senses. She had better forget Hugh, and he her. They are no fitting mates one for the other."
As for Hugh himself, he had been carried to the Castle by order of the Constable, when his case had been made known there. A guard had been sent to search the tower, to take possession of everything found there, and to convey the young man to the Castle, where he received every attention and care.
The father of Hugh and the Constable of the Castle had been friends in their youth, and Sir Humphrey was not only interested in Hugh for that reason, but was deeply indignant at the treatment he had received, and the trick which had been played upon the authorities of the city by these two lawless youths.
For some days Hugh was unable to give an account of what had occurred, lying in a state of exhaustion which was almost like that of trance. Indeed so strange was his condition that Brother Angelus (at the earnest solicitation of Leofric) was asked to come and look at him; and he shook his head somewhat gravely over his state, and spoke words not altogether understood by those about him.
In those days the friars were the best leeches and surgeons to be had. Their work amongst the sick poor gave to them a skill and insight not always found amongst those who professed greater lore. Brother Angelus had no small store of knowledge regarding sickness, and it was well for Hugh that he was called to his side; for he strictly forbade any further bleeding (always the favourite remedy for fevers), declaring that this fever was itself the result of excessive bleedings practised with an unholy purpose, and he detected other symptoms about the young man which caused his face to take a stern and anxious aspect.
"He has been made the unwilling accomplice in deeds of darkness," he said, as he observed the comatose symptoms which often seized the patient. "They have sought to subdue his spirit and will, and to throw him into those unhallowed trances wherein men see and hear things which our Maker has thought it good to hide from us. There are ways by which one man may obtain this unrighteous power over his fellow, and this is what yon evil men have sought to do with their captive. By weakening his body they have sought to gain ascendency over his spirit. But it is plain that he has resisted manfully, and to the very last. God be thanked for that! We will pray that the malice of the enemy may in this case be frustrated!"
And daily, before he left the bed of the patient, the friar would kneel down beside him, whilst those in the room would follow his example; and he would pray earnestly against those wiles which had been used upon him, and ask release for the spirit which had been in some sort fettered and bound.
Mysterious as all this was to those who saw and heard, it was plain to them that Hugh responded better to the ministrations of Brother Angelus than to any skill of leeches. In presence of the friar he was never tormented by harassing dreams, nor did he start up as though in answer to some call unheard by others. He grew calm and tranquil, and would fall into a natural sleep; and at the end of ten days the fever fits left him altogether, and he wakened to a full knowledge of his surroundings, and an interest in life.
When this advance was made, he was permitted to pass the day with Edmund, in the pleasant upper chamber hard by his own, where, lying upon another couch in the cheerful glow of the fire, he could enjoy the society of his friends, and by-and-by tell them of those things which had happened to him since his mysterious disappearance on the day of the joustings.
"I was suddenly and furiously set upon by three of those strange black figures which we had noted moving in the crowd. There was such a tumult all around that I scarce knew what was passing, nor who was friend or who was foe; but it was plain that these men were bent upon my destruction or overthrow, and I set myself to the task of fighting them, though calling for assistance the while. But I seemed to be in the heart of foes, for none heeded my cry, and though I laid low one of the fellows, I presently felt a heavy blow upon my head which made me reel in the saddle, and the next instant I was lying upon the ground with a hand upon my throat, and just as my senses deserted me I thought I saw the fiery eyes of Roger de Horn glaring into mine through the holes in his mask."
"Ah! I thought as much," said Amalric, through his shut teeth. "Would that we could lay hands upon the villain now!"
"And what befell you then?" asked the fair Alys, who had grown mightily interested in Hugh during these past days, and was as eager as any to hear his tale when he should be allowed to tell it, which he had not been at first.
By this time Hugh seemed quite like an old friend; he had been at the Castle for a considerable time, and both Edmund and his sister felt towards him almost as though he were a brother. Any comrade and friend of Amalric's would have been welcomed, but Hugh was liked for his own sake, and for the romantic history of which he was now the hero.
"That I cannot say with certainty, fair mistress. For I lost my senses then; and when I recovered them, it was to find myself bound by an iron fetter to my ankle, in a strange circular chamber with a dome-like roof, the like of which I had never seen before."
"The Magician's Tower!" whispered Alys, with a little shiver of horror.
"So I afterwards made out, from the words of the men who haunted it, and from mine own knowledge of the city. I could sometimes hear the wash of the river, or the voices of men in boats by day. But though I cried aloud whenever I thought I might be heard, never an answer came; and my captors, if they heard me, would punish me with blows and kicks, if not with more refined forms of cruelty."
"These men were Tito Balzani and Roger de Horn?" questioned Amalric sternly.
"Yes; and soon I became aware that they were engaged upon other matters than those which directly concerned me, and that I was to be made useful to them in the practice of their evil arts. I will not speak too much of these things. The thought is hateful and repulsive. Suffice it to say that they were eagerly pursuing the study of certain black arts, and that they had books and instruments, either belonging to Tito, or found by them in this strange tower, whereby they sought to prosecute their studies. They had dupes too, who visited them, and strove to peer into the future, and they would use incantations and burn strange pungent drugs, and methinks they ofttimes so bewildered their visitors that they imagined they saw in the smoke wreaths strange things which were never there at all. However that may be, there were some who came again and again, and brought gold with them each time. And as the conjurors grew bolder they would ask larger fees. I trow they have grown rich upon the proceeds of those weeks of fraud and devilry."
"And how didst thou come to hear and see so much?"
"They grew careless of my presence in the upper chamber, where everything was prepared. As I grew weak from hunger and from loss of blood—for blood seemed a necessity to them for every experiment, and it was part of their purpose to reduce me to a mere shadow—they spoke freely of all they did and wished to do. I am certain they never intended me to escape their clutches; and I believe that upon the night of the rescue, had you been but a few minutes longer in forcing the door, they would have taken my life without pity, so fearful were they of what I might reveal. But they could not spare time in their haste to collect their gold, and as it was, they were almost caught as they climbed through the window-slits."
"And was it real magic?" asked Alys in a low voice; "or was it all trickery and jugglery?"
"That is hard to tell," answered Hugh; "but methinks they did all in their power to invoke the aid of the Evil One. I trow well that they sought to throw me into trances, that I might aid them in this. They studied their books, and tried their wicked spells upon me; and there were moments when I felt them succeeding, albeit I fought might and main. If I could keep my mind fixed on holy things, and continue to pray, I was safe from them. But there were moments when I was so weak that I felt my hold slipping away, and I trow that then I did fall in some sort beneath some evil spell; and the horror of it is but passing away now, since Brother Angelus has spoken and prayed with me. Trickery there was in much they did. I know my face was shown again and again in the magic mirror, and that I was dressed up to look sometimes as a maid, sometimes as an aged man, sometimes as a mailed warrior—my face painted and my hair arranged to suit the part. This was when I was wellnigh dead through loss of blood, and could not resist them. They had gained such power over me that ofttimes I could not make a sound, greatly as I longed to do so. When I guessed, from what they had said in my hearing, that Linda was to be brought to see my face in the mirror, I strove might and main to cry aloud, and tell who and what these men were; but my voice would not obey—no sound could I utter."
"If we can but catch them," cried Amalric, "they shall pay for their devilries!"
But Roger and Tito were too wary to be caught. They had fled beyond the precincts of Oxford, and pursuit was abandoned at last as hopeless. Hugh recovered his wonted vigour with more rapidity than could at first have been anticipated; but he showed no disposition to return to his old quarters at Dagville's Inn. Once he asked after Linda, and on hearing what had befallen her he heaved a long sigh.
"Methinks that I have brought her nothing but woe and sorrow," he said; "she will be happier there than in the tumult of this strange city. Some day I will see her again; but for the present let her remain in peace and safety. I am glad she should be in so tranquil a place."
But the house of the Balzanis had lost its charm for him. He had no wish to face the father of Tito or the witcheries of Lotta, of which he was not unconscious.
"Stay here within the Castle," said Amalric, "and enter at St. George's, as I have done. There be a few poor, turbulent Welsh students there, but for the most part we are a quiet and studious company. We will make you welcome amongst us. Come and be my comrade there."
Hugh was easily persuaded to this course. St. George's in the Castle was a very ancient building, dating back from the reign of William the Conqueror. It had been founded by Robert d'Oilly for secular Canons, and his successor had transferred it to the Canons Regular of Osney. Subsequently it had become a house for University students, although it remained to a certain extent under the jurisdiction of the Abbot of Osney.
This was shown by the fact that there was a Custos or Warden appointed from among the Canons of Osney to be over the College of St. George's in the Castle. He was not a permanent resident there, but paid a domiciliary visit about Christmas time, which was regarded as a part of the season's festivities.
"Thou wilt join us in a good time," said Amalric to Hugh, when the latter had installed himself with as much comfort as might be in those days in his new quarters, having arranged to share a small and fairly commodious chamber with young De Montfort: "for upon the Feast of the Nativity, or a few days later, the Warden will come from Osney, to remain to the Feast of the Epiphany; and we shall go forth with torches and songs to welcome him, and bring him hither in state. They say we live right merrily whilst he is with us. Fair Mistress Alys is all agog to see the torchlight procession. I trust the night will be fair and fine, that she be not disappointed."
Alys, indeed, was all alive for any bit of entertainment in her pleasant but rather monotonous life. The Christmas revellings were not of a character greatly to attract one of a gentle spirit. She knew that she would scarce be permitted during those days of feasting to sally forth into the city at all. Riot and disorder too often characterized the events of that season. The lectures of the Regent Masters were suspended for a short period, although other lecturers continued their discourses. Some amongst the richer scholars, or those from the neighbourhood, went to their homes; but the greater number remained in the city, and made night hideous with their revellings and disorder. A Lord of Misrule was chosen for the occasion, and misrule was the order of the day. The citizens themselves were little better behaved at this holiday season, and for a week disorder and roistering prevailed in defiance of any action on the part of the authorities. If they could prevent an open riot or a pitched battle in the streets, it was as much as they could hope to do; and Alys knew that she would be kept closely within the Castle walls. Indeed, after her experience of a students' holiday once before, she had little desire to witness another.
Hugh was not sorry himself to be free of the turmoil of the city, his health being not altogether what it had been before his strange captivity. The greater seclusion and quiet within the Castle walls better suited him, and companionship with Amalric and the Constable's children was pleasant. He rather liked, too, the small solemnities with which he was admitted to be a scholar of that place. He was taken before the high altar of the chapel, and bidden to swear to be faithful and obedient to the Warden and to the Abbot of Osney, and not to raise debates between them, not to clamber over the Castle walls at night, or to be guilty of nocturnal vagaries; and if promoted to wealth in after life, to leave something to the College. Then he paid some small fees for the registration of his name, for a supper to his fellow-scholars, and towards the common stock of money; after which he became a scholar of the College, and shared in the life of his companions.
Three days after Christmas, upon a clear starlight night, the scholars sat down to their supper attired in their best habits, each of them being provided with a torch dipped in pitch and resin.
That meal having been disposed of, they all marched in procession to Osney in decorous silence, and with their torches yet unlighted. They were admitted into the courtyard by a silent monk, and once there they drew up in a circle round the enclosure, and waited, mute and patient.
But they had not to wait long. A door in the building was flung open, and out stepped the Abbot, and by his side was the Warden of St. George's, the Canons Regular being grouped in the background. At sight of these reverend men the scholars all bent the knee in token of respect, and the Abbot advancing a few steps forward gave to them his blessing.
Then the Warden stepped forward, and saluted the scholars in Latin, they replying in the same tongue, after which two of the seniors advanced, lighted their torches, and placed themselves before him.
The rest of the scholars drew up in rank behind, their torches yet unlighted, and the procession filed out of the courtyard, and along the wet, muddy road which led towards the Castle. Midway between the Abbey and the Castle a halt was called. Rapidly and in orderly fashion the scholars kindled their torches and struck up the appointed hymn. The procession formed up again, and passing between rows of gaping citizens, who had come out into King's Meadow to see the show go by, trooped across Quaking Bridge and through the gateway, till they found themselves within the precincts of the College itself.
Here a new hymn was sung, and the Warden was conducted with great ceremony to his own lodging, where he bid farewell to his body-guard and dismissed them with kindly words of thanks.
Alys from her upper window watched the picturesque grouping of the gowned scholars, and the flashing of torches in the open space below; and as Amalric and Hugh looked up and held theirs aloft, they were rewarded by the waving of a slim white hand, which told them they had been seen and recognized.
The summer sun shone bravely down upon a small band of travellers journeying leisurely along through the leafy lanes of Warwickshire.
Of this little band, two members rode ahead of the rest, sometimes silent, but often engaged in earnest conversation. One of the pair was richly dressed, and the horse he rode was a fine animal, fit for a battle charger; the other was well mounted, but his dress was sober, and suggested that of an ecclesiastic, albeit the sunny locks of the rider flowed to his shoulders, and bore no sign of the tonsure. Both riders were young, neither being over twenty years of age; but those were days when youths were ranked as men at eighteen, and there were even warriors in the battle ranks who counted less years than that, whilst few comparatively of those who lived a stirring life in the midst of stress and strife lived to see their hair turn grey.
The younger of the pair, he of the more knightly aspect, was none other than Amalric de Montfort. His companion was Leofric Wyvill, who had been for years his chosen comrade and friend.
The young men had just passed through a memorable period of their academic life, and had been invested with the cappa of the bachelor. They had successfully passed through their Responsions and their Determinations. They had ably disputed before a large gathering, and had acquitted themselves to the admiration and satisfaction of all. At Amalric's cost they had given a banquet to the Masters and scholars, and had now attained to the status of Bachelors of Arts; and Leofric, at least, had every intention of continuing his career at the University, and was to give a series of cursory lectures there upon his return.
But for the present he was taking, in company with Amalric, a well-earned holiday. Ever since his first arrival in Oxford, as an impecunious clerk, he had remained there, year in, year out, working hard to support himself and carry on his studies, and this was the first time he had quitted the city either on business or pleasure.
One year of academic life much resembled another; and little change had come into Leofric's condition, save what was brought about by his increasing intimacy with young De Montfort. He and Jack Dugdale still occupied their little turret chamber, which had gradually become more and more comfortable and habitable. Leofric had earned a steady income by his illuminating work upon the vellum he was enabled to purchase, and by assistance to Edmund de Kynaston in his studies. Jack kept the larder supplied, and hung their chamber about with the dressed skins of the creatures he had slain, thus protecting them from the winter's cold, which down in that marshy place was severe and prolonged. The life had been a busy and a happy one, and Leofric found it hard to believe how fast the months and years had sped by. Looking back upon his life as a clerk, it seemed to him to have been very short indeed.
There was still a considerable interval before he could take his degree as Master, and from that go on as inceptor in theology if he had a mind to do so; but he had already won the favourable notice of many persons in the University, and a brilliant career had been prophesied for him if he did but persevere, as he had every intention of doing.
The Determinations had taken place in Lent, as was always the case, and for a while afterwards he and Amalric had remained in Oxford; but they had long planned a holiday together when the summer should come, and a few weeks back they had started off together to see something besides the inside of lecture-halls and the familiar sights of Oxford.
Amalric was determined that Leofric should see London, and their first journey had been to that great city, which was seething in the excitements of that unquiet period, when the struggle betwixt the King and his Barons was becoming ever more and more acute, and when far-seeing men began to predict that the matter would never be settled until swords had been drawn and blood shed on both sides.
After a week spent in that place, the friends had journeyed northward. Leofric had paid a visit to his old friends and fathers the monks of St. Michael, who were delighted to see him and to learn how great success he had achieved. Now they were on their way to the Castle of Kenilworth, Amalric's home, and the youth was growing excited at the thought of seeing again his mother and his sister, who were certain to be there, although he was far less certain of meeting with his father and brothers.
Just latterly the young students had been too much engrossed in their studies to have a very clear idea what was going on in the world around. Now, however, they began to feel a keen interest in these outside matters, and Amalric, as was natural, strove to obtain and piece together every scrap of information he could gain from high or low, eagerly discussing each matter with Leofric, and growing in enthusiasm for the cause to which his father was pledged as day by day passed on.
The arguments upon both sides were strong. The King's party urged that the King should be free; that he is no longer a King if he does not rule as he pleases. He has the same right to rule the kingdom that the Barons have to rule their own estates, and those who would interfere to make a slave of him are robbers and worse, for they are laying unholy hands upon the Lord's anointed.
The Barons' arguments were also culled from Holy Writ, and proved how deeply the teachings of the Franciscans were working in the hearts of the people. The kingdom has to be protected as well as the King. If the King listens to false counsellors, his Barons must guard him from such. Obedience to law is not slavery, and God's laws are for monarch as well as for peasants. True freedom consists in abstaining from evil. The King's people are God's people, and must be ruled in His fear, not in a spirit of greed and oppression. As Christ laid open all things to His disciples, so should a King consult on all weighty matters with his nobles. If he dishonour them and oppress his people, he cannot wonder if he is hated and disobeyed.
These arguments sunk deeply into the minds of the people, and they looked to De Montfort as their hope and deliverer. The past years had been full of trouble and vicissitudes. The King had escaped from the tutelage and restraint imposed upon him, had made himself practical master of London and even of the kingdom for a while, and had set at open defiance the Provisions of Oxford. His son, Prince Edward, had opposed him in this; had said that he, for his own part, could not reconcile it to his conscience to break the oath which he had sworn on that occasion; and had in effect joined himself to the party of the Barons. This had alarmed his father, who perhaps felt that his son was a better leader and stronger spirit than himself, and Edward had been sent off to Gascony to his duties there. As it happened, however, the De Montforts, his cousins, were there also at that time, and the Prince spent most of his time with them, thus adding to the disquietude of his father.
Henry himself had been over to France carrying on the negotiations with Louis concerning his renunciation of his futile claims upon that realm; and upon his return he had asserted himself by summoning a Parliament in the old form, quite irrespective of the Provisions of Oxford, and by seeking to obtain from the Pope a bull absolving him from the oath taken in that city under the compulsion of the Barons.
The Pope, always ready to take the part of so pious a son, and one who had been so useful to him as a tool, was ready enough to grant this absolution, which was couched in characteristic terms by the wily prelate:—
"We therefore, being willing to provide for your dignity in this matter, with our apostolical authority, in the plenitude of our power, from this time forward entirely absolve you from your oath. If, however, there should be anything in those statutes concerning the advantage of prelates, churches, and ecclesiastical persons, we do not intend to make such void, or in any way relax the said oath in that respect."
It was, perhaps, small wonder that the English people, with a lover of freedom and constitutional liberty at their head, should revolt from the rule of a monarch who could place himself beneath the sway of a Roman Pontiff, and accept at his hands such favours as these.
Of all these things and many others Amalric and Leofric spoke as they rode through the sunny country during these long summer days. Everywhere they met the same sort of talk, the same sense of insecurity, the distrust of the King and the enthusiasm for De Montfort which was agitating the hearts of the people everywhere.
The nearer they approached to Kenilworth, the greater did this enthusiasm grow; and when they were so near that the face of Amalric became known, he was received with open arms by all, and was eagerly questioned as to the doings of his noble father, and whether he also were coming to dwell amongst them again.
But of his father's doings at this particular juncture Amalric knew little. He had returned to England—so much he had heard in London—and was doubtless busy somewhere, but whether at Kenilworth or in other districts the young man could not say. It was one of those things he was eager himself to learn.
The golden light of evening was lying over the level plains and wooded slopes as the riders drew near to the Castle, and Amalric suddenly drew rein and pointed to the great tower rising bold and massive from the waters of the lake-like moat and the surrounding park and forest land.
"See," he cried—"see, Leofric, there is my home! Is it not a lordly pile of which one may well be proud? And look at yon white sail upon the lake! that is our own sloop, wherein we have been wont to take our pastime. Ah, happy, happy days of childhood spent within those walls! I wonder if the future will hold anything half so sweet!"
Leofric looked in admiration and amazement at the finest building it had been as yet his lot to see, save perhaps the great Tower of London itself.
Although Kenilworth Castle in those days was not the magnificent pile which it became when the Lancaster and Leicester buildings were added to it, it was yet a very majestic structure, well fitted to be the home of the King's sister, and of the foremost noble of the land. It was a fortress as well as a castle, the walls being in many places from ten to fifteen feet thick, whilst the principal tower—Cæsar's Tower, as it was called—was considered wellnigh impregnable. It had a double row of ramparts, and the moat which lapped the walls upon the south, east, and west sides was more of a lake than a moat, and could be carried round the north side if necessary. Boats were kept upon this lake, where the family disported themselves, and the suite of rooms used by the Earl and Countess were washed by the waters of the lake, and a boat was kept at the water-door for their use and behoof.
The banqueting-hall was capable of seating two hundred persons; and Kenilworth had, besides its innumerable suites of living-rooms, its prison, its mill for grinding corn, its brewery for the manufacture of beer, its weekly market for the interchange of commodities with the neighbouring peasants, and even its courts of justice. For Kenilworth was privileged to hold assize of bread, beer, and so forth, to regulate the prices for these, and weights and measures for other provisions; it had its court-baron for the recovery of debts and the punishment of minor trespasses, and its court-leet for that of more serious crimes. It even had its gallows, which stood frowning upon the castle walls, ready to make an end of any unlucky wight doomed to death by the voice of the court. Such was the life of those days in a place as strong and as important as the Castle of Kenilworth.
But this evening all was sunshine and peace and beauty. Amalric pointed eagerly out to his companion objects of interest in the Castle and grounds as they rode onwards, and eagerly scanned the approaches to the place, if haply he might see some familiar face, or catch a glimpse of mother or sister taking an airing outside the walls.
The gardens themselves lay within the extensive buildings and walls, which formed two immense enclosures, capable of containing, in addition to gardens and orchards, a tilt-yard and courtyard of ample dimensions. Kenilworth was in effect a small township, complete in itself; and there was stabling for above a hundred horses, which stables were often full to overflowing when the Earl and his retinue arrived.
But apparently he was not here to-day, for there were few signs of active life about the place, and even the sentry upon the wall seemed slumbering at his post, so that their approach had not yet been observed.
Suddenly Amalric shaded his eyes with his hand, and gazing towards the waters of the moat, exclaimed,—
"In good sooth I am certain that yon figure in that white-sailed boat is that of my sister Eleanora! Come, good comrade, let us leave the road and ride up to the water's edge! Let us take her by surprise!—my pretty, dainty little sister Nell. She will not have forgotten me, I trow, though I have not seen her for three years and more."
Spurring his horse eagerly forward, and closely followed by Leofric, Amalric galloped towards the edge of the lake, upon whose placid bosom a little white-sailed sloop was idly rocking, the wind having scarce power to drift it from side to side.
As they drew near they could see that the only occupant of the boat was a young maiden of perhaps twelve summers, though she looked more, being tall and slim, and possessed of a high-bred grace and self-possession which her training had given her. She had just observed the unceremonious approach of these riders, and was about to direct her craft towards the opposite bank as a mark of her displeasure, when something in Amalric's dress and bearing arrested her attention, and she gazed earnestly at him, whilst the boat drifted nearer and nearer inshore.
"Sister mine, dost know me?" cried the youth, springing from his horse and running to the very edge of the water.
She looked at him with wide eyes full of wonder, which kindled into joy as she recalled his face.
"Amalric, dear Amalric!" she cried, stretching out her arms to him; and the next moment he had drawn the boat ashore, and had her fast in a brother-like embrace.
"Amalric! how comest thou thither? Is our father with thee? Art come with news of him?"
"Nay, but to get news of him, and to see thee and my mother, and to take a holiday after all these years of study. Art glad to see me again, little Nell?"
"O brother, yes! I missed thee sorely when thou didst go away; and now thou wilt be so learned I shall almost fear to talk with thee. But I too have learned to read the Latin tongue; and my mother has given order for some fine vellum to be bought for me; and I am to have a breviary of mine own when we can find some clever scribe who will transcribe it for me. But tell me now, Amalric, who is thy friend who stands thus modestly by? for methinks he has a gentle air. He is not a servant, but a friend, I trow."
"Thou art right, sister; a friend in good sooth. It is the same as I have written of, if thou hast received the letters I have writ to my mother as occasion has served. I would present him to thee—my faithful friend and comrade, by name Leofric Wyvill. Thou wilt give him welcome, I doubt not, for my sake."
"Ay, and for his own," said the little Lady Eleanora, or, as she was universally styled (probably to distinguish her from her mother), the Demoiselle. The Countess of Leicester was always spoken of in her household as the Lady Eleanora; for although the sister of a King, no higher title had as yet been accorded to the Princesses of the blood royal, at least in the common round of everyday life. The only daughter of the Earl and Countess, therefore, had her own distinguishing title of Demoiselle, by which she was universally known throughout the Castle of Kenilworth.
As she spoke she held out her hand with an air of gracious dignity, and Leofric bent the knee and raised it reverently to his lips. The maiden smiled, innocently pleased with the homage, and addressed him in friendly tones.
"We have heard of you, fair sir, and you are welcome to Kenilworth.—Amalric, let us give our mother a surprise. Come into the boat with me—yes, and you also, sir—and let us across to the water-door, and enter her apartments without announcement! I trow she will give us joyful welcome. We are looking from day to day for the arrival of our father and his retinue. Thou dost seem like a herald of his approach."
Leofric's skilful management of the boat drew forth the approbation of the Demoiselle, who permitted him, with a charming smile, to hand her ashore at the wide stone landing-place, upon which opened an oaken doorway studded with brass plates and heavy bolts. The door, however, opened readily to the touch of the child's hands, and when she had pushed aside a curtain, the trio found themselves in a vast and beautiful apartment, so much more luxurious than anything that Leofric had ever seen that he stood mute and spell-bound at the sight. But the Demoiselle, laughing gaily at his silent bewilderment, called to them to follow, and pushing aside a rich curtain of sombre hue, she beckoned to them to pass within into a smaller second chamber.
This room was very bright, for a western oriel window let in a flood of glory. Seated near to this window, some fine embroidery in her hands, was a stately and dignified figure, at sight of whom Leofric instinctively retreated a step; for he knew without any telling that he was in the presence of the Lady Eleanora, wife of the great De Montfort and sister to the King.
Amalric and the Demoiselle sprang forward, uttering their mother's name, and the next moment Amalric had dropped upon his knees at her feet, to be clasped in her fond arms.
Whatever faults and failings Eleanora possessed—and that she was proud, extravagant (at least in early life), and wilful no one who reads her life can deny—in her relations as wife and mother her loyalty, tenderness, and unselfishness shine out in no dim colours. Her husband loved and revered her; her children almost worshipped her. She had always a warm and loving welcome for them, and was never so happy as when she could gather them about her, albeit in those troubled times these opportunities were growing rarer and more rare.
Leofric, standing just within the curtain, could not but gaze with admiring eyes at the queenly woman before him. Although the Countess was very plainly habited in a russet robe with no other trimming than white lamb's wool, and had no ornament upon her person save a golden clasp to her girdle, there was yet in her aspect such dignity and high-born grace that he could not take his eyes from her beautiful face, and the story of her romantic secret marriage with De Montfort (which Amalric had often told to him) came flashing into his mind, and he could not wonder that the Earl had dared so much to win that noble woman for his wife.
The Lady Eleanora's face was thin and worn with anxiety, and her eyes had that peculiar light which bespeaks a life of anxious watching. Her life had not been a smooth one, for she had shared in all things her husband's cares and troubles. Yet with all that she had not lost the gracious sweetness of manner which had been hers from girlhood, and when at last she beheld Leofric standing mute and shrinking just beside the door, she made her son present him, receiving him with a gentle courtesy and kindness which put him at once at his ease, and made him her devoted servant from that time forward.
She would not dismiss him to the quarters of the retainers, albeit his rank was humble. She treated him as the friend and equal of her son, and the fact of his having been of much assistance to Amalric during his course of study gave him a standing at once. For the Lady Eleanora had a great respect for learning, and all her children were well educated for the times they lived in. Her sons had all received instruction from such celebrated men as Robert Grostête and Adam Marisco, and scholars, even if humble by birth, were always well treated within the walls of Kenilworth.
So when refreshment was served for Amalric in a neighbouring chamber, Leofric was made to sit at table with him, and was given a room close by that of his comrade. He made one of the little party that gathered in the small oriel room after the more formal supper had been eaten in the hall below, and he listened with the keenest interest whilst the Countess related to her son the events of the past years and months, and the condition of public affairs as they now stood.
"I pray God," she said, "that my brother the King will be advised for his good, and that this land may be saved from the miseries of war. But I greatly fear me that he will refuse to be bound by the Provisions of Oxford, even as our father refused to be bound by the terms of the Great Charter. If that be so, there is but one remedy for the evil—the appeal to arms; and from that your father will not shrink, if he knows his cause to be a righteous one."
"And where is he now?" asked Amalric eagerly.
"He is in England; but more than that I do not know. He returned from Gascony a short while since, and he has been conferring earnestly ever since with our friends in various parts of the country. I am looking for him daily now at Kenilworth. Every day that passes brings him one day nearer."
"My father is coming! my father is coming! the watchman has sighted his approach! Come and see him arrive with his train! it will be a right goodly sight, methinks."
So spoke the Demoiselle, rushing in hot haste into a great hall, which might perhaps be termed the library of the Castle, where certain books and manuscripts were stored in carved oaken presses against the wall, and where Leofric spent a portion of each day in transcribing for the little Eleanora the breviary which she was so eager to possess.
The Countess, at a hint from her son, had offered this task to the young scholar, and Leofric had gratefully undertaken it. The Demoiselle took keen interest in the work, and had already established very friendly relations with her brothers friend. A child at heart, despite her graceful and self-possessed manners and queenly little ways, she delighted in listening to stories of Oxford student life, and in watching the skilful pen and brush of the young bachelor as he copied the text or the illuminations from the scrolls in the library. Little Eleanora was greatly delighted at being able to choose her favourite designs for reproduction in her own breviary, and she danced in and out the library like a veritable sprite, directing and admiring, chattering freely to the scribe as she grew intimate with him, and letting him into a great deal of the family history of the De Montforts during the years of Amalric's absence.
Amalric himself was often present, and then brother and sister would converse freely and eagerly together. Leofric was treated as a friend and equal by both, and greatly enjoyed this experience of life in a nobleman's castle. It was like stepping forth into a new world or learning a new language.
The arrival of the Earl of Leicester had been for some time expected. His wife knew that he was in England upon a flying visit for political reasons, and daily was he looked for at Kenilworth; but so far no definite tidings of his movements had reached her, and the household lived in a state of expectancy and impatience.
It was no wonder that, when the Demoiselle rushed into the library with this piece of intelligence on her lips, Amalric and Leofric should start at once to their feet, and hasten with all speed to the great courtyard, where already the men-at-arms and the retainers were mustering.
It was a beautiful and picturesque sight. The Countess, with her little daughter and her handsome son beside her, stood at the top of the great flight of steps which led into the banqueting-hall, opposite the great gateway. All round the spacious courtyard were grouped the armed retainers and servants of the household. The sentinels and men-at-arms mounted the battlements, or drew up in martial array about the gateway, and the herald rode forth to meet and greet his master and bring him in in triumph.
The sense of expectancy deepened as the minutes passed by; then a great shout was raised as the trampling of horses' feet was heard within the outer courtyard. The next minute the great Earl, bare-headed, as he responded to the enthusiastic greetings showered upon him, rode through the gateway and across the court; and a cry went up that seemed wellnigh to shake the walls, as Kenilworth welcomed back its long-absent lord.
The eagle face of the Earl had grown thinner and browner since Leofric had seen it last. There were lines there which had been traced rather by anxiety and sorrow than by the hand of time. But the light in the eyes was unquenched, and the carriage of the haughty head betrayed the undaunted and resolute spirit of this leader of men.
His glance softened at the sight of his wife and daughter, and with a quick and skilful turn of the reins he drew up his charger at the foot of the steps, and leaped lightly to the ground. The next minute he had embraced his wife before the eyes of the assembled crowd, who were making the welkin ring with their plaudits; and little Eleanora was clinging to his hand, half shy, yet intensely eager for the notice of her sire, of whom she had seen but little, and that only on brief visits, paid as occasion served, and he could be spared to enjoy the pleasures of home life.
Leofric's eyes wandered over the goodly company filing into the courtyard after its lord. Immediately behind their father rode Henry and Simon, his eldest sons, now knights, and youths of handsome person, albeit lacking their father's nobility of aspect and charm of manner. Behind these again rode Guy, the third son, and side by side with him was a young man of noble aspect, very richly dressed, and plainly of no small importance in the eyes of the great De Montfort himself; for even before his own sons had had time to embrace their mother, he beckoned up this youth to the top of the steps, and presented him with much ceremony to his wife.
Leofric noted that quite a number of the men who followed wore the badge and the livery of this person. For a moment it crossed his mind that it might be one of the King's sons; but upon putting the question to one who stood by, he was answered in the negative.
"Nay, it is not the Prince. The Prince is a kinglier youth than that. That is Gilbert, the young Duke of Gloucester, and a right royal welcome will be accorded him at Kenilworth; for if he had followed his father's footsteps, and taken the side of the King, great hurt and loss to our party must have ensued. We cannot afford to lose the support of Gloucester."
This enlightened Leofric considerably as to the situation, and he added his voice to those raised in lusty cheering for the young Earl Gilbert. He had heard much about the father of this young man, recently deceased, and how, after joining in the cause which the Barons had at heart, he had quarrelled again and again with the Earl of Leicester, and had finally gone over to the King's side. Up to the present moment it had been feared that this young son, a youth of nineteen, now Earl in his father's stead, might follow that father's example and join the King's party; but his appearance at Kenilworth to-day, in company with De Montfort and his sons, showed plainly that he had thrown over the old Earl's policy, and had cast in his lot with the Barons: so the hearts of all were made glad, and cheer upon cheer rent the air as Leicester presented his youthful compeer to his loyal retainers here.
Preparations were instantly set on foot for a banquet of more than ordinary splendour. The Countess had been prepared for some such emergency as this, and the vast kitchens of the Castle could be depended upon for an ample supply of those substantial dainties under which the tables of our forefathers were wont to groan. The waters of the moat supplied fresh-water fish and wild fowl in abundance. Kids and goats and calves, oxen and sheep and swine, had only to be fetched in from the stores in the Castle. Venison from the forests around, as well as small game of all sorts, was supplied by the huntsmen; and in the household roll of the Countess are to be found abundant entries concerning spices, saffron, rice, figs, ginger, cinnamon, and raisins, showing that the variety afforded in those days was considerable.
But Leofric still stood watching the entry of the gay company which came with the Earl in martial array. It seemed as though there was no end to the following of knights and esquires who attended these two great nobles. They filed in one after another in endless array, till the youth wondered how even the walls of Kenilworth could accommodate them all.
Suddenly he gave a great start of surprise, and pressed a few steps forward. A small group had just come into the courtyard, seemingly in the rear of the followers of the Earls, and Leofric recognized the face and form of Sir Humphrey de Kynaston, Constable of Oxford Castle; whilst riding at his side, upon a pretty little barb, was fair Mistress Alys, his daughter, now grown to be a most beauteous maiden, the light of her father's eyes; and these two were accompanied by four stout serving-men, who wore the livery of their master.
What could Sir Humphrey be doing here? asked Leofric of himself in no small wonder; and pushing a way through the moving crowd of horsemen, who were filing off towards the stables and quarters allotted to them, he made his way to this little group just within the great gateway, and doffed his cap respectfully before them.
A little cry of delight from Alys told him he was recognized.
"Father, it is Leofric—our good Leofric!" she cried. "I remember now that Amalric was to bring him to Kenilworth. Now this is a good hap indeed; for we feel like fish taken from the water in this strange company.—Prithee, good youth, be our friend and counsellor, for methinks our noble host has forgotten that he has made us his guests for the nonce."
A few words from Sir Humphrey explained what had happened. He had been taking his daughter on a little riding expedition through the country, some business of his own having obliged him to quit Oxford for the space of a few weeks. They were journeying back, when they had fallen in with the Earl of Leicester, who had cordially invited them to be his guests for a few days. Then he had only had a small company with him; but that very day he had been joined by the Earl of Gloucester and his following, and so many knights and gentlemen had added themselves to his train upon his approach to Kenilworth, that he and his daughter had betaken themselves to the rear, and were disposed to think themselves forgotten; so that the sight of a familiar face amid all that strange throng was hailed with pleasure and relief.
But the Earl had a better memory than Sir Humphrey had supposed, and at this moment Amalric came hastening up to give a hearty welcome to the Kynastons, and to escort them to his mother's apartments, where Alys was to be lodged during her stay. She was eagerly received by the Demoiselle, who was always delighted to have a girl friend to stay with her; and before an hour had passed away the two maidens were fast friends, and little Eleanora had promised Alys to take her into the gallery overlooking the banqueting-hall, to see the fine company sit at table, and hear the address which her father was certain to give them.
"And Leofric shall come with us," said Eleanora, with one of her imperious little gestures; "Amalric cannot. He must sit at table as one of my father's sons. But Leofric can stay with us, and I trow he will like it better than sitting for hours stuffing himself with all those strange dishes that the cooks send up at feast-times. I will send and tell him that we desire his attendance. Thou dost know him—he is thy brother's friend; I have heard tell of thee from him. He is my brother's friend likewise, and I trow he is a very goodly youth, and a good one too. I care not if his birth be humble; we might have been born peasants ourselves!" and the niece of the King tossed her dainty head, ailing the democratic fancies of youth with a petulant grace characteristic of her varying moods.
"My father loves the people, and fights for their rights," she added more seriously, after a moment's pause. "He loves the King, and would well like to be his faithful vassal; but if he does wrong, my father withstands him. Sometimes he says it may cost him his life one day; but he never shrinks back from what is his duty."
Leofric obeyed the behest of the Demoiselle with alacrity.
There was, in addition to the minstrel's gallery overlooking the great hall, a smaller private gallery, leading from the quarters occupied by the Earl and Countess and their personal guests. Sometimes when the Earl entertained a company of nobles, the Countess sat here and looked on without taking part in the feasting; but to-day she would sit at table with her lord, and he would fain have had his daughter too, had not Eleanora pleaded the weariness she always felt at these lengthy functions, and obtained grace for herself and Alys to have their own supper privately served, and to look on as spectators only at the banquet.
It was in truth a goodly sight. The great hall was filled from end to end with nobles, knights, and squires of varying degree, who occupied tables arranged according to their rank, and made a proud and gay display with their costly dresses and flashing jewels. The Earls of Leicester and Gloucester, with the Countess between them, occupied the places of honour at the highest table raised on a daïs, and Leofric looked with admiration upon the noble face and grand figure of the great De Montfort. Without doubt his was the kingliest figure of all those present to-day; and his voice when he spoke was clear and sonorous, and might be heard from end to end of the hall.
The tables shone with massive silver plate; serving-men hurried to and fro, bearing huge silver dishes containing viands of every description. Huge barons of beef were borne in between two stalwart attendants; boars' heads with gleaming white tusks, and peacocks with spreading tails, formed dishes more ornamental than edible, though some favoured them, and laughing plucked out the peacocks' plumes and stuck them in their belts. Huge pasties, both savoury and sweet, found ready custom; and as for the hogsheads of beer and wine that must have been consumed, the household roll speaks eloquently of the capacity of our ancestors in the matter of strong drink. The watchers in the gallery laughed merrily at the sight, and wondered how long the stores of Kenilworth would stand the strain.
Towards the end of the banquet the Earl of Leicester rose to his feet, flagon in hand, and in clear loud tones, which dominated the clamour of voices around him, gave the toast,—
"His Majesty the King!"
In a moment the whole company was on its feet, and the loyal toast was drunk with acclamation.
When the hubbub had subsided, the Earl motioned to his guests to be seated, and himself remaining standing, made a long and eloquent speech.
He spoke of his own affection for the King—his desire for the peace and welfare of the realm—his hatred of bloodshed and confusion. Men had said of him, he exclaimed, with a flash in his eagle eyes, that he desired himself to be monarch of the realm, and the King to be a mere tool in his hands. That charge he utterly and fiercely denied. He was the loyal servant of the King, so long as his Majesty would abide by his plighted word, and would regard the liberties of his subjects and the terms of the Great Charter. The Provisions of Oxford were in themselves nothing new; they were but the means by which the Great Charter could be upheld. The King was not the only person in the realm who had rights to be cherished and guarded. The liberties of all classes must be considered; and if a monarch, through weakness or lack of judgment, surrounded himself with false and scheming men, who persuaded him to acts of tyranny and rapacity, it then behoved his loyal subjects, who wished to do him true service, to remove from his side these false sycophants, and to furnish him instead with true and able counsellors, who could advise him for his own good and for the good of the realm.
This was in effect what the Barons' party (as it had come to be called) were doing. They would not stand by passive and idle whilst England's wealth and England's honour were being handed over to foreign powers, whilst the country was being bled to death to fill the papal coffers, and every lucrative place, as it fell vacant, was heaped upon some foreign adventurer, whose handsome face had attracted the King's admiration, or whose relationship to the Queen gave him a supposed claim upon his royal kinsman.
The Prince knew all this as well as any man in the kingdom. He had remonstrated with his feeble father times without number. He had sworn to the Provisions of Oxford, and had refused to cancel his oath even when the King repudiated his own, and had bribed the Roman Pontiff to grant him absolution therefrom. The Prince was the true friend to his country, and when he should sit upon the throne all would be well. Meantime the most true and loyal servants of the King were those who sought the true welfare of the realm, and would withhold him from spoliation at the hands of foreign hirelings.
Then holding his head very high, De Montfort spoke of the taunt sometimes levelled at himself of being a foreigner. He admitted freely his foreign birth, and pointed out how he had been the first to deliver up his castles of Kenilworth and Odiham after the Provisions of Oxford had been agreed upon. He had even retired altogether to Gascony after a stormy quarrel with the Earl of Gloucester; and were it for the good of the realm, whose welfare he had so deeply at heart, he would return thither willingly, and never again set foot on these shores. But over and over again he had discovered that he was necessary to the welfare of the party. At this moment he had been summoned across the seas to help in their deliberations. No one had the true welfare of the English nation more at heart than he; and alien though he might be by birth, he loved the land of his adoption with a changeless and passionate love, and would live for her or die for her whichever might be for her good. He had put his hand to the plough; he had pledged his honour and his reputation to save her from papal thraldom and the spoliation of self-seeking men; she should have her Great Charter, for which men had bled and died before, or he himself would leave his dead body upon a blood-stained battlefield!
Roars of applause followed this masterly speech, spoken with all that charm of manner and lofty dignity of which De Montfort was master. Not one word did the great Earl speak of the personal wrongs inflicted upon him by the capricious monarch. Every one present knew how greatly he had suffered from the injustice of Henry—how he had spent money like water in his service in Gascony, only to be reviled and abused upon his return by a master who gave greedy and credulous heed to every word spoken against one whom he ofttimes feared and hated.
True, there were moments when the old affection would break forth, when the love for his sister was in the ascendant, and a temporary peace was patched up. But far more often was the Earl the butt for the King's injustice and extortion, and the troubles over the payment of the Countess's dowry added to the chronic friction between them.
But of this the Earl made no mention. He spoke always of the King in terms of loyal affection, only deploring and denouncing a state of things which made him the prey of foreign extortion, and the tool of those who would have him grind his people to the very dust to supply their endless demands. From this condition of affairs the kingdom must be rescued at all cost; and even if force alone would do it, that last and fearful remedy would be better than the curse of slavery and foreign tyranny.
His hearers were with him to a man. Cheer after cheer went up, making the great rafters of the hall ring again. Even the youthful Demoiselle clapped her hands and joined her voice with that of others, and Alys's fair face flushed and paled with varying emotions as she listened; and she turned impulsively upon Leofric and asked,—
"Oh, surely it will never come to that! The King will not suffer himself to be so led astray!"
"The King is a puppet in the hands of his Queen and her relations!" cried the Demoiselle, with the assurance of extreme youth. "I have been to Court; I have seen it all. And there are all the De Lusignans, his half-brothers—they are more to him than his true kindred. He has them ever about him—them and the Queen's relations, who are legion. They stuff his head with all sorts of falsehood. They foster his pride and folly, and they prey upon him like vultures. Only when my father and his friends can get speech of him and take him away from these harpies does he ever behave himself as a monarch should. As soon as he makes his way back to them, they make of him their tool and their slave. And then he seeks to sink England into slavery like his own!"
It was amusing to hear the child speaking thus, with sparkling eyes and a mien oddly like that of her noble father. She had all the spirit of her sire and her royal mother, and her companions regarded her with admiration.
"If his Majesty the King had but half the spirit of my lady mother," cried the child once more, "all this trouble would speedily be at an end. Methinks Providence made a blunder in fashioning him the man and her the woman. Had it been the other way, things in this realm would be vastly different now."
The stir within the hall had drowned the sound of another kind of tumult without; but had the revellers been less excited by the great Earl's speech and their own enthusiastic reception of it, they might have been aware of some unwonted stir going on in the courtyard. The stone pavement had been ringing to the clang of horses' hoofs; voices had been raised in eager challenge and greeting.
At this moment a servant quickly entered the banqueting-hall, and made his way up to the Earl, to whom he spoke in a rapid undertone. Leicester rose instantly and spoke to his wife, who also rose to her feet, a look of surprise upon her face, though none of displeasure.
"What can have chanced?" questioned the Demoiselle eagerly; "it is no trifle that would cause my father to rise and stride from the hall at such a moment as this. And see! all at the high table have risen, and are looking towards the door; and now the whole company is afoot. Some strange thing is about to happen; what can it be?"
They were not kept long in suspense. The great doors at the bottom of the hall were flung wide open. A trumpet note rang through the building, till the rafters themselves echoed to it; and it was answered by the shout from hundreds of voices as the company saw whose was the stately figure that the Earl had gone forward to meet.
The Demoiselle suddenly clapped her hands, and waved her scarf in token of joyous greeting.
"It is my noble cousin, my well-loved cousin!" she cried, in tones of childish rapture; "it is Prince Edward himself!"