"Away, away, to the field of fame,Gallant knight, gallant knight, hie away,"
"Away, away, to the field of fame,
Gallant knight, gallant knight, hie away,"
were the first sounds he could make out; but the next stanza was more distinct, and went on thus, in the French tongue:--
"Think of thy lady at home in her bower,On her knees, for her lord to pray,Think of her terror and hope in the hourWhen your banner floats proud in array,Well aday!"Away, away, to the field of fame,Gallant knight, gallant knight, hie away!For King, for country, and deathless nameIs each stroke that is stricken to-day,Trara la, trara la, trara lay!"The hopes of years and the fame of lifeAre lost or won ere evening's ray.Thy father's spirit looks down on the strife,And bids thee to battle away,Well aday!"Away, away, to the field of fame,Gallant knight, gallant knight, hie way!For king, for country, and deathless nameIs each stroke that is stricken to-day,Trara la, trara la, trara lay!"
"Think of thy lady at home in her bower,
On her knees, for her lord to pray,
Think of her terror and hope in the hour
When your banner floats proud in array,
Well aday!
"Away, away, to the field of fame,
Gallant knight, gallant knight, hie away!
For King, for country, and deathless name
Is each stroke that is stricken to-day,
Trara la, trara la, trara lay!
"The hopes of years and the fame of life
Are lost or won ere evening's ray.
Thy father's spirit looks down on the strife,
And bids thee to battle away,
Well aday!
"Away, away, to the field of fame,
Gallant knight, gallant knight, hie way!
For king, for country, and deathless name
Is each stroke that is stricken to-day,
Trara la, trara la, trara lay!"
As he was listening for more, a knock was heard at the door of his chamber, and bidding the applicant come in, Richard of Woodville was somewhat surprised to see the personage whom we have designated as the clerk's man, enter in some haste.
"I thought you were still sleeping, sir knight," he said; "but I ventured to wake you, as, by Heaven's good will, it seems there will be a battle shortly, and methought you would like to hear such tidings, and be present at such a deed."
"I have heard that such is likely to be the case," answered Woodville, "and am eager enough to set out, my friend. But how came you here? and where have you left your master?"
"Oh, I have followed you close," the man replied; "I only waited to see that the enemy's hounds had not got scent of the deer; but the slot has been crossed by so many other herds, that they soon lost the track. I have wakened master Isambert, who leads the Duke's party, and he will be in the saddle in half an hour. As to my master, he has gone by the other road, and I dare to say has joined Sir John at Brettenville, or Beauvillers, or where they passed the Somme."
"Is this Isambert very faithful, think you?" asked the young knight.
"Not too much so," replied the man, calmly; "but in your case he dare as soon give his throat to the knife, as do you wrong; for the Duke, and the Count, and the Lord of Croy, would all have bloody vengeance, if aught of evil befel you ere you are with your own people. However, it will not be amiss to quit him soon; for I find a body of his own folks have just marched out under Robinet de Bournonville--as wild a marauder as ever a wild land brought forth; and it is well to get out of such company when they are too many; for what one man dare not do, a number think nothing of."
"Then," said the young knight, "this good Isambert's arrival at Triel was not a matter of chance, as I thought it?"
"Oh, no!" replied the other; "he came thither on purpose to give you aid. He might have saved fifteen leagues by another road; but the Duke's commands were not to be disobeyed. However, noble knight, you had better get some breakfast; for Heaven only knows when we shall have an opportunity of putting anything into our mouths again. You might as well follow a flight of locusts, they tell me, as our army. The refectioner is serving out meat to the men, and mead, too, for we have quitted the land of wine."
The young knight bade him go and provide for himself; and, soon following, he took a hasty meal before he mounted with the rest. The whole party were speedily in the saddle; the streets of the town were soon passed, and the gates of Peronne closed behind them.
It is quite right and proper to suppose that the reader is thoroughly acquainted with the position, situation, and peculiarities of every town, to which we may be pleased to lead him; and, therefore, it may be unnecessary to remind him, that Peronne is surrounded by marshy ground, which soon gives way to a hilly country, which, at the time I speak of, was of a very wild and desolate character. The party of Burgundian horse, with Richard of Woodville and the fair Canonesses, rode on through this track towards Arras, at the same quick pace as during the preceding part of their journey; and even the ladies themselves were glad to keep their mules at a rapid amble; for the weather had undergone a sudden change, and a foul north-easterly wind was blowing sharp, cutting them to the marrow. The troop was now increased by the presence of the clerk's servant; and with him, as they went, the young English gentleman held more than one consultation, which resulted in Woodville adopting the resolution of quitting the escort, shortly after passing the Abbey of Arrouaise, where it was proposed that they should stop to dine.
The whole party, however, were destined to be disappointed of their comfortable meal; for when, after passing Feuillancourt, Rancourt, and Sailly, they approached the gates of the monastery, and rang the great bell, no one responded to the summons for some time. As they sat upon their horses waiting for admission, the sight of a neighbouring barn burnt to the ground, and still smoking, showed them that some party of pillagers had passed that morning; and they began to think that the monastery was deserted, which was certainly the case with the little village itself. The sound of voices within, however, at length induced them to make another application to the bell; and, after a short pause, a monk's head appeared at the window over the gate, exclaiming, "Get you gone, brothers, get you gone. You cannot enter here."
The leader of the troop remonstrated, and announced his name as Isambert of Agincourt; but the reply was still the same, the monk adding, by way of explanation, "We have suffered too much from you all already this morning. We will open our gates to none, and we have cross-bow men within, who will shoot if you do not retire. Do you not see the barns burning?"
"But that was done by the savage Englishmen," replied Isambert; "we are friends. We are men of Burgundy."
"So were these," answered the monk; "but the Duke and the English understand each other; for that sacrilegious villain, Robinet de Bournonville, had Englishmen with him. Get you gone, I will hear no more; and if you do not go, the men shall shoot."
The sight of several men upon the wall, with cross-bows in their hands, gave effect to the old man's words; and Isambert withdrew slowly, muttering curses at his friend, Robinet de Bournonville, for depriving him of his dinner. When he reached the bottom of the next slope, he halted to consult his companions and Richard of Woodville, as to what was to be done to procure food for themselves and for their horses; and he finally determined to return to Sailly, where a good hostel had been observed as they passed.
But Richard of Woodville took this opportunity of separating himself from the rest of the party, and announced his intention to Isambert of Agincourt, who seemed by no means sorry to get rid of him. The clerk's man and his own page were the only companions whom the young gentleman expected to go with him; and he was not a little surprised when the two novices drew aside from the ladies of Cambray, and the taller of the two begged that he would have the kindness to give them the benefit of his escort as far as Hesdin, saying, "We were on our way to Amiens, and thence to Montreuil, and not to Arras, whither, it seems now, this noble gentleman is bending his steps."
One of the Canonesses interposed a remonstrance, representing the danger of falling in with some party of English troops; but she did not venture to use a tone of authority, as the novices belonged to another Order; and the young lady who had already spoken, replied briefly, in a resolute and somewhat haughty tone, "that she had no fear, and, knowing what it was her duty to do, should do it."
"Well, settle the matter as you please, fair ladies," cried Isambert of Agincourt; "only be quick, for I have no time to lose;" and no farther opposition being made, Richard of Woodville undertook to protect, as far as he could, the two novices on the way, only warning them in general terms, that as soon as he discovered the exact position of the armies, he must join them; promising, however, to send on his page and the man with them to Hesdin. This being understood, he took leave of the commander of the men-at-arms; and choosing the first road to the left, under the direction of the clerk's man, who seemed thoroughly acquainted with the whole country, he proceeded for some way at a quick pace, till they reached a village, which seemed to have escaped the predatory propensities of the soldiery on both parts, and there paused to feed his horses, and to procure some refreshment for himself and his companions.
Though he had tried to entertain the two young ladies to the best of his power as they rode along, either their notions of propriety, or some anxiety in regard to their situation, rendered them cold and taciturn in their communications; and, unlike the gay Canonesses from whom they had just parted, they neither seemed inclined to converse with the knight or with each other, nor ever raised their veils to take a coquettish look at the country through which they passed. They now refused refreshment, also, saying, "It is not our habit to eat with men;" and as the house, at which they had bought some bread and mead, had but one public room, Richard of Woodville, with his two male companions, retired to the door while the horses fed, and left the shy novices to partake of what was set upon the table if they thought fit.
While there, the young knight entered into conversation with the good peasant who supplied them, and, though the jargon which the man spoke was scarcely intelligible, made out, that the English army had marched from Acheux on the preceding day, and had encamped the night before amongst the villages near the source of the Canche. Of the movements of the French army he could learn nothing, however, which led him to a false belief, that he was likely to meet with no interruption from the enemy in following the march of his own sovereign.
As the young knight rode on, and came into the country through which the English army had passed, the sad and terrible effects of that barbarous system of warfare, which was universal in those times, made themselves visible at every step. Houses and villages burnt, cattle slaughtered and left half consumed by the wayside, and fruit trees cut down for the purpose of lighting fires, presented themselves all along the road; and the painful feelings which such a scene could not but produce were aggravated by the lamentations of the villagers, who felt no terror at the appearance of a party consisting of women and of men without any arms except those usually worn in time of peace, and who poured forth their complaints to Woodville's ear, pointing to their ruined dwellings, and their little property destroyed, and cursing the ambition of kings, and the ferocity of their soldiery.
The young knight felt grieved and sorrowful; but he was surprised to find that the bitterness of the peasantry was less excited against the English themselves, than he had expected; and, on guiding the conversation with one of these poor men in a direction which he thought would lead to some explanation of the fact, the villager replied vehemently, "The English are not so bad as our own people. They are enemies, and we might expect worse at their hands; but, wherever the King or his brothers were, they destroyed little or nothing, and only took what they wanted. But, since they have passed, we have had two bands of Frenchmen, who have destroyed everything that the English left, on the pretence that we favoured them, though they knew that we could not resist. The Duke of York took my meat and my flour; but he left my house standing, and injured no one in the place. That cursed Robinet de Bournonville, and his companion the captain Vodeville, burnt down my house and carried off my daughter."
The young knight consoled the poor man as well as he could, and gave him a piece of silver, thinking it somewhat strange, indeed, that one of Bournonville's companions should have a name so nearly resembling his own. He and his companions rode on, however, still finding that the band, which he had seen issue forth from Peronne in the morning, had gone on before them, till they reached the town of Acheux, which was well nigh deserted. Most of the houses were closed and the doors nailed up; but they had evidently been broken into by the windows, and had been rifled of all their contents. In the mere hovels, indeed, some cottagers were seen; and on inquiring of one of these where they could find any place of rest, as night was coming on, the man led them to a large, ancient, embattled mansion in the centre of the town, which, though stripped of everything easily portable, still contained some beds and pallets. An old woman was found in the house, which she said belonged to the Lord of Acheux, and for a small piece of silver she agreed to make the strangers as comfortable as she could, seeming--perhaps, from old experience of such things--perhaps, from the obtuseness of age--to feel the horrors of war less keenly than any one they had yet met with. Money, however, made all her faculties alive, and declaring that she knew, notwithstanding the pillage which the place had undergone, where to procure corn for the cattle, and bread, eggs, and even wine, for the party, she set out upon her search, while Woodville and his two male companions led the horses and mules to the vacant stable, and the two novices remained in one of the desolate chambers up the great flight of stairs.
When the beasts had been tied to the manger, the young knight returned with the man and the boy to their fair companions; but the old woman had not yet returned; and as night was falling fast, he lighted a small lamp which he found in the kitchen, and returned with it to the chamber above. A few minutes after, while he was expressing his sorrow to the two maidens that he could find no better lodging for them, the sound of a small party of horse was heard below, and a voice exclaimed in English, "Ah! there is a light--I will lodge here, Matthew. Take my casque. This cursed cuirass pinches me on the shoulder: unbuckle this strap. Keep a watch for Ned, or any one he may send."
The voice was not unfamiliar to Richard of Woodville; and a heavy frown gathered upon his brow. His first impulse was to lay his hand upon his sword, and take a step towards the door; but then, remembering what fearful odds there might be against him, he turned to the window and looked out. He could distinguish little but that there were ten or twelve men below; and as he gazed, a step was heard upon the stairs. The young gentleman turned hastily to close and bolt the door; but to his surprise he beheld the taller of the two novices with the lamp in her hand, walking rapidly towards the entrance; and turning towards him, she said in a stern and solemn tone, "Leave him to me!"
The next instant she had passed the door; and when Richard of Woodville reached it and looked out into the gloomy corridor, he could see her, by the lamp that she held in her hand, meet Simeon of Roydon, upon whose face the full light fell, as he was just reaching the top of the stairs. Her back was towards the young knight, but he perceived that she suddenly raised her veil, and he heard her say, in English, and in a deep and solemn tone, "Ha! Have you come at length?"
Whatever might have been the import of those words on the ear of him to whom they were addressed, he staggered, fell back, and would have been precipitated from the top to the bottom of the stairs, had he not by a convulsive effort grasped the rope that ran along the wall The light was instantly extinguished, and the moment after Richard felt the novice's hand laid upon his arm, drawing him back into the room. They all listened, and steps were heard rapidly descending the stairs, followed by the voice of Simeon of Roydon exclaiming, "No, no, I cannot lodge here--I will not lodge here! Mount, and away. We will go on."
"But, noble knight," said another voice,--
"Away, away!" cried Simeon of Roydon again. "Mount! or by Heaven--" and immediately there came the sound of armed men springing on their horses, the tramp of the chargers as they rode away, and the fainter noise of their departing feet.
"In the name of Heaven, who are you?" demanded Richard of Woodville, addressing her who had produced such a strange effect.
"One whom he bitterly injured in former days," replied the novice; "and whom he dares not face even now. Ask no more: that is enough!"
"It were well to quit this place," said the other girl, in a low voice. And the clerk's man urged the same course, adding, "He may take heart and return,--besides, he spoke of some one coming."
Richard of Woodville remained in silence, meditating deeply for several minutes, with his arms folded on his chest, and his eyes bent down. The faint outline of his figure was all that could be seen in the dim semi-darkness that pervaded the room; but the novice who had proposed to go, approached him gently, and laying her hand upon his arm, again urged it, saying, "Had we not better go?"
"Well," said the young knight, starting from his reverie as if suddenly awakened from a dream, "let us go. But yet a cold night ride, with no place of shelter for two young and tender things like you, is no slight matter. Run down, boy, and light the lamp again--"
"No, no, no!" cried one of the two ladies, eagerly. "Light it not! let us go at once.--Hark! there is some one below."
"The old woman's step," cried the page; "I will run down and see what she has got."
He returned in a moment with the good dame, bearing more than she had promised. She easily understood the reason why the light which she offered was refused; and after taking some wine and bread, the whole party descended to the stable, whence the horses were brought forth; and Richard of Woodville, paying her well for her trouble and her provisions, bade the page take the remainder of the bread to feed the poor beasts, when they could venture to pause. In less than a quarter of an hour the young knight and his companions were once more on their way, under the direction of the clerk's man, who proposed that they should bear a little towards Doulens, which would lead them out of the immediate track that the English army had followed.
September days are short and bright, like the few hours of happiness in the autumn of man's career. September nights are long and dull, like the wearing cares and infirmities of life's decline; but often the calm grand moon will shed her cold splendour over the scene, solemn and serene, like the light of those consolations which Cicero suggested to his friend, for the privation of the warmer joys and more vivid hopes that pass away with the spring and summer of existence, and with the departure of the brighter star.
The wind was sinking away, when Richard of Woodville rode out with his companions from the ruined village of Acheux, and soon fell into a calm soft breeze; the moon rose up in her beauty, and cleared away the dull white haze that had spread over the sky, during the whole day; and, as the travellers wended on in silence, the features of the scene around were clearly marked out by the rays, every bold mass standing forth in strong relief, every deep valley seeming an abyss, where darkness took refuge from the eye of light. For about eight miles farther they pursued their way almost in total silence; but at the end of that distance, the hanging heads and feeble pace of the horses and mules showed, that they would soon be able to go no farther: and the young knight looked anxiously for some place of repose.
That part of the country, as the reader is aware, is famous for its rocks and caverns. There is a very remarkable cave at a place called Albert, but that was at a considerable distance behind them, and on their left. In passing along, however, by the side of a steep cliff, which ran at the distance of a few hundred yards from the road, with a green sward between, the moon shone full upon the rocky face of the hill, and the eye of Richard of Woodville soon perceived the mouth of a cavern, like a black spot upon the surface of the mountain. After some consultation with his companions, and some suggestions regarding wolves and bears, Woodville determined to try whether shelter could not be found in this "antre vast," for a few hours; and, riding up as far as the footing was safe towards the entrance, the whole party dismounted, and the young knight entering first, explored it by the feel to the very farther end, which, indeed, was at no great distance, as it luckily happened, for in some cases, such an undertaking might have been attended with considerable peril.
It was perfectly vacant, however, and Woodville brought the two novices within the brow of the rude arch, assuring them that they might rest on a large stone near the mouth in safety. He then led his own horse up, the others following, and taking the bits out of their mouths, the men distributed amongst them the bread they had brought from the village, which the poor beasts ate slowly, but with apparent gladness, and then fell to the green grass on the mountain side with still greater relish.
All the party were silent, for all were very weary; and while the clerk's man laid himself down on the sandy bottom of the cave, and the page sat nodding at the entrance, Richard of Woodville remained standing just within the shadow, with his arms folded on his chest; and the two novices remained seated on the stone where they had first placed themselves, with their arms twined together. The young knight thought that they would soon fall asleep; but such was not the case; and when, after the moon had travelled some way to the south, the sound of a horse's feet made itself heard through the stillness of the night, trotting on towards Acheux, the slighter and the shorter of the two girls rose suddenly, and coming forward gazed towards the road, on which, at this time, the rays were falling strong. A moment after a single horseman rode by at a quick pace, but turned not his head in the direction of the cavern, and seemed little to think that he was watched; for the figure of the slumbering page might well have passed for some stone of a quaint form, in that dim light, and the horses had been gathered together under the shadow of a rock.
She strained her eyes upon the passing traveller; and then, as he rode on, she returned to her companion and whispered something to her. The other replied in the same low tone, and, after a brief conversation, they relapsed into silence; and the young knight stripping off his cloak, gave it to them to wrap themselves in, and counselled them to seek some repose against the fatigues of the coming day. They would fain have excused themselves from taking the mantle; but he insisted, saying that he felt the air sultry; and then seating himself at a distance, he closed his eyes, strove to banish thought, and after several efforts dozed lightly, waking every five or ten minutes and looking out to the sky, till at length a faint grey streak in the east told him that morning was at hand. Then rousing his companions, he called them to repeat their matin prayers, and after they were concluded, hastened to prepare the horses and mules for their onward journey.
Day had not fully dawned ere they were once more on the way; but a considerable distance still lay between them and Hesdin; and the few and scanty villages that were then to be found in that part of the country, were in general deserted, so that but little food was to be found for man or beast. At one farmhouse, indeed, the two weary girls found an hour's repose on the bed of the good farmer's wife. Some bread and meat, and, also, one feed of corn was procured for the horses and mules; but that was all that could be obtained during the whole day, till at length about Fremicourt, they met with a man from whom they learned the exact position of the two armies, which were now drawing nearer and nearer to each other, the head quarters of the one having been established at St. Pol, and those of the English at Blangy.
Shortly after, the clerk's man pointed out a narrow road to the left, saying, that leads to Hesdin; and Woodville, drawing in his rein, turned to his fair companions, saying, "Here, then, we must part; for I must on to Blangy with all speed. The man and the boy shall accompany you; and God guard you on your way."
"Farewell, then, for the present, sir knight," replied the taller of the two girls. "We shall meet again, I think, when I may thank you better than I can now."
"But take your page with you, at least, sir," said the other; "we shall be quite safe, I doubt not."
Richard of Woodville would not consent, however; and giving the boy some directions, he waved his hand, and rode away. Once--just as he was going--he turned his head, hearing voices speaking, and thinking some one called him by name; but the younger novice, as she seemed, was talking with apparent eagerness to the clerk's man, and he caught the sounds--"As soon as he is gone."--"Take plenty with you--"
The young knight perceived that the words were not addressed to him, and spurred forward. Evening was coming on apace; and Blangy was still ten or twelve miles distant; but his horse was exhausted with long travelling and little food, and nothing would urge him into speed. At a slow walk he pursued his way, till at length, just as the sun touched the edge of the western sky, the animal stopped altogether, with his limbs trembling and evidently unable to proceed. Richard of Woodville dismounted; and taking the bit out of the horse's mouth, he relieved him from the saddle, and led him a little way from the road, saying, "There, poor beast, find food and rest if you can." He then left him, and walked on a-foot.
The red evening light at first glowed brightly in the sky; but soon it grew grey, and faint twilight was all that remained, when the road wound in to a deep forest, covering the sides of a high hill. Woodville had heard that Blangy was situated in the midst of woodlands, and his heart felt relieved as he approached; but the darkness increased as he went on, and at length the stars shone out above. Soon after a hum as of a distant multitude met his ear; but it was lost again as the road wound round the ascent amidst the tall trees; and all was silent and solemn. About a quarter of a mile onward, where the hill was steep, the path rose above the scrubby brushwood on his left, and he could see over the forest to a spot where a reddish glare rose up from the bottom of the valley. But somewhat farther in the forest itself, on a spot where the taller trees had fallen before the axe, and nothing but thin underwood remained, he caught a sight of three or four fires, the light of which shone upon some half dozen tents; and the figures of men moving about across the blaze were apparent, notwithstanding the darkness of the night.
The distance might be three or four hundred yards; and Richard of Woodville, wearied and exhausted, resolved to make his way thither, rather than take the longer and more tedious course of following the road to the bottom of the hill. Plunging in, then, sometimes through low copse, sometimes amongst tall trees, he hurried on, feeling faint and heavyhearted again; for the first joy of rejoining his countrymen had passed away, and from the rumours he had heard, he not a little doubted of his reception. He knew, indeed, that he had nothing to reproach himself with, and felt sure that he should easily prove the falsehood of any charge against him: but it was painful to think that, after long imprisonment, and the loss of many a bright day and fond hope, he should be met with coldness and frowns upon his first return. The body, too, weighed upon the spirit as it always does in every moment of lassitude and exhaustion, so that all things seemed darker to his eye than they would have done at another moment.
On he walked, however, his feet catching in the long briers, or striking against the stumps of felled trees, till at length a man started up before him, and exclaimed, "Who goes there?"
"A friend!" answered the young knight, in the same English tongue.
"What friend?" demanded the soldier, advancing.
"My name is Woodville. Lead me to your lord, whoever he is," replied Richard.
"Here, Mark!" cried the man to another, who was a little farther down, "take him to Sir Henry's tent;" and suffering the knight to pass on, he laid himself down again amongst the leaves.
The second soldier gazed at the young knight steadily for a moment by the blaze of the burning wood, and then told him to follow, murmuring something to himself as he led the way. They passed the two fires without any notice from the men who were congregated round, and approached the tents, while from the valley below, rose up some wild strains of instrumental music, the flourish of trumpets and clarions, mixed with the sound of many human voices, talking, laughing, and shouting.
"Have you seen the enemy yet?" asked Richard of Woodville.
"No, sir," replied his guide; "but we shall see him tomorrow, they say. Here is the knight's tent.Youmay go in, I know."
The man laid a strong emphasis on the word "you," and turning to look at him, as held back the hangings of the tent, the young knight thought he recognised an old familiar face. The next instant he was within the canvass, and beheld before him a man of about his own age, seated at a board raised upon two trestles, with a lamp burning, and a book spread out under his eyes. His head was bent upon his hand, and the curls of his thick short hair were black, mingled here and there with a silvery thread. He was deep in study, and heard not the rustle of the tent as the stranger entered, nor his footfall within; and Richard paused for an instant and gazed upon him. As he did so, his eye grew moist; and he said in a low voice, "Dacre!--Harry!"
Sir Henry Dacre started, and raised his worn and care-wrought countenance; and springing forward, he clasped Woodville in his arms, exclaiming, "Oh, Richard--can it be you?"
Then looking with an apprehensive eye round the tent, he said, "Thank God, there is no one here!--Did they know you?--Did any one see you?"
"Yes," replied Richard of Woodville; "two of your men saw me, Dacre. But what means all this?--Why should Richard of Woodville fear to be seen by mortal man?"
"Oh, there are strange and false reports about, Richard," replied Dacre, with a sorrowful look;--"false, most false, I know them to be. I am too well aware how men can lie and calumniate. But you will find all men, except some few true friends, against you here; for day by day, and hour by hour, these rumours have been increasing, and every one, even to the peasantry of the land, seem to be leagued against you."
"Give me but some food, Dacre, and a cup of wine," answered Richard of Woodville, "and I will meet them this minute face to face. Why, Dacre, I have nought to fear. I have had neither time nor opportunity to do one base act, if I had been so willed. I am but a few short days out of bonds,--and my first act will be to seek the King, and dare any man on earth to bring a charge against me."
"Not to-night, not to-night," cried Sir Harry Dacre; "let there be some preparation first--Hear all that has been said."
"Not an hour will I lie under a stain, Harry," replied his friend. "I am weary, faint, and exhausted for want of food. Give me some wine and bread--throw open the door of your tent; and let all your men see me. Let them rejoice that I have come back to do myself right. I fear not to show my face to any one."
Dacre, with a slow step and thoughtful brow, went to the entrance of the tent and called to those without, to bring food and wine; and the board was soon spread with such provisions as the camp could afford. Seating himself on a coffer of arms, Woodville ate sparingly, and drank a cup of wine, asking from time to time, "Where is Sir John Grey?--Where is my good uncle?--He will not be absent from an enterprise like this, I am right sure."
"Here, here; both here," answered Sir Henry Dacre; "and Mary and Isabel are even now at Calais,--but be advised, my friend. Do not show yourself to-night. The whole court is crowding round the King in the village down below. Let the battle be first over. You will do good service, I am sure. You can fight in armour not your own, and then--"
"Armour, Harry!" cried the young knight, "I have no armour; but the armour of a true heart; and that is proof against the shafts of calumny. It never shall be said that Richard of Woodville paused when the straightforward course of honour was before him. Thought, preparation, care, would be a slander on my own good name--I need no meditated defence. I have done nought on earth that an English knight should blush to do; and he who says so lies--. Now I am ready for the task--Ha, Hugh of Clatford, is that you?" he continued, as some one entered the tent. "You have just come in time to be my messenger."
"Full glad I am to see you, noble sir," answered the stout yeoman; "we have a world of liars amongst us, which is the only thing that makes me fancy these Frenchmen may win the day. But, now you are come, you will put them to silence, I am sure."
"Right, Hugh, right!" replied Woodville. "But you have some word for Sir Harry. Speak your message; and then I will give mine."
"'Tis no great matter, sir," said Hugh of Clatford. "Sir Philip begs you would send him two loads of arrows, Sir Henry, if you have any to spare; that is all," he continued, addressing Dacre; and when the knight had answered, Woodville resumed eagerly, "If you are a true friend, Hugh, you will go do down for me to the King's quarters, and say to the first high officer that you can speak to, that Sir Richard of Woodville, just escaped from a French prison, is here in camp, and beseeches his Grace to grant him audience, as he hears that false and calumnious reports, to which he gives the lie, have been spread concerning him, while he has been suffering captivity."
"I will call out our old knight himself," replied Hugh; "he is now with the King at the castle, and will do the errand boldly, I am sure."
"Away then, quick, good Hugh, for I am all impatience," said Woodville; and the yeoman retired.
When he was gone, Sir Harry Dacre would fain have spoken with his friend regarding all the reports that had been circulated of him during his absence; but Woodville would not hear; and, taking another cup of wine, he said, "I shall learn the falsehoods soon enough, Harry.--Now tell me of yourself and Isabel."
But Dacre waved his hand. "I cannot talk of that," he said, "'tis the same as ever. She knows how I love her, and her father too; but the phantom of a doubt still crosses her--even her; that I can see, and good Sir Philip answers bluffly as is his wont, that he knows it is false; but yet--but yet! Oh, that accursed 'but yet,' Richard. The plague spot is upon me still. That is enough. The breath of one foul vapour can obscure the sun, and the tongue of one false villain can tarnish the honour of a life."
"Poo, nonsense, Harry," answered his companion; "I will show you ere many hours be over, how lightly I can shake falsehood off. 'Tis still your own heart that swells the load. I had not thought my uncle was so foolish--so unkind."
He whiled him on to speak farther; but the same cloud was still upon Sir Henry Dacre's mind. It was unchanged and dark as ever. Study, to which he had given himself up, had done nought to clear it away; reflection had not chased it thence; time itself had not lightened it.
Half an hour passed, and then there came a tramp as of armed men. Dacre looked anxiously on his friend's face; but Woodville heard it calmly; and when the hangings were drawn back and a royal officer entered, followed by a party of archers, no change came upon his countenance.
"What is your pleasure, Sir William Porter?" asked Dacre, looking at him earnestly.
"I am sorry, sir, to have this duty," replied the officer; "but I am sent to arrest Sir Richard of Woodville, charged with high treason."
Woodville smiled; "Are your orders, sir, to bring me before the King?" he demanded.
"No, sir knight," answered Sir William Porter, "I am to hold you a prisoner till his Grace's pleasure is known."
"Then I must ask a boon," replied Woodville; "which is simply this, that you will keep me here in ward, till one of your men convey this to the King. He gave it me long ago, and bade me in a strait like this, make use of it. Let your messenger say, that I claim his royal promise to be heard when I ask it." At the same time, he took a ring from his finger; but then, recollecting himself, he said, "But stay, I will write--so he commanded."
"You must write quickly, sir knight," replied Sir William Porter; "for the King retires early, and I must not wait long."
"My words shall be very few," answered Woodville; and Sir Harry Dacre, with hasty hands, produced paper and ink. The young knight's words were, indeed, few. "My Liege," he wrote, "I have returned from long captivity, and find that I have been charged with crimes while my tongue was silent in prison. I know not what men lay to my account; but I know that I have done no wrong. Your Grace once promised, that if I needed aught at your royal hands, and sealed my letter with the ring you then gave me, you would read the contents yourself, and at once. I do so now; but I have no boon to ask of you, my Liege, but to be admitted to your presence, to hear the charges made against me, and to give the lie to those who made them. Love to your royal person, zeal for your service, honour to your crown, I own I have ever felt; but if these be not crimes, I have committed none other against you, and am ready to be sifted like chaff, sure that my honesty will appear. God grant you, royal Sir, his great protection, victory over all your enemies, and subjects as faithful as
"Richard of Woodville."
He folded, sealed it, and delivered it to the royal officer, saying, "Let the King be besought to look at the seal. His royal promise is given that he will read it with his own eyes."
Sir William Porter examined the impression with a thoughtful look, and then replied abruptly, "I will take it myself.--Guard the tent," he continued, turning to his men, and withdrew.
With more speed than Woodville or Dacre had thought possible, he returned, and entering, bade the prisoner follow. "The King will see you, sir knight," he said; "your letter has had its effect."
"As all true words ever will have on his noble heart," replied Woodville, rising.
"I will go with you, Richard," exclaimed Sir Harry Dacre. "Who is with the King, Sir William?"
"His uncle, noble sir, his brothers, the Earl of Warwick, Sir Philip Beauchamp, Sir John Grey, Philip the Treasurer, and some others. But we must speed, for it is late;" and, leading the way from the tent, he walked on towards the small town of Blangy, with Woodville and his friend, followed by the archers, and one or two of Dacre's servants.
"We shall see, my good lord, we shall see," said Henry V. to the Earl of Stafford as he stood surrounded by his court in the hall of the old castle of Blangy. "I have, it is true, learned sad lessons, that those we most trust are often the least worthy.--Nay, let me not say 'often,' but rather, sometimes; and yet," he added, after a pause, "perhaps I am wrong there, too; for it has not happened to me in life, that one, of whom I have had no misgivings, has proved false.--May it never happen. Those, indeed, of whom I would not believe the strange and instinctive doubts which sometimes, from a mere look or tone, creep into the heart--those whom I have trusted against my spirit, may have, indeed, betrayed me; but there is something in plain straightforward honesty that may not always suit a monarch's humour, but which cannot well be suspected--and besides--but it matters not. We shall see."
It was evident to all, that his thoughts turned to that dark conspiracy against his throne and life, which had been detected and punished at Southampton; and as every one knew it was a painful and a dangerous subject with the King--the only one, indeed, that ever moved him to a hasty burst of passion, all were silent; and while the King still bent his eyes to the ground in meditation, Sir William Porter, afterwards raised to the then high office of grand carver, entered and approached his Sovereign.
"The prisoner is without, royal Sir," he said.
"Let him come in," answered Henry; and raising his face towards the door, he regarded Woodville as he walked forward, followed by Sir Henry Dacre, with that fixed unwavering glance that was peculiar to him. His eyelids did not wink, not the slightest movement of the lips or nostril could be observed by those nearest him; but the light of his eye fell calm and grave upon the young knight, like the beams of a wintry sun.
The demeanour of Woodville was not less like himself. With a rapid step, firm and free, with his broad chest expanded, his brow serene but thoughtful, and with his eyes raised to the monarch without looking to the right or left, he advanced till he was within two steps of Henry, and then bowed his head with an air of calm respect. He was quite silent, however, till the King spoke.
"You have asked to be admitted to our presence, Sir Richard of Woodville," said the King; "and, according to the tenour of a promise once made, we have granted your request. What have you to say to the charges made against you?"
"I know not what they are, my Liege," replied Woodville; "but, whatever they may be, if they lay to my account aught of disloyalty to you, I say that they are false."
"And have you heard nothing?" asked the King, in a tone of surprise; "has no one told you?"
"He would not hear me, Sire," said Dacre, stepping forward. "He said he would meet them unprepared in your own presence."
"It is well," rejoined Henry; "then you shall hear them from my lips, sir knight; and God grant you clear yourself; for none wishes it more than I do.--Did I not command you, sir, now well nigh twenty months ago, to retire from the forces of our cousin of Burgundy and return to your native land, for our especial service?"
"Such commands may have been sent, my Liege, but they never reached me," replied the young knight; "and when a mere rumour found its way to me, I was on the eve of setting out on that fatal enterprise in which I lost my liberty. I can appeal to the noble Lord of Croy when the tidings came, to speak how much pain they gave me, and how ready I was to abandon all and follow your commands."
"Be it so," answered Henry; "that point shall be inquired into. You say you have been a prisoner. How long is it since you were set at liberty?"
"But five days, Sire," replied the knight; "no longer than was needful to journey from Montl'herry hither."
"And did you come alone?" demanded the King.
"No, Sire," said Richard of Woodville; "from the abbey at Arrouaise, I was accompanied by my page, a man who aided in my escape from prison, and two young novices journeying to Montreuil. I sent the two ladies from Fremicourt on to Hesdin, under the escort of the man and the page, and rode on hitherward myself, till my horse would go no farther. The rest of the way I walked on foot."
"But before you reached Arrouaise, were you alone?" inquired the King.
"No, Sire; as far as Triel, I had but the man, the boy, and a clerk of Sir John Grey's with me, who effected my liberation between them; but after that I was accompanied by a small body of Burgundian horse, who were escorting some Canonesses and these two novices on the way."
"Add, and burning monasteries, plundering villages, and cutting off the stragglers of your Sovereign's army, sir knight," rejoined the King, sternly.
Richard of Woodville gazed in his face for an instant in surprise, and then broke into a gay laugh, saying,