The morning after the departure of Richard of Woodville dawned clear and bright upon the city of Ghent; and the hour of seven found a small party assembled in a neat wooden house, not many yards within the Brabant gate, at the cheerful meal of breakfast. With dagger in hand and hearty good will, Nicholas Brune was hewing away at a huge capon, which, with a pickled boar's head, formed the staple of the meal, helping his good buxom dame and Ella Brune to what he considered choice pieces, and praising the fare with more exuberance than modesty, considering that he was the lord of the feast.
Madame Brune, as we should call her in the present day, but known in Ghent by a more homely appellation, which may be translated "Wife Brune," was a native of the good city; and, by his marriage with her, Nicholas had not only obtained a considerable sum of money, but also various advantages, which placed him nearly, if not altogether, on a footing with the born citizens;--so that, for his fair better half, he had great respect and devotion, as in duty bound. For Ella his reverence had been greatly increased, by finding that she was endowed with a quality very engaging in his opinion--namely, wealth; for the sum which she possessed, though but a trifle in our eyes, was in those days no inconsiderable fortune, as I have already taken the liberty of hinting.
I must not, however, do the worthy goldsmith injustice, and suffer the reader to believe that, had Ella appeared poor and friendless, as he had last seen her, Nicholas Brune would have shown her aught but kindness; for he was a good-hearted and right-minded man; but it is not attributing too much to the influence of the precious metals in which he worked, to admit that, certainly, he always took them into account in computing the degree of respect which he was bound to pay to others. He would not have done any dishonest or evil act to obtain a whole Peruvian mine, if such a thing had been within the sphere of his imagination; but still, the possession of such a mine would have greatly enhanced, in the eyes of Nicholas Brune, the qualities of any one who might chance to be its proprietor. The only thing, indeed, which puzzled him in the present instance was, how his old uncle could assume the garb of a wandering, and not generally respected race, when he had by him a sum which set him above all chance of want. At first he fancied that the old man's love of music--which was to him, who did not know one note from another, a separate marvel--might have been the motive: the ruling passion strong in death. But then he thought that good old Murdock might have made sweet melody just as well in his own house, as in wandering from court to court, and fair to fair; but immediately after, remembering the old man's peculiar religious notions, with which he was well acquainted, he concluded that zeal, in which he could fully sympathize, must have been the cause of conduct that seemed so strange. This was an inducement he could understand; for, though on no other points was he of an enthusiastic and vehement character, yet he was so in matters of faith; and if he could have made up his mind to any sort of death, it would have been that of a martyr; but, to say truth, he could not bring himself to prefer any way of leaving the world, and thought one as disagreeable as another. Thus he arrived at the conclusion, that his uncle was quite right in using any means to conceal both his wealth and his religion.
However, as I have said, he viewed Ella with a very placable countenance,--invited her to eat and drink; and, as his mind reverted to what she had said, in regard to paying for her food and lodging, he treated it with a mixture of jest and argument, which showed her that he would receive something, though not too much.
"Why, my fair cousin," he said, when she recurred to the subject, "in this good town of Ghent, all is at so base a price that men live for nothing, and are expected to sell their goods for nothing, I can tell you. Now, look at that capon; a fatter one never carried its long legs about a stack of corn, and yet it cost but six liards. You would pay a sterling, or may be two, for such a one in London; and here you might get a priest as fat to sing a mass for the same money. God help the mummers!"
Ella, however, replied, that she would settle her share with his dame for so long as she stayed, and was proceeding to let her good-humoured cousin into some of her views and intentions, foreseeing that she might need his countenance and assistance, when the outer door opened, and, after a knock at that of the room in which they sat, Ned Dyram entered, to inquire after his fair companion of the way. Ella knew not whether to be pleased or sorry to see him; but surprised she certainly was; for she had thought he was far away from Ghent with his lord. The cause of these contrary emotions was simply, that she felt little pleasure in the man's society, and less in the love that he professed towards her, and yet, having made up her mind to take advantage of the passion he experienced or affected, to work out her own purposes, she saw that his remaining in Ghent might greatly facilitate her views. But the game she had to play was a delicate one, for she had resolved, for no object whatsoever, to give encouragement to his suit; but rather, to leave him to divine her wishes, and promote them if he would, than ask aught at his hands.
Though carried on by that eager and enthusiastic spirit which lingers longer in the breast of woman than in that of man: from which, indeed, everything in life tends to expel it--his own wearing passions, his habits of indulgence, the hard lessons of experience, and the checks of repeated disappointment--yet she felt somewhat alarmed at the new course before her. Perhaps she was not quite sure, though the end ever in view was high and noble, self-devoted, and generous, that the means were right. To have followed Richard of Woodville through the world--to have watched over him as a guardian spirit--to have sacrificed for his sake, and for his happiness, all, anything, peace, security, comfort, and even her own fame--I do not say her own honour--she would not have scrupled; but she might ask herself at that moment, whether it was right and just to sport with the love of another--to use it for her purpose--even to suffer it, when she knew that it could never be returned. And yet woman's eye is very keen; and that selfishness, which frequently bears such a large share in man's love, was so apparent to her view in all Dyram's actions, that she could not but feel less compunction for suffering him to pamper himself with hopes, than if he had been of a nobler and a higher nature.
Whatever were the ideas that crossed her mind, and kept her silent for a moment, they rapidly passed away; and when her cousin, after gazing at the intruder for an instant, asked who he was and what he wanted, she answered for him, in a gay tone, affecting the coquettish airs then very common in a higher class, "Oh! he is a servant of mine, Nicholas--vowed to the tip of my finger. I do not intend ever to have him; but if the poor creature is resolved to sigh at my feet, I must e'en let him. Pray you, give him welcome. What news, servant? How is it that you have not followed your lord?"
"Because," replied Ned Dyram, "I loved best to stay with my lady."
"Nay," answered Ella Brune, "call me notyourlady. You are my servant, but I am yours not at all, either as lady or servant. You have not yet merited such grace."
In this light and jesting tone she continued to treat him; and though perhaps such conduct might have repelled a more sensitive and delicate lover, with Ned Dyram it but added fuel to the fire. Each day he came to visit--each day returned with stronger passion in his heart. Jest, indeed, which was far from natural to her character or to her feelings at the time, Ella could not always keep up: though great and stern resolution is often the source of a certain bitter mirth at minor things. But in every graver moment she spoke to Dyram of Richard of Woodville and of Mary Markham--for as yet she knew her by no other name. She did so studiously, and yet so calmly and easily, that not the slightest suspicion of the real feelings in her heart ever crossed the mind of her hearer. Of Mary, she told him far more than he had hitherto gathered from his companions in Woodville's train, and dwelt long upon her beauty, her gentleness, her kindness. Following closely her object, she even found means to hint, one day, a regret that she had not been permitted to follow the young Englishman on his expedition.
"What would I have given," she said, "to have had your chance of going with him; and yet you chose to remain behind!"
"Indeed, fair Ella!" he exclaimed; "what made you so anxious to go?"
"Nay," answered the girl, with a mysterious look, "do you expect me to tell you my secrets, bold man? I would give a chain of gold, however, to be able to follow your master about the world for just twelve months, if it could be done without risking my own fair fame. Oh! for one of those fairy girdles that made the wearer invisible!"
"Methinks you love him, Mistress Ella," replied Ned Dyram, more from pique than suspicion.
But Ella answered, boldly and at once, though he had touched the wound somewhat roughly.
"Yes, I do love him well!" she answered; "and I have cause, servant of mine. But it is not for that. I have a vow; I have a purpose; and though they must be executed, I know not well how to do so. I ought not to have left him, even now."
"I dare say he would have taken you, if you had asked him!" replied the man.
"And what would men have said?" demanded Ella. "What would you have thought yourself--what might your young lord have thought--though he is not so foolish as yourself? Most likely you would all have done me wrong in your fancies. No, no!--if I go, it must be secretly. But there, get you gone; I will tell you no more."
"Nay, tell on, sweet Ella!" exclaimed Ned Dyram; "and perhaps I may aid you."
"Get you gone, I say!" replied Ella Brune. "I will tell you no more, at least for the present. You help me!--Why, were I to trust to you for help in such a matter as this, should I not put myself entirely in your power?"
"But I would never misuse it, Ella," answered Ned Dyram.
"No, no!" she exclaimed; "I will never put myself in any man's power, unless I suffer him to put a ring upon my finger; and then, of course, I am as much his slave as if he had a ring round my neck. There, leave me! leave me! You may come again to-morrow, and see if I am in a better mood. I feel cross to-day."
Ned Dyram retired; but he was destined to return before the day was over, and to bring her tidings, which, however unpleasant in themselves, rendered his coming welcome. As he took his way back towards the inn, just at the corner of the Vendredi market-place, he met a party of travellers, and heard the English tongue; but he took little heed, for his thoughts were full of Ella Brune; and he had passed half across the square, when one of the horsemen rode after him, and said his lord desired to speak with him. Ned Dyram looked up, and at once remembered the man's face. For reasons of his own, however, he suffered not the slightest trace of recognition to appear on his own countenance. As the horseman spoke in English, he replied in the same tongue, asking who was his master, and what he wanted?
"He is an English knight," replied the servant; "and what he wants he will tell you himself."
"But I am not fond of trusting myself in English knights' hands," answered Ned Dyram; "they sometimes use one badly: so tell me his name, or I do not go."
"His name is Sir Simeon of Roydon," replied the man: "a very good name, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes! I will go to him," replied Ned Dyram. "He used to be about the Court, when I was a greater man than I am now;" and he walked straight up to the spot where Sir Simeon of Roydon had halted his horse, and lowly doffed his bonnet as he approached.
"My knave tells me," said the knight, "that you are a servant of the King's. Is it so?"
"It was so once, sir," replied Ned Dyram; and then added, looking round to the servant who had followed him, "So, it was he who told you: I do not remember him!"
"Perhaps not," answered the knight; "but you came up with him once, when he was following a young woman in whom I take some interest. Do you know where she is now?"
"It may be so," replied Ned Dyram; "but I talk not of such things in the street, good sir."
Simeon of Roydon paused and mused, gazing in the man's face the while. "Whom do you serve now?" he demanded, at length.
"Why, I am employed by no one, at present," said Ned Dyram; not exactly telling a falsehood, but implying one.
"Well, then, come to me to-night, some time after sunset," rejoined Sir Simeon, "and we will speak more. You know the convent of the Dominicans; I am to lodge there, for the prior is my cousin. Ask for Sir Simeon of Roydon, or the English knight, and the porter will show you my lodging."
"At the Dominicans!" cried Ned Dyram; "why, you are not going thither now--at least, that is not the way."
"Is it not?" exclaimed the knight. "Why this fellow agreed to guide me;" and he pointed to a man in the dress of a peasant, who accompanied them.
"Then he is guiding you wrong," replied Ned Dyram. "Go straight up that street, follow the course of the river to the left, and, when you have passed the second bridge, turn up to the right, cross the Lys, and you will see the Dominicans right before you. He was taking you to the Carmelites."
"Well, don't fail to come," rejoined Sir Simeon of Roydon; and he then rode on, pouring no very measured abuse upon the head of his guide.
The moment he was gone, Dyram hurried back to Ella Brune; and a long and eager conversation ensued between them, of a very different tone and character from any which had taken place before. Ella was obliged to trust and to confide in him, to tell her reasons for abhorring and shrinking from the sight of one whom her evil fortune seemed continually to bring across her path, and to consult with him on the means to be employed for the purpose of concealing her presence in Ghent from Roydon's eyes, and of discovering what chance had brought him to the same city so soon after herself.
Nothing, perhaps, could have given Dyram more satisfaction than this result. The new relations which it established between Ella and himself--the opportunities which it promised of serving, assisting her, and laying her under obligations--the constant excuse which it afforded for seeing her, and consulting with her on subjects of deep interest to herself--were all points which afforded him much gratification. But that was not all: he fancied that he saw the means of obtaining a power over her--a command as well as an influence. Vague schemes presented themselves to his mind of entangling her in a chain that she could not break--of binding her to himself by ties that she could not shake off--and of using the haughty and vicious knight, whose character he easily estimated, from the information now given him by Ella, as a tool for the accomplishment of his own purposes. I have said that these schemes were vague; and perhaps they might never have taken any more definite a form, had not other events occurred which led him to carry them out almost against his own will. Man, in the midst of circumstances, is like one in a Dædalian labyrinth, where a thousand paths are ready to confound him, a thousand turnings to lead him to the same end, and that end disappointment; while but one, of all the many ways, can reach the issue of success.
That night, soon after sunset, Dyram stood before the gate of the Dominican monastery, and, ringing the bell, asked the porter for the lodging of Sir Simeon of Roydon. It was evident to him that orders had been given for his admission, for, without any inquiry, he was immediately shown to a small chamber, where he found the knight alone. A curious contest of the wits then ensued, for the knight was shrewd, and had determined, if it were within the scope of possibility, to gain from Ned Dyram all the information he could afford; and Dyram, on the contrary, had resolved to give none but that which suited his purpose. Both were keen and cunning men; neither very scrupulous; each selfish in a high degree, though in a somewhat different line; and both eager and fiery in pursuit of their objects.
The first question of the knight to Ned Dyram was, what had brought him to Ghent?
"I came hither," he replied, at once, "with Master Richard of Woodville."
The knight's brow was covered by a sudden cloud, and he demanded, in a sharp tone, "Is he here now?--Are you his servant, then?"
"He is not here now," answered the man; "he has gone on with the Count de Charolois, and did not think fit to take me with him any further."
"Then you are out of employment?" asked the knight.
"For the present, I am," said Ned Dyram; "but I shall soon find as much as I want. I am never at a loss, sir knight."
"That is lucky for yourself," replied Simeon of Roydon; and then abruptly added, "Will you take service with me?"
"No!" answered Dyram, bluntly. "I will take service with no one any more. I was not meant for a varlet. I can do better things than be the serving-man of any knight or noble."
"What can you do?" demanded Roydon, with a somewhat sarcastic smile.
"What can I not?" exclaimed Dyram. "I can read better than a priest--write better than a clerk. I can speak languages that would make your ears tingle, without understanding what you heard. I can compound all essences and drugs; I can work in gold, silver, or iron; and I know some secrets that would well nigh raise the dead."
"Indeed!" said the knight. "Then you must be a monk, or a doctor of Oxford."
"Neither," replied the man; "but I see you disbelieve me. Shall I give you a proof of what I can do?"
"Yes," answered Sir Simeon; "I should like to see some spice of your skill."
"In what way shall it be," asked Ned Dyram. "If you will order up some charcoal, with this little instrument and these pinchers I will make you a chain to go round your wrist out of a gold noble; or, if there be a Greek book in the monastery, I will read you a page therefrom, and expound it, in the presence of whom you will, as a judge; for well I wot you yourself know nothing about it."
"Nor wish to know," replied the knight; "but I will have neither of these experiments; the one would be too long, the other too tedious. You said that you had secrets that would well nigh raise the dead. I have heard of such things, and I should like to see them tried."
"Would you not be afraid?" asked Ned Dyram.
"No!--Why?" answered Sir Simeon of Roydon. "The dead cannot hurt me."
"Assuredly," said Ned Dyram; "but yet, when we call for those who are in their graves, we can never surely tell who may come. It is not always the spirit we wish that answers to our voice; and that man's heart must be singularly free, who, in the days of fiery youth, has done no deed towards the silent and the cold, that might make him shrink to see them rise from their dull bed of earth, and look him in the face again."
"I am not afraid," said Roydon, after a moment's thought. "Do it if you can."
"Nay, I said I had secrets that wouldwell nighraise the dead," answered Ned Dyram. "I neither told you that they would, nor that I was willing."
"Ha! it seems to me you are a boaster, my good friend," exclaimed the knight, with a sneer. "Can you do anything in this sort, or can you not?"
"I am no boaster, proud knight," replied Ned Dyram, in an angry tone, "and I only say what I am able to perform. 'Tis you that make it more than I ever did say; but if you would know what I can do, I tell you I can raise the dead for my own eye, though not for yours. That last great secret I have not yet obtained; but I trust ere long to do so; and as you are incredulous, like all other ignorant men, I will give you proof this very night."
"But how shall I know, if I do not see the shapes myself?" demanded Sir Simeon of Roydon.
"I will tell you what I behold," rejoined the man, "and you must judge for yourself. Those whom I call up shall all have some reference to you. Have you a mirror there?"
"Yes," replied the knight; and while he rose to search for one, Dyram strewed some small round balls upon the table, jet black in colour, and apparently soft. The knight brought forward one of the small, round, polished mirrors of the day, which generally formed part of the travelling apparatus of both sexes in the higher class; and, setting it upright, Dyram brought each of the little balls for a single instant to the flame of the lamp, and laid them down before the mirror. A thin white smoke, of a faint, but delicate odour, instantly rose up and spread through the room, producing a feeling of languor in those who breathed the perfume, and giving a ghastly likeness to all things round; and, kneeling down before the table, Ned Dyram gazed into the glass, pronouncing several words in a strange tongue, unintelligible to the knight. The moment after his eyes opened wide, and seemed almost starting from his head; and the knight exclaimed eagerly, "What is it you see?"
"I see," replied the man, "a gentleman in a black robe seated at a table; and he looks very sad. He is young and handsome, too, with coal-black hair curling round his brow."
"Has he no mark by which I can distinguish him?" asked the knight.
"Yes," answered Dyram; "but it matters not for him, as I see he is amongst the living. It is the absent who generally come first, and then the dead. However, here's a scar upon his right cheek, as if from an old wound."
"Sir Henry Dacre!" murmured Roydon. "Try again, man--try again; and let it be the dead this time."
Dyram pronounced some more words, apparently in the same language; and then a smile came upon his countenance. "A sweet and beautiful lady!" he said. "How proudly she walks, as if earth were not good enough to bear her! Ha! how is that?"--and, as he spoke, his face assumed a look of terror: his lip quivered, his eye stared; and the countenance of Sir Simeon of Roydon turned deadly pale.
"What do you see?" demanded the knight, in a voice scarcely audible. "What do you see?"
"She walks by a stream!" cried Dyram, in a terrible tone, "and the sun is just below the sky. Some one meets her, and they talk. He seizes her by the throat!--she struggles--he holds fast--he casts her into the river! Hark, how she shrieks! She sinks--she rises--she shrieks again! Oh God! some one help her!--she is gone!"
All was silent in the room for a minute: and Ned Dyram, wiping his brow, as if recovering from some great excitement, gazed round him by the light of the lamp. Simeon of Roydon had sunk into a seat; and his face was so ashy pale, the lids of his eyes so tightly closed, that for a moment his companion thought he had fainted. The instant after, however, he murmured, "Ah! necromancer!" and then starting up, exclaimed, "What horrible vision is this? Who is it thou hast seen?"
"Nay, I know not," answered Ned Dyram. "How can I tell? They spoke not;--'twas but a sight. But one thing is certain, that either the man or the woman is closely allied to you in some way."
"What was he like?" demanded the knight, abruptly.
"It was so dark when he came that I could not see him well," replied Dyram. "He was a tall, fair man; but that was all I saw. The lady was more clearly visible; for when she came, there was a soft evening light in the sky."
"Why, fool, it has been dark these two hours," cried the knight.
"Not in that glass," answered the other. "When she appeared first, it was a calm sunset, and I saw her well; but it speedily grew dark, and then I could descry nothing but her form, first struggling with her murderer, and then with the deep waters."
"Her murderer!" repeated Simeon of Roydon--"her murderer! What was she like?"
"A vain and haughty beauty, I should say," replied the man; "with dark hair, and seemingly dark eyes, a proud and curling lip, and----"
"Enough, enough!" answered Simeon of Roydon, with resumed composure. "I know her by your description, and by the facts; but in the man you are mistaken--he was a dark man who did the deed, or suspicion belies him."
"'Twas a fair man, that I saw," rejoined Dyram, in a decided tone; "of that, at least, I am sure, though the shadows were too deep to let me view his face distinctly. Shall I look again, to see any more, sir knight?"
"No, no--it is sufficient!" cried Simeon of Roydon, somewhat sharply. "I see you have not overstated what you can do. Hearken to me; I will give you employment in your own way--much or little, as you like. I would fain hear more of this girl, Ella Brune--of where she is, what she is doing. I would fain find her--speak with her; but I am discomposed to-night. This lady that you saw but now was very dear to me; her sad fate affects me deeply even now. See, how I am shaken by these memories!" And in truth his hand, which he stretched forth to lay the mirror flat upon the table, trembled so, that he nearly let it fall. "But of this girl, Ella Brune," he continued: "have you known her long?--know you where she now is?"
"Nay, I was but sent to bear her a letter from Richard of Woodville, and to counsel her from him, to go to York," replied Dyram. "Then, as to where she is, I cannot say exactly--not to a point, that is to say; but I can soon learn, if I am well entreated and well paid!"
"That you shall be," rejoined the knight. "Come to me to-morrow early, and we will talk more. To-night I am unfit. Here is some gold for you for what you have done. Good night, good night!"
The young Count of Charolois stood in the court-yard of the inn, about nine o'clock on the morning that followed his arrival in Lille, with a letter in his hand, and a countenance not altogether well pleased. There was a gentleman beside him, somewhat advanced in years, bearing knightly spurs upon his heels, and armed at all points but the head, the grey hair of which was partly covered with a small velvet cap, and to him the Prince spoke eagerly; while the various persons who had attended him from Ghent stood at a respectful distance, waiting his commands as to their future proceedings. Richard of Woodville had not remarked the old knight with the band before; and turning to one of the young nobles with whom he had formed some acquaintance, he asked who he was.
"Why, do you not know?" exclaimed his companion. "That is Sir Walter, Lord of Roucq, one of our most renowned leaders. He has just arrived from Douay, they say; but the Count seems angry with that letter the courier brought him from Paris. Things are going ill there, I doubt, and we shall soon have a levy of arms. That Court is full of faitours and treachers--a crop of bad corn, which wants Burgundian hands to thin it."
"I trust that you will permit a poor Englishman to put in a sickle," said Woodville, laughing; "or at least to have the gleanings of the field."
"Oh! willingly, willingly!" replied the young lord, with better wit than might have been expected. "I cannot but think your good sovereigns in England have but been hesitating till other arms have begun the harvest, in order to take full gleanings of that poor land--but see, the Count is looking round to us."
"Hearken, my lords," said the Count. "It is my father's will that I should remain in Lille, while this noble knight rides on an expedition of some peril to the side of Tournay. He says the Lord of Roucq has men enough for what is wanted, and that some of you must abide with me here; but still I will permit any gentlemen to go who may choose to do so, provided a certain number stay with me; so make your election."
The young nobles of Burgundy were rarely unwilling to take the field; but in the present instance, there were two or three motives which operated to make them in general decide in favour of staying with the Count of Charolois. In the first place, they knew of no enterprise that could be achieved on the side of Tournay which offered either glory or profit. There were a few bands of revolted peasantry and brigands in that quarter, whom the Count had threatened to suppress; but such a task was somewhat distasteful to them. In the second place, they were not insensible to the fact, that by choosing to stay with the Prince, they offered him an indirect compliment, which was especially desirable at a moment when he seemed angry at not being permitted to lead them himself; and, in the third place, the Lord of Roucq was inferior in rank to most of them, though superior in military reputation; and he was, moreover, known to be a somewhat strict disciplinarian, a quality by no means agreeable either to the French or Burgundian gentlemen.
"I came to serve under you, my lord the Count," said the young Ingram de Croy; "and if you do not go, and I am permitted to choose, where you stay I will remain."
The old Lord of Roucq gazed at him coldly, but made no observation; and the same feeling was found general, till the Count turned with a smile to Richard of Woodville, asking his choice.
"Why, my noble lord," replied the young Englishman, "if I could serve you here, I should be willing enough to stay; but, as that is not the case, I had better serve you elsewhere; and wherever this good knight goes, doubtless there will be some honour to be gained under his pennon."
Walter of Roucq still remained silent, but he did not forget the willingness of the foreign gentleman; and one very young noble of Burgundy, whose fortune and fame were yet to make, taking courage at Woodville's words, proposed to go also.
"I have but few men with me, my lord the Count," he said, with the modesty which was affected, if not felt, by all young men in chivalrous times; "and, as you know, I have but small experience; wishing to gain which, I will, by your good leave, serve under the Lord of Woodville here, who, I think you said, had been already in several stricken fields, and was a comrade of the noble King of England."
"King Henry calls him his friend, Monsieur de Lens, in his letter to me," replied the Count; "and I know he has gainedlosin several battles, though I have been told that he was disappointed of his spurs at Bramham Moor (he did not pronounce the word very accurately); because such was the trust placed in his discretion, that he was sent to the late King just before the fight, when no one else could be trusted."
Again Richard of Woodville marvelled to find his whole history so well known; but the Count went on immediately to add to the young Englishman's troop ten of his own men-at-arms. "You, Monsieur de Lens, brought seven, I think," he said; "so that will be some small reinforcement to yourmenée, my Lord of Roucq;" and drawing that gentleman aside, the Prince whispered to him for some moments.
"Willingly, willingly, fair sir," replied the old knight, to whatever it was he said. "God forbid I should stay any noble gentleman anxious to do doughty deeds. He shall have the cream of it, and it shall go hard if I give him not the means to win the spurs. Monsieur de Woodville, I set out in half an hour. I will but have some bread and a cup of wine, and then am ready for your good company."
But little preparation was needed, for all had been kept ready to set out at a moment's notice. Nevertheless, in the little arrangements which took place ere they departed, there sprang up between Richard of Woodville and the Lord of Lens what may be called the intimacy of circumstances. The young Burgundian, though brave, and well practised in the use of arms, was diffident, from inexperience, of more active and perilous scenes than the tilt-yard of his father's castle, or the jousting-lists in the neighbouring town; and he was well satisfied to place himself under the immediate direction of one who, like Richard of Woodville, had fought in general engagements, and served in regular armies. He had also some dread of the Lord of Roucq; but by fusing his party into the English gentleman's band, he placed another between himself and the severe old soldier, so that he trusted to escape the harsh words which their commander was not unaccustomed to use. To Woodville, then, he applied for information regarding every particular of his conduct; how he was to place his men, where he was to ride himself, and a thousand other particulars, making his companion smile sometimes at the timidity which he had personally never known, from having been accustomed, even in boyhood, to the troublous times and continual dangers which followed the usurpation of the throne by the first of the Lancasterian House.
While they were conversing over these matters, one of the pages of the Count of Charolois joined them from the inn, and bade the English gentleman follow him to the Prince. The Count was alone in a small bed-room up stairs, and the temporary vexation which his countenance had expressed some time before, had now quite passed away. He met Richard with a laughing countenance, and, holding out his hand to him, exclaimed, addressing him by the name he had given him ever since their first interview, "God speed you, my friend. These rash nobles of ours have taken themselves in; and though stern old De Roucq does not wish it mentioned that he is going on such an errand, I would have you know it, that you may take advantage of opportunity. I love you better for going with him than staying with me, as you may well judge, when I tell you that his object is to meet my father, and guard him from Paris to Lille, if the Duke can effect his escape from the French court. My father would not have me come, for he is likely to be pursued, it seems; and he says in his letter, that should mischance befall him, while I remain in Lille there will still be a Duke of Burgundy to crush this swarm of Armagnac bees, even should they sting him to death. However, you must not tell De Roucq that I have given you such tidings; for if he knew it, he would scold me like a Nieuport fishwoman, with as little reverence as he would a horse-boy."
"I will be careful, my good lord," replied Richard of Woodville; "but if such be the case, had we better not have more men with us? Six or seven and twenty make but a small band against all the chivalry of France."
"Oh! he has got two hundred iron-handed fellows beyond the gates," replied the Prince. "But, hark! there is his voice. Quick! quick! you must not stay!" and hurrying down into the little square before the hostel, the young Englishman found the men drawn up, and the Lord of Roucq, with a page holding his horse, and his foot in the stirrup.
"Ah! you are long, sir," said the old knight, swinging himself slowly up into the saddle. Nevertheless, Richard of Woodville was on horseback before him; for, laying his hand upon his charger's shoulder, he vaulted at once, armed at all points as he was, into the seat, and in another instant was at the head of his men.
"A boy's trick!" said the old soldier, with a smile. "Never think, young gentleman, that you can make up for present delay by after activity: it is a dangerous fancy."
"I know it, my good lord," replied Richard of Woodville; "but I had to speak with my lord the Count before I departed."
"Well, sir, well," answered the Lord of Roucq; and, wheeling round his horse, he gazed over the little band, marking especially the fine military appearance, sturdy limbs, and powerful horses of the English archers, with evident satisfaction. "Ah!" he said, "good stuff, good stuff! Have they seen service?"
"Most of them," replied Richard of Woodville.
"They shall see more, I trust, before I have done with them," rejoined the old knight. "Come, let us go. March!"--and, leading the way through the streets of Lille, a little in advance of the rest of the party, while Richard of Woodville and the young Lord of Lens followed side by side at the head of their men, he soon reached the gates of the city, without exchanging a word with any one by the way.
"Why, this is strange," said the Lord of Lens to his companion, in a low voice, as they turned up towards the side of Douay, instead of taking the road to Tournay. "This is not the march that the Count said was laid out for us. The old man knows his road, I suppose?"
"No fear of that," replied Richard of Woodville; "our business, comrade, is to follow, and to ask no questions. Perhaps there is better luck for us than we expected. Commanders do not always tell their soldiers what they are leading them to;" and turning his head as they came forth into the broad open road which extended to Peronne, through the numerous strong towns at that time comprised in the Flemish possessions of the House of Burgundy, he gave orders, in French and English, for his men to form in a different order--nine abreast. Some little embarrassment was displayed in executing this manœuvre; and he had to explain and direct several times before it was performed to his satisfaction.
The Lord of Roucq looked round and watched the whole proceeding, but made no observation; and, after proceeding for about two miles farther on the way, Woodville again changed the order of his men, when the old commander suddenly demanded, "What are you playing such tricks for?"
"For a good reason, sir," replied Richard of Woodville; "I have men under me who have never been accustomed to act together--my own people, those of this young lord, and the men-at-arms of my lord the Count. I know not how soon you may call upon us for service, or what that service may be; and it is needful they should have some practice, that they may be alert at their work. I have learnt that, in time of need, it does not do to lose even a minute in forming line."
"Ay, you Englishmen," replied the old lord, "were always better aware of that fact than we are. There would never have been a Cressy, if Frenchmen would have submitted to discipline. They will fight like devils; but each man has such an opinion of himself, that he will fight in his own way, forgetting that one well-trained man, who obeys orders promptly, is better than a hundred who do nothing but what they like themselves. Ride up and talk with me, young men; I do not see why we should not be friends together, though those satin jackets at Lille did not choose to march with old Walter de Roucq." After speaking with some bitterness of the turbulent spirit and insubordination which existed in all continental armies, the Lord of Roucq led the conversation to the military condition of England, and inquired particularly into the method, not only of training the soldiers of that country, but of educating the youths throughout the land to the early use of arms, which he had heard was customary there.
"Ay, there is the difference between you and us," he said, when Woodville had explained the facts to him;--"you are all soldiers; and your yeomen, as you call them, are as serviceable as your knights and gentlemen. With us, who would ever think of taking a boor from the plough, to make a man-at-arms of him? No one dares to put a steel cap on his head, unless he has some gentle blood in his veins, though it be but half a drop, and then he is as conceited of it as if he were descended from Charlemagne. I have charge to give you, sir, the best occasions," he continued, still addressing Woodville, "and I will not fail; for I see you know what you are about, and will do me no discredit."
"I beseech you, my good lord, to let me share them with him," said Monsieur de Lens; "I am as eager for renown as any man can be."
"You will share them, of course, as one of his band," replied the old soldier, "and I doubt not, young gentleman, will do very well. I will refuse honour to no one who wins it;" and thus conversing, they rode on as far as Pont a Marq, where they found a large body of men-at-arms waiting for the old Lord of Roucq.
Richard of Woodville remarked that they were most of them middle-aged men, with hard and weather-beaten countenances, who had evidently seen a good deal of service; but he observed also that--probably, from the unwillingness of the Burgundian nobility to submit to anything like strict discipline--there seemed to be few persons of distinction in the corps, and not one knight but the old Lord himself. Without any pause, the whole party marched on to Douay, the young Englishman losing no opportunity of exercising his men in such evolutions as the nature of the ground permitted, and many of the old soldiers of De Roucq watching his proceedings in silence, but with an attentive and inquiring eye.
At Douay they halted for an hour and a half, to feed their horses and to take some refreshment; and then marching on, they did not draw a rein again till Cambray appeared in sight. Here all the party expected to remain the night; for Cambray, as the reader well knows, is a good day's march from Lille, especially for men covered with heavy armour, and for horses who had to carry not only the weight of their masters and their masters' harness, but steel manefaires, testières, and chanfrons of their own. The orders of the commander, however, showed them, before they entered the gates, that such repose was not to fall to their lot, for he directed them to seek no hostel, but to quarter themselves, without dividing, in the market-place, and there to feed their beasts.
"'Tis a fine evening," he said, "and you shall have plenty of food and wine; but we must march on, for an hour or two, at night, that we may be in time to-morrow. If we have more space than enough in the morning, why the destriers will be all the fresher."
No one ventured to make any reply, though the men-at-arms of the Count of Charolois felt somewhat weary with their unwonted exertion, and would fain have persuaded themselves that their beasts could go no farther that night. Their leader, or vingtner, who held the rank of a sergeant of the present day, and usually commanded twenty men, went so far as to hint his opinion on this subject to Richard of Woodville; but the young Englishman stopped him in an instant, replying coldly, "If your horses break down we must find you others. We have nothing to do but to obey."
The young Englishman took care, however, that the chargers of his whole party should have everything that could refresh them, and he spared not his own purse to procure for them a different sort of food from that which was provided for the rest. The crumb of bread soaked in water was a favourite expedient with the English of that day, as it is now with the Germans, for restoring the vigour of a wearied horse; and he made bold to dip the bread in wine, which, on those beasts that would take it, seemed to produce a very great effect.
After halting for two hours, the march was renewed; and wending slowly onward, they reached the small town--for it was then a town--of Gonlieu, having accomplished a distance of nearly eighteen leagues. It was within half an hour of midnight when they arrived, and the good people of the place had to be roused from their beds to provide them with lodgings; but a party of two hundred men-at-arms was not in that day to be refused anything they might think fit to require; and, in the different houses and stables of the town, they were all at length comfortably housed.
Richard of Woodville was not one of those men who require long sleep to refresh them after any ordinary fatigue; and though, with the care and attention of an Arab, he spent a full hour in inspecting the treatment of his horses before he lay down to rest, yet, after a quiet repose of about four hours and a half, he awoke, and instantly sprang from the pallet which had been provided for him. He then immediately roused the young Lord of Lens, who, with five or six others, slept in the same chamber; but the poor youth gazed wildly round him, at first seeming to have forgotten where he was; and it required a hint from his English friend, that the old Lord of Roucq was a man likely to be up early in the day, ere he could make up his mind to rise.
Woodville and his companion had been in the stable about five minutes, and were just setting the half-awakened horse-boys to their work, when a voice was heard at the open door, saying, "This is well!--this is as it should be!" and, turning round, they saw the figure of the old knight moving slowly away to the quarters of another party.
In an hour more, they were again upon the road; but their march was this day less fatiguing; and Woodville remarked that their veteran leader seemed to expect some intelligence from the country into which they were advancing; for at each halting place he caused inquiries to be made for messengers seeking him, and more than once stopped the peasantry on the road, questioning them strictly, though no one clearly seemed to understand his drift. He seemed, too, to be somewhat undecided as to his course, and talked of going on to Orvillers, or at least to Conchy; but he halted for the night, however, at Tilloloy, and quartered his men in that village and St. Nicaise.
Woodville and his party were lodged in the latter, where also the old commander slept; but about three in the morning the young Englishman was roused by voices speaking, followed by some one knocking at a neighbouring door; and half-raised upon his arm, he was listening to ascertain, if possible, what was the cause of this interruption of their repose, when the door of the room was opened, as far as the body of one of the English yeomen, who slept across it, would permit.
"Halloo! Master Woodville," said the voice of the Lord of Roucq. "Up, and to horse--your beasts are not broken down, I trust?"
"They have had time to rest since six last night," replied Woodville, "and will be found as fresh as ever, for they feed well."
"Like all true Englishmen," answered the old soldier. "Join me below in a minute; I have something to say to you."
Dressing himself, and giving hasty orders for the horses to be fed and led out, the young Englishman went down to the ground-floor, where everything was already in bustle, and perhaps in some confusion. The Lord of Roucq was surrounded by several of his own officers, and was giving them orders in the sharp tones of impatience and hurry.
"Ha! Sir Englishman," he exclaimed, as ho saw Woodville, "how long will it take you to be in the saddle?"
"Half an hour," replied Richard of Woodville.
"And these men want two hours!" cried the old leader. "Well, hark ye!"--and leading Woodville aside, he whispered, "'Tis as well as it is: there will be no jealousy. Get your horses out with all speed, and you shall have the cream of the affair, as I promised the young Count. You must know I am bound to meet our good Duke at Pont St. Maxence. He makes his escape from Paris this morning; and as he brings but four men with him, I fear there may be those who will try to stop him. His plan is, to go out to hunt with the King in the forest of Hallate, and there to be met by some one bringing him letters, as if from Flanders, requiring his hasty return. Then he will decently bid the King adieu, and ride away. I was in hopes to have had time enough to be near at hand with my whole force, to give him aid if they pursue or stay him, though he tells me in the packet just received, to meet him at Pont St. Maxence. However, it is as well that some should proceed farther; and if you can get the start of us, you can take the occasion."
"I will not miss it," replied Woodville; "but two things may be needful--one, a letter to the Duke; and another, some one who knows the road and the forest."
"What sort of letter?" demanded De Roucq, sharply. "What is the letter for?"
"To call the Duke back to Flanders," replied Richard of Woodville. "I will be the person to deliver it, should need be."
"Ay, that were as well," answered the old knight; "though doubtless he has arranged already for some one to meet him; yet no harm of two. It shall be written as if others had been sent before. I will call my clerk, for of writing I know nought."
"In the meanwhile I will see for a guide," answered Woodville; and going forth, he inquired, amongst the attendants of the young Lord of Lens and the men-at-arms of the Count of Charolois, for some one who was acquainted with the forest of Hallate. One of the latter had been there in former days, and remembered something of the roads, with which amount of information Richard of Woodville was forced to content himself, trusting to meet with some peasant on the spot who might guide him better. He then gave orders for bringing out the horses without farther delay, and for charging each saddle with two feeds of corn; and returning to the Lord of Roucq, he found him dictating a letter, by the light of a lamp, to a man with a shaven crown. Before it was finished, for the style of the good knight was not fluent, the jingle of arms and the tramp of horses' feet were heard before the inn; and looking round, with a well-satisfied smile, the old soldier exclaimed, "Ha! this is well!--This is the way to winlos. There, that will do, Master Peter; fold and seal it. Then for the superscription, as you know how."
Some five minutes, however, were spent upon heating the wax, tying up the packet, and writing the address, during which time Richard of Woodville looked on with no small impatience, fearing that he might be forestalled by others in executing a task which promised some distinction. At length all was complete; and, taking the letter eagerly, he hurried out and sprang into the saddle.
The Lord of Roucq added various cautions and directions, walking by the young Englishman's horse for some way through the village; but at length he left him; and putting his troop to a quicker pace, Woodville rode on towards Pont St. Maxence.