The forest of Hallate--of which the great forest of Chantilly, as it is called, is in fact but an insignificant remnant,--was, in the days of Philip of Valois, one of the most magnificent woods at that time in Europe, giving its name to a whole district, in the midst of which was situated the fine old palace and abbey of St. Christopher, or St. Christofle en Hallate, the scene of many of the most important transactions in French history. I do not find that the palace was much used in the reign of Charles VI.; and it was very possibly going to decay, though the abbey attached to it still remained tenanted by its monks, and the forest still afforded the sport of the chase to the French monarchs and their court, being filled with wolves, stags, boars, and even bears (if we may believe the accounts of the time), which were preserved with more care, from all but princely hands, than even the subjects of the Sovereign.
The great variety of the ground--the hills, the dales, the fountains, the cliffs, that the district presented--the rivers that intersected it, the deep glades and wild savannahs of the forest itself--the villages, the towns, the chapels, the monasteries, which nestled themselves, as it were, into its bosom--the profound solitude of some parts, the busy cultivation of others, the desert-like desolation of certain spots, and the soft, calm monotony of seemingly interminable trees which was to be found in different tracts--rendered the forest of Hallate one of the most interesting and changeful scenes through which the wandering foot of man could rove. Whether he sought the city or the hermitage, whether the grave or the gay, whether the sun or the shade, here he might suit his taste; and the mutations of the sky, in winter, in summer, in morning, in evening, in sunshine, or in clouds, added new changes to each individual spot, and varied still farther a scene which in itself seemed endless in its variety.
About three o'clock on the afternoon of a day in early May, with a cool wind stirring the air, and some light vapours floating across the heaven, a gentleman, completely armed except the head, with a lance on his shoulder, and a page carrying his casque behind him, rode slowly into one of the wide savannahs, following a peasant with a staff in his hand, who seemed to be showing him the way. His horse bore evident signs of having been ridden far that day, without much time for grooms to do their office in smoothing down his dark brown coat; but nevertheless, though somewhat rough and dusty, the stout beast seemed no way tired; and, to judge by his quick and glancing eye, his bending crest, and the eager rounding of his knee, as if eager to put forth his speed, one would have supposed that he had rested since his journey, and tasted his share of corn.
"Ay, there is a piqueur of the hunt," said the gentleman, marking with a glance a man, clothed in green and brown, who stood holding a brace of tall dogs at the angle of one of the roads leading into the heart of the forest. "You have led us right, good fellow. There is your guerdon."
The peasant took the money; and, as it was somewhat more than had been promised, made a low rude bow and stumped away; and the gentleman, turning to his page, beckoned him up.
"Think you, Will, that you have French enough," he asked, in English, when the boy was close to him, "to tell them where we are, and what to do?"
"Oh, I will make them understand," replied the page, with all the confidence of youth. "I picked up a few words in Ghent, and a few more as we came along; and what tongue wont do, hand and head must."
"Well, give me the casque," said his master, "and you take my barret;" and receiving thechapel de ferfrom the boy's hands, he placed it on his head, raised the visor till it rested against the crest, and rode slowly on towards the attendant of the chase, who, with all a sportsman's eagerness, was watching down the avenue attentively.
"Good morning, my friend," said the gentleman in French.
"Good afternoon, sir," answered the piqueur; for the vulgar are always very careful to be exact in their time of day. He did not look round, however, and the stranger went on to inquire if the King were not hunting in the forest.
The man now turned and eyed the questioner. His splendid arms showed he was a gentleman; and he was alone, so that no treason could be intended. "Yes, sir," replied the piqueur; "I expect him this way every minute. Do you want to see him?"
"Why, not exactly," said the stranger. "Some of the people told me the good Duke of Burgundy was with him; and, as it is he with whom I want to speak, if their report be true, it may save me a ride to Paris."
"The good Duke is with the King," rejoined the man; "but s'life I know not whether he will be so long: for fortune alters favour, they say, and times have changed of late--though it is no business of mine, and so I say nothing; but the Duke was ever a friend to the Commons, and to the citizens of Paris more than all."
"Have they had good sport to-day?" demanded Richard of Woodville; for doubtless the reader has already discovered one of the interlocutors in this dialogue. "'Tis somewhat late in the year, is it not, piqueur?"
"Ay that it is, for sundry kinds of game," replied the man; "but there are some not out, and others just coming in; and we are obliged to suit ourselves to the poor old King's health. He is free just now from his black sickness, and would have had a glorious day of it, had not Achille, the subveneur, who is always wrong, and always knows better than any one else, mistaken which way thepistelay. But hark! they are blowing the death: the beast has been killed, and not past this way, foul fall him. My dogs have not had breath to-day."
"Then they will not come hither, I suppose?" said Richard of Woodville.
"Oh, yes! 'tis a thousand chances to one they will," answered the man. "If they force another beast, they must quit that ground, and cross the road to Senlis; and if they return with what they have got, they must take the Paris avenue, so that in either case they will come here."
While he spoke, there was a vast howling of dogs, and blowing of horns at some distance; and Woodville, trusting to the piqueur's sagacity for the direction the Court would take, waited patiently till the sounds accompanying thecuréewere over, and then gazed down the avenue. In about ten minutes some horsemen began to appear in the road; and then a splendid party issued forth from one of the side alleys, followed by a confused crowd of men, horses, and dogs. They came forward at an easy pace, and Richard of Woodville inquired of his companion, which was the Duke of Burgundy.
"What, do you not know him?" said the man, in some surprise. "Well, keep back, and I will tell you when they are near."
The young Englishman, without reply, reined back his horse for a step or two, so as to take up a position beyond the projecting corner of the wood; and, while the piqueur continued gazing down the avenue, still holding his dogs in the leash, Woodville turned a hasty glance behind him, to see if he could discover anything of his page. The boy was nearer than he thought, but was wisely coming round the back of the savannah, where the turf was soft and somewhat moist, so that his approach escaped both the eyes and ears of the royal attendant, till, approaching his master's side, he said something which, though spoken in a low tone, made the man turn round. At the same moment, however, the first two horsemen passed out of the road into the open space; and immediately after, the principal party appeared.
At its head, a step before any of the rest, came a man, seemingly past the middle age, with grey hair and a noble presence, but with cheeks channelled and withered, more by sickness and care than years. His eye was peculiarly clear and fine, and not a trace was to be seen therein of that fatal malady which devoured more than one-half of his days. His aspect, indeed, was that of a person of high intellect; and though his shoulders were somewhat bowed, and his seat upon his horse not very firm, there were remains of the great beauty of form and dignity of carriage, which had distinguished the unhappy Charles in earlier days.
Close behind the King came a youth of eighteen or nineteen years of age, with a fine, but somewhat fierce and haughty countenance, a cheek colourless and bare, and a bright but haggard eye; and near him rode a somewhat younger lad, of a fresher and more healthy complexion, round whose lip there played ever and anon a gay and wanton smile. Almost on a line with these, were three or four gentlemen, one far advanced in years, and one very young; while the personage nearest the spot where Richard of Woodville sat, seemed still in the lusty prime of manhood, stout but not fat, broad in the shoulders, long in the limbs, though not much above the middle height. He was dressed in high boots, and long striped hose of blue and red, with a close-fitting pourpoint of blue, and a long mantle, with furred sleeves, hanging down to his stirrups. On his head he bore a cap of fine cloth, shaped somewhat like an Indian turban, with a large and splendid ruby in the front, and a feather drooping over his left ear. His carriage was princely and frank, his eye clear and steadfast, and about his lip there was a firm and resolute expression, which well suited the countenance of one who had acquired the name of John the Bold.
"If that be not the Duke of Burgundy," said Richard of Woodville, to the piqueur, in a low tone, as the party advanced, "I am much mistaken."
"Yes, yes," replied the man, nodding his head, "that is he, God bless him!--and that is the Duke of Aquitaine, the King's son, just before him. Then there is the Duke of Bavaria on the other side----"
The young Englishman did not wait to hear enumerated the names of all the personages of the royal train, but, as soon as the King himself had passed, rode up at once to the Duke of Burgundy, who turned round and gazed at him with some surprise, while the young pale Duke of Aquitaine bent his brow, frowning upon him with an inquiring yet ill-satisfied look.
"My lord the Duke," said Woodville, tendering the letter he had received from De Roucq, "I bear you this from Flanders."
The Duke took it, and, without checking his horse, but merely throwing the bridle over his arm, opened the letter, and looked at the contents. "Ha!" he exclaimed, as he read--"Ha! I thank you, sir;" and, making a sign for Richard and his page to follow, he spurred on, and passed the two young Princes to the side of the King.
"This gentleman, Sire," he said, displaying the letter, "brings me troublous tidings from my poor county of Flanders, which call for my immediate presence; and, therefore, though unwilling to leave you, royal sir, at a time when my enemies are strong in your capital and court, I must even take my leave in haste; but I will return with all convenient speed."
The King had drawn his bridle, and, turning round, gazed from the Duke to Richard of Woodville, with a look of hesitation; but, after a moment's pause, he answered, with a cold and constrained air, "Well, Duke of Burgundy, if it must be so, go. A fair journey to you, cousin;" and without farther adieu, he gave a glance to his sons, and rode on.
The Duke of Burgundy bowed low, and held in his horse while the royal party passed on, exchanging no very placable looks with the young Duke of Aquitaine, his son-in-law, and giving a sign to four or five gentlemen who were following in the rear, but immediately fell out of the train, and ranged themselves around him.
"Who are you, sir?" demanded the Prince, turning to Woodville, while the King and his court proceeded slowly towards a distant part of the savannah, and, by the movements of different gentlemen round the Duke of Aquitaine, there seemed to be some hurried consultation going on.
"An English gentleman, my lord, attached to the Count, your son," replied Woodville, without farther explanation; but seeing that a number of men completely armed, who followed the principal body of courtiers, had been beckoned up, he added, "Methinks, fair sir, there is not much time to lose. Yonder is the way--I am not alone." Without reply, the Duke gave one quick glance towards the royal party, set spurs to his horse, and rode quickly along the road to which Woodville pointed. He had hardly quitted the savannah, and entered the long broad avenue, however, when the sound of a horse's feet at the full gallop came behind, and a voice exclaimed, "My lord, my lord the Duke! the King has some words for your ear."
It was a single cavalier who approached; but the quick ear of Richard of Woodville caught the sound of other horse following, though the angle of the wood cut off the view of the royal train.
"Good faith," answered the Duke, turning his head towards the messenger, but without stopping, "they must be kept for another moment. My business will have no delay." But, even as he spoke, he caught sight of a number of men-at-arms following the first, and just entering the alley in a confused and scattered line.
"But you must, my lord!" exclaimed the gentleman who had just come up. "I have orders to use force."
The Duke and his attendants laid their hands upon their swords; but Woodville raised his lance high above his head, and shook it in the air, shouting, "Ho, there!--Ho! Ride on, my lord, ride on! I will stay them."
"Now, gold spurs for a good lance!" cried the Duke of Burgundy; "but I will not let you fight alone, my friend;" and, wheeling his horse, he formed his little troop across the road.
"Ho, there! Ho!" shouted Woodville again; and instantly he heard a horn answering from the wood. "The first man is mine, my lord," he cried, setting his lance in the rest and drawing down his visor. "Fall back upon our friends behind: you are unarmed!" and, spurring on his charger at full speed, he passed the King's messenger, (who was only habited in the garments of the chase,) towards a man-at-arms, who was coming at full speed some fifty yards in advance of the party sent to arrest the Duke. His adversary instantly charged his lance likewise; no explanation was needed; and the two cavaliers met in full shock between the parties. The spear of the Frenchman struck right on Woodville's cuirass, and broke it into splinters; but the lance-head of the young Englishman caught his opponent on the gorget, and, without wavering in his seat, he bore him back over the croup to the ground. Then, wheeling rapidly, he galloped back to the Duke's side; while, at a brisk pace, but in perfect order, his band came up under the young Lord of Lens; and the English archers, springing to the ground, put their arrows to the strings and drew the bows to the ear, waiting for the signal to let fly the unerring shaft.
"Hold! hold!" cried the Duke. "Gallantly done, noble sir!--you have saved me; but let us not shed blood unnecessarily;" and, casting his eye over Woodville's troop, he added, "We outnumber them far; they will never dare attack us."
As he spoke, the men-at-arms of France paused in their advance, and some of the foremost, dismounting from their horses, raised the overthrown cavalier from the ground, and were seen unlacing his casque. At the same time, the gentleman who had first followed the Duke of Burgundy began quietly retreating towards his friends, and though the Duke called to him aloud to stop, showed no disposition to comply.
"Shall I bring him back, noble Duke?" exclaimed the young Lord of Lens, eager to win some renown.
"Yes, ride after him, young sir," said John the Bold.
"Remember, he is unarmed," cried Richard of Woodville, seeing the youth couch his lance, and fearing that he might forget, in his enthusiasm, the usages of war.
"You are of a right chivalrous spirit, sir," said the Duke, turning to the young Englishman. "Do you know, my Lord of Viefville, who is that gentleman, whom he unhorsed just now?"
"The Count de Vaudemont, I think," replied the nobleman to whom he spoke. "I saw him at the head of the men-at-arms in the forest."
"Oh, yes, it is he," rejoined another. "Did you not see the cross crosslets on his housings?"
"A good knight and stout cavalier as ever couched a lance," observed the Duke of Burgundy. "The young kestrel has caught the hawk," he continued, as the Lord of Lens, riding up to him of whom he had been in pursuit, brought him back apparently unwillingly towards the Burgundian party.
"Ah! my good Lord of Vertus," exclaimed John the Bold, "you have gone back with half your message. Fie! never look white, man! We will not hurt you, though we have strong hands amongst us, as you have just seen. Offer my humble duty to the King, and tell him that I should at once have obeyed his royal mandate to return, but that my affairs are very urgent, and that I knew not how long I might be detained to hear his royal will."
"And what am I to say to our lord?" asked the Count de Vertus, "for Monsieur de Vaudemont, his son's bosom friend, overthrown by your people, and well-nigh killed, I fear?"
"My daughter ought to be his son's bosom friend," replied the Duke, sharply, "but she is not, it seems; and as to Monsieur de Vaudemont, perhaps you had better tell the King that he was riding too fast and had a fall: it will be more to his credit than if you say, that he met a squire of Burgundy in fair and even course, and was unhorsed like a clumsy page; and now, my Lord of Vertus, I give you the good time of day. You said something about force just now; but methinks you will forget it; and so will I."
Thus saying, the Duke turned his horse and rode away down the avenue; the English archers sprang upon their steeds again; and Richard of Woodville, beckoning the young Lord of Lens to halt, caused his whole troop to file off before him, and then with his companion brought up the extreme rear. A number of the French men-at-arms followed at a respectful distance, till the party entered the village of Fleurines, in the forest; but there, having satisfied themselves that there was no greater body of the men of Burgundy in the neighbourhood--which might have rendered the King's journey back to Paris somewhat dangerous--they halted and retired.
The Duke had turned round to watch their proceedings more than once; nor did he take any farther notice of Richard of Woodville till the French party were gone. When they were no longer in sight, however, he called him to his side, and questioned him regarding himself.
"I do not remember you about my son, fair sir," he said, "and I am not one to forget men who act as you have done to-day."
"I have been in your territories, my Lord Duke, but a short time," replied Richard of Woodville. "As I came seeking occasions of honour to the most chivalrous court in Europe, and as I was furnished with letters from my Sovereign to yourself, and to your son, vouching graciously for my faith, the Count was kindly pleased to give me a share in anything that was to be done to-day. Happening to be in the saddle this morning somewhat before the rest of the Lord of Roucq's troop, and my horses being somewhat fresher, the good old knight sent me on, thinking you might need aid before you reached the rendezvous you had given him."
"Ay, he judged right," replied the Duke; "and had I known as much, when I wrote to him, as I learned yesterday, I would have had him at the gates of Paris; for my escape at all has been a miracle. They only put off arresting me or stabbing me in my hotel till the King returned from this hunting, in order to guard against a rising of the citizens. Have you this letter from King Henry about you?"
"My page has it in his wallet, noble Duke," replied the young Englishman. "Will you please to see it?"
John nodded his head, and, calling up the boy, Richard of Woodville took the letter from him, and placed it in the Prince's hands. The Duke opened and read it with a smile; then, turning to Woodville, he said, "You justify the praises of your King, and his request shall be attended to by me, as in duty bound. Men look to him, sir, with eyes of expectation, and have a foresight of great deeds to come. His friendship is dear to me; and every one he is pleased to send shall have honour at my hands for his sake. Ah! there is Pont St. Maxence, and the bright Oise. De Roucq is, probably, there by this time."
"I doubt it not, my lord," answered Richard of Woodville; "he could not be far behind."
"Who is that youth," demanded the Duke, "who seems your second in the band?"
"One of your own vassals, noble sir," replied the English gentleman, "full of honour and zeal for your service, who will some day make an excellent soldier. He is the young Lord of Lens."
"Ah!" said the Duke in a sorrowful tone, "I have bad news for him. His uncle Charles is a prisoner in Paris, taken out of my very house before my eyes; and I doubt much they will do him to death. Break it to him calmly this evening, sir. But see! here are several of good old De Roucq's party looking out for us. Methinks he would not have heard bad tidings of his Duke without riding to rescue him."
Thus saying he spurred on, meeting, ere he reached Pont St. Maxence, one or two small bodies of men-at-arms, who saluted him as he passed, shouting "Burgundy! Burgundy!" and fell in behind the band of Richard of Woodville. The single street of the small town was crowded with people; and before the doors of the two inns which the place then possessed was seen the company of the Lord of Roucq, with the men dismounted, feeding their horses, but all armed, and prepared to spring into the saddle at a moment's notice.
The approach of the Duke was greeted by a loud shout of welcome--not alone from his own soldiers, but also from the people of the town; for in the northern and eastern provinces of France, as well as in the capital, John the Bold was the most popular prince of the time. De Roucq immediately advanced on foot to hold his stirrup, but his Lord grasped him by the hand and wrung it hard, saying, "I am safe, you see, old friend--thanks to your care, and this young gentleman's conduct."
"Ay, I thought he would do well," replied the old soldier, "for he is up in the morning early."
"He has done well," said the Duke, dismounting; and, turning to Woodville, who had sprung from his horse, he said, "You rightly deserve some honour at my hands. Though we have no spurs ready, I will dub you now; and we will arm you afterwards at Lille. Kneel down."
Richard of Woodville bent his knee to the ground before the crowd that had gathered round; and, drawing his sword, the Duke of Burgundy addressed to him, as usual, a short speech on the duties of chivalry, concluding with the words--"thus remember, that this honour is not alone a reward for deeds past, but an encouragement to deeds in future. It is a bond as well as a distinction, by which you are held to right the wronged--to defend the oppressed--to govern yourself discreetly--to serve your Sovereign Lord--and to be the friend and protector of women, children, and the weak and powerless. Let your lance be the first in the fight; let your purse be open to the poor and needy; let your shield be the shelter of the widow and orphan; and let your sword be ever drawn in the cause of your King, your country and your religion. In the name of God, St. Michael, and St. George, I dub you knight. Be loyal, true, and valiant."
At each of the last words he struck him a light stroke with the blade of his sword upon the neck; and the crowd around, well pleased with every piece of representation, uttered a loud acclamation as the young knight rose; and the Duke took him in his arms, and embraced him warmly. Old De Roucq, and the noblemen who had accompanied John the Bold from the forest, grasped the young Englishman's hand one by one; and the Duke, turning to the Lord of Lens, added, with a gracious smile, "I trust to do the same for you, young sir, ere long. In the meanwhile, that you may have occasion to win your chivalry, I name you one of my squires; and, by God's grace, you will not be long without something to do."
The youth kissed his hand joyfully; and the Duke retired to the inn. Richard of Woodville paused for a moment to distribute some handfulls of money amongst the crowd, who were crying "Largesse" around, and then followed the old Lord of Roucq, to give him information of all that had taken place in the forest of Hallate, before they proceeded together to receive the farther orders of the Duke of Burgundy.[8]
All was bustle and activity throughout Flanders and Burgundy after the return of John the Bold from Paris. Night and day messengers were crossing the country from one town to another, and every castle in the land saw gatherings of men-at-arms and archers; while, across the frontier from France, came multitudes of the discontented vassals of Charles VI., pouring in to offer either service or council to the great feudatory, who was now almost in open warfare, if not against his Sovereign, at least against the faction into whose hands that Sovereign (once more relapsed into imbecility) had fallen. If, however, the country in general was agitated, much more so was the city of Lille, where the Duke prolonged his residence for some weeks. There, day after day, councils were held in the castle; and day after day, not only from every part of the Duke's vast territories, but also from neighbouring states, came crowds of his friends and allies. The people of Ghent, Bruges, and Ypres sent their deputies; the Duke of Brabant, the Bishop of Liege, the Count of Cleves, appeared in person; and even the Constable of France, Waleran, Count of St. Paul, took his seat at the table of the Duke of Burgundy, and refused boldly to give up his staff to the envoys sent from Paris to demand it. The cloud of war was evidently gathering thick and black; and foreign princes looked eagerly on to see how and when the struggle would commence; but the eyes of both contending parties were turned anxiously to one of the neighbouring sovereigns, who was destined to take a great part, as all foresaw, in the domestic feuds of France. To Henry of England both addressed themselves, and each strove hard not only to propitiate the monarch, but to gain the good will of the nation. All Englishmen, either in France or Burgundy, were courted and favoured by those high in place; and Richard of Woodville was now especially marked out for honour by both the Duke of Burgundy and the young Count of Charolois. The latter opened his frank and generous heart towards one, with whose whole demeanour he had been struck and pleased from the first; and that intimacy which grows up so rapidly in troublous times, easily ripened into friendship in the daily intercourse which took place between them. They were constant companions; and more than once, after nightfall, Richard was brought by the prince to his father's private cabinet, where consultations were held between them, not only on matters of war and military discipline--for which the young English knight had acquired a high reputation, on the report of the old Lord of Roucq--but also on subjects connected with the policy of the English Court, regarding which the Duke strove to gain some better information from the frank and sincere character of Woodville than he could obtain elsewhere. But, as we have shown, Richard of Woodville could be cautious as well as candid; and he replied guardedly to all open questions, that he knew naught of the views or intentions of his Sovereign; but that he was well aware Henry of England held in high esteem and love his princely cousin of Burgundy, and would never be found wanting, when required, to show him acts of friendship. Farther, he said, the Duke must apply to good Sir Philip de Morgan, a man well instructed, he believed, in all the King's purposes.
Both the Count of Charolois and his father smiled at this answer, and turned a meaning look upon each other.
"You have shown me, Sir Richard," said the Duke, "that you really do not know the King's mind on such subjects. Sir Philip de Morgan was his father's most trusted envoy; but is his own envoy not the most trusted? It is strange, your monarch's conduct in some things. He has added to his agents at our poor Court, a noble and wise man whom his father hated."
"Because, my most redoubted lord," replied the young knight, "he judges differently, and is differently situated from his father. Henry IV. snatched the crown, as all men know, from a weak and vicious king, but found that those, who once had been his peers, were not willing to be his subjects. Though a mighty, wise, and politic prince, his life was a struggle, in which he might win victories indeed, and subdue enemies in the field, but he raised up new traitors in his own heart, new enemies within himself--I mean, my lord, jealousies and animosities. Our present King comes to the throne by succession; and his father has left him a crown divested of half its thorns. His nurture has been different too: never having suffered oppression, he has nothing to retaliate; never having struggled with foes, he has no fear of enmity. People say in my land, that one man builds a house and another dwells in it. So is it with every one who wins a throne; he has to raise and strengthen the fabric of his power, only to leave the perfect structure to another."
The Duke leaned his head upon his hand, and thought profoundly. Ambitious visions, often roused by the very name of Henry IV., were reproved by the moral of his life; and though John the Bold might not part with them, he turned his thoughts to other channels, and strove to learn from Richard of Woodville the character and disposition of the English sovereign, if not his intentions and designs. On those points, the young knight was more open and unreserved. He painted the monarch as he really was, laughed when the Prince spoke of his youthful wildness, and said, "It was but a masking face, noble Duke, put on for sport, and, like a mummer's vizard, laid aside the moment it suited him to resume himself again. Those who judge the King from such traits as these will find themselves wofully deceived;" and he went on to paint Henry's energies of mind in terms which--though the Duke might attribute part of the praise to young enthusiasm--still left a very altered impression on the hearer's mind in regard to the real character of the English King.
I have said that these interviews took place more than once, and also that they generally took place in private; for the Duke did not wish to excite any jealousy in his Burgundian subjects; but, on more than one occasion, several of the foreign noblemen who had flocked to the Court of Lille were present, and between the Count of St. Paul and Woodville some intimacy speedily sprung up. The Count, irritated by what he thought injustice, revolved many schemes of daring resistance to the Court of France. He thought of raising men, and, as the ally of Burgundy, opposing in arms the Armagnac faction and the Dauphin; he thought of visiting England, and treating on his own part with Henry V.; and from the young English knight he strove to gain both information and assistance. There was in that distinguished nobleman many qualities which commanded esteem, and Woodville willingly gave him what advice he could; and yet he tried to dissuade him from being the first to raise the standard of revolt, pointing out that, although the state of mind of the King of France, and the absence of all legal authority in those who ruled, might justify a Prince so nearly allied to the royal family as the Duke of Burgundy, in struggling for a share of that power which he saw misused, especially as he was a sovereign Prince, though feudatory for some of his territories to the crown of France, yet an inferior person could hardly take arms on his own account without incurring a charge of treason, which might fall heavily on his head if the Duke found cause ultimately to abstain from war.
The Count listened to his reasons, and seemed to ponder upon them; and though no one loves to be persuaded from the course to which passion prompts, he was sufficiently experienced to think well of one who would give such advice, however unpalatable at the moment.
Thus passed nearly a month from the day on which the young Englishman quitted Ghent; and so changeful and uncertain were the events of the time, that he would not venture to absent himself from the Court of Burgundy even for an hour, lest he should miss the opportunity of winning advancement and renown. In that time, however, he had gained much. He was no longer a stranger. The ways and habits of the Court were familiar to him; he was the companion of all, and the friend of many, who, on his first appearance, had looked upon him with an evil eye; and many an occurrence, trifling compared with the great interests that were moving round, but important to himself, had taken place in the young knight's history. The ceremony of being armed a knight was duly performed, the Duke fulfilling his promise on the first occasion, and completing that which had been but begun at Pont St. Maxence. Yet this very act, gratifying as it was to one eager of honour, was not without producing some anxiety in the mind of the young Englishman. Such events were accompanied with much pageantry, and followed by considerable expense. Hitherto, all his charges had been borne by himself, and he saw his stock of wealth decreasing far more rapidly than he had expected. Though apartments had been assigned to him in the Graevensteen at Ghent, none had been furnished him in the castle of Lille; and no mention was made of reimbursing him for anything he had paid.
One day, however, early in June, he was called to the presence of the Duke, and found him just coming from a conference with the deputies of the good towns of Flanders. The Prince's face was gay and smiling; and as he passed along the gallery towards his private apartments, he exclaimed, turning towards some of his counsellors, "Let no one say I have not good and generous subjects. Ha! Sir Richard," he continued, as his eye fell upon the young Englishman, "go to the chamber of my son--he has something to tell you."
Richard of Woodville hastened to obey; but the Count de Charolois was not in his apartment when he arrived, and some minutes elapsed before the young Prince appeared. When he came at length, however, he was followed by three or four of his men bearing some large bags, apparently of money, which were laid down upon the table in the anteroom.
"Get you gone, boys," said the Count, turning to his pages; "and you, Godfrey, see that all be ready by the hour of noon. Now, my friend," he continued, as soon as the room was clear, "I have news for you, and, I trust, pleasant news too. First, I am for Ghent, and you may accompany me, if you will."
"Right gladly, my lord the Count," replied Richard of Woodville; "for, to say truth, almost all my baggage is still there, and I have scarcely any clothing in which to appear decently at your father's court. I have other matters, too, that I would fain see to in Ghent."
"Some fair lady, now, I will warrant," replied the Count, laughing; "I have marked the ruby ring in your basinet; but, faith, we have more serious matters in hand than either fine clothes or fair ladies. I go to raise men, sir knight, and you have a commission to do so likewise. My father would fain have you swell your company to fifty archers, taught and disciplined by your own men. The more Englishmen you can get the better, for it seems that you are famous for the bow in your land; but our worthy citizens of Bruges are not unskilful either."
"Good faith, my lord," replied Richard of Woodville, "I know not well how to obey the noble Duke's behest; for my riches are but scanty, and 'tis as much as I can do to maintain my band as it is."
"Ha! are you there, my friend?" said the young Prince, with a smile. "Well, you have borne long and patiently with our poverty; but the good towns have come to our assistance now, and we will acquit our debt. One of these bags is for you, and you will find it contains wherewithal to pay you what you have spent, to reward your archers according to the rate of England, which is, I believe, six sterlings a day, for the month past--to pay them for three months to come, and to raise your band, as I have said, to fifty men. You will find therein one thousandfleurs-de-lysof gold, or, as we call them,franc-à-pieds, each of which is worth about forty of your sterlings."
"Then there is much more than is needful, my good lord," replied the young knight. "One-half of that sum would suffice."
"Exactly," replied the Count; "but no one serves well the House of Burgundy without guerdon, my good friend. My father knighted you because you had done well in arms, both in England and in his presence; but knighthood is too high and sacred a thing to be made a reward for any personal benefit rendered to a prince. My father would think that he degraded that high order, if he conferred it even for saving him from death or captivity, as you were enabled to do. For that good deed therefore he gives you the rest; and I do trust that ere long you will have the means of winning more."
Richard of Woodville expressed his thanks, though, with the ordinary chivalrous affectation of the day, he denied all merit in what he had done, and made as little of it as possible. There was one difficulty in regard to increasing his band, however, which he had to explain to the young Count, and which arose from the promise he had given his own Sovereign, of holding himself ready to join him at the first summons. But that was speedily obviated, it being agreed that in case of his services being demanded by King Henry, he should be at liberty to retire with the yeomen who then accompanied him, and that the rest of the troop about to be raised, should, in that case, be placed under the command of any officer the Duke might appoint.
As was then customary, a clerk was called in, and an indenture drawn up, specifying the terms on which the young knight was to serve in the Burgundian force, the number of the men-at-arms and archers which he was to bring into the field, the pay they were to receive, the arms and horses with which they were to appear, and even the Burgundian cloaks, or huques, which they were to wear. A copy was taken and signed by each party; and fortunate it was for Richard of Woodville, that the young Count suggested this precaution. The usual clauses regarding prisoners were added, reserving the persons of kings and princes of the blood from those whom the young knight might put to ransom as his lawful captives; but the Count specifically renounced his right to the third of the winnings of the war, which was not unusually reserved to the great leader with whom any knight or squire took service.
All these points being settled, Richard of Woodville hurried back to the inn, called the Shield of Burgundy, where he and his men were lodged, and prepared to accompany the Count to Ghent. When he returned to the castle, with his men mounted and armed, he found the court-yard full of knights, nobles, and soldiery, all ready to set out at the appointed hour; and for a time he fancied that the young Prince might be going to Ghent with a larger force than the good citizens, jealous of their privileges, would be very willing to receive; but, as soon as the trumpet sounded, and the whole force marched out over the drawbridge into the streets of Lille, the seven or eight hundred men, of which the party consisted, separated into different bands, and each took its own road. One pursued its way towards Amiens, another towards Tournay, another towards Cassel, another towards Bethune, another towards Douay; and the Count and his train, reduced to about a hundred men, rode on in the direction of Ghent, which city they reached about four o'clock upon the following day.
Except the Lord of Croy, between whom and the young Englishman a good deal of intimacy had arisen, the Count de Charolois was accompanied by no other gentleman of knightly rank but Richard of Woodville; and, as that high military station placed him who filled it on a rank with princes, those two gentlemen were the young Count's principal companions on the road to Ghent, and received from him a fuller intimation of his father's designs and purposes than had been communicated to them before they quitted Lille. All seemed smiling on the fortunes of Richard of Woodville; the path to wealth and renown was open before him, and he might be pardoned for giving way to all the bright visions and glowing expectations of youth.
Trumpet and timbrel were sounding in the streets of Ghent; the people, in holiday costume, were thronging bridge and market-place; the procession of the trades was once more afoot, with banners displayed; the clergy were hurrying here and there with cross and staff, and all the ensigns of the Romish Church. It was a high holiday; for the young Count had given notice, immediately on his arrival, that he would be ready an hour before compline, which may be considered about six o'clock in the evening, to receive the honourable corps of the good town, in order to return them thanks, in the name of his father, for the liberal aid they had granted him in a time of need; and flushed with loyalty to their Prince--well, I wot, a somewhat unusual occurrence--and with a full sense of their own meritorious sacrifices, each man pressed eagerly to be one of the deputies who were to wait upon the Count; and, if that might not be, to go, at least, as far as the palace gates with those who were to be admitted.
All the nobles who had accompanied the Count from Lille were present in the great hall of the Cours des Princes, where the reception was to take place, except, indeed, Richard of Woodville. He, soon after he had arrived, had begged the Count's excuse for absenting himself from his train; and, hurrying to the inn where he had left Ned Dyram, with his horses and baggage, he dismounted from his charger, and cast off his armour.
To his inquiries for his servant, the host replied, that he had not been there since the morning, and, indeed, seldom appeared there all day; but Woodville seemed to pay little attention to this answer; and, merely washing the dust from his face and neck, set out at a hurried pace on foot.
He thought that he knew the way to the place which he intended to visit well, though he had only followed it once; and passing on, he was soon out of the stream of people that was still flowing on towards the palace. But he found himself mistaken in regard to his powers of memory; long tortuous streets, totally deserted for the time, lay around him; tall houses, principally built of wood, rose on every side, throwing fantastic shadows across the broad sunshine afforded by the sinking sun; and when he at length stopped a workman to ask his way, the man spoke nothing but Flemish, and all that Woodville had acquired of that tongue was insufficient to make the artisan comprehend what was meant.
Leaving him, the young knight walked on, guided by what he remembered of the direction in which the house of Sir John Grey lay; for it is hardly needful to tell the reader that thither his steps were bent, when suddenly a cavalcade of some five or six horsemen appeared, coming at a slow pace up the street; and the tall graceful figure of a man somewhat past the middle age, but evidently of distinguished rank, was seen at their head. The garb was changed; the whole look and demeanour was different; but even before he could see the features, Richard of Woodville recognised the very man he was seeking, and, hurrying on to meet him, he advanced to his horse's side.
Sir John Grey gazed on him coldly, however, as if he had never seen him before; and Woodville felt somewhat surprised and mortified, not well knowing whether the old knight's memory were really so much shorter than his own, or whether fortune, with Mary's father, had possessed the power it has over so many, to change the aspect of the things around, and blot out the love and gratitude of former days, as things unworthy of remembrance.
"Do you not know me, Sir John Grey?" he asked: "if so, let me recal to your good remembrance Richard of Woodville, who brought you tidings from the King, and also some news of your sweet daughter."
"I know you well, sir," replied the knight; "would I knew less. I hear you have acquired honour and renown in arms. God give you grace to merit more. I must ride on, I fear."
His manner was cold and distant, his brow grave and stern; but Woodville was not one to bear such a change altogether calmly, though, for his sweet Mary's sake, he laid a strong constraint upon himself.
"I know not, Sir John Grey," he said, "what has produced so strange a change in one, whom I had thought steadfast and firm: whether calmer thought and higher fortunes than those in which I first found you, may have engendered loftier views, or re-awakened slumbering ambition, so that you regret some words you spoke in the first liberal joy of renewed prosperity; but----"
"Cease, sir, cease!" exclaimed the old knight. "I should indeed regret those words, could they be binding in a case like this. Steadfast and firm I am, and you will find me so; but not loftier views or re-awakened ambition has made the change, but better knowledge of a man I trusted on a fair seeming. But these things are not to be discussed here in the open street, before servants and horseboys. You know your own heart--you know your own actions; and if they do not make you shrink from discussing what may be between you and me--"
"Shrink!" cried Richard of Woodville, vehemently; "Why should I shrink? shrink from discussing aught that I have done. No, by my knighthood! not before all the world, varlets or horseboys, princes or peers: I care not who hears my every action blazoned to the day."
"But I do, sir," replied Sir John Grey; "for the sake of those dear to us both--for your good uncle's sake, and for my child's."
"You are compassionate, Sir John!" said Woodville, bitterly; but then he added, "yet, no; you are deceived. I know not how, or by whom, but there is some error, that is very clear. This I must crave leave to say, that I am fearless of the judgment of mortal man on aught that I have done. Sins have we all to God; but I defy the world to say that I have failed in honour to one man on earth."
"According to that worldly code of honour we once spoke of, perhaps not," replied Sir John Grey.
"According to what fastidious code you will," said the young knight. "I stand here willing, Sir John Grey, to have each word or deed sifted like wheat before a cottage door. I know not your charge, or who it is that brings it; but I will disprove it, whatever it be, when it is clearly stated, and will cram his falsehood down his throat whenever I know his name who makes it."
"Ha, sir! Is it of me you speak?" demanded the knight, somewhat sharply.
"No, Sir John," replied Woodville, "you are to be the judge; for you," he added, with a sorrowful smile, "hold the high prize. But it is of him who has foully calumniated me to you; for that some one has done so I can clearly see; and I would know the charge and the accuser--here, now, on this spot--for I am not one to rest under suspicion, even for an hour."
"You speak boldly, Sir Richard of Woodville," answered Sir John Grey, "and, doubtless, think that you are right, though I may not; for I am one who have long lived in solitude, pondering men's deeds, and weighing them in a nicer balance than the world is wont to use. However, as I said before, this is no place to discuss such things; but as it is right and just that each man should have occasion to defend himself, I will meet you where you will, and when, to tell you what men lay to your charge. If you can then deny it, and disprove it, well. I will not speak more here. See! some one seeks your attention."
"Whatever it is that any man on earth accuses me of," replied the young knight, without attending to Sir John Grey's last words, "I am ready ever to meet boldly, for my heart is free. As you will not give me this relief I ask even now, it cannot be too soon. I will either go with you at once to your own house--"
"No, that must not be," cried the other, hastily.
"Or else," continued Woodville, "I will meet you two hours hence, in the hostel called the Garland, on the market place. What would you, knave?" he added, turning suddenly upon some one who had more than once pulled his sleeve from behind, and beholding Ned Dyram.
"I would speak with you instantly, sir knight," replied Dyram, "on a matter of life and death."
"Shall it be so, sir?" Richard of Woodville continued, looking again to Sir John Grey, who repeated, thoughtfully, "In two hours--"
"Sir, will you listen to me?" exclaimed Dyram, in great agitation. "Indeed you must. There is not a moment to lose. I tell you it will bear no delay. If you would save her life, you must come at once."
"Her life!" cried Woodville, in great surprise. "Whose life? Of whom do you speak, man?"
"Of whom? of Ella Brune, to be sure," replied Dyram. "If you stay talking longer, you leave her to death."
Sir John Grey, with a bitter smile, shook his bridle, and, striking his heel against his horse's flank, rode on.