Oh, the long and tedious hours of imprisonment! how they weigh down the stoutest heart! How soul and mind seem fettered as well as body; and how the chain grows heavier every hour we wear it! Days and weeks passed by; weeks and months flew away; and, strictly confined to one small chamber in the castle of Montl'herry, Richard of Woodville remained a prisoner.
The Count of Vaudemont, courteous in words, showed himself aught but courteous in deeds. Every tone had been knightly and generous while he stayed in the château; but no results had followed. He would never fix the ransom of his captive; he would never hold out any prospect of liberty; and ere long he departed for Paris, leaving Woodville in the hands of the Châtelain of the place, who, severely blamed for the escape of the young Lord of Croy, revenged himself upon him, by whose aid it had been accomplished. To that one little room, high up in the château, was Woodville restricted; no exercise was permitted to him, but the pacing up and down of its narrow limits: no relaxation but to sing snatches of the old ballads of which he was so fond, or to gaze from under the pointed arch of the window over the changing scene below. No one was permitted to see him but his own page, who had been captured with him, and one of the soldiers of the castle; no book existed within the walls; and materials for writing, purchased with difficulty in the town, were only granted him in order to write to the Lord of Vaudemont concerning his ransom.
At first he remonstrated mildly; but when no other answer arrived, but that the Count would think of it, he took another tone, reproached him for his want of courtesy, and reminded him, that though he had surrendered rescue or no rescue, the refusal of reasonable ransom, justified him in making his escape whenever the opportunity might occur.
The Count's reply consisted of but four words, "Escape if you can," and from that hour the guard kept upon him became more strict than before. The weary hours dragged heavily on. Summer succeeded to spring, and autumn to summer, without anything occurring to cheer the lonely vacancy of his captivity, but an occasional rumour, brought by the page or the soldier who acted as jailer, either of the great events which were then agitating Europe, or of efforts made for his own liberation. The reports, however, were all vague and uncertain. He heard of war between France and Burgundy, but could with difficulty obtain any means of judging which party had gained the ascendancy. Then he heard of a new peace, as hollow as those which had preceded it; and with that intelligence came the tidings, which the page gained from the soldiers of the garrison, that a large ransom had been offered for him; but whether by the Duke of Burgundy himself, or the Lord of Croy, he could not correctly ascertain. Next came a rumour of dissensions between France and England, and of a probable war; but none of the particulars could be learnt, except that the demands of Henry V. were in the opinion of the Frenchmen extravagant, and that the greater part of the nation looked forward with delight to an opportunity of wiping away the disgrace of Cressy and Poitiers, and blotting out for ever the treaty of Bretigny.
Oh, what would he have given for his liberty then! All his aspirations for glory and renown, all his hopes of winning praise and advancement, all the dreams of young ambition, all the bright imaginations of love, rose up before him as memories of the dead. Those prison walls were their cold sepulchre, that solitary chamber the tomb of all the energies within him. He had well nigh become frantic with disappointment; but he struggled successfully with the despair of his own thoughts, as every man of a really powerful mind will do. No one can obtain full mastery of the minds of others, without having full mastery of his own. He would not suffer his fancy to dwell upon sad things; he strove to create for himself objects of interest; and from the arched window he made himself acquainted as a friend with every object in the wide-spread scene beneath his eyes. Every church spire, every castle tower, every belt of wood, every stream and every road, every hamlet and every house, for miles around, were described and marked as if he had been mapping the country in his own mind. But it was only that he was seeking for objects of interest; and he found them; and variety too, he found; for every hour and every season brought its change. The varying shadows as day rose or declined; the different hues of summer and of winter, of autumn and of spring; the changeful aspect of the April day; the frowning sublimity of the thunder storm; the cold, stern, desolate gloom of the wintry air, all gave food to nourish fancy with, and from which he extracted thought and occupation.
He had withal, one grand support and consolation: the best after the voice of religion, a conscience clear of offence. He could look back upon the past and say, I have done well. There was no reproach within him for opportunities missed, advantages wasted, or ill deeds done; and often and often, he thought of the first song that poor Ella Brune had sung him, and of that stanza in which she said,
"In hours of pain and grief,If such thou must endure,Thy breast shall know reliefIn honour tried and pure;For the true heart and kind,Its recompence shall find;Shall win praise,And golden days,And live in many a tale."
"In hours of pain and grief,
If such thou must endure,
Thy breast shall know relief
In honour tried and pure;
For the true heart and kind,Its recompence shall find;
Shall win praise,And golden days,
And live in many a tale."
In the meanwhile his treatment varied greatly at different times. Sometimes the Châtelain was harsh and severe, refusing him almost everything that was necessary to his comfort; at others, with the caprice which is so common amongst rude and uncivilized people, he would seem joyous and good-humoured: would visit his prisoner, talk with him, and send him dishes from his own table, permitting many a little alleviation of his grief, which on former occasions he denied. In one of these happier moods he allowed the page to buy his master a cithern, which proved one of the prisoner's greatest comforts and resources; and not long after, in the summer of 1415, a still greater change of conduct took place towards him. His table became supplied with princely liberality; rich wines and dainty meats were daily set before him; and the page was suffered to go at large about the town to procure anything his master might require.
One day the boy returned very much heated with exercise, and moved with what seemed pleasurable feelings; and looking round the room eagerly, he closed the door with care.
"You have tidings, Will," said the young knight, "and joyful tidings, too, or I am mistaken."
"I have better than tidings," replied the boy. "I have a letter. Read it quick, and then hide it. I will go out into the passage, and watch, lest Joachim come up. He was lolling at the foot of the stairs."
Richard of Woodville took the letter from the boy eagerly, and read what was written in the outer cover. The words were few, and in a hand he did not know. "Nothing has been left undone," the writer said, "to set you free. A baron's ransom has been offered for you and refused. The Duke of Burgundy required your liberation as one of the terms of peace, but could not obtain it. The Lord of Croy offered two prisoners of equal rank, and a ransom besides, but did not succeed. But fear not; friends are gathering round you. Be prepared to depart at a moment's notice, and you shall be set free as others have been. The moment you are free, hasten to England; for you have been belied."
Within this was a short letter from Mary Grey, full of tenderness and affection, with words and avowals which she might have scrupled to utter for any other purpose but the generous one of consoling and supporting him she loved, in sorrow and adversity. Beneath her name were written a few words from her father, expressive of more kindness, confidence, and regard, than he had ever previously shown; but he, too, spoke of the young knight's return to England, as absolutely necessary for his own defence; and he too alluded to the rumours against him, without stating what those rumours were.
If there was much to cheer, there was much to distress and grieve; and Woodville paused for several minutes to think over the contents of these letters, and to consider what could be the nature of the calumnies referred to, believing that he had fully refuted the charge of having neglected to obey the King's command to return to England, before he set out on the expedition which had been attended by such an unfortunate result. At length the page looked in, to see if he had done; and Woodville, bidding him shut the door, inquired from whom he had received the letters.
"It was from the young clerk, noble sir," replied the boy, "who was with Sir John Grey at Charleville. I saw a youth in a black gown wandering about the castle gates some days since; and as I stood alone upon the drawbridge, about half an hour ago, he passed me again, and seeing that there was no one there, made me a sign to follow. I walked after him into the church, and then he gave me the letter for you; but bade me tell you to be upon your guard, for that there are enemies near as well as friends. To make sure that you were not deceived, he said, you were to put trust in no one who did not give you the word, 'Mary Markham.'"
"Hark!" cried Woodville, rising and going to the window. "There are trumpets sounding!"
"I heard the Lord of Vaudemont was expected to-day," replied the boy.
"And there he is," said Richard of Woodville, watching a body of horse coming up the hill. "On my honour, if I have speech with him, he shall hear my full thoughts on his discourteous conduct. But now, hie thee away, Will. Seek out this young clerk in the town, and ask if he can convey my answer back to the letters which he brought. I will find means to write if he can."
"Oh, I can find him," replied the boy, "for he told me where he lodged: in the house of a widow woman, named Chatain."
"Away, then!" answered Woodville; "let them not find you here."
When he looked forth from the window again, the young knight could no longer perceive the body of horse he had seen advancing; but the noises which rose up from the court of the castle below, the clang of arms, the gay tones of voices laughing and talking, the word of command, and the shout of the warder, showed him that the party had already arrived. About an hour passed without his hearing more; but then came the sound of steps in the passage; the door opened, and three gentlemen entered, of whom the first was the Count of Vaudemont. The next was a man several years younger; and the third, a stout ill-favoured personage, of nearly fifty years of age. None of them were armed, except with a dagger, usually worn hanging from the waist; and all were dressed in the extravagant style of the French court in that day, with every merely ornamental part of dress exaggerated till it became a monstrosity. Every colour, too, was the brightest that could be found; each contrasted with the other in the most vivid and inharmonious assortment, green and red, amber and blue, pink and yellow, so that each man looked like some gaudy eastern bird new feathered.
The Lord of Vaudemont was evidently in a light and merry mood, or, at least, affected it; for he entered laughing, and at once held out his hand to his prisoner, as if a familiar friend.
Richard of Woodville, however, drew back, saying, "Your pardon, my good lord. I am a captive, for whom ransom has been refused.--You forget!"
"Nay, I remember it well, sir knight," replied the Count, laughing again; "and that you intend to escape. You have not succeeded yet, I see. However, let me set myself right with you on that head. 'Tis not I who refuse your ransom. 'Tis my lord, the Duke of Aquitaine, who will not have you set free just yet, so that I risk my angels if you have wit enough to find your way out. His commands, however, are express, and I must obey. My lord the Duke of Orleans, here present, will witness for me, as well as my lord of Armagnac, that I would far rather have your gold in my purse, where it is much needed, than your person in Montl'herry, where it could be well spared."
The young knight regarded the famous nobles, of whom he had heard so much, with no slight interest; and the Duke of Orleans, drawing a settle to the table, leaned his head upon his arm in a thoughtful attitude, saying, "It is quite true, sir; but perhaps that may be remedied ere long. If you be willing to renounce the cause of Burgundy, and agree to serve no more against the crown of France, the difficulty may be removed."
"I have no purpose, sir, to ride for that good lord, the Duke, any more," answered Richard of Woodville; "I did but seek his Court to win honour and renown; but now I am called to England by many motives, so that I may well promise not to serve with him again; but if your proposal goes farther, and you would have me give my knightly word, not to fight for my Sovereign against any power on earth where he may need my arm, I must at once say no. I am his vassal, and will do my duty according to my oath, whenever he shall call upon me. He is my liege lord; and--"
"There are some Englishmen, and not a few," said the Count of Armagnac, in a harsh and grating tone of voice, "who do not hold him to be such, but rather an usurper. Edmund, Earl of March, is your liege lord, young knight."
"He has never claimed that title, noble sir," answered Richard of Woodville; "and indeed, has renounced it, by swearing allegiance himself to his great cousin."
"Compulsion, all compulsion," said the Duke of Orleans; "we shall yet see him on the throne of England."
"I trust not, my lord the Duke," answered the English knight; "but if the plea of compulsion can, in your eyes, justify the breach of an oath, how could you expect me to keep a promise made, not to serve against this crown of France, here in a prison?"
"But why say you, that you trust not to see him on the throne?" asked the Count of Armagnac, evading the part of Woodville's reply which he would have found difficult to answer. "He is surely a noble and courteous gentleman, full of high virtues."
"Far inferior in all to his royal cousin," answered the knight; "but it is not on that account alone I say so, but for many reasons. We Englishmen believe that our crown is held by somewhat different rights from yours of France. At the coronations of our kings, we by our free voices confirm them on their throne. The people of England have a say in the question of a monarch's title; and without that recognition they are not kings of England. To our present sovereign, the nobles of the land offered their homage ere the crown was placed upon his brow; but he, as wise in this as in all else, would receive none till he was proclaimed King, not by a herald's trumpet, but by the tongues of Englishmen. Besides, I say, I trust I shall never see the Earl of March wearing the English crown, because I hope never to see an honourable nobleman forget his oath, nor a perjured monarch on the throne."
"And yet your fourth Harry forgot his," said the Duke of Orleans.
"Not till intolerable wrongs and base injustice drove him to it," answered the knight; "not till the monarch so far forgot his compact with the subject, as to free him from remembrance of his part of the obligation. Besides, I was then a boy; I found a sovereign reigning by the voice of the people; to him I pledged my first oath of fealty. I have since pledged it to his son; and I will keep it."
The two Counts and the Duke looked at each other with a significant glance; and after a moment's consideration, the Count of Vaudemont changed the subject, saying, "Well, good knight, such are your thoughts. We may judge differently. But say, how have you fared lately? I heard that our worthy Châtelain here had been somewhat harsh with you, resolving that you should not play him such a trick as the boy of Croy; and I ordered that such treatment should be amended. Has it been done? I would not have you used unworthily."
"It has been done in some points, my lord," replied Richard of Woodville, "but not in all."
"Nay, good faith, with warning from your own lips that you sought to escape," answered the Count, "he was right not to relax on all points."
"But some he might have relaxed, yet held me safe," rejoined the young knight. "I have been cut off from all means of holding any communion with my friends, though it was most needful that I should urge them to offer what terms might find favour for my liberation. I have been kept more like some felon subject of this land, than a fair prisoner of war."
"Nay, that must be changed," said the Duke of Orleans; "such was not your intention, I am sure, De Vaudemont?"
"By no means, noble Duke," answered the Count. "I will take order that it be so no more. You shall have liberty to write to whom you will, sir knight; and, indeed, having a courier going soon to England, you will have the means right soon, if you will, of sending letters. I have heard," he added with a laugh, "that there is a certain noble gentleman of the name of Grey, with whom you have some dear relations--much in King Henry's confidence, if I mistake not. Perchance, were he to use his influence with that Prince, something might be done to mitigate the Dauphin's sternness. We are still negotiating with England, though, by my faith, these preparations at Southampton, and this purchase of vessels from the Hollanders, looks more warlike than one might have wished."
"If my liberation, noble Count, depends on Sir John Grey's using his influence for ought but his Sovereign's interests," replied Richard of Woodville, "I fear I shall be long a captive. However, to him will be, perchance, my only letter; for he can communicate with other friends."
"Do as you will, noble lords," cried the Count of Armagnac, who had been sitting silent for some time, gnawing his nail in gloomy meditation; "but were I you I would suffer no such letters to pass. They will but tend to counteract all that you desire. Here you have in your hands one of the hearty enemies of France: that is clear from every word,--one who, at all risks, would urge his sovereign to deeds of hostility against us, when we are already wrung by internal discord. Why should you suffer him to pour such poison into the hearts of his countrymen?"
"Nay, nay," replied the Count of Vaudemont; "my word is given, and I cannot retract it. We are less harsh than you, my lord, and doubt not that this noble knight will say nothing against the cause of those who grant him this permission."
"On no such subjects will I treat, sirs," answered Richard of Woodville; "the matter of my letter will be simple enough, my own liberation being all the object."
"You must be quick, however," said the Lord of Vaudemont; "for, at morning song, to-morrow, the messenger departs."
The young knight replied that his letters would be ready in an hour, and the three noblemen withdrew for a moment; but he could hear that they continued speaking together in the passage; and the next instant, the Duke of Orleans and the Count of Armagnac returned. "We cannot suffer long letters, sir knight," said the latter, as soon as he entered; "if all you wish is to treat for your ransom, and to induce your friends to exert themselves for your liberation, you can send messages by word of mouth, which we can hear and judge of."
"But how will my friends know that such messages really come from me?" demanded Woodville, with deep mortification.
"Why," replied the Count, after a moment's thought, "you may send a few words in the French tongue, in our presence--for we have heard of inks and inventions which escape the eye of all but the persons for whom they are intended--you may send a few words, I say, merely telling the gentlemen to whom you write, to give credit to what the bearer shall speak."
Woodville paused and meditated; but then, having formed his resolution, he replied, "Well, my good lord, if better may not be, so will I do. Send me the messenger when you will, and I will give him the credentials required."
"Call him now, my fair Lord of Armagnac," said the Duke of Orleans, with a significant look. "He is below."
The count soon reappeared with a stout, plain-looking man, habited as a soldier; and Woodville, after inquiring if he had ever been in England before, and finding that such was not the case, gave him directions for seeking out Sir John Grey in Winchester, from which town the letters that had been conveyed to him were dated. He then gave him messages to Mary's father; and, pointing out that it would be better to lose any amount of money, rather than remain longer in prison, he besought the knight to borrow a sum for him, to the value of one-half of his estates, and offer it to the Lord of Vaudemont as his ransom, adding, somewhat bitterly, "Tell the good knight that I find, in France, the fine old spirit of chivalry is at an end, which led each noble gentleman to fix at once a reasonable ransom for an honourable prisoner, and that nothing but an excessive sum will gain a captive's liberty."
The Duke of Orleans frowned, but made no observation in reply, merely speaking a few words in a low tone to the Count of Armagnac, who went to the door and called aloud for a strip of parchment and some ink.
What he required was soon brought; and he laid before the young knight a narrow slip, not large enough to contain more than a sentence or two, saying, "There, fair sir, you can write in the usual form, as follows,"
Richard of Woodville took the pen and addressed the letter at the top to Sir John Grey: the Duke of Orleans coming round and looking over his shoulder, while the Count of Armagnac stood on the opposite side of the table, and dictated what he was to write.
"You can say," he proceeded, "'These are to beg of you, by your love and regard for me, to hear and believe what the bearer will tell you on my part;' and then put your name."
Richard of Woodville wrote as he directed, word for word, till he came to the conclusion, but then, he added rapidly, "touching my ransom," and affixed his signature so close, that nothing could be interpolated.
"What, have you written more?" cried the Count, whose eye was fixed upon his hand.
"Touching my ransom," said the Duke of Orleans, gazing across. The Count snatched up the parchment, and read it with a frowning brow, as if angry that his dictation had not been exactly followed; and then, beckoning to the Duke of Orleans and the messenger, he hurried abruptly out of the room. The door was not yet shut by the inferior person, who went out last, when the young prisoner heard the Count of Armagnac say to the Duke, in a low growling tone, "This will not do."
"Let me see," said the voice of the Lord of Vaudemont, who had apparently been waiting behind the door. A blasphemous oath followed; and Richard of Woodville heard no more; but a smile crossed his countenance, for they had evidently sought to use him for some secret purpose of their own, and had been frustrated.
A month had passed, and Richard of Woodville sat alone in his solitary chamber, on a dark and stormy night, towards the end of September, reading by the glimmering lamp-light, a book which had been procured for him in the town by his page. The rain blew, the wind whistled, the small panes of glass in the casement rattled and shook, and the howling of the breeze, as it swept round the old tower, seemed full of melancholy thoughts. His own imaginations were heavy and desponding enough--and he eagerly strove to withdraw his attention, both from the voice of the storm without, and from the dark images that rose up in his own heart. But he could not govern his mind as he desired; and still from the pages of the book, he would lift his eyes, and gazing into vacancy revolve every point in his fate, gaining, alas! nothing but fresh matter for sad reflection. He had seen no more of the Count de Vaudemont, the Duke of Orleans, or the Count of Armagnac, and had learned that they had quitted Montl'herry early on the day following that during which he had received their visit. He little heeded their departure, indeed, or desired to see them; for he felt convinced that their only object had been to make a tool of him for secret purposes of their own; and that, disappointed therein, they were in no degree disposed to show him favour, or even to listen to just remonstrance.
What grieved and depressed him more, was the unaccountable disappearance of the young clerk who had brought him the letters from Sir John Grey, but who had been no more seen by the page, after the arrival of the Count de Vaudemont in the town. The boy inquired at the widow's where the clerk had lodged, and was told he had left the place: and no farther trace could be discovered of the course he had pursued, or whither he had turned his steps. The distracted state of the country, indeed, the young knight thought, might have scared the novice away; for the page brought him daily reports of strange events taking place around, of factions, strife, and bloodshed, in almost every province of France, and of rumours that daily grew in strength and consistency, of foreign wars being speedily added to the miseries of the land. Large bodies of armed men passed through the town at different times; the garrison of the castle was diminished to swell the forces preparing for some unexplained enterprise; and the Châtelain himself was called to lead them to the field.
But a stricter guard was kept upon the prisoner than ever. Of the scanty band that remained in the castle, one always remained in arms at his door; and another was stationed at the foot of the stairs. Night and day he was closely watched; and the page himself was not permitted to go in and out, except at certain hours. All chance of escape seemed removed; and bitterly did Richard of Woodville ponder upon the prospect of long captivity, at the very time when, under other circumstances, opportunity must have occurred for the exertion of all those energies by which he had fondly hoped to win glory, station, and renown.
He struggled hard against such thoughts, and all the bitterness they brought with them; and, after indulging them for a few minutes, turned ever to the page of the book he was reading, and laboured through the crabbed lines of the ill-written manuscript; finding perhaps as much interest in making out the words as in their sense. It was after one of the fits of meditation we have spoken of, that he thus again applied himself to read, and turned over several pages carelessly, to see what would come next in the dull old romaunt, when, suddenly he saw a fresher page than any of the others, and found upon it, written in English, and in a different hand from the rest, but in lines of equal length, so as to deceive a careless eye, and lead to a belief that the words were but a continuation of the poem, the following warning and intelligence:
"Be prepared. Lie not down to rest. Take not off your clothes. King Henry is in France. The Earl of Cambridge, the Lord Scrope, and Sir Thomas Grey, have been executed for treason. Harfleur has been taken; and the King is marching on through the land."
There ended the lines, and the young knight, closing the book, started up and clasped his hands with agitation and surprise. "Harfleur taken, and I not there!" he cried. "This is bitter, indeed! I shall go mad if they do not free me soon--Sir Thomas Grey! surely it cannot be written by mistake. I remember one Sir Thomas Grey, a powerful knight of Northumberland. The Lord Scrope, too; why, he was the King's chamberlain! What can all this mean? Prepared--I will be prepared, indeed. Hark, they are changing the guard at the door. I must not let them see me thus agitated, if they look in;" and seating himself again, he opened the book and seemed to read.
No one came near, however, for another hour, and Richard of Woodville gathered together all that might be needful in case his escape should be more near than he ventured to hope--the little stock of money that remained, a few jewels, and trinkets of gold and silver, and a dagger which he had kept concealed since his capture; for the rest of his arms and his armour had been taken from him as fair spoil. After this was done, he sat and watched; but all was silent in the château, except when the guard at his door rose and paced up and down the passage, or hummed a verse or two of some idle song to while away the hours.
At length, however, after a long, dead pause, he heard a whisper; and then the bolt of the door was undrawn without, and rising quietly, he gazed towards it as it opened. The only figure that presented itself was that of the guard, whom he had often seen before, and noticed as apparently a gay, good-humoured man, who treated him civilly, and asked after health in a kindly tone whenever he had occasion to visit him. The man's face was now grave, and Woodville thought a little anxious, and besides his own arms, he bore in his hand a sheathed sword with its baldric, and a large coil of rope upon his arm. Without uttering a word, he crossed the chamber, came close up to the young knight, and put the sword in his hands. Then advancing to the window, he opened it, fastened one end of the rope tight to the iron bar which ran up the centre of the casement, and suffered the other to drop gently down on the outside. Richard of Woodville gazed with some interest at this proceeding, as may be supposed. In the state of his mind at that moment, no means of escape could seem too desperate for him to adopt; and although he doubted that the rope, though strong, would bear his weight, he resolved to make the attempt, notwithstanding the tremendous height of the window from the ground.
Approaching the man, he whispered, "Would it not be better for you to turn the rope round the bar and let me down? My hands have been so long in prison, that I doubt their holding their grasp very tightly."
The man merely waved his finger and shook his head, without reply, finished what he was about, and, taking from the table one of the gloves which the young knight had worn under his gauntlets, much to the spectator's surprise, dropped it out of the window.
"Now come with me," he whispered; "it is needful for us who stay behind, to have it thought for a day or two that you have made your escape without help. The demoiselle has paid us half the money, as she promised; and we will keep our word with her. There shall no danger attend you. We have better means of getting you out than breaking your neck by a fall from the casement."
"But you were to give me a word," said Richard of Woodville.
"Ay," answered the man, "I recollect: it was Mary Markham--Follow me."
Without hesitation, the prisoner accompanied him; but paused for an instant in some surprise on finding two armed men at the back of the door, one holding a lamp in his hand. The guard who was with him, however, took no notice; but, receiving the lamp from the other, led the way in a different direction from the staircase up which Woodville had been brought, when first he was conducted to his chamber of captivity. Then opening a door on the right, he entered a room, in the wall of which appeared a low archway, exposing to the eye, as the light flashed forward, the top of a steep, small staircase.
"I will go down first with the lamp," whispered the man, "that you may see where you are going. Give a heed to your footing, too, for it is mighty slippery, especially on such a damp night as this."
Thus saying, he led the way; and Richard of Woodville followed down the winding steps, cut apparently in the thickness of the wall. Green mould and clammy slime hung upon all the stones as they descended, except where, every here and there, a loophole admitted the free air of heaven and chased the damp away. The steps seemed interminable, one after another, one after another, till Woodville became sure that they were descending to a greater depth than the mere base of the castle; and, looking round, as the lamplight gleamed upon the walls, he beheld no more the hewn stone work which had appeared above, but the rough excavation of the solid rock. At length the steps ceased, as passing along a vault of masonry, perhaps forty or fifty feet long, the man unbolted and unbarred a small but solid door covered with iron plates; and in a moment the lamp was extinguished by the blast from without. All seemed dark and impenetrable to the eye; the wind roared through the vault; the rain dashed in the faces of Woodville and his companion; but, giving the lamp an oath, as if it had been to blame for what the storm had done, the man set it down behind the door, and then walked on, saying, "Keep close to me, for it is steep here."
Following down a little path as the man led, the young knight's eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, and he thought he descried, at a short distance, a group of men and horses standing under a light feathery tree. Hurrying on, with eager hope, he demanded of his guide who the persons were whom he saw before him.
"Your saucy page is one," said the guard; "but who the others are I do not know. The young clerk, I suppose, is one, and his servant the other; for I dare say the demoiselle would not come out on such a night as this, and faith, I cannot well see whether they be men or women in this light;" and he shaded his eyes with his hands, with very needless precaution, where scarcely a ray pierced the welkin.
At that moment, however, one of the figures moved towards him, asking, "Is all right?"
"All, all," answered the guard; "have you brought the rest of the money, master clerk? Here stands the prisoner free; so my part of the bargain is done."
"And there is the rest of the gold, good fellow," replied the other speaker; "all right money, and well counted."
"Ay, I must take it on your word," said the man who had brought Woodville thither, "my lamp has been blown out; but I may well trust you; for the other half was full tale and a piece over."
"That was for chaffage," replied the youth; "and if this noble knight gets safe to the King's camp, you shall have a hundred pieces more; so go, and keep his escape, and the way he has taken, as secret as possible."
"That I will, for mine own sake," answered the soldier; "or I should soon know gibbet and cord. Good night, good night!" and waving his hand, he turned away, while the young clerk addressed Woodville, saying, "You must put yourself under my guidance, noble sir, for a few hours, and then we shall be safe."
"I have much to thank you for, young gentleman," answered Woodville, following, as the other hurried on to the horses; and in a few minutes the knight, his page, the clerk, and the clerk's servant were on their way. But to Woodville's surprise, instead of taking any of the by-roads that led on through the country to remote villages and hamlets, they followed the direct high road towards Paris, which he had gazed upon for many a day from his solitary chamber in the tower.
After proceeding some way in silence, without hearing any sounds which could lead them to believe that the knight's escape had been discovered, and that they were pursued, Woodville endeavoured to gain some information from the clerk of Sir John Grey, as to the means which had been taken to effect his liberation, and more particularly, as to the lady who had been mentioned by the guard.
On the latter point the youth replied not; and on the former he merely said, "The means were very simple, noble knight, and you yourself saw some of them employed. Money, which unlocks all doors, was the key of your prison. The man who refuses ransom to a captive, had better see that he guard him sure; for that which is a small sum to him, may be a great one to a gaoler, and one quarter of the amount offered for your redemption, served to set you free. But I think, sir," he added, "we had better speak as little as possible upon any head, till we have passed the capital, for the tongue of an escaped prisoner, like the track of gore to the bloodhound, often brings him within the fangs of his pursuers."
Richard of Woodville judged the caution too wise not to be followed; and on they rode in silence at a brisk pace, with the wind blowing, and the rain dashing against them, through the darkness of the night, for somewhat more than two hours, following the broad and open road all the way, till the young knight thought they must be approaching Paris. More than once, indeed, he fancied that he caught a glimpse of some large dark mass before him; and imagination shaped towers and pinnacles in the black obscurity of night; but at length the clerk's man, who seemed to act as guide, pronounced the words, "To the left!" and striking into a narrower, though still well beaten path, they soon came upon a river, flowing on dull and heavy, but with a glistening light, in the midst of its dark banks, which they followed for some way, till a bridge presented itself, which they crossed, and then, turning a little to the right again, continued their course without drawing a rein, till the faint grey streaks of morning began to appear in the east.
Shortly after, a bell was heard ringing slowly, apparently at no great distance; and the young clerk said aloud, with a sigh of relief, "Thank God!"
"You are fatigued, young gentleman, with this long stormy ride, I fear?" said Richard of Woodville.
"A little," was the only reply; and in a few minutes they stopped at the gate of a small walled building, bearing the aspect of some inferior priory of a religious house. The bell was still ringing when they approached; but the door was closed; and the clerk and his attendant dismounted and knocked for admission. A board was almost immediately withdrawn from behind a grating of iron, about a palm in breadth and twice as much in length, and a voice demanded, "Who are you?"
"Bourgogne," replied the clerk; and instantly the door was opened without further inquiry. The arrival of the party seemed to have been expected; for two men, not dressed in monastic habits, took the horses without further inquiry; a monk addressed himself to Woodville, and bade him follow; and, before he could ask any questions, he and his companions were led in different directions, the one to one part of the building, and the others to another.
With the same celerity and taciturnity, his guide introduced him to a small but comfortable chamber, provided him with all that he could require, and bidding him strip off his wet clothes, and lie down to rest in peace, returned with a cup of warm spiced wine, "to chase the damp out of his marrow," as he termed it. The young knight drained it willingly, and then would fain have asked the old man some questions; but the only information he could gain imported, that he was at Triel, the old man always replying, "To bed, to bed, and sleep. You can talk when you have had rest."
Woodville finding he could obtain no other answer, followed his counsel: and, wearied with such a journey after a long period of inactivity, but with a heart lightened by the feeling that he was free, he had hardly laid his limbs on the pallet before he was asleep.
The only true calm and happy sleep that man can ever obtain, is given by the heart at ease. Slumber, deep, profound, and heavy, may be obtained by fatigue of body or of mind; but even those great and tranquil spirited men, of whom it is recorded that, at any time, they could lie down, banish thought and care, and obtain repose in the most trying circumstances, must have gained the power, from that consciousness of having done all to ensure success in the course before them that human wisdom can achieve, or by that confidence in the resources within, which are the chief lighteners of the load of life.
Richard of Woodville slept soundly, but it was heavily. It was the sleep of weariness, not of peace. His mind was agitated even during slumber, with many of the subjects which might well press for attention in the circumstances in which he was placed; and unbridled fancy hurried him through innumerable dreams. Now he saw her he loved standing at the altar with another; and when the figure turned its face towards him, he beheld Simeon of Roydon. Then he stood in the presence of the King; and Henry, with a frowning brow, turned to an executioner, with the countenance of Sir Henry Dacre, but gigantic limbs, and ordered him to strike off the prisoner's head. Then came Isabel Beauchamp to plead for his life; and suddenly, as the King was turning away, a pale shadowy form, through which he could see the figures on the arras behind, appeared before the monarch, and he recognised the spirit of the murdered Catherine. Old times were strangely mingled with the thoughts of the present; and sometimes he was a boy again; sometimes still a prisoner in the castle of Montl'herry: sometimes in the court of a strange prince, receiving high rewards for some imaginary service. He heard voices, too, as well as saw sights; and the words rang in his ears,
For the true heart and kind,Its recompence shall find;Shall win praise.And golden days,And live in many a tale.
For the true heart and kind,Its recompence shall find;
Shall win praise.And golden days,
And live in many a tale.
At length when he had slept long, he suddenly started and raised himself upon his arm, for some one touched him; and looking round he saw the clerk with his black hood still drawn far over his head, and the page who had been his fellow captive, standing by the side of the pallet.
"You must be up and away, sir knight," said the young clerk, in the sweet musical tones of youth. "In an hour, a party of the Canonesses of Cambray, who arrived at noon under the escort of a body of my Lord of Charolois' men-at-arms,[12]are to depart for Amiens, and you and your page can ride forward with them. I must here leave your fair company; for I have other matters to attend to for my good lord."
"But I shall see you again, young sir, I trust?" said Woodville; "I owe you guerdon, as well as thanks and deep gratitude."
"I have only done my duty, noble knight," replied the clerk; "but we shall soon meet again; for I suppose your first task will be to seek Sir John Grey, who is with the King; and I shall not be long absent from him,--so fare you well, sir."
"But where am I to find him?" demanded Woodville; "remember I am in utter ignorance of all that has happened."
"Nor do I know much," answered the clerk. "Rumour is my only source of information; for I have been cut off from all direct communication for many weeks. The only certainty is, that King Henry and his friends are now in France; that Harfleur surrendered a few weeks ago, and that he is marching through the land with banners displayed. You will hear of him as you go; and as soon as you know which way his steps are bent, you can hasten to join him. But ere you discover yourself to any one else, seek out Sir John Grey, and take counsel with him, for false reports have been spread concerning you, and no one can tell how the King's mind may be affected."
"But tell me, at least, before you go," said Richard of Woodville, "who was the lady spoken of by the man who aided my escape at Montl'herry; and also, who it is that has generously paid the high sums which were doubtless demanded for my deliverance?"
"In truth, noble sir," replied the clerk, "I must not stay to answer you; for the people with whom I go are waiting for me; and I must depart immediately. You will know all hereafter in good time. It was the Lord of Croy who furnished the money needful. Now, fare you well, and Heaven give you guidance!"
Thus saying, he departed, without waiting for farther question; and Richard of Woodville rising, dressed himself in haste in the same clothes which he had worn the day before, but which he now found carefully dried and ready for his use.
"I must have slept sound, boy," he said, speaking to the page, who remained beside him; "for I do not think that at any other time my clothes could have been taken away from my bed side, and I not know it."
"You did sleep sound, sir knight," replied the page, laughing; "and talked in your sleep, moreover, while we were looking at you. But I can tell you who the lady was at Montl'herry, if you must needs know, as well as the clerk, for I saw her once speaking with the guard."
"Say, say!" cried Richard of Woodville, impatiently. "I would fain know, for she must be in peril, if left behind."
"Why, it was the fair demoiselle," answered the page, "who went with us from Nieuport to Ghent. I caught but a glimpse of her, indeed; but that bright face is not easily forgotten when once it has been seen."
"And yet I never thought of her!" murmured Richard of Woodville to himself: "poor girl, her deep gratitude would have merited better remembrance. Why smile you, boy? Every honourable man is bound to recollect all who trust him, and all who serve him."
"Nay, sir," replied the page, resuming a grave look, "I did but smile to think how often ladies remember knights and gentlemen, when they are themselves forgot."
"A sad comment on the baseness of man's nature," answered Woodville; "let it never be so with you, boy. Now, see for the old monk; my purse is very empty, but I would not that he should call me niggard."
Some minutes passed before the page returned; but when he appeared he came not alone, nor empty handed, for the old man was with him who had conducted the fugitive to his chamber the night before; and the one carried a large bottle and a tin cup, while the other was loaded with a pasty and a loaf of brown bread. Such refreshment was very acceptable to the young knight; but the good monk hurried him at his meal, telling him that his party were waiting for him; and, finishing the repast as soon as possible, Woodville rose and put a piece of gold into his good purveyor's hand, saying, "That for your house, father. Now I am ready."
On going out into the little court between the priory and the abbey, he found some twelve or fourteen men mounted; and at the call of the monk who accompanied him, a party of six Canonesses and two novices, all closely veiled, came forth from the little lodge by the gate. They were soon upon the mules which stood ready for them; but the good ladies eyed with an inquiring glance the young stranger who was about to join their party; and one of them, as she marked the knightly spurs he wore, turned to her companions, and made some observation which created a light-hearted laugh amongst those around. The moment after, they issued forth from the gates, and rode on at a quick pace in the direction of Gisors.
The day was evidently far advanced, but the sun, though somewhat past his meridian, was still very powerful, so that the horses were distressed with the heat. The commander of the men-at-arms, however, would permit no relaxation of their speed, much to the annoyance of the fair Canonesses, who had every inclination to amuse the tedious moments of the journey by chattering with the young knight, and the other persons who escorted them. In reply to their remonstrances, the leader told them that if they did not make haste, they would get entangled between the two armies, and then worse might come of it.
"Besides," he said, "we have strict orders from our lord the Duke to take part with neither French nor English; and it would be a hard matter to fall in with either, and not strike one stroke for the honour of our arms."
Judging from his reply that he must have some knowledge of the relative position of the two hosts, Richard of Woodville endeavoured to gain intelligence from him, as to both the events which had lately taken place in France, and those which were likely to follow; but the man seemed sullen, and unwilling to communicate with his companion of the way, replying to all questions merely by a monosyllable, or by the assertion that he did not know.
Thus passed by hour after hour, during their first and second day's journey, which brought them to the small town of Breteuil. They had hitherto paused either for the purpose of seeking repose, or of taking refreshment, at religious houses only; but at Breteuil they took up their lodging for the night at the inn of the place, which they found vacant of all guests. The town, too, as they entered it, seemed melancholy and nearly deserted; but the tongue of the good host made up for the stillness which reigned around; and from him Richard of Woodville discovered that the apparent abandonment of the place by its inhabitants was caused partly by the dread which some of the more wealthy townsmen had felt on the near approach of several large detachments of English troops, and partly by the zeal of the younger portion of the population, which had led them to proceed in arms to join the royal standard raised against the invaders. From him, too, the young knight found that the King of England, at the head of his army, was marching rapidly up the Somme, in order to force the passage of that river, but that, as all the fords were strictly guarded, and French troops in immense multitudes were gathering on the opposite bank, it was scarcely possible that many days could pass without a battle.
"'Twas but yesterday at this hour," said the host, "that news reached the town that a fight had taken place at Fremont; and then, this morning we heard it was all false, and that the English King has not yet passed the river."
"Where was he when last you heard of him?" demanded Richard of Woodville, taking care to use the French tongue, which he spoke with less accent, perhaps, than most of the inhabitants of distant provinces.
"Oh, he was at Bauvillers," answered the landlord of the hostel, "and he wont get much farther without fighting, I fancy; for he has got St. Quentin on his right, and our people before him. Heaven send that he may not march back again; for then, he would come right through Breteuil; and we are poor enough without being pillaged by those vagabond English. I wonder your Duke does not come to the King's help, with all his gallant men-at-arms, for then these proud islanders would be caught in a net, and could not get out."
"It is a wonder," answered Richard of Woodville. "But, hark! and, as he listened, he heard two sweet voices talking in the hall, in a tongue that sounded like English to his ear.
"I am sure of it," said the one, "and if it be so, I beseech you own it. My heart beat so, I can scarcely speak; but, I say again, I am sure of it; and that if you will, you have the power not alone to punish the guilty, for that, perhaps, you may not desire--"
"Yes I do," replied the other, in a somewhat sharper tone; "and in my own good time, I will do it."
"To punish the guilty, the time is your own," replied the first voice; "but, to save the innocent from utter destruction, there is no time but the present."
"Ha! you must tell me more," said the second, in a tone of surprise; "from utter destruction, did you say? Let us to our chamber. There we can speak at ease."
Richard of Woodville heard no more; but what he did hear cast him into deep thought; and when the next morning they again set out upon their journey, he gazed with an inquiring eye at the Canonesses and their companions--and, mingling in their conversation, endeavoured to discover if the voices which he had heard were to be distinguished amongst them. They all laughed and talked gaily with him, however, in the French tongue; and he came to the conclusion, that though the host had assured him the inn was vacant when he and his party arrived, some other guests must have passed the night within its walls.
On their way during this day, he remarked that the leader of the men-at-arms inquired often and anxiously, in every town and village, for news of the two armies. Little information did he gain, except from vague reports; but some of these, it would appear, induced him to alter his course towards Amiens, and strike off to the right, in the direction of Peronne. The young knight had not been inattentive to everything that was said, and he heard that the King of France, and all his nobility, were certainly gathered together in the direction of Bapaume, while the rumour grew stronger and more strong, that the English army had effected the passage of the Somme at some unguarded ford, in the neighbourhood of St. Quentin, and was boldly marching on towards Calais.
Such tidings, as the reader may well suppose, caused not a little agitation in the mind of the young soldier. Apprehension, lest a battle should be fought and he be absent, was certainly the predominant sensation; but, still he had to ask himself, even if he arrived in time, where arms were to be procured, and a horse fit to bear him through such a strife as that which was likely to take place? The beast he rode, though swift and enduring, was far too lightly formed to carry a knight equipped according to the fashion of that day; and no weapons of any kind did he possess, but the dagger which he had retained when captured.
It seemed clear to him, also, that the leader of the Burgundian men-at-arms, had, in common with most of his countrymen, a strong inclination to take part with the French, who were naturally considered as kinsmen and allies, against the English, who were looked upon as strangers and enemies; and he felt convinced that the soldier's course had been altered in the hope, that, by falling in with the troops of the King of France, he might find a fair excuse for disobeying the more politic orders of his Prince, and take a share in the approaching combat.
Such thoughts brought with them some doubts of his own safety; and assuredly the dull, taciturn, and repulsive demeanour of the commander of the troop, was not calculated to win confidence. It was evident, however, that orders--which he trusted would meet with some respect--had been laid upon his sullen companion, to treat him with deference, and attend to his comfort and convenience; for, at every place where they stopped by the way, the best chamber, after their fair charge had been attended to, was assigned to himself; and it was not without permission that the men-at-arms sat down to the same table with him, affecting much to reverence his knightly rank.
At length, after a long and hard day's ride, the party reached Peronne, on the evening of the second day after quitting Breteuil; and as they approached the gates, the young knight's confidence was somewhat restored, by the leader of the men-at-arms riding up to his side, and saying, in a low tone, "I pray you, sir knight, be careful here, and give no hint of your being an Englishman; for we are coming on dangerous ground."
"I will be careful, my good friend," replied Richard of Woodville; "and to say the truth, if we can discover where the King of England is, it may be as well for me to quit your party soon, as I may bring danger upon you for no purpose."
"We shall soon near more," replied the soldier, "but you had better be beyond the walls of Peronne, before you part from us."
The scantiness of the band, and the title of Burgundian soldiers, soon obtained admission for the little party; but all was found in a state of bustle and activity within the town; and every tongue was full of the late passage of the King of England, at a short distance from the place. Great was the bravado of the inhabitants, who universally declared, that they wished he had sat down before their walls, to afford them an opportunity of showing what glorious deeds they would have performed; and all spoke of the condition of the English troops as lamentable, and their fate sealed. The approaching battle was looked forward to as a certain triumph for the arms of France, and rather as a great slaughter of a flying enemy, than a conflict with a powerful force. The very monks of the monastery where the men-at-arms received entertainment, while the Canonesses were lodged in the adjoining nunnery, were full of the same martial spirit; and a few years earlier, it is probable, their superior would have put himself in armour to aid in the destruction of the foe. Frequently was Richard of Woodville appealed to as a knight, to pronounce upon the likelihood of King Henry surrendering at discretion; and some difficulty had he so to shape his answers as to escape suspicion.
From the conversation which took place, however, he learned that his own sovereign was in the neighbourhood of a small town at no great distance; and he resolved, as soon as he was free from the walls of Peronne, to hurry thither without any farther delay. He ventured, during the evening, to issue forth for a short time into the city, in the hope of being able to purchase arms: but scarcely any were to be found in the town: and such had been the demand for good armour, that the price had risen far beyond his scanty means. All that he could afford to buy was a strong, well-tempered sword of a somewhat antique form, which he found in the shop of an armourer; and even for that the price demanded was enormous.
Returning to the monastery, he soon escaped from a sort of conversation that was by no means pleasant to his ear, by retiring to rest; and though for some time he did not sleep, yet when slumber did visit his eyelids, she came soft and balmy. The troubled thoughts died away--the anxious questioning of the unsatisfied mind ceased--the wild throbbing of the eager heart for the coming of the undeveloped hours, found repose; and he woke calm and refreshed with the first dawn of day, to meet whatever might be in store, with a spirit prepared and ready, and a body reinvigorated by the alternation of exertion and rest.
The monastery was one of those, not at all uncommon in those days, in which the vow of seclusion did not by any means exclude contrivances for enjoying at least some communion with the world. It was not surrounded by stern walls, and a large wing of the building rested upon the street, with windows small and high up indeed, and only lighting the chambers appropriated to the use of visitors, but which often afforded the monks themselves an excellent view of what was passing in the town without. In dressing himself with as much care as circumstances would permit, Richard of Woodville approached one of these narrow casements, and gazed out upon the gay scene that was enacted below; and, though so early, multitudes of people were to be seen passing along. While some stood for a moment gossiping with their neighbours, some were hurrying forward to their busy day, and others pausing to watch a considerable body of men-at-arms, who, in somewhat bad array, and without the display of much soldier-like order, came down from a house farther up.
When he saw them at a distance, the young knight's first thought was, "If all the French troops are like these, it will be no very difficult task to win a field of them." But as the troop came on, and the three leaders riding in front, passed under the window, he was struck by the arms of one of them who appeared in the middle. He could have sworn that the armour in which the knight was habited was familiar to his eye; and it must be recollected that the ornaments which covered the harness of a man-at-arms in those days were rarely the same, so that means of identification were always at hand, such as we do not possess in the present times. But there, before his eyes, if he could believe their testimony, was the identical suit which had been sent to him by good Sir Philip Beauchamp, shortly before he left the shores of England. There were the fan-shaped palettes, with the quaint gilt figures in the corners, and the upturned pauldrons with the edge of gold, and the bacinet shaped like a globe, with the enamelled plate on the forehead bearing "Ave, Maria!"
There could be no doubt that it was the same; and Woodville's brow knit for a moment, and his teeth closed tight. But the next instant he smiled again, asking half aloud, "How could a prisoner of near two years escape pillage? If I meet you in the field, my friend, I will have that harness back again for Mary's sake, or I will lie low."
Thus saying, he resumed his toilet, and the troop passed on. A moment after, he heard a voice singing, and turning to the window again he looked out. The sounds did not come from below; but there was a large projecting mass of building, with loopholes on the three sides, which protruded into the street on his right; and it seemed to him that the sounds came thence. He listened, and caught some of the words; but every now and then they died away in the cadence of a wild French air of the period, but those he could distinguish seemed so well suited to his situation at the time, that he strove eagerly to hear more:--