[*] The local name for newcomers or "foreigners" from the mainland to the Isle of Wight."If only that right hardy knight Sir George Lisle of Briddlesford, old Sir William's son, were in these parts now," said the first speaker."I never heard tell of him," replied the other."Why should you, comrade? 'Tis many years since he's been heard of. There's some as said he were lately come over with the Lord Lincoln to Stoke field, and died there in harness, fighting with his face to the foe, by the side of the Lord Geraldine, Captain Martin Swartz, Sir Thomas Broughton, and all those lusty Allemaynes who gave us such hard knocks ere we made them give in. But I were with the Herald when we searched the field, and never saw him there; and I should have known him alive or dead anywhere. We were boys together down Briddlesford way.""Now you've named Sir George Lisle, that minds me," said the second soldier, "that when King Edward was alive, he was in rare favour with the king, who gave him in marriage a right lovely lady. But there was some talk of his lady, how, when he was away in France with old Bear and Ragged Staff, she went off with some one, I don't rightly remember who.""Silence, man, an you value your tongue!" said his comrade. "That's a tale you'd best not call to mind hereabouts," he added significantly.Ralph, full of the news, was going off to the pages' room, when he noticed the shields."What are they for?" he asked of the old man-at-arms who had just spoken so pointedly to his more garrulous comrade."I' faith, when a knight wants to take up their challenge, he smiteth on these shields, and his name and lineage are taken down by the clerk or herald appointed to put in the roll of the tilt the names of those who come to take their challenge."Ralph longed to be able to hit that shield."Are any who are not knights admitted to the joust?" he asked.."Sometimes, but very rarely. Howbeit, the judges have the right to let in whomsoever they choose, provided he be of noble or gentle birth."This was enough for Ralph. He would leave no stone unturned to obtain leave to splinter a lance in the approaching jousts. As he thought of it, the colour came into his face; he pictured himself riding in the lists, armedcap-à-pié, winning the prize under the lovely blue eyes of the fair Yolande. As he crossed the yard, deep in this delightful thought, he ran against a man in a monastic dress, who had just entered by the main gate."Certes, my son, thou shouldest give heed to thy steps," said the monk, as he staggered under the unprovoked assault.CHAPTER XI.HOW JOYOUSLY LIFE GOETH.The midday meal was spread in the large hall of the Captain's apartments. Sir William Lisle and his fair daughter had arrived. Gaily Yolande was chatting in the large, deep, bay window at the upper end of the hall, amid a group of young men, conspicuous among whom were the strongly-marked features, bullet head, and broad chest of Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené. Beside him, but topping him by some inches, although he was more than ten years his junior, stood the strong, active figure and boyish, honest face of Ralph Lisle, gazing at Yolande with rapturous admiration, but saying never a word, listening to all she said, and to all that was said to her, with simple enjoyment. No thought of selfish jealousy crossed his mind. All men must admire so lovely a girl--what harm in that? Did not he admire her too? would not he have willingly suffered anything for her? would not he be her dog to fetch and carry, do her slightest wish, be her devoted slave, and ask for nothing more than to be near her? No greater privilege could he have than to do her behests. The boy paid her the most absolute homage of his whole soul and body. It never occurred to him to ask for anything in return. He did not know he wanted anything more than to be allowed to be always near her, adore her, minister to her slightest whims. Whatever so lovely a being did, was sure to be right. To question the acts of so glorious a beauty, was like doubting divinity. Ralph was under the glamour of the most potent spell that ever worked on a pure and generous nature. To give utterly to the object of his worship, was to him the simplest thing. He would have given his last farthing to help a poor beggar; what would he not give to her, who was in his eyes the noblest, loveliest, purest thing in creation? Only would she want anything? There was the pain. What could he give her that she could need? Had she not everything?--homage, wealth, youth, beauty?"And so, my fair cousin, I hear thou hast done right knightly this forenoon," said Yolande, addressing him at last, for after the first greeting he had stood aside to let the more vivacious and older Breton knights pay their respects to his cousin.As Yolande spoke, she glanced at his large build, powerful chest, and tall figure, and then she let her eyes drop sideways on the smaller proportions of the Breton knight who stood beside him. She noticed the breadth of shoulders, bull neck, and length of arm of this latter, and thoughtfully said, without paying any attention to what Ralph blurted out,--"And so, Sir Amand, you have proclaimed a joust. 'Twas well done of you; and all we poor damoiselles of the island owe you many thanks. But I fear me we have no knights now here will do us poor ladies justice. Alas that my stepbrother is not here!""Surely, fair lady, thou wilt let me be thy knight?" said the Breton gentleman. "I could not have a fairer queen for whom to lay lance in rest.""Nay, fair sir, thou surely mockest. I have heard that the damoiselles of France are the loveliest in the world."Yolande spoke dreamily; she still glanced sideways at her cousin, and then at the Breton knight."I wonder will the Captain tilt?" she asked absently, toying with a gold chain round her neck."Pardie, mademoiselle, I trust he will do us that honour: but it would be a marvellous gracious act."Ralph was yearning to say something to his cousin, but he could not find the opportunity. While all were chatting gaily, waiting lor the Captain of the Wight, a varlet came up the hall and spoke a few words to Sir John Trenchard, who directly afterwards said in a loud voice,--"The noble Captain is detained by some slight matter. He prayeth you all to forgive him, and in especial that the fair ladies will grant him their pardon; and desireth that we tarry no more for dinner. Master Gamelyn, bring in the covers."The guests all sat down, and quickly the dishes were brought in. The Lord Abbot of Quarr was there; the Prior of Carisbrooke Priory, now belonging to the great Carthusian Monastery of Sheen; and the two Bailiffs of Newport, and their wives and daughters, who, however, sat at another table. The Chaplain of the castle said grace, and the dinner began.Gracefully the pages handed and carved the dishes, assisted by the varlets and serving-men; but the absence of the noble host caused a slight depression.Yolande, as the lady of highest birth there, was placed next the vacant chair of the Captain of the Wight, and on her left sat Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené; while on the other side of the empty chair sat Lady Trenchard, and on her right the other Breton noble. The remaining guests were placed, according to their degree, all down the long table.The conversation turned upon the approaching tilt, and all were loud in their praises of the public spirit of the two foreigners.The chief Bailiff of Newport, who sat opposite Sir Alain de Kervignac, was deploring the sad state of the island, saying how different it was fifty years ago, when he was a lad."Then, my lord, there were ten thousand fencible men, and above thirty knights and esquires. But within ten years after, the which ten thousand men were anentised through pestilence and wars, and some voided because of extortioners, that there were scarce twelve hundred of fencible men, and knights never one, and esquires no more but Harry Bruyn, esquire of His Majesty's household, that might labour about wars.""Ay, Master Gander, thou sayest truth," said Sir John Trenchard. "But my Lord of York gave heed somewhat, although he was sorely let and hindered by reason of the grievous jealousies he was subject to, and being sent over to Ireland, could never do all he minded to; but we shall show these noble gentlemen fine sport yet, I'll warrant.""Certes, Sir John," said the other Bailiff, "you are ever i' the right. But I mind me how Master John of Newport, who is but lately dead, I hear, so peeled and oppressed the townsfolk and fencible people of this island as to cause most part of the better sort to leave the isle. And then he, being discharged by the Duke of York for his misgovernance, with others of his sect, took to the sea, and sore threatened and jeopardised the king's people of the isle, so that there was not fifteen fencible people left, and no staff of men nor archers. Truly we were in parlous sad case.""Marry, Master Farseye, doubtless it was as you say; but we are now full powerful and well stored. And there are, as you may see, looking round at this table, and down yonder hall, plenty of stout limbs and brave hearts that will give a sensible account of themselves and the enemy in time of need, even as well and manfully as they did in the time of King Richard the Second, when Sir Hugh Tyrell, that right valiant knight--on whose soul may God have mercy--cut off the Frenchmen and utterly routed them, in so much that the lane now called Deadman's Lane, and Neddie's Hill, were covered with the bodies of the slain.""Ay, truly, 'twas so; but albeit 'twas a glorious battle, yet our fathers got not off scathless, for besides that Sir Theobald Russell was slain in a former attack, thirty-seven years before, Francheville and Yarmouth were burnt to the ground, and the French retired not afore they had levied a fine or ransom of 1000 marks, and our fathers had given pledges that they would submit to the Frenchmen for a whole twelve months.""Not so bad as that, Master Farseye: they were only to submit if they should come over again," said Master Gander.The Abbot of Quarr was engaged in pleasant converse with a buxom and jovial dame, the heiress of the old family of the Roucleys, who had come into the Manor of Brooke by marriage with the last of the Glamorgans, one of six ladies who inherited the estate from their brother Nicholas de Glamorgan, Lord of Brooke, the last male heir. This lady was Dame Joanna Bowerman, who was lately married to the eldest brother of Eustace Bowerman, and who, ten years afterwards, had the honour of entertaining King Henry VII. in her house of Brooke.Ralph determined to have a few minutes' private talk with his kinsman the Abbot, and as he bent over him to hand him a dish of trout in jelly, a great luxury, he whispered,--"An it please you, my Lord Abbot, may I have a word with you anon?""Surely, my son; there is naught amiss, I hope?""Nay, my lord; 'tis a matter of small import."At this moment Lord Woodville entered the hall. All rose to do the Captain of the Wight honour. Craving pardon for his lack of courtesy, he prayed them to be seated, and then took his seat next Mistress Yolande, who greeted him with a radiant smile."My lord, I am right glad thou hast come. Sir Amand here hath used up all his pretty conceits, and very nearly his appetite.""You amaze me, fair lady! Can a French gentleman fail in one or the other, and with such a theme as thy fair self to discourse of.""Ay, truly, and with such a banquet as thy noble self hath provided. But, most puissant Captain, is it true that thou are going to break a lance in the approaching tilt?""Not that I know of, fair lady," said Lord Woodville coldly."But thou wilt an thou art asked?" said Yolande, fixing her soft blue eyes full upon his."Marry, fair lady, there are younger knights than me to ride courses for love of ladies. I am getting past the age for such pastimes.""Now, nay! a thousand times, nay! Sir Amand, help me to gain our end!""Pardie, an so lovely a lady cannot soften the heart of the noble Captain, how can the prayers of a poor simple knight like me do it?" said the knight, shrugging his shoulders."Well, Sir Captain," said Yolande, "if thou wilt not grant that request, at least thou wilt not refuse my other prayer. Wilt thou let my cousin Ralph run a course? I hear he hath done right hardily to-day.""With right goodwill, fair mistress. I saw how well he bore himself this forenoon. I had even now minded to make him an esquire of my body."Yolande glanced across to look for Ralph, but he was standing close behind her, and had heard every word. His joy was so great that he could scarcely fulfil his duties. In his eagerness to have an excuse to say something to his lovely kinswoman, he picked up the first dish that came to hand, and, as he bent over her to offer it, he whispered,--"Thank you, cousin, thank you! 'tis the kindest service you could do me.""But, fair kinsman, that is no reason you should offer me 'pasties of venison roast,' with 'plums in paste,' which I happen to be eating. 'Tis but a poor return for my kindness."Ralph, much abashed, drew back; not, however, before Dicky Cheke saw his mistake, who made a hideous face at him, and as he passed dug his knuckles into his back, saying at the same time,--"Poor witling! how parlous awkward it is; 'twill never make a good serving page."Fortunately for Ralph there was a general move soon afterwards, and the horses were being brought round to the hall door. In the midst of the confusion Ralph took the opportunity of going up to the Abbot and telling him his business."What!" said the Abbot, amazed; "and thou calledst that a matter of small import, quotha?"Ralph was a bad hand at asking favours--those who give easily usually are. However, he could not abandon this request."My lord," he said, "'tis but to advance me such sums that I may appear as becometh the ancient house of Lisle. You gave me to my lord, you would not have me disgrace my name and lineage."Seeing how earnest the boy was, and how reasonable was his request, the Abbot began to relent."Marry, lad, thou art a brave youth and a good, thou shalt have the wherewithal to caparison thyself. Go to Master Longstoke, who dwelleth in Lugley Street, by the sign of the Blue Boar, he will purvey for thee what thou needest. I will look in upon him as I ride home to-night. He will then have my warranty."All things seemed joyous to Ralph to-day. With profusion of thanks he helped the Abbot of Quarr on to his horse, and then hastened to look after his cousin; but she was already mounted, and chatting gaily with the Captain of the Wight and his Breton guests.When all were mounted the cavalcade rode out through the large gateway. It was a gay sight to see the long lines of varlets, with the dogs and falcons, the fair ladies riding amid groups of gentlemen, with hawk on fist, and riding-whip in hand. The crowd that had collected at the castle gates greeted each knight and lady as they came out with freely-expressed remarks; and when the Captain of the Wight appeared with Yolande Lisle riding by his side, the two Breton knights a little behind her with her old father, there were loud shouts of applause, and many complimentary cheers for the noble foreigners who were going to provide so much amusement.The cavalcade took the way down to Shide Bridge and so up the valley of the Medina, intending to fly their hawks at the quarry that was sure to be met with among the low lands between the Medina and the Yare.They were not disappointed; a fine heron was soon started, and the Captain's bird--a noble peregrine falcon--was cast off after it. As Lord Woodville watched the flight of his bird, he called Ralph up to him, who, as in duty bound, had been in close attendance on his person."Thy missive hath been found, my child," said his lord gravely. "Thou didst not dream: I would that thou hadst."Ralph remained silent. Lord Woodville went on, in rather an abstracted tone,--"'Twas a bold game, and I marvel how he hath gotten into the island; but he knoweth he is safe from me, except in so far as I myself may chastise him for his insolence. He hath done me far more wrong than ever he thinketh that I have done to him."The rest of the cavalcade, now that the Captain's bird had been flown, had dispersed after their own hawks, which only waited for this signal to be cast off."My lord, thy falcon hath gotten a long way ahead, and maketh toward the high land yonder," said Ralph, who saw his cousin cantering gaily ahead, escorted as usual by her faithful admirer the Breton knight. Before disappearing over a rise in the land she reined up, turned round to Lord Woodville, and waved her whip aloft, inviting them to follow."There is Mistress Lisle beckoning to thee, my lord," said Ralph."Marry, is she? then we will even follow, Master Lisle, if it pleaseth thee," said the Captain, with a smile.As they cantered over the marshy land, followed by a few varlets on foot, whose business it was to carry fresh birds on a wooden framework suspended round their necks by straps, Ralph kept close behind the Captain. When they reached the top of the rising ground where they had last seen the graceful figure of Mistress Yolande, a strange sight met their eyes. The Breton knight's horse was sunk over its fetlocks in a quagmire, and its rider was in an almost kneeling position on its back, with the evident desire of getting as far away from the treacherous slime as possible."I told him not to go," said Yolande, laughing at the sad plight of the poor gentleman.The attendant varlets were directed to assist the knight out of his difficulties, while Yolande rode off with the Lord Woodville and Ralph, who was delighted at the change.As they rode rapidly across the lower ground towards Godshill, the page told with eager joy to his cousin how the Abbot of Quarr had promised to equip him gallantly, and he entered into all the details of the horse he would buy, the armour, and the device he would wear upon his shield."You must have a lady's favour, Ralph. Is there anyone you would like?" asked Yolande, smiling at him.Ralph coloured up, and he answered shyly,--"Cousin Yolande, will you give me yours?""Well, now, Iamhighly favoured. And you really would not rather have that of Mistress Bremskete, or the fair Mistress Susan Gander?"But Ralph was not good at raillery, he was far too much in earnest to enter into a joke, and Yolande saw the shafts of her wit would only fall flat or be misunderstood."But, cousin Ralph, I have promised my favour elsewhere."Ralph looked at her with bitter disappointment."'Tis true 'tis as well to have two strings to one's bow, and why you did not say so I don't know, for I might never have thought of it myself, and so you might have lost a very good chance. Well, what do you say; shall I give you one as well?""But, Yolande, may a lady have two knights in the same tourney?""Why, marry, yea! At least I see no reason why not. One can have them everywhere else. Let us ask the Captain."Lord Woodville had been riding on lost in abstraction. They had left Godshill on their right. They were now skirting the high hills, the outlying spurs of Week Down. Hearing his name mentioned, the Captain of the Wight turned round; as he did so, he caught sight of a figure, and instantly his face became as pale as death, and then flushed up with angry fire.The quick eyes of Yolande did not fail to detect the change. Her eyes glanced in the direction of Lord Woodville. She saw a man in a common dress standing by the side of an old thorn bush."'Tis only a hind belonging to the Priory of Appuldurcombe. I marvel what hath come to the Captain," she murmured.The man had been standing watching the little calvacade approach, but as it drew nearer he stepped back on to a more rugged piece of ground at the foot of the steep hill behind, and which was difficult for horses, being all broken and covered with gorse.Lord Woodville rode forward, motioning to the others to remain behind. Ralph could not help thinking he had seen that figure before. Where had he seen it?--he could not recollect."Marry, Ralph, 'tis a bold hind; see how he scowls on the Captain. By St Bride, he hath broad shoulders, and bears himself as if of gentle blood. I would give a good deal to know what the Captain is saying to him. I shall ride nearer."But the Captain of the Wight heard the steps of her horse; he looked back with a stern glance, and said gravely,--"Mistress Lisle, under your leave, I would say a few words alone."There was no help for it; with a pettish air, but not at all disconcerted, Yolande said her nag wanted to browse on that sweet bit of grass there, and returned to Ralph.After the interchange of a few words, the Captain rejoined the others, and the man disappeared into the tall furze behind the old thorn bush."We've lost our heronshaw," said Mistress Yolande, pouting."Nay, the varlets will bring the quarry in," said the Captain. "But what building have we here.""'Tis the nunnery of Appuldurcombe," said Yolande. "Marry, I am sore athirst. Prythee, let us go there, and ask the kind sister for a draught of ale or hippocras.""Right gladly, fair mistress," said Lord Woodville, and they cantered over the smooth turf towards the grey stone wall which surrounded the picturesque roofs and gables of the old Priory of Appuldurcombe, now a cell of the convent of the order of Saint Clare, without Aldgate, in the City of London. As they rode up, the chapel bell was tolling to vespers."Marry, 'tis later than I thought," said Yolande.CHAPTER XII.HOW THE COCKEREL FELT HE WAS BUT A COCKEREL.The old Priory of Appuldurcombe was situated in a most lovely spot, nestling in thick woods whose brown and russet foliage climbed the steep sides of the lofty downs surrounding it; the high-pitched gable of the little chapel, and the quaintly-grouped pile of grey buildings, looked serene and peaceful in that sequestered nook amid the ever-lasting hills.Originally granted by the piety of stout Earl Richard de Redvers to his new foundation of Montsburg in Normandy, it was used as a cell for a prior and two monks to look after their farms of Appuldurcombe, Sandford, and Week. But, sharing the fate of other alien foundations, it was taken from them by Henry IV. and granted to the nuns of St Clare, without Aldgate, who eventually obtained a grant of it from the Monastery of Montsburg, and so possessed it until the dissolution of the monasteries.The Convent of St Clare, without Aldgate, at this time was accustomed to send two sisters and a prioress to look after their interests, and used the cell as a place of peaceful resort and change of air from London. The sisters could walk in these retired woods and sheltered groves without fear of observation or molestation, and were much beloved by the labourers on the farms belonging to the Nunnery. It is quite evident from Chaucer that the nuns did not always observe the strictest seclusion, even in the Metropolis; and how well some at least of them were versed in the pleasures and technicalities of field sports is abundantly clear in the works of Dame Juliana Berners, popularly supposed to have been Prioress of Sopewell, near St Albans.As the Captain of the Wight rode up with Yolande and Ralph, the chapel bell ceased."We will wait till their orisons be over," said Lord Woodville.They had now leisure to look round, and even the matter-of-fact Ralph and high-spirited Yolande were impressed with the still loveliness of the scene. The blue smoke from the conventual kitchen and labourers' cottages curled into the quiet air, and floated away amid the rich brown leaves of the autumnal wood. The grass, green and soft, like velvet to the tread, showed the fertility of the soil, and the lowing of the cows, which were being driven from their pasture, added a pastoral melody to the sylvan scene.An old woman and a young girl came out of a small door pierced in the high stone wall which surrounded the little settlement, and hid the lower storey from outward observation."What a pretty child!" said Yolande, with generous admiration. "Did you ever see such eyes?"Ralph looked as he was told, but, boy like, paid little attention to the looks of a girl evidently younger than himself. Besides, in comparison with the brilliant Yolande, whose every movement was grace, and every word fascination, how could he admire aught else? And was not Yolande, in addition, at least four years older than himself?The soft eyes of the girl, however, seemed to recognise Ralph. She gave him a shy little nod of welcome and acknowledgment."Why, my cousin, she knoweth thee!" said Yolande. "Who is she?""Nay, I know not," said Ralph, not quite pleased at being nodded to in that familiar way by so poorly clad a little girl."Good mother," said the Captain of the Wight, "wilt thou ask the Lady Prioress if she will grant this fair lady a draught of ale or hippocras?"The old woman only shook her head, but the girl glanced up at the Captain's face, and then said,--"Noble sir, Gammer Audrey is deaf. I will run in and ask Sister Agnes," and the child drew her hand out of that of the old woman, and disappeared through the door."'Tis strange!" muttered the Lord Woodville; "her eyes are wondrous like, and the voice--old memories are stirring, methinks, to-day."In a few minutes the figure of a nun carrying a tray on which were a flagon and some pewter cups, appeared at the narrow door, followed by the girl, bearing a dish with a few apples piled upon it.The nun had hardly passed out of the door when she gave a little stagger, and nearly dropped the things she was carrying. Recovering herself with an effort, she approached Yolande."My faith, my Lord Woodville, if the girl were lovely, what think you of the sister?" said Yolande.Lord Woodville looked at the nun, as she approached, and became deadly pale."How could it be!" he murmured. "I heard she was dead!""Well," observed Yolande, "of all strange things, this is the most parlous bewildering! Who'd have thought the unmoved Lord Woodville could be so passing stirred twice in the same hour?"The nun poured out the hippocras, and offered it to Yolande, who took it from the fair hand of the draped and veiled figure, with the curiosity and awe which all women feel when brought face to face with one of their own sex who is utterly dead to the world. The air of mystery, romance, and sanctity which surround the convent life was not then probably so powerful as now. Then, the nuns lived more openly, and were a part of the everyday life of society. But to Yolande, with her strong love of life, its amusements, its follies, and its excitement, it seemed like being confronted with death to look at that pale face, downcast eyes, and shrouded figure.[image]THE NUN OFFERED THE WINE TO YOLANDE.The nun's face was strikingly beautiful. Her features were very straight, with splendid eyebrows, and a sweet mouth, whose full lips were rendered almost more attractive by the little droop at each corner producing a soft dimple in the rounded cheek. The long lashes lay like a fringe over her magnificent dark hazel eyes, and as she stood, quite impassive and expressionless, only deadly pale, Yolande felt drawn towards her as she had never felt drawn to any woman before.The Captain of the Wight kept his eyes fixed on the sweet face."Pious lady," he said, "we are greatly indebted to thee for thy hospitable courtesy. Hast thou been in these parts long?"Obliged to answer, the nun, still keeping her eyes, however, steadily on the ground, said, in a low, deep melodious voice,--"Noble sir, Sister Ursula and I came hither but three months since.""Holy saints!" muttered the Captain, "'tis her very voice!"Then, after a pause, he said,--"Thou art happy and peaceful here? There is naught that frights or disturbs you?"A little flicker passed over the statue-like features. A slight tremor of the mouth, and a quiver of the eyelids, showed the nun was suffering from some not quite controlled emotion. Bending her head a little down, and keeping her eyes more than ever on the ground, she said, in her bell-like voice,--"Noble sir, there is naught that frights us.""And this girl, who is she?" asked the Captain."'Tis a child which hath been brought hither for our Prioress to tend.""Hath she no relatives here?""Nay, I know not; but she is well with us," said the nun, looking at the child with affection. It was the first expression of softer feeling that had yet come into her face.The child returned her look with love and bright confidence."Thou art happy here?" said Yolande."Ay, truly am I," replied the girl; "now I know father will be safe.""And who is thy father, sweet child?""He is a noble knight, but I may not tell his name," said the girl."Dost thou know, holy sister?" said Yolande, unable to repress her natural curiosity.The nun looked a trifle surprised, as if not expecting such a breach of manners in so high-born a damsel, but she replied, as coldly as ever,--"Nay, I know naught that passeth in the world. None who enter here have name, or kin on earth."Yolande shivered. It seemed like talking to a ghost.As her thirst was now assuaged, and none of the others would take any more--although Lord Woodville took an apple from the pretty child, and in doing so availed himself of the opportunity of slipping a gold coin on to the dish, the nun withdrew as silently as she came, and the girl accompanied her, giving another nod of friendly farewell to Ralph."'Tis getting late, Lord Woodville, and I must be riding home," said Yolande. "Where my father hath gotten to, I know not; and as for my poor Breton, good lack!" and she broke into a merry laugh.They rode away from the peaceful vale, the long shadows of evening falling across the plain, and the chill mist of the marshland rising in white film around. They were a silent party. Lord Woodville was plunged in deep reverie. Yolande could not strike any sparks of wit out of Ralph, who worshipped her far too seriously to be quite at home and at his ease, and took in serious dudgeon the playful raillery with which his cousin treated him on the subject of the dark-eyed damsel."You silly boy, you think you are fond of me; but when you reach the age of manhood, and are of an age to marry, the lady of your choice will be one who is now a girl of just that little one's age. You mark my words.""And what do you call the right age to marry?" asked the crestfallen Ralph."Oh, not before you are thirty or forty, or fifty or sixty. There! I'll marry you when I am sixty. So now go and be happy, and grow as fast as you can; in wisdom, at least, for your body is big enough, good lack!"As they rode back into the more cultivated land they met parties of two or three of the expedition returning from the chase; and as they passed Arreton Church they fell in with Sir William Lisle, who had been looking for his daughter, accompanied by Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené, who was mounted on a fresh horse."Marry, Sir Amand, where's thy horse?" laughed Yolande."Pardie, mademoiselle, zat I cannot tell. I left 'im in ze vase."[*][*] "Vase," Anglicé "mud.""What vase?" said the astonished Yolande. "It must be a mighty big one if it can hold a horse.""Foi de mon ordre!no; it would sallow 'im as easy as anyzing, and me too, 'ad I been ze fool to stop on 'im.""Good lack! a vase swallow a horse and man? The poor man's lost his wits!" cried Yolande, while Ralph looked very much astonished, and began to laugh."Vat you go for to laugh, young man?" said the disconcerted and puzzled Breton. "Is zere anyzing drole in ze vase svalloving a man?""Why, beshrew me, there is!" said old Sir William Lisle. "Thou hast got hold of the wrong word; 'tis mud thou meanest, not a vase. Good lack! good lack! how these munseers do show their ignorance."As Yolande and her father were not going back to Carisbrooke Castle, they took leave of their noble host, and rode away across the downs to Briddlesford, which lay at the head of the long winding creek which flowed in from the Solent, while the others pursued their way back to the castle.The Captain of the Wight seemed plunged into a deeper reverie than ever, and scarcely spoke one word the whole way back. Ralph's mind was full of the tournament, and of the Abbot's promise to let him have money enough to equip himself as became an aspirant to chivalry.As soon as he had an opportunity, he took Maurice Woodville and Dicky Cheke aside and told them of his good fortune."My faith, Lisle, you are in luck. How much will he give you?""I don't know; but he said he would tell old Langstoke to let me have what I wanted.""Well, an I were you, I'd strike while the iron is hot. I should get leave from old Jack-in-Harness to go down to-night, and lose no time. There's only six days before the Feast of St Michael," said Maurice Woodville."Ay, so should I," said Dicky Cheke. "And, I say, Lisle, ask him to let us go too. We can help you; you're such a simpleton, any chapman can cheat you. You big fellows always are stupid and easily overreached."Giving Dicky Cheke a tweak of the nose, which caused that young gentleman to rush after him as he left the room, and kick violently against the door, which Ralph prudently shut, with happy promptitude, behind him, Master Lisle went off to look for Sir John Trenchard.He tapped at the door of the knight's apartments, and hearing a voice say "Come in," he opened the door, and found Bowerman reclining on a couch, his head bandaged and his eyes closed. He was alone."Who's that?" said the wounded page."Oh, Bowerman, I am grievous sad to see you look in such parlous case," said Ralph, his conscience pricking him for not having inquired after, or been to see, his wounded comrade before.At the sound of Ralph's voice, Bowerman's face flushed up; and in a voice whose tones expressed concentrated hate, he said,--"You fiend you! who asked you to come here?""Well, Bowerman, I don't see why you should bear me such ill-will. 'Twas not my fault you met with your mishap.""Yes, it was. If you had not aimed at the beaver,[*] which you know well enough is the weakest part of the whole armour, I should not have got that splinter in my cheek."[*] The visor."But," said Ralph, taken aback by this novel ground of accusation, "you could have aimed at mine; and, besides, the beaver would never have come open, had it been tightly clasped.""That's all as may be! but I knew you had never done anything of the kind before, so I hit you where there was least danger; and in return for my good nature, you took a cowardly advantage of me."Ralph coloured up."Bowerman, I have told you I am grieved you are hurt--if I could do anything to help you, I would; but, because you are wounded, you have no right to say such unjust and untrue things.""There, that's just like your mean, lily-livered nature. Here I lie, unable to get up and punish you, all through your own base fault, and then you come in when no one is here, and tell me I tell lies!"Ralph felt his temper rising, but he kept as calm as he could."You know, Bowerman, you are not just. But as you are suffering, I will not get angry. I can do nothing for you, then?""Ay, marry can you, and that speedily--get out of this room!"At this moment Lady Trenchard entered."Ah, Master Lisle, that is right courteous of you, and as one of gentle birth should do, to come and visit your discomfited comrade. I marvelled you had not come afore. But I heard you were out with the Lord Captain, and so I told Master Bowerman."Ralph felt a little uncomfortable. He did not deserve these excuses, for he had forgotten all about Bowerman. Lady Trenchard went on."Tell us now what sport you had. 'Twill cheer us up, and be as good as a tale for your comrade. 'Twill be kind in him, will it not, Master Bowerman?"But the wounded page only tossed on his couch and uttered a sound, half groan, half smothered exclamation of furious rage."Ah, poor lad! he suffers much. I fear me these are febrile signs. 'Twill be well to have the worthy and pious Sir Simon Halbard to bleed him. He is something of a leech, and was infirmarer once, I heard, at Quarr Abbey; but thy tale will solace him, and take away his thoughts from the pain of the wound."Ralph longed to get away, but he was too polite to refuse to do what Lady Trenchard asked him. He began--determining to make the narrative as brief as possible--to tell the chief events of the afternoon.As he told of the Breton knight being stuck in the mud, a grunt of satisfaction proceeded from Bowerman."Ah! thou seest, Master Lisle. I told thee thy tale would solace him, and help to drive away his pain," said Lady Trenchard complacently.When Ralph came to the nuns, and told how they had so willingly brought refreshment for Yolande, of whom, by the way, he scarcely spoke at all, Lady Trenchard remarked,--"Ah, the Lady Abbess of Saint Clare, without Aldgate, wrote to me to go over and see the two new sisters who have come down of late. I am glad thou hast reminded me of this, fair page. There is one in whom she taketh much concern, as fearing for her health. She hath had trials in the world, and hath not yet gotten cured of them. And so thou rodest all day with the fair Mistress Yolande?" added the grave and erect Lady Trenchard, with a penetrating glance.Ralph grew very red."Yea, my lady--that is, nay. She rode with my Lord Captain, and I waited on him, as was my duty.""Ay, and so she rode with the Captain? Like enough, like enough!" Then, after a pause she added, as if in a soliloquy, "Ah well, she won't make much of him, poor lass. His heart's been broke these twelve years or more. 'Tis a sad story, and not one you lads would care to hear.""Yes, I should, Dame Trenchard," said Bowerman shortly, while Ralph looked up surprised. It had never crossed his mind that so exalted a person, and so rigid as the Captain of the Wight, could possibly have a weakness or a romance."Nay, nay," said Lady Trenchard, sorry she had aroused their curiosity, "'tis a long and sad story, and not one that will give you joy. Besides, 'twas a kinsman of Master Lisle who married the fair girl, sore against her will; but her own true knight was away, and her father's and the king's will had to be obeyed, and so she was wed. But not for long--she soon died, they said; but who knows? 'Twas a sad story."And Lady Trenchard nodded her head gravely, then shook it sadly, as if she saw some sad mistake occurring, and lapsed into silence."But what of the Captain of the Wight, Dame Trenchard?" said Bowerman. "What hath he to do in all this?""The Captain of the Wight! what of him?" said Lady Trenchard absently. Her thoughts had gone off to the shortcomings of her maids, and whether Dame Joanna Bowerman would not have looked better in a black cote hardie, and lemon-coloured taffeta kirtle, than the yellow one which she wore, with a bright blue bodice."Not but what she tireth herself well, does Joanna Bowerman. I mind her when she was little Joanna Roucley. She always did have a liking for smart things, and she's a woman that bears them well--I will say that for her. But she lacked skill in colour.""But what of the Captain?" persisted Bowerman."Well! what of the Captain?" said Lady Trenchard, with some slight asperity. "I know naught of the Captain. He hath come back, I trow?""Yea, but you were telling me of some love affair of his.""Marry, was I? not that I know of. You sleep now, Master Bowerman; 'twill be best for you," said Lady Trenchard decisively.Eustace Bowerman muttered something that sounded very like "old hag," and "obstinate old harridan," which was quite unheeded by Lady Trenchard; and Ralph took the opportunity to slip out of the room.
[*] The local name for newcomers or "foreigners" from the mainland to the Isle of Wight.
"If only that right hardy knight Sir George Lisle of Briddlesford, old Sir William's son, were in these parts now," said the first speaker.
"I never heard tell of him," replied the other.
"Why should you, comrade? 'Tis many years since he's been heard of. There's some as said he were lately come over with the Lord Lincoln to Stoke field, and died there in harness, fighting with his face to the foe, by the side of the Lord Geraldine, Captain Martin Swartz, Sir Thomas Broughton, and all those lusty Allemaynes who gave us such hard knocks ere we made them give in. But I were with the Herald when we searched the field, and never saw him there; and I should have known him alive or dead anywhere. We were boys together down Briddlesford way."
"Now you've named Sir George Lisle, that minds me," said the second soldier, "that when King Edward was alive, he was in rare favour with the king, who gave him in marriage a right lovely lady. But there was some talk of his lady, how, when he was away in France with old Bear and Ragged Staff, she went off with some one, I don't rightly remember who."
"Silence, man, an you value your tongue!" said his comrade. "That's a tale you'd best not call to mind hereabouts," he added significantly.
Ralph, full of the news, was going off to the pages' room, when he noticed the shields.
"What are they for?" he asked of the old man-at-arms who had just spoken so pointedly to his more garrulous comrade.
"I' faith, when a knight wants to take up their challenge, he smiteth on these shields, and his name and lineage are taken down by the clerk or herald appointed to put in the roll of the tilt the names of those who come to take their challenge."
Ralph longed to be able to hit that shield.
"Are any who are not knights admitted to the joust?" he asked..
"Sometimes, but very rarely. Howbeit, the judges have the right to let in whomsoever they choose, provided he be of noble or gentle birth."
This was enough for Ralph. He would leave no stone unturned to obtain leave to splinter a lance in the approaching jousts. As he thought of it, the colour came into his face; he pictured himself riding in the lists, armedcap-à-pié, winning the prize under the lovely blue eyes of the fair Yolande. As he crossed the yard, deep in this delightful thought, he ran against a man in a monastic dress, who had just entered by the main gate.
"Certes, my son, thou shouldest give heed to thy steps," said the monk, as he staggered under the unprovoked assault.
CHAPTER XI.
HOW JOYOUSLY LIFE GOETH.
The midday meal was spread in the large hall of the Captain's apartments. Sir William Lisle and his fair daughter had arrived. Gaily Yolande was chatting in the large, deep, bay window at the upper end of the hall, amid a group of young men, conspicuous among whom were the strongly-marked features, bullet head, and broad chest of Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené. Beside him, but topping him by some inches, although he was more than ten years his junior, stood the strong, active figure and boyish, honest face of Ralph Lisle, gazing at Yolande with rapturous admiration, but saying never a word, listening to all she said, and to all that was said to her, with simple enjoyment. No thought of selfish jealousy crossed his mind. All men must admire so lovely a girl--what harm in that? Did not he admire her too? would not he have willingly suffered anything for her? would not he be her dog to fetch and carry, do her slightest wish, be her devoted slave, and ask for nothing more than to be near her? No greater privilege could he have than to do her behests. The boy paid her the most absolute homage of his whole soul and body. It never occurred to him to ask for anything in return. He did not know he wanted anything more than to be allowed to be always near her, adore her, minister to her slightest whims. Whatever so lovely a being did, was sure to be right. To question the acts of so glorious a beauty, was like doubting divinity. Ralph was under the glamour of the most potent spell that ever worked on a pure and generous nature. To give utterly to the object of his worship, was to him the simplest thing. He would have given his last farthing to help a poor beggar; what would he not give to her, who was in his eyes the noblest, loveliest, purest thing in creation? Only would she want anything? There was the pain. What could he give her that she could need? Had she not everything?--homage, wealth, youth, beauty?
"And so, my fair cousin, I hear thou hast done right knightly this forenoon," said Yolande, addressing him at last, for after the first greeting he had stood aside to let the more vivacious and older Breton knights pay their respects to his cousin.
As Yolande spoke, she glanced at his large build, powerful chest, and tall figure, and then she let her eyes drop sideways on the smaller proportions of the Breton knight who stood beside him. She noticed the breadth of shoulders, bull neck, and length of arm of this latter, and thoughtfully said, without paying any attention to what Ralph blurted out,--
"And so, Sir Amand, you have proclaimed a joust. 'Twas well done of you; and all we poor damoiselles of the island owe you many thanks. But I fear me we have no knights now here will do us poor ladies justice. Alas that my stepbrother is not here!"
"Surely, fair lady, thou wilt let me be thy knight?" said the Breton gentleman. "I could not have a fairer queen for whom to lay lance in rest."
"Nay, fair sir, thou surely mockest. I have heard that the damoiselles of France are the loveliest in the world."
Yolande spoke dreamily; she still glanced sideways at her cousin, and then at the Breton knight.
"I wonder will the Captain tilt?" she asked absently, toying with a gold chain round her neck.
"Pardie, mademoiselle, I trust he will do us that honour: but it would be a marvellous gracious act."
Ralph was yearning to say something to his cousin, but he could not find the opportunity. While all were chatting gaily, waiting lor the Captain of the Wight, a varlet came up the hall and spoke a few words to Sir John Trenchard, who directly afterwards said in a loud voice,--
"The noble Captain is detained by some slight matter. He prayeth you all to forgive him, and in especial that the fair ladies will grant him their pardon; and desireth that we tarry no more for dinner. Master Gamelyn, bring in the covers."
The guests all sat down, and quickly the dishes were brought in. The Lord Abbot of Quarr was there; the Prior of Carisbrooke Priory, now belonging to the great Carthusian Monastery of Sheen; and the two Bailiffs of Newport, and their wives and daughters, who, however, sat at another table. The Chaplain of the castle said grace, and the dinner began.
Gracefully the pages handed and carved the dishes, assisted by the varlets and serving-men; but the absence of the noble host caused a slight depression.
Yolande, as the lady of highest birth there, was placed next the vacant chair of the Captain of the Wight, and on her left sat Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené; while on the other side of the empty chair sat Lady Trenchard, and on her right the other Breton noble. The remaining guests were placed, according to their degree, all down the long table.
The conversation turned upon the approaching tilt, and all were loud in their praises of the public spirit of the two foreigners.
The chief Bailiff of Newport, who sat opposite Sir Alain de Kervignac, was deploring the sad state of the island, saying how different it was fifty years ago, when he was a lad.
"Then, my lord, there were ten thousand fencible men, and above thirty knights and esquires. But within ten years after, the which ten thousand men were anentised through pestilence and wars, and some voided because of extortioners, that there were scarce twelve hundred of fencible men, and knights never one, and esquires no more but Harry Bruyn, esquire of His Majesty's household, that might labour about wars."
"Ay, Master Gander, thou sayest truth," said Sir John Trenchard. "But my Lord of York gave heed somewhat, although he was sorely let and hindered by reason of the grievous jealousies he was subject to, and being sent over to Ireland, could never do all he minded to; but we shall show these noble gentlemen fine sport yet, I'll warrant."
"Certes, Sir John," said the other Bailiff, "you are ever i' the right. But I mind me how Master John of Newport, who is but lately dead, I hear, so peeled and oppressed the townsfolk and fencible people of this island as to cause most part of the better sort to leave the isle. And then he, being discharged by the Duke of York for his misgovernance, with others of his sect, took to the sea, and sore threatened and jeopardised the king's people of the isle, so that there was not fifteen fencible people left, and no staff of men nor archers. Truly we were in parlous sad case."
"Marry, Master Farseye, doubtless it was as you say; but we are now full powerful and well stored. And there are, as you may see, looking round at this table, and down yonder hall, plenty of stout limbs and brave hearts that will give a sensible account of themselves and the enemy in time of need, even as well and manfully as they did in the time of King Richard the Second, when Sir Hugh Tyrell, that right valiant knight--on whose soul may God have mercy--cut off the Frenchmen and utterly routed them, in so much that the lane now called Deadman's Lane, and Neddie's Hill, were covered with the bodies of the slain."
"Ay, truly, 'twas so; but albeit 'twas a glorious battle, yet our fathers got not off scathless, for besides that Sir Theobald Russell was slain in a former attack, thirty-seven years before, Francheville and Yarmouth were burnt to the ground, and the French retired not afore they had levied a fine or ransom of 1000 marks, and our fathers had given pledges that they would submit to the Frenchmen for a whole twelve months."
"Not so bad as that, Master Farseye: they were only to submit if they should come over again," said Master Gander.
The Abbot of Quarr was engaged in pleasant converse with a buxom and jovial dame, the heiress of the old family of the Roucleys, who had come into the Manor of Brooke by marriage with the last of the Glamorgans, one of six ladies who inherited the estate from their brother Nicholas de Glamorgan, Lord of Brooke, the last male heir. This lady was Dame Joanna Bowerman, who was lately married to the eldest brother of Eustace Bowerman, and who, ten years afterwards, had the honour of entertaining King Henry VII. in her house of Brooke.
Ralph determined to have a few minutes' private talk with his kinsman the Abbot, and as he bent over him to hand him a dish of trout in jelly, a great luxury, he whispered,--
"An it please you, my Lord Abbot, may I have a word with you anon?"
"Surely, my son; there is naught amiss, I hope?"
"Nay, my lord; 'tis a matter of small import."
At this moment Lord Woodville entered the hall. All rose to do the Captain of the Wight honour. Craving pardon for his lack of courtesy, he prayed them to be seated, and then took his seat next Mistress Yolande, who greeted him with a radiant smile.
"My lord, I am right glad thou hast come. Sir Amand here hath used up all his pretty conceits, and very nearly his appetite."
"You amaze me, fair lady! Can a French gentleman fail in one or the other, and with such a theme as thy fair self to discourse of."
"Ay, truly, and with such a banquet as thy noble self hath provided. But, most puissant Captain, is it true that thou are going to break a lance in the approaching tilt?"
"Not that I know of, fair lady," said Lord Woodville coldly.
"But thou wilt an thou art asked?" said Yolande, fixing her soft blue eyes full upon his.
"Marry, fair lady, there are younger knights than me to ride courses for love of ladies. I am getting past the age for such pastimes."
"Now, nay! a thousand times, nay! Sir Amand, help me to gain our end!"
"Pardie, an so lovely a lady cannot soften the heart of the noble Captain, how can the prayers of a poor simple knight like me do it?" said the knight, shrugging his shoulders.
"Well, Sir Captain," said Yolande, "if thou wilt not grant that request, at least thou wilt not refuse my other prayer. Wilt thou let my cousin Ralph run a course? I hear he hath done right hardily to-day."
"With right goodwill, fair mistress. I saw how well he bore himself this forenoon. I had even now minded to make him an esquire of my body."
Yolande glanced across to look for Ralph, but he was standing close behind her, and had heard every word. His joy was so great that he could scarcely fulfil his duties. In his eagerness to have an excuse to say something to his lovely kinswoman, he picked up the first dish that came to hand, and, as he bent over her to offer it, he whispered,--
"Thank you, cousin, thank you! 'tis the kindest service you could do me."
"But, fair kinsman, that is no reason you should offer me 'pasties of venison roast,' with 'plums in paste,' which I happen to be eating. 'Tis but a poor return for my kindness."
Ralph, much abashed, drew back; not, however, before Dicky Cheke saw his mistake, who made a hideous face at him, and as he passed dug his knuckles into his back, saying at the same time,--
"Poor witling! how parlous awkward it is; 'twill never make a good serving page."
Fortunately for Ralph there was a general move soon afterwards, and the horses were being brought round to the hall door. In the midst of the confusion Ralph took the opportunity of going up to the Abbot and telling him his business.
"What!" said the Abbot, amazed; "and thou calledst that a matter of small import, quotha?"
Ralph was a bad hand at asking favours--those who give easily usually are. However, he could not abandon this request.
"My lord," he said, "'tis but to advance me such sums that I may appear as becometh the ancient house of Lisle. You gave me to my lord, you would not have me disgrace my name and lineage."
Seeing how earnest the boy was, and how reasonable was his request, the Abbot began to relent.
"Marry, lad, thou art a brave youth and a good, thou shalt have the wherewithal to caparison thyself. Go to Master Longstoke, who dwelleth in Lugley Street, by the sign of the Blue Boar, he will purvey for thee what thou needest. I will look in upon him as I ride home to-night. He will then have my warranty."
All things seemed joyous to Ralph to-day. With profusion of thanks he helped the Abbot of Quarr on to his horse, and then hastened to look after his cousin; but she was already mounted, and chatting gaily with the Captain of the Wight and his Breton guests.
When all were mounted the cavalcade rode out through the large gateway. It was a gay sight to see the long lines of varlets, with the dogs and falcons, the fair ladies riding amid groups of gentlemen, with hawk on fist, and riding-whip in hand. The crowd that had collected at the castle gates greeted each knight and lady as they came out with freely-expressed remarks; and when the Captain of the Wight appeared with Yolande Lisle riding by his side, the two Breton knights a little behind her with her old father, there were loud shouts of applause, and many complimentary cheers for the noble foreigners who were going to provide so much amusement.
The cavalcade took the way down to Shide Bridge and so up the valley of the Medina, intending to fly their hawks at the quarry that was sure to be met with among the low lands between the Medina and the Yare.
They were not disappointed; a fine heron was soon started, and the Captain's bird--a noble peregrine falcon--was cast off after it. As Lord Woodville watched the flight of his bird, he called Ralph up to him, who, as in duty bound, had been in close attendance on his person.
"Thy missive hath been found, my child," said his lord gravely. "Thou didst not dream: I would that thou hadst."
Ralph remained silent. Lord Woodville went on, in rather an abstracted tone,--
"'Twas a bold game, and I marvel how he hath gotten into the island; but he knoweth he is safe from me, except in so far as I myself may chastise him for his insolence. He hath done me far more wrong than ever he thinketh that I have done to him."
The rest of the cavalcade, now that the Captain's bird had been flown, had dispersed after their own hawks, which only waited for this signal to be cast off.
"My lord, thy falcon hath gotten a long way ahead, and maketh toward the high land yonder," said Ralph, who saw his cousin cantering gaily ahead, escorted as usual by her faithful admirer the Breton knight. Before disappearing over a rise in the land she reined up, turned round to Lord Woodville, and waved her whip aloft, inviting them to follow.
"There is Mistress Lisle beckoning to thee, my lord," said Ralph.
"Marry, is she? then we will even follow, Master Lisle, if it pleaseth thee," said the Captain, with a smile.
As they cantered over the marshy land, followed by a few varlets on foot, whose business it was to carry fresh birds on a wooden framework suspended round their necks by straps, Ralph kept close behind the Captain. When they reached the top of the rising ground where they had last seen the graceful figure of Mistress Yolande, a strange sight met their eyes. The Breton knight's horse was sunk over its fetlocks in a quagmire, and its rider was in an almost kneeling position on its back, with the evident desire of getting as far away from the treacherous slime as possible.
"I told him not to go," said Yolande, laughing at the sad plight of the poor gentleman.
The attendant varlets were directed to assist the knight out of his difficulties, while Yolande rode off with the Lord Woodville and Ralph, who was delighted at the change.
As they rode rapidly across the lower ground towards Godshill, the page told with eager joy to his cousin how the Abbot of Quarr had promised to equip him gallantly, and he entered into all the details of the horse he would buy, the armour, and the device he would wear upon his shield.
"You must have a lady's favour, Ralph. Is there anyone you would like?" asked Yolande, smiling at him.
Ralph coloured up, and he answered shyly,--
"Cousin Yolande, will you give me yours?"
"Well, now, Iamhighly favoured. And you really would not rather have that of Mistress Bremskete, or the fair Mistress Susan Gander?"
But Ralph was not good at raillery, he was far too much in earnest to enter into a joke, and Yolande saw the shafts of her wit would only fall flat or be misunderstood.
"But, cousin Ralph, I have promised my favour elsewhere."
Ralph looked at her with bitter disappointment.
"'Tis true 'tis as well to have two strings to one's bow, and why you did not say so I don't know, for I might never have thought of it myself, and so you might have lost a very good chance. Well, what do you say; shall I give you one as well?"
"But, Yolande, may a lady have two knights in the same tourney?"
"Why, marry, yea! At least I see no reason why not. One can have them everywhere else. Let us ask the Captain."
Lord Woodville had been riding on lost in abstraction. They had left Godshill on their right. They were now skirting the high hills, the outlying spurs of Week Down. Hearing his name mentioned, the Captain of the Wight turned round; as he did so, he caught sight of a figure, and instantly his face became as pale as death, and then flushed up with angry fire.
The quick eyes of Yolande did not fail to detect the change. Her eyes glanced in the direction of Lord Woodville. She saw a man in a common dress standing by the side of an old thorn bush.
"'Tis only a hind belonging to the Priory of Appuldurcombe. I marvel what hath come to the Captain," she murmured.
The man had been standing watching the little calvacade approach, but as it drew nearer he stepped back on to a more rugged piece of ground at the foot of the steep hill behind, and which was difficult for horses, being all broken and covered with gorse.
Lord Woodville rode forward, motioning to the others to remain behind. Ralph could not help thinking he had seen that figure before. Where had he seen it?--he could not recollect.
"Marry, Ralph, 'tis a bold hind; see how he scowls on the Captain. By St Bride, he hath broad shoulders, and bears himself as if of gentle blood. I would give a good deal to know what the Captain is saying to him. I shall ride nearer."
But the Captain of the Wight heard the steps of her horse; he looked back with a stern glance, and said gravely,--
"Mistress Lisle, under your leave, I would say a few words alone."
There was no help for it; with a pettish air, but not at all disconcerted, Yolande said her nag wanted to browse on that sweet bit of grass there, and returned to Ralph.
After the interchange of a few words, the Captain rejoined the others, and the man disappeared into the tall furze behind the old thorn bush.
"We've lost our heronshaw," said Mistress Yolande, pouting.
"Nay, the varlets will bring the quarry in," said the Captain. "But what building have we here."
"'Tis the nunnery of Appuldurcombe," said Yolande. "Marry, I am sore athirst. Prythee, let us go there, and ask the kind sister for a draught of ale or hippocras."
"Right gladly, fair mistress," said Lord Woodville, and they cantered over the smooth turf towards the grey stone wall which surrounded the picturesque roofs and gables of the old Priory of Appuldurcombe, now a cell of the convent of the order of Saint Clare, without Aldgate, in the City of London. As they rode up, the chapel bell was tolling to vespers.
"Marry, 'tis later than I thought," said Yolande.
CHAPTER XII.
HOW THE COCKEREL FELT HE WAS BUT A COCKEREL.
The old Priory of Appuldurcombe was situated in a most lovely spot, nestling in thick woods whose brown and russet foliage climbed the steep sides of the lofty downs surrounding it; the high-pitched gable of the little chapel, and the quaintly-grouped pile of grey buildings, looked serene and peaceful in that sequestered nook amid the ever-lasting hills.
Originally granted by the piety of stout Earl Richard de Redvers to his new foundation of Montsburg in Normandy, it was used as a cell for a prior and two monks to look after their farms of Appuldurcombe, Sandford, and Week. But, sharing the fate of other alien foundations, it was taken from them by Henry IV. and granted to the nuns of St Clare, without Aldgate, who eventually obtained a grant of it from the Monastery of Montsburg, and so possessed it until the dissolution of the monasteries.
The Convent of St Clare, without Aldgate, at this time was accustomed to send two sisters and a prioress to look after their interests, and used the cell as a place of peaceful resort and change of air from London. The sisters could walk in these retired woods and sheltered groves without fear of observation or molestation, and were much beloved by the labourers on the farms belonging to the Nunnery. It is quite evident from Chaucer that the nuns did not always observe the strictest seclusion, even in the Metropolis; and how well some at least of them were versed in the pleasures and technicalities of field sports is abundantly clear in the works of Dame Juliana Berners, popularly supposed to have been Prioress of Sopewell, near St Albans.
As the Captain of the Wight rode up with Yolande and Ralph, the chapel bell ceased.
"We will wait till their orisons be over," said Lord Woodville.
They had now leisure to look round, and even the matter-of-fact Ralph and high-spirited Yolande were impressed with the still loveliness of the scene. The blue smoke from the conventual kitchen and labourers' cottages curled into the quiet air, and floated away amid the rich brown leaves of the autumnal wood. The grass, green and soft, like velvet to the tread, showed the fertility of the soil, and the lowing of the cows, which were being driven from their pasture, added a pastoral melody to the sylvan scene.
An old woman and a young girl came out of a small door pierced in the high stone wall which surrounded the little settlement, and hid the lower storey from outward observation.
"What a pretty child!" said Yolande, with generous admiration. "Did you ever see such eyes?"
Ralph looked as he was told, but, boy like, paid little attention to the looks of a girl evidently younger than himself. Besides, in comparison with the brilliant Yolande, whose every movement was grace, and every word fascination, how could he admire aught else? And was not Yolande, in addition, at least four years older than himself?
The soft eyes of the girl, however, seemed to recognise Ralph. She gave him a shy little nod of welcome and acknowledgment.
"Why, my cousin, she knoweth thee!" said Yolande. "Who is she?"
"Nay, I know not," said Ralph, not quite pleased at being nodded to in that familiar way by so poorly clad a little girl.
"Good mother," said the Captain of the Wight, "wilt thou ask the Lady Prioress if she will grant this fair lady a draught of ale or hippocras?"
The old woman only shook her head, but the girl glanced up at the Captain's face, and then said,--
"Noble sir, Gammer Audrey is deaf. I will run in and ask Sister Agnes," and the child drew her hand out of that of the old woman, and disappeared through the door.
"'Tis strange!" muttered the Lord Woodville; "her eyes are wondrous like, and the voice--old memories are stirring, methinks, to-day."
In a few minutes the figure of a nun carrying a tray on which were a flagon and some pewter cups, appeared at the narrow door, followed by the girl, bearing a dish with a few apples piled upon it.
The nun had hardly passed out of the door when she gave a little stagger, and nearly dropped the things she was carrying. Recovering herself with an effort, she approached Yolande.
"My faith, my Lord Woodville, if the girl were lovely, what think you of the sister?" said Yolande.
Lord Woodville looked at the nun, as she approached, and became deadly pale.
"How could it be!" he murmured. "I heard she was dead!"
"Well," observed Yolande, "of all strange things, this is the most parlous bewildering! Who'd have thought the unmoved Lord Woodville could be so passing stirred twice in the same hour?"
The nun poured out the hippocras, and offered it to Yolande, who took it from the fair hand of the draped and veiled figure, with the curiosity and awe which all women feel when brought face to face with one of their own sex who is utterly dead to the world. The air of mystery, romance, and sanctity which surround the convent life was not then probably so powerful as now. Then, the nuns lived more openly, and were a part of the everyday life of society. But to Yolande, with her strong love of life, its amusements, its follies, and its excitement, it seemed like being confronted with death to look at that pale face, downcast eyes, and shrouded figure.
[image]THE NUN OFFERED THE WINE TO YOLANDE.
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THE NUN OFFERED THE WINE TO YOLANDE.
The nun's face was strikingly beautiful. Her features were very straight, with splendid eyebrows, and a sweet mouth, whose full lips were rendered almost more attractive by the little droop at each corner producing a soft dimple in the rounded cheek. The long lashes lay like a fringe over her magnificent dark hazel eyes, and as she stood, quite impassive and expressionless, only deadly pale, Yolande felt drawn towards her as she had never felt drawn to any woman before.
The Captain of the Wight kept his eyes fixed on the sweet face.
"Pious lady," he said, "we are greatly indebted to thee for thy hospitable courtesy. Hast thou been in these parts long?"
Obliged to answer, the nun, still keeping her eyes, however, steadily on the ground, said, in a low, deep melodious voice,--
"Noble sir, Sister Ursula and I came hither but three months since."
"Holy saints!" muttered the Captain, "'tis her very voice!"
Then, after a pause, he said,--
"Thou art happy and peaceful here? There is naught that frights or disturbs you?"
A little flicker passed over the statue-like features. A slight tremor of the mouth, and a quiver of the eyelids, showed the nun was suffering from some not quite controlled emotion. Bending her head a little down, and keeping her eyes more than ever on the ground, she said, in her bell-like voice,--
"Noble sir, there is naught that frights us."
"And this girl, who is she?" asked the Captain.
"'Tis a child which hath been brought hither for our Prioress to tend."
"Hath she no relatives here?"
"Nay, I know not; but she is well with us," said the nun, looking at the child with affection. It was the first expression of softer feeling that had yet come into her face.
The child returned her look with love and bright confidence.
"Thou art happy here?" said Yolande.
"Ay, truly am I," replied the girl; "now I know father will be safe."
"And who is thy father, sweet child?"
"He is a noble knight, but I may not tell his name," said the girl.
"Dost thou know, holy sister?" said Yolande, unable to repress her natural curiosity.
The nun looked a trifle surprised, as if not expecting such a breach of manners in so high-born a damsel, but she replied, as coldly as ever,--
"Nay, I know naught that passeth in the world. None who enter here have name, or kin on earth."
Yolande shivered. It seemed like talking to a ghost.
As her thirst was now assuaged, and none of the others would take any more--although Lord Woodville took an apple from the pretty child, and in doing so availed himself of the opportunity of slipping a gold coin on to the dish, the nun withdrew as silently as she came, and the girl accompanied her, giving another nod of friendly farewell to Ralph.
"'Tis getting late, Lord Woodville, and I must be riding home," said Yolande. "Where my father hath gotten to, I know not; and as for my poor Breton, good lack!" and she broke into a merry laugh.
They rode away from the peaceful vale, the long shadows of evening falling across the plain, and the chill mist of the marshland rising in white film around. They were a silent party. Lord Woodville was plunged in deep reverie. Yolande could not strike any sparks of wit out of Ralph, who worshipped her far too seriously to be quite at home and at his ease, and took in serious dudgeon the playful raillery with which his cousin treated him on the subject of the dark-eyed damsel.
"You silly boy, you think you are fond of me; but when you reach the age of manhood, and are of an age to marry, the lady of your choice will be one who is now a girl of just that little one's age. You mark my words."
"And what do you call the right age to marry?" asked the crestfallen Ralph.
"Oh, not before you are thirty or forty, or fifty or sixty. There! I'll marry you when I am sixty. So now go and be happy, and grow as fast as you can; in wisdom, at least, for your body is big enough, good lack!"
As they rode back into the more cultivated land they met parties of two or three of the expedition returning from the chase; and as they passed Arreton Church they fell in with Sir William Lisle, who had been looking for his daughter, accompanied by Sir Amand de la Roche Guemené, who was mounted on a fresh horse.
"Marry, Sir Amand, where's thy horse?" laughed Yolande.
"Pardie, mademoiselle, zat I cannot tell. I left 'im in ze vase."[*]
[*] "Vase," Anglicé "mud."
"What vase?" said the astonished Yolande. "It must be a mighty big one if it can hold a horse."
"Foi de mon ordre!no; it would sallow 'im as easy as anyzing, and me too, 'ad I been ze fool to stop on 'im."
"Good lack! a vase swallow a horse and man? The poor man's lost his wits!" cried Yolande, while Ralph looked very much astonished, and began to laugh.
"Vat you go for to laugh, young man?" said the disconcerted and puzzled Breton. "Is zere anyzing drole in ze vase svalloving a man?"
"Why, beshrew me, there is!" said old Sir William Lisle. "Thou hast got hold of the wrong word; 'tis mud thou meanest, not a vase. Good lack! good lack! how these munseers do show their ignorance."
As Yolande and her father were not going back to Carisbrooke Castle, they took leave of their noble host, and rode away across the downs to Briddlesford, which lay at the head of the long winding creek which flowed in from the Solent, while the others pursued their way back to the castle.
The Captain of the Wight seemed plunged into a deeper reverie than ever, and scarcely spoke one word the whole way back. Ralph's mind was full of the tournament, and of the Abbot's promise to let him have money enough to equip himself as became an aspirant to chivalry.
As soon as he had an opportunity, he took Maurice Woodville and Dicky Cheke aside and told them of his good fortune.
"My faith, Lisle, you are in luck. How much will he give you?"
"I don't know; but he said he would tell old Langstoke to let me have what I wanted."
"Well, an I were you, I'd strike while the iron is hot. I should get leave from old Jack-in-Harness to go down to-night, and lose no time. There's only six days before the Feast of St Michael," said Maurice Woodville.
"Ay, so should I," said Dicky Cheke. "And, I say, Lisle, ask him to let us go too. We can help you; you're such a simpleton, any chapman can cheat you. You big fellows always are stupid and easily overreached."
Giving Dicky Cheke a tweak of the nose, which caused that young gentleman to rush after him as he left the room, and kick violently against the door, which Ralph prudently shut, with happy promptitude, behind him, Master Lisle went off to look for Sir John Trenchard.
He tapped at the door of the knight's apartments, and hearing a voice say "Come in," he opened the door, and found Bowerman reclining on a couch, his head bandaged and his eyes closed. He was alone.
"Who's that?" said the wounded page.
"Oh, Bowerman, I am grievous sad to see you look in such parlous case," said Ralph, his conscience pricking him for not having inquired after, or been to see, his wounded comrade before.
At the sound of Ralph's voice, Bowerman's face flushed up; and in a voice whose tones expressed concentrated hate, he said,--
"You fiend you! who asked you to come here?"
"Well, Bowerman, I don't see why you should bear me such ill-will. 'Twas not my fault you met with your mishap."
"Yes, it was. If you had not aimed at the beaver,[*] which you know well enough is the weakest part of the whole armour, I should not have got that splinter in my cheek."
[*] The visor.
"But," said Ralph, taken aback by this novel ground of accusation, "you could have aimed at mine; and, besides, the beaver would never have come open, had it been tightly clasped."
"That's all as may be! but I knew you had never done anything of the kind before, so I hit you where there was least danger; and in return for my good nature, you took a cowardly advantage of me."
Ralph coloured up.
"Bowerman, I have told you I am grieved you are hurt--if I could do anything to help you, I would; but, because you are wounded, you have no right to say such unjust and untrue things."
"There, that's just like your mean, lily-livered nature. Here I lie, unable to get up and punish you, all through your own base fault, and then you come in when no one is here, and tell me I tell lies!"
Ralph felt his temper rising, but he kept as calm as he could.
"You know, Bowerman, you are not just. But as you are suffering, I will not get angry. I can do nothing for you, then?"
"Ay, marry can you, and that speedily--get out of this room!"
At this moment Lady Trenchard entered.
"Ah, Master Lisle, that is right courteous of you, and as one of gentle birth should do, to come and visit your discomfited comrade. I marvelled you had not come afore. But I heard you were out with the Lord Captain, and so I told Master Bowerman."
Ralph felt a little uncomfortable. He did not deserve these excuses, for he had forgotten all about Bowerman. Lady Trenchard went on.
"Tell us now what sport you had. 'Twill cheer us up, and be as good as a tale for your comrade. 'Twill be kind in him, will it not, Master Bowerman?"
But the wounded page only tossed on his couch and uttered a sound, half groan, half smothered exclamation of furious rage.
"Ah, poor lad! he suffers much. I fear me these are febrile signs. 'Twill be well to have the worthy and pious Sir Simon Halbard to bleed him. He is something of a leech, and was infirmarer once, I heard, at Quarr Abbey; but thy tale will solace him, and take away his thoughts from the pain of the wound."
Ralph longed to get away, but he was too polite to refuse to do what Lady Trenchard asked him. He began--determining to make the narrative as brief as possible--to tell the chief events of the afternoon.
As he told of the Breton knight being stuck in the mud, a grunt of satisfaction proceeded from Bowerman.
"Ah! thou seest, Master Lisle. I told thee thy tale would solace him, and help to drive away his pain," said Lady Trenchard complacently.
When Ralph came to the nuns, and told how they had so willingly brought refreshment for Yolande, of whom, by the way, he scarcely spoke at all, Lady Trenchard remarked,--
"Ah, the Lady Abbess of Saint Clare, without Aldgate, wrote to me to go over and see the two new sisters who have come down of late. I am glad thou hast reminded me of this, fair page. There is one in whom she taketh much concern, as fearing for her health. She hath had trials in the world, and hath not yet gotten cured of them. And so thou rodest all day with the fair Mistress Yolande?" added the grave and erect Lady Trenchard, with a penetrating glance.
Ralph grew very red.
"Yea, my lady--that is, nay. She rode with my Lord Captain, and I waited on him, as was my duty."
"Ay, and so she rode with the Captain? Like enough, like enough!" Then, after a pause she added, as if in a soliloquy, "Ah well, she won't make much of him, poor lass. His heart's been broke these twelve years or more. 'Tis a sad story, and not one you lads would care to hear."
"Yes, I should, Dame Trenchard," said Bowerman shortly, while Ralph looked up surprised. It had never crossed his mind that so exalted a person, and so rigid as the Captain of the Wight, could possibly have a weakness or a romance.
"Nay, nay," said Lady Trenchard, sorry she had aroused their curiosity, "'tis a long and sad story, and not one that will give you joy. Besides, 'twas a kinsman of Master Lisle who married the fair girl, sore against her will; but her own true knight was away, and her father's and the king's will had to be obeyed, and so she was wed. But not for long--she soon died, they said; but who knows? 'Twas a sad story."
And Lady Trenchard nodded her head gravely, then shook it sadly, as if she saw some sad mistake occurring, and lapsed into silence.
"But what of the Captain of the Wight, Dame Trenchard?" said Bowerman. "What hath he to do in all this?"
"The Captain of the Wight! what of him?" said Lady Trenchard absently. Her thoughts had gone off to the shortcomings of her maids, and whether Dame Joanna Bowerman would not have looked better in a black cote hardie, and lemon-coloured taffeta kirtle, than the yellow one which she wore, with a bright blue bodice.
"Not but what she tireth herself well, does Joanna Bowerman. I mind her when she was little Joanna Roucley. She always did have a liking for smart things, and she's a woman that bears them well--I will say that for her. But she lacked skill in colour."
"But what of the Captain?" persisted Bowerman.
"Well! what of the Captain?" said Lady Trenchard, with some slight asperity. "I know naught of the Captain. He hath come back, I trow?"
"Yea, but you were telling me of some love affair of his."
"Marry, was I? not that I know of. You sleep now, Master Bowerman; 'twill be best for you," said Lady Trenchard decisively.
Eustace Bowerman muttered something that sounded very like "old hag," and "obstinate old harridan," which was quite unheeded by Lady Trenchard; and Ralph took the opportunity to slip out of the room.