CHAPTER XXI.OF THE COMBATÀ OUTRANCE.After the Captain of the Wight and the stranger knight had gravely saluted each other, there was a pause. The silence was broken by Lord Woodville."Sir Knight," he said, "you have challenged me to mortal combat. You have flung charges in my teeth that are false and foul. You have aspersed the name which you, of all men, ought most to reverence, and yet, rebel as you are, you have put yourself in my hands as Captain for the King. I come here as plain Edward Woodville, knight and simple gentleman. The Captain of the Wight has laid aside his authority to give the lie to your words, and to prove on your body the truth of his. But before we try the judgment of battle, for the sake of one who is utterly free from the vile taunts you have flung forth, I would fain tell you that as that moon floats pure and serene in yonder azure sky, so that name is as unsullied, and that life as chaste. If you are still fain to try the hazard of battle, maugre my solemn statement, here am I ready to meet you, as man to man, and may Heaven defend the right. Thou well knowest thou hast done to me the cruellest wrong one man can do to another on this earth. Thou hast blighted two lives, and thou wouldst defame them as well. If any man longed for vengeance, 'twere certes I who ought to pray for it. Yet, Heaven knoweth, I harbour no thoughts of revenge, and I would be well content that thou and I should never meet. Thou hast taken a bold step, and one that doeth credit to my knightly honour more than all thy base aspersions have done to assail it, by coming to my government, and putting thyself in my power, well knowing that for a private wrong no belted knight who deserved the name would use the power of his office to wreak vengeance on a personal foe by means of the authority given him by the King. But in sparing a fugitive from Stoke field, and in not handing him up to the royal power, I may be tried for my life, and lose all worldly renown in a traitor's death. Knowing this, thou hast put it to the hazard, and to wreak vengeance on me hast cared naught that in sparing thee I am running the chance of dying on the block. Trusting to my chivalry, and safe from my authority, because thou knewest I would use no power over thee but such as my own arm and stout lance could give me, thou hast yet dared to jeopardise my life and fame, only to meet me in mortal fight. Sir Knight, thou hast done ill, but no worse than thou hast done in all thy life."The strange knight listened silently to the Lord Woodville. He waited to hear if he were going to say more; but after a little pause, seeing that the Captain of the Wight had finished his speech, he replied, briefly and bitterly,--"Sir Edward Woodville--commonly called Lord Woodville,--I am here to fight, not to bandy words. I believe thou art a full worshipful knight, and therefore I did thee the honour of trusting to thy courtesy, and I was not mistaken; but as for what thou sayest, I believe not one word. Well know I that the trained and pretty merlin will return to the hand of him who trained her--while even the lanner will go back at the call of the lure. Say no more. That thou hast left me unmolested, I thank thee; for the ill thou hast done, I hate thee, and mean on thy body to take full vengeance for mine own dishonour. Let us waste no more words, but begin; I scorn thee, hate thee, and thirst to be revenged on thee."No more words were spoken. The two knights wheeled round their horses, and paced back a sufficient distance. Then turning about, they faced each other.The scene looked strange and spectral. The moon, blurred by a flitting mist, which flickered over its face, shone down on the ghostly figures of the gleaming horsemen. The two esquires, encased, like their lords, in complete harness, sat motionless on their horses a little behind the chief actors in the coming duel. The dark forms of the two foot men were dimly to be seen to the left of the horsemen; while beyond the silent group, the grey sea stretched away and away until it seemed to rise to the leaden clouds which hung like a livid pall beneath the silvery moon. On either side rose the dim downs, and over all a light mist clung to the shimmering landscape, making the weird figures seem more phantomlike in their faint and misty vagueness. There was nothing human in the scene. The grim forms, the strange-shaped helmets, the utter absence of all external signs of life in those steel-cased horsemen, their powerful chargers weirdly hidden in polished steel, all combined to make them look like huge monsters of a far-gone age returned to visit by the pale moonlight the haunts of their prehistoric life. Only the steam from the nostrils of the warhorses gave the least sign of actual existence to the scene. Around were the everlasting hills; beyond, the ever restless sea; above, the infinite vault of space, with the scarred and blighted face of the vapourless moon looking down on the puny strife of men whose little lives and passions are to the universe but as the indistinguishable pulses of the tiniest of microbes or as the froth of a bubble floating in infinity.Without waiting for any word, the two knights, as if by a common impulse, clapped spurs to their chargers, and with lance in rest, and bodies well down under their shields, rode fiercely for each other. This was no gentle tilt with blunted lances, but each knight knew his existence was at stake, and that in the keen thrust of the gleaming spear-point lay life or death. They met in a hurtling crash, and the noise of splintering wood and clanging metal rang through the silence of the night. For a moment no one knew what had happened; but as the two horses broke away, it was seen that they trotted off without their riders.Scarcely waiting to see what had happened, Ralph caught his lord's war-horse, and returned to his place. Eagerly he looked to see what had been the result. One knight had risen from the ground; the other was attempting to do so, but only feebly moved. Ralph rode nearer, and the other three figures advanced also. The excitement in Ralph's heart was intense: what should he do if his dearly loved lord were slain? A fierce thought rose. He would hurl himself on the others, and either avenge his master, or die in the attempt.But as he drew nearer, his bitter anxiety was changed to joy. It was Lord Woodville who was on his feet, and standing over the writhing body of his antagonist."Yield thee, Sir George Lisle!" said the Captain of the Wight, in a stern, but feeble voice."I yield to no man!" came back the fierce answer, still more faintly hissed through the closed helm. "Do thy worst!"For a moment Lord Woodville seemed uncertain what to do. He held his keen poignard in his left hand, and his drawn sword in the other, and held the point of it to the narrow opening in the close-shut helm.But before he could form a decided resolve, a fierce voice called out,--"Upon him, and revenge your lord."And with lowered lance the man-at-arms charged the Captain of the Wight, while the two sturdy varlets sprang at Ralph. But the young esquire, hearing the words and seeing the movement, with a touch of the spur leaped his horse in front of his lord, and received the lance-thrust of the man-at-arms on his shield, dealing his assailant a fierce buffet in return."Ah, caitiff!" cried Ralph. "Vile traitor that thou art, thou shall rue thy villainy!""Shall I, in sooth, sir upstart?" sneered a well-known voice. "Thou hast escaped me once, but now I have thee. See, thy lord is falling to the ground."Ralph turned instinctively to look, and at the same moment received a stunning blow on the side of his helmet which nearly knocked him out of the saddle; but he quickly recovered himself, and flinging down his lance, he seized hismartel de fer, or mace, and reining his horse backwards, he dealt the varlet who was attacking Lord Woodville a terrific blow on the head, instantly felling the man to the ground. But it was true, Lord Woodville had fallen to the ground, and the other footman was upon him. Ralph, without a moment's hesitation, sprang from his horse and struck wildly at the man, who was just wrenching off Lord Woodville's helmet. The blow took only partial effect, but it drew the attention of the man to him, and with an oath he turned savagely upon the young esquire.The odds were terribly against him."Have at the coxcomb, Dan; he's only good for tilting before ladies, and only then when they bribe their lovers to spare his dainty youth," called out the man-at-arms, as he prepared to strike Ralph again with his uplifted sword. But Ralph did not yet lose hope. The love of life was strong in him. He closed with the half-armed varlet, and dealt him a blow with his poignard, which he had now drawn. The man uttered a fearful imprecation, and cut at Ralph with his axe; but the harness of the young esquire was good, and the weapon only glanced aside. Seeing how little use was his axe, the man dropped it, and drew his dagger also, closing with Ralph, and trying to drive the point through the bars of his visor. But the boy had been well taught, and he parried the thrust on his steel gauntlet, dealing his foe a deep stab with his right hand."Strike him, youngster, strike him!" shouted the man, in fierce rage. "What art standing there for seeing him murdering me?""How can I strike him without doing thee a mischief, old stockfish? Get thyself away, and I'll soon do for him."But Ralph fully understood his advantage, and wrestled with the man until they both fell to the ground over the prostrate body of Lord Woodville.The man-at-arms now got off his horse and came to the assistance of the varlet who had fallen upon Ralph, but was severely wounded."Drive thy sword through his visor," gasped the man, whose arms were held by Ralph, who was struggling to regain his feet.The keen point played around the helmet of the esquire, who by twisting and turning his head prevented the thrust from taking effect, but, held as he was by the weight of the varlet above him, he could not hope to avoid the blow much longer."Wrench off his helm, man!" cried the impatient man-at-arms."How can I? Don't you see he's got hold of my arms?" said the other, in a gruff voice, which was growing fainter. "Stab him! why don't ye? Stab him!"[image]"HE DROVE HIS DAGGER INTO THE CAITIFF ABOVE HIM."Ralph made one more desperate effort; he drove his dagger into the caitiff above him, who with a deep groan ceased struggling and rolled over, thus freeing Ralph, who sprang to his feet and turned upon the man-at-arms.The young esquire still had his mace hanging from the chain slung round his right arm. Seizing it in his gauntleted hand, and transferring his dagger to his left, he struck furiously at the steel-clad figure before him, parrying at the same time with his dagger a dangerous thrust aimed at his visor. The mace crashed on the helmet of his foe, and a smothered exclamation of pain and rage came from out the barred morion.Cutting wildly at the gorget of the young esquire, the man-at-arms turned and made a dash for his horse."Stay, man-at-arms! Turn, caitiff that thou art!" called Ralph after him. "Ah, recreant esquire, get thee gone, then, coward that thou art!" and Ralph, who was thinking more of his lord than of the pursuit of his cowardly assailant, turned back from following him to attend to his prostrate chief.As he bent over Lord Woodville, he noticed a dark patch on his shining armour. There was a deep dent in the globular breast-plate, and the broken end of a lance head was sticking in it.Ralph was in despair; the Captain of the Wight lay motionless in his harness; the silence was broken only by the cry of a sea-fowl as it circled over head, and the distant thud of the sea as it rolled on the shore below. Was Ralph the only living thing in that lonely valley among the solemn hills?He undid the buckle of his lord's helmet, and reverently removed the cumbrous tilting-helm. As he did so he heard a faint sigh from the stricken knight, and as the moonlight fell on his noble features he opened his eyes."My lord, my lord, thou art not dead!" cried Ralph in joy. But no answer came back, the eyes had closed again, and despair once more seized on the young esquire.What could he do? He looked round. What was it that flickered against his face? The air was piercingly cold, and the moon had become obscured by a thickening of the air. Ralph had opened his visor, that he might attend his lord more easily. Again something flickered in his face, cold and feathery. It was snowing.Here was a fresh cause for anxiety. Alone in that sequestered valley, who could bring them help? And he did not dare to leave his lord alone, for fear that caitiff should return to finish the murderous work. As Ralph looked round in despair at the dreary scene, his heart sank within him. The landscape was fast becoming one grey indistinguishable blot, and the feeble light of the hidden moon was turning to a sickly livid hue. In a short time, too, he knew the moon would set.A faint noise on the left caused Ralph to look round. The four bodies lay still and stark; but there was something moving out of the grey obscurity of the distance. Ralph closed his visor and handled his sword. The dark object drew nearer, and a yellow spark seemed to be coming with it. Ralph called out,--"Whoever thou art, hasten thy steps; if foe, that I may handle thee, or if friend, that thou mayest help my lord.""'Tis a friend, my son, and I come apace as fast as my stiffening joints will let me," cried a deep voice."Thank Heaven!" murmured the esquire. "Then my lord will not die."By this time the dim shadow had come nearer, and Ralph saw that there were two figures--one tall and burly, the other short and slight. Both were draped in long cloaks, partially covered with the fast-falling snow. The taller of the new comers carried a lantern.Dim and ghostly the figures looked in their peaked hoods and long mantles, entirely concealing face and form."Ah! we have come in time: no, no, too late!" and the slighter figure uttered a shrill and bitter cry of pain, as it bent over the lifeless mass of armour which held the unknown knight."Look to my lord first," said Ralph shortly."My son, 'tis the young child's father; my lord will wait," answered the elder stranger mildly, as he went to help his childish companion.But Ralph barred the way."Whoever thou art, thou shall see to my lord first," he cried, in a resolute tone.Seeing the fierceness of the youth, the old man quietly answered,--"As thou wilt, my son; but thou shouldest respect youth, old age, and filial grief. But go thou and help the child, while I attend to thy lord."Ralph, rebuked, did as he was told, there was such dignity, gentleness, and authority in the voice and manner of the tall stranger.It was now very difficult to see. The moon had set, and the snow was falling fast, while the wind sighed mournfully through the withered boughs and twigs of the lonely thorn tree."May God have mercy on all dying souls!" murmured the dim shadow as it bent over the pale face of Lord Woodville; and Ralph could have sobbed aloud in anguish of heart as he felt his lord was dead."Oh, help me! help me! Master Lisle!" cried the agonised voice of the other stranger, shivering with cold and pain of heart. "Undo his helm or he will die, an he be not gone already," and a piteous sob of utter woe broke from the crouching figure.Ralph, thinking only of his sorrow, did not notice the keen grief of the other, but he hastened up nevertheless, and speedily undid the helm."Oh, father! father!" sobbed the shivering voice; "speak, father!"But no sound came from the set mouth, and the child broke out into piteous distress, sobbing and choking as though her heart would break.Ralph was touched. Even in his own stony sorrow he felt for the poor child."Nay, nay, he may not be dead," he said, trying to comfort her. "See, he moves!" he cried, noticing a quiver of the gauntleted hand."Let me look, my son," said the gentle voice of the other stranger. "Go thou, catch yonder horse; thy lord lives, and will recover.""Will he?" cried Ralph joyously, springing up and going in search of the horses, which, well trained as they were, were standing under the shelter of the thorn-bush out of the fast-driving snow.When he returned leading the two horses, he was delighted to find Lord Woodville sitting up."My fair boy," said the Captain of the Wight, in a faint voice, "thou must help me on to my charger and lead me home. I have been hard stricken, albeit the wound is not mortal. But before thou aidest me, see to the state of Sir George Lisle: I would be loth he should die."Lord Woodville spoke with difficulty, and paused between his words.Ralph did as he was told, and found the two shrouded figures still bending over the inanimate knight."The Lord Woodville hath sent me to make inquiry of the knight--how fareth he?""Make answer that he is sore stricken, and in parlous case; but an we may get him to a place of shelter, he may do well."Ralph returned and reported the message."Is there no other horse but mine? If not, take mine and leave me here," said Lord Woodville simply.He had drawn his sword, and was holding it by the blade before him. The sword thus held had all the proportions of a Latin cross."'Thou shalt love thine enemies. Do good to those who hate thee,'" murmured the wounded Captain of the Wight."My lord, there is the knight's own horse, or he can have mine.""Haste thee, then! gentle youth, for his wounds and mine are growing stiff, and there is need of shelter," faintly gasped the wounded Captain.With rather more difficulty Ralph caught the other horse, and led it up to the little group in the snow. Then, by dint of hard exertion, the Hermit of St Catherine's--for it was he who had come to their aid--and Ralph lifted the wounded knight on to his horse, and the old man holding him in his high-peaked saddle, with the slight figure leading the horse by its bridle, they disappeared in the grey obscurity.Ralph now returned to his lord. To his surprise and joy he found the Captain of the Wight had risen to his feet. The Hermit had removed the corslet, extracted the spear-head, and staunched the wound with some balsam and simples for healing sword or lance wounds. With effort he was able to mount his horse, and with Ralph holding the bridle, and ready to steady his lord in his saddle should he feel faint or giddy, the two figures wended their way over the snow towards Carisbrooke Castle.It was a weary journey, and Ralph never felt so relieved in his life as when he descried the noble pile standing up black and grand in the midst of the white landscape.With wonderful courage and resolution Lord Woodville sat erect in his saddle as they entered by the little postern gate, at which only one archer was on guard. He so carried himself until they reached the door of his own apartments, then, dismounting with Ralph's aid, he staggered to a settle in the hall and fainted away.Ralph had presence of mind enough not to disturb the house. He went to Lady Trenchard's apartments and called her. That prudent lady soon came, and with her husband's assistance they managed to get the Lord Woodville to his room. Seeing his lord in safe hands, Ralph left to look after the horses. But Humphrey had already led them away, and in a few moments more Ralph, with the aid of his trusty varlet, had taken off his harness, and was soon fast asleep.When he awoke next morning, the chapel bell was tolling, and he could hear the merry voices of the other pages as they lounged round the hall door before going into chapel. All things seemed as usual, but one more strange adventure had added its experience to the life of Ralph. He could scarcely believe it was little more than half a year since he had left his home.CHAPTER XXII.OF THE VOICE OF THE CHARMER.During the next two months events of importance had occurred. The Captain of the Wight had recovered from his wound in time to attend the splendid ceremony of his niece's coronation, and his faithful young esquire had accompanied him to London. It was a joyful time. On their march from Southampton to the metropolis, Ralph obtained leave to visit his home.Attended by Humphrey, he separated from the retinue of the Captain of the Wight at Southampton, to join it again at Guildford. By riding fast he would be able to make up for the longer distance, and would thus obtain time to spend one night at home.The talk of all the garrison of Carisbrooke Castle and indeed of all the south of England, was the approaching war with France. No man doubted, and all men wished, that Henry VII. would be driven to take the part of his old benefactor, Francis, Duke of Brittany, in the defence of his duchy against the troops of France, led by the young King Charles VIII. It was so obviously the policy of England to prevent this powerful duchy being united to the French crown, which was already giving signs of the power it possessed, under the crafty rule of Louis XI., that far-seeing English statesmen like the Bishop of Ely, Master Christopher Urswick, and Sir John Edgecomb, the prototypes of England's diplomatists, could not doubt that Henry must see the vast importance of keeping France disunited, and of maintaining such an "imperium in imperio" as Brittany in semi-independence. Englishmen still longed to wipe out the disgrace of their expulsion from France, and any prospect of war with that country was hailed with joy. For war meant, according to the views of the time, not an impoverishment of both contending nations, but an increase of wealth to one or the other. Every esquire or common soldier might return a rich man. If, now-a-days, young men go forth to the ends of the earth to dig for gold, or spend their young lives in isolated exile in the wilds of the far West, or the savannahs of South America, or the rainless plains of Australia, with what eagerness would they have turned to war, where strength of arm and average good fortune meant glory, social distinction, and personal wealth? The capture of a rich prisoner in war meant the payment of a large ransom; and, as a wise man-at-arms knew, the best investment of his money was in forming a troop; the capture of one rich prisoner resulted in the decrease of power to his country's foe, as well as the personal aggrandisement of his captor. And all this brilliant prospect of success was enhanced by the scene in which the aspirant to fame displayed his prowess. Not drearily working at dull, monotonous manual labour far from the surroundings of civilisation, but in the very heart of social life carving out wealth, and fame, and name. No wonder war was popular.To the eyes of the English people there never had been a time better suited for recovering the Duchies of Normandy, Guienne, and Gascony, since their final loss, but thirty years before. France's extremity had always been England's opportunity; and it was through Brittany and Normandy that English men-at-arms had poured to the conquest of France--to such splendid victories as Crecy and Agincourt. As Scotland was the thorn in England's side, so Brittany and Burgundy were the sharp points wherewith to rasp the French.By a strange coincidence, the two capitals of Burgundy and Brittany, similar in name--Nancy and Nantes--received the mortal remains of their two last dukes within ten years of each other. In 1477 the last male of the house of Burgundy was borne from the field of battle to his splendid tomb in Nancy, leaving his only daughter to be despoiled of her inheritance by the craft of Louis XI.; while in 1488 the last male of the house of Brittany was entombed in the magnificent pile erected to his memory in the church of the Carmelites at Nantes, leaving also an only daughter to be fought for by an emperor, a king, a royal duke, and a puissant lord of the Pyrenees. And, by another singular fatality, the same Prince became the husband of both heiresses. Maximilian won, but speedily lost, both Mary of Burgundy and Anne of Brittany.The common talk of all men, therefore, was the expedition that would shortly sail for France. The Captain of the Wight made no secret of his intentions, but determined to obtain the royal sanction first.Full of the exciting prospects before him, and proud of his rapid progress, Ralph rode eagerly home.With what joy he saw the blue smoke curling over the brown trees which hid the old manor house."See, Humphrey, there's the gilded vane on the west gable, and now I can see the stacks of chimneys. Whoop, lad, get on;" and the joyous boy urged his horse to a quicker pace. In a few minutes more he had turned the corner of the road, and before him lay the picturesque range of old gables and low windows.He had not been able to let his parents know of his coming. He cantered up to the gate, jumped off his horse, and in another minute was in his mother's arms.There is no need to describe the pride and joy of his parents, or the half-concealed awe of his brother Jasper. His younger brother had gone to Oxenford, and sent home from time to time accounts of his progress. After a delightful visit, all too short for Ralph and his parents, the young esquire set out to rejoin his lord. He arrived in time at Guildford, and the next day they entered the capital.The King had already returned with his nobles and men-at-arms from the progress he had been making in the north, and the next day the ceremony of the coronation of the Queen was to take place. Ralph was in immediate attendance on his lord, who, as uncle of the Queen, held a high place of honour in the ceremonies. The esquire was witness of the installation of fourteen Knights of the Bath, and was astonished at the grandeur, solemnity, and state of the proceedings. But what amazed him most was the gorgeous procession of barges, all gilded and bedecked with flags, which accompanied the Queen on the Thames. He was forcibly reminded of Yolande as he saw the lovely young Queen, with her fair yellow hair rippling in golden masses down her back, intertwined with strings of jewels, and crowned with a golden crown; dressed in "white cloth of gold of damask," and with a richly furred ermine mantle over her shapely shoulders. But the palm of beauty was carried off by her second sister Cicely, the loveliest woman of her time, whose romantic life had not yet reached its most romantic period. Ralph little knew that that exquisite face and queenly figure would one day reside in a humble manor-house but three miles from his future home, and that her husband would be lower in social station than himself.He attended on the Captain of the Wight as one of the suite, at the coronation banquet in the great hall, and Ralph was again surprised at the gorgeous pageant. But he did not like to see two such fair damoiselles as the Lady Catherine Grey and Mistress Ditton sitting under the table at the lovely Queen's feet, and could not understand why the Lady Oxford and the Lady Rivers should hold up, from time to time, a handkerchief before that sweet face, while he pitied their having to kneel through such a long state ceremony.[*][*] Leland.Collectanea.He heard how urgently his lord strove to obtain the sanction of Henry VII. to enlist men-at-arms and archers for the aid of the Bretons. But the presence of the French Ambassadors, chief among whom were the Lord Daubigny, a Scotch nobleman in the service of the French crown, combined with a fear of internal troubles in case he should engage in foreign wars, kept that cautious monarch from giving any permission.It was the opinion, however, of Lord Woodville, as well as of most of the English nobles and statesmen, that the King would not be at all averse to an expedition being fitted out privately, which he could disavow in public. Indeed most men thought he would be very much gratified by such an exhibition of zeal.Full of these ideas, and encouraged by the promises of assistance he received from many experienced knights, as well as by numerous offers of service from men of lesser rank, Sir Edward Woodville returned to his island government.The coronation had taken place in November; it was now the middle of January 1488. The next two months were employed in sounding the principal inhabitants of the island.The Breton gentlemen had gone back to Brittany trusting to the promised aid, and carrying with them exaggerated ideas of Lord Woodville's position and power.Ralph and the other pages enjoyed their lives as healthy boys engaged in the manly employments of life in a mediæval castle must have enjoyed them. Hawking, hunting, daily drill and exercise, boating and fishing, such were their occupations. Ralph had never breathed a word of the midnight duel, nor did he know what had become of the wounded knight. The Captain of the Wight never referred to it, and he kept his own counsel. The valley was once revisited by him, as far as he could recollect its whereabouts; but in the coombes and dells of the downs there were so many level swards at their base, that he was in doubt whether he had come across the right one. There were no traces of any combat about them, there was the thorn bush in one and another, and a little sedgy stream, but no fresh mounds or splintered spears.Ralph had seen much of his cousin Yolande, and his affection and admiration for her were unbounded; but he could not disguise from himself that although she treated him with absolute candour and sisterly affection, yet she always grew silent if the Captain of the Wight were near, and hung on every word that nobleman spoke. It never crossed Ralph's mind to be jealous, only he wished the Captain of the Wight did not appear quite so often upon the scene.But the thoughts of that nobleman were far removed from such trivial subjects, if credence was to be placed in his words and actions. By sound of trumpet and proclamation the inhabitants of the Isle of Wight were summoned to a general muster at Shide Bridge, a place already celebrated by a previous muster to take account of the military strength of the island in the reign of King Edward the Second, held by John de la Hoese and John de Lisle.Thither on the day appointed the gentry of the island, with the yeomen and country people, wended their way. The Bailiffs of Newport, Newtown, Yarmouth, and Brading, accompanied by the richer of the burgesses of those boroughs, attended. There were the bailiffs and stewards of the various estates held by the ecclesiastical bodies of Winchester College, Whorwell Monastery, Christchurch Priory, and Ashey; while the Abbot of Quarr, the Prior of Carisbrooke, representing the Carthusian monastery of Shene, and the Bailiff of Appuldurcombe, for the nunnery of St Clare, without Aldgate, were also present. There came, besides, the reeves of the manors belonging to the imprisoned Earl of Warwick, from Brixton and Swainston. There were representatives of all the island families: Sir Nicholas Wadham, Sir John Oglander, Sir William Lisle of Wootton, Master Meaux, recovered from his rough handling of five months before, a Bowerman from Brooke, Trenchards from Watchingwell and Shalfleet, a Dineley from Woolverton, a Cheke from Mattistone, the Bowermans of Austerborne or Osborn, John Racket of Knighton, and his relative by marriage, Leigh of Woolverton in Bembridge, a Hawles of the ancient family of De Aula from Stenbury Manor. There were Urrys, Keyneys, De Heynos, Bruyns, with many others too numerous to mention, and a crowd of the lesser yeomen and common people. When all were assembled, the Captain of the Wight, in full armour, but with bare head, mounted on his splendid charger, and surrounded by his seneschals, esquires, and pages, addressed the crowd.In a stirring speech he explained the situation. He told how many evils the French had inflicted upon their forefathers. How in Edward the First's reign they had threatened the island, but were daunted by the stout preparations of the ancestors of many there present. How again in Edward the Third's time they harassed the island by their evil depredations, until under the brave Sir Theobald Russel of Yaverland, who gave his life for his people, they were driven out with loss and shame. How again in Richard the Second's reign the whole island was overrun, and cruel damage inflicted, when all their towns were in flames, and no place safe but the Castle of Carisbrooke. But here again the ancient valour of their race broke out, and under the stout Sir Hugh Tyrrel, "that right hardy knight," they chased the false Frenchmen to their ships, slaying them by scores, "insomuch that from that day Deadman's Lane went by no other name, and Neddie's Hill is still there to show the burial place of the marauders." Again how valorously they drove off Waleran de St Pol, that "noble knight of haut lineage," and frightened away the caitiffs again a few years after; while in Henry the Fifth's time they slew many who were running away to their ships."Shall we then," went on the Captain, "not recover from these false robbers the wealth they have gotten from us? Shall we not avenge on them the wrongs they have done to us? Think, all ye brave knights and sturdy yeomen, of the wealth ye will gain. Think all ye young esquires and right hardy varlets of the honour and renown ye will acquire in the eyes of your fair mistresses. And, above all, think of the glory of being the first to lead the way to victory, and recover for England and our King the ancient lands and duchies of which she hath been so foully robbed. I will stake life and fortune on the venture. I will warrant all men against loss. You will do an action pleasing to all England, and will save an oppressed people, an aged duke, and a fair princess from the cruel hands of the ravisher. They are Bretons, so are we. They hate the French, so do we. The tongue they speak is the native tongue of our sovereign lord the King. Their hero is Arthur; their country is the home of Lancelot-du-lac, Merlin, and all whom we reverence as our own. Shall we not bring help, if in so doing we enrich ourselves, destroy our enemies, win everlasting fame and name, and save our lives and the lives of our children from future outrage? Shall we not bring help? Who are our allies? The King of the Romans, Lord of Austria, Italy, Allemayne, Brabant, and Flanders; the Duke of Brittany, the Duke of Orleans, the Prince of Orange, the Lord d'Albret, and many more of high lineage, great estate, and mighty valour. Did fate ever offer such a chance? and shall we throw it all away? Rather than let France, our bitter foe, rule over our ancient ally, I myself will go with only my own household, and with my single lance will venture my life for such a cause, losing it with ready will, if so it must be. But, noble knights, gallant esquires, worthy burgesses, and sturdy yeomen, shall we not all go together? Shall we not win wealth, renown, safety, and the everlasting gratitude of our King, our country, and our children?"There was a deep murmur of applause. Every one was moved. Even the more reflecting portion of the crowd recognised the truth of many passages in the rousing speech of their Captain. The enthusiasm of the younger men was wild. They applauded vociferously, drawing their swords and waving them over their heads, and it was with difficulty the voice of Sir William Lisle could be heard. He was speaking in support of their Captain, and relating the terror the fears of French invasions had roused throughout the island, so much so that his own ancestor had withdrawn to the mainland, like many others of the island population.When he had finished, many other speakers followed; and at last it was resolved that the Captain of the Wight should be asked to select such as would be most serviceable in the cause, while such as could not go should give of their substance to properly equip the poorer sort.So ended this memorable meeting; and, greatly pleased with the success of the day, Lord Woodville returned to Carisbrooke.In the course of the next week, so many gentlemen and yeomen presented themselves eager to go on the expedition, that Lord Woodville and his officers had some difficulty in making a selection. But by the end of the week forty gentlemen, and about four hundred yeomen, were enrolled, and directed to hold themselves in readiness to sail early in the following week.The excitement in the island was at this time intense. The inhabitants felt the eyes of England were upon them; they felt proud of themselves and of their gallant Captain; and there was scarcely a family, whether rich or poor, which did not contribute some member--in many cases several--to the forthcoming expedition.Ralph was very busy, like every one else in the castle. Weapons and armour were given out, drill was incessantly going on, and all the tailors in Newport were hard at work making surcoats for the men-at-arms and archers. Every man of the expedition was to wear a white tabard with the red cross of St George blazoned on it.At last the important day arrived. Ralph had received permission to visit his relations the evening before. It was an exquisite spring evening, and the scene was lovely as he rode over the long hill between Newport and Wootton.[*] Before him lay the winding creek embowered in thick oak woods--those woods which gave the name to his kinsman's branch of the Lisle family, and perhaps a name to the little hamlet of Wodyton. Beyond stretched the undulating land which hid the Monastery of Quarr, whose deep-toned bell was sounding to complines across the still woods and glassy waters of the creek; while away in the purple distance stretched the gleaming Solent, unruffled by the slightest breeze, and bounded by the dim Sussex shore.[*] Wootton, in Domesday Book "Odetone;" called Wodyton in Bishop Woodlock's Return of the Parishes in the Island; Woditone in the account of the watches kept in the 18th of Ed. II., and in Cardinal Beaufort's Valuation, Woodyton; and in the 8th of Ed. III. Wodyton.Ralph rode down into the valley, where the grey mist floated in mysterious wreaths, from out of which the blue smoke of Briddesford Manor rose like a faint column in the still atmosphere, only to hang above the mist in a greyer cloud.The young esquire felt sad for the first time. He found his cousin awaiting him in the dark old porch. After a few words of friendly greeting, Ralph became silent."Why, cousin Ralph, what aileth thee?" said his cousin."I hardly know, sweet cousin mine, and yet I do know, only thou wilt laugh at me; and so I would not say what yet I fain would."Yolande smiled a sad smile, but she said quietly,--"Nay, fair cousin, say it not. I know what thou thinkest. It may never be. I told thee months ago. Thou wilt some day know how true I spoke. We cannot all have what we wish; and even if we could, we should soon wish for something else.""Well, I would like to try," said Ralph bluntly."Ay, and so should I," sighed Mistress Yolande. "But, Ralph, promise me thou wilt look well after thy lord. He is over venturesome, and, I fear me much, he careth naught for life; indeed I sometimes think he would rather go hence." Yolande's voice became tremulous. She recovered herself after a pause. "Thou wilt watch over him, Ralph? I know not why, but I feel I shall never look upon him more!"And so his lovely cousin had no more words for him than that he should take care of his lord? No matter, Ralph felt he only lived for her. He would willingly die to give her happiness. He simply answered,--"I will do my duty."They then went into the house, and Ralph took a respectful adieu of old Sir William Lisle."Go forth, my kinsman, thou art a worthy son of our noble house. I would well that thou, when thou returnest, shouldst take daughter and lands, and rear up a stalwart line. But it will be as God wills it. Take my blessing, and go forth to victory."So Ralph left his kinsfolk, sadder at heart than he had ever been in all his life, but resolved to bring back his lord in safety and glory to the Wight, or die with him in France.As he rode back over St George's Down--for he took a longer way back, being in a dreamy and melancholy mood--the soft light of the young moon shone in the pale primrose of the western sky. The night-jar uttered its melancholy note, and flapped heavily past in the silence of the evening, while a distant owl raised its plaintive cry from the dark woods which faded in the grey and ghostly mist of the northern valley. This was his last night in England. How many would see their homes again of all that gallant band of high-spirited men?But a step near at hand roused him from his reverie. Two figures passed him almost unobserved. The slighter one turned to look, gave a little sigh, and went on with its taller companion, who seemed to walk with difficulty.
CHAPTER XXI.
OF THE COMBATÀ OUTRANCE.
After the Captain of the Wight and the stranger knight had gravely saluted each other, there was a pause. The silence was broken by Lord Woodville.
"Sir Knight," he said, "you have challenged me to mortal combat. You have flung charges in my teeth that are false and foul. You have aspersed the name which you, of all men, ought most to reverence, and yet, rebel as you are, you have put yourself in my hands as Captain for the King. I come here as plain Edward Woodville, knight and simple gentleman. The Captain of the Wight has laid aside his authority to give the lie to your words, and to prove on your body the truth of his. But before we try the judgment of battle, for the sake of one who is utterly free from the vile taunts you have flung forth, I would fain tell you that as that moon floats pure and serene in yonder azure sky, so that name is as unsullied, and that life as chaste. If you are still fain to try the hazard of battle, maugre my solemn statement, here am I ready to meet you, as man to man, and may Heaven defend the right. Thou well knowest thou hast done to me the cruellest wrong one man can do to another on this earth. Thou hast blighted two lives, and thou wouldst defame them as well. If any man longed for vengeance, 'twere certes I who ought to pray for it. Yet, Heaven knoweth, I harbour no thoughts of revenge, and I would be well content that thou and I should never meet. Thou hast taken a bold step, and one that doeth credit to my knightly honour more than all thy base aspersions have done to assail it, by coming to my government, and putting thyself in my power, well knowing that for a private wrong no belted knight who deserved the name would use the power of his office to wreak vengeance on a personal foe by means of the authority given him by the King. But in sparing a fugitive from Stoke field, and in not handing him up to the royal power, I may be tried for my life, and lose all worldly renown in a traitor's death. Knowing this, thou hast put it to the hazard, and to wreak vengeance on me hast cared naught that in sparing thee I am running the chance of dying on the block. Trusting to my chivalry, and safe from my authority, because thou knewest I would use no power over thee but such as my own arm and stout lance could give me, thou hast yet dared to jeopardise my life and fame, only to meet me in mortal fight. Sir Knight, thou hast done ill, but no worse than thou hast done in all thy life."
The strange knight listened silently to the Lord Woodville. He waited to hear if he were going to say more; but after a little pause, seeing that the Captain of the Wight had finished his speech, he replied, briefly and bitterly,--
"Sir Edward Woodville--commonly called Lord Woodville,--I am here to fight, not to bandy words. I believe thou art a full worshipful knight, and therefore I did thee the honour of trusting to thy courtesy, and I was not mistaken; but as for what thou sayest, I believe not one word. Well know I that the trained and pretty merlin will return to the hand of him who trained her--while even the lanner will go back at the call of the lure. Say no more. That thou hast left me unmolested, I thank thee; for the ill thou hast done, I hate thee, and mean on thy body to take full vengeance for mine own dishonour. Let us waste no more words, but begin; I scorn thee, hate thee, and thirst to be revenged on thee."
No more words were spoken. The two knights wheeled round their horses, and paced back a sufficient distance. Then turning about, they faced each other.
The scene looked strange and spectral. The moon, blurred by a flitting mist, which flickered over its face, shone down on the ghostly figures of the gleaming horsemen. The two esquires, encased, like their lords, in complete harness, sat motionless on their horses a little behind the chief actors in the coming duel. The dark forms of the two foot men were dimly to be seen to the left of the horsemen; while beyond the silent group, the grey sea stretched away and away until it seemed to rise to the leaden clouds which hung like a livid pall beneath the silvery moon. On either side rose the dim downs, and over all a light mist clung to the shimmering landscape, making the weird figures seem more phantomlike in their faint and misty vagueness. There was nothing human in the scene. The grim forms, the strange-shaped helmets, the utter absence of all external signs of life in those steel-cased horsemen, their powerful chargers weirdly hidden in polished steel, all combined to make them look like huge monsters of a far-gone age returned to visit by the pale moonlight the haunts of their prehistoric life. Only the steam from the nostrils of the warhorses gave the least sign of actual existence to the scene. Around were the everlasting hills; beyond, the ever restless sea; above, the infinite vault of space, with the scarred and blighted face of the vapourless moon looking down on the puny strife of men whose little lives and passions are to the universe but as the indistinguishable pulses of the tiniest of microbes or as the froth of a bubble floating in infinity.
Without waiting for any word, the two knights, as if by a common impulse, clapped spurs to their chargers, and with lance in rest, and bodies well down under their shields, rode fiercely for each other. This was no gentle tilt with blunted lances, but each knight knew his existence was at stake, and that in the keen thrust of the gleaming spear-point lay life or death. They met in a hurtling crash, and the noise of splintering wood and clanging metal rang through the silence of the night. For a moment no one knew what had happened; but as the two horses broke away, it was seen that they trotted off without their riders.
Scarcely waiting to see what had happened, Ralph caught his lord's war-horse, and returned to his place. Eagerly he looked to see what had been the result. One knight had risen from the ground; the other was attempting to do so, but only feebly moved. Ralph rode nearer, and the other three figures advanced also. The excitement in Ralph's heart was intense: what should he do if his dearly loved lord were slain? A fierce thought rose. He would hurl himself on the others, and either avenge his master, or die in the attempt.
But as he drew nearer, his bitter anxiety was changed to joy. It was Lord Woodville who was on his feet, and standing over the writhing body of his antagonist.
"Yield thee, Sir George Lisle!" said the Captain of the Wight, in a stern, but feeble voice.
"I yield to no man!" came back the fierce answer, still more faintly hissed through the closed helm. "Do thy worst!"
For a moment Lord Woodville seemed uncertain what to do. He held his keen poignard in his left hand, and his drawn sword in the other, and held the point of it to the narrow opening in the close-shut helm.
But before he could form a decided resolve, a fierce voice called out,--
"Upon him, and revenge your lord."
And with lowered lance the man-at-arms charged the Captain of the Wight, while the two sturdy varlets sprang at Ralph. But the young esquire, hearing the words and seeing the movement, with a touch of the spur leaped his horse in front of his lord, and received the lance-thrust of the man-at-arms on his shield, dealing his assailant a fierce buffet in return.
"Ah, caitiff!" cried Ralph. "Vile traitor that thou art, thou shall rue thy villainy!"
"Shall I, in sooth, sir upstart?" sneered a well-known voice. "Thou hast escaped me once, but now I have thee. See, thy lord is falling to the ground."
Ralph turned instinctively to look, and at the same moment received a stunning blow on the side of his helmet which nearly knocked him out of the saddle; but he quickly recovered himself, and flinging down his lance, he seized hismartel de fer, or mace, and reining his horse backwards, he dealt the varlet who was attacking Lord Woodville a terrific blow on the head, instantly felling the man to the ground. But it was true, Lord Woodville had fallen to the ground, and the other footman was upon him. Ralph, without a moment's hesitation, sprang from his horse and struck wildly at the man, who was just wrenching off Lord Woodville's helmet. The blow took only partial effect, but it drew the attention of the man to him, and with an oath he turned savagely upon the young esquire.
The odds were terribly against him.
"Have at the coxcomb, Dan; he's only good for tilting before ladies, and only then when they bribe their lovers to spare his dainty youth," called out the man-at-arms, as he prepared to strike Ralph again with his uplifted sword. But Ralph did not yet lose hope. The love of life was strong in him. He closed with the half-armed varlet, and dealt him a blow with his poignard, which he had now drawn. The man uttered a fearful imprecation, and cut at Ralph with his axe; but the harness of the young esquire was good, and the weapon only glanced aside. Seeing how little use was his axe, the man dropped it, and drew his dagger also, closing with Ralph, and trying to drive the point through the bars of his visor. But the boy had been well taught, and he parried the thrust on his steel gauntlet, dealing his foe a deep stab with his right hand.
"Strike him, youngster, strike him!" shouted the man, in fierce rage. "What art standing there for seeing him murdering me?"
"How can I strike him without doing thee a mischief, old stockfish? Get thyself away, and I'll soon do for him."
But Ralph fully understood his advantage, and wrestled with the man until they both fell to the ground over the prostrate body of Lord Woodville.
The man-at-arms now got off his horse and came to the assistance of the varlet who had fallen upon Ralph, but was severely wounded.
"Drive thy sword through his visor," gasped the man, whose arms were held by Ralph, who was struggling to regain his feet.
The keen point played around the helmet of the esquire, who by twisting and turning his head prevented the thrust from taking effect, but, held as he was by the weight of the varlet above him, he could not hope to avoid the blow much longer.
"Wrench off his helm, man!" cried the impatient man-at-arms.
"How can I? Don't you see he's got hold of my arms?" said the other, in a gruff voice, which was growing fainter. "Stab him! why don't ye? Stab him!"
[image]"HE DROVE HIS DAGGER INTO THE CAITIFF ABOVE HIM."
[image]
[image]
"HE DROVE HIS DAGGER INTO THE CAITIFF ABOVE HIM."
Ralph made one more desperate effort; he drove his dagger into the caitiff above him, who with a deep groan ceased struggling and rolled over, thus freeing Ralph, who sprang to his feet and turned upon the man-at-arms.
The young esquire still had his mace hanging from the chain slung round his right arm. Seizing it in his gauntleted hand, and transferring his dagger to his left, he struck furiously at the steel-clad figure before him, parrying at the same time with his dagger a dangerous thrust aimed at his visor. The mace crashed on the helmet of his foe, and a smothered exclamation of pain and rage came from out the barred morion.
Cutting wildly at the gorget of the young esquire, the man-at-arms turned and made a dash for his horse.
"Stay, man-at-arms! Turn, caitiff that thou art!" called Ralph after him. "Ah, recreant esquire, get thee gone, then, coward that thou art!" and Ralph, who was thinking more of his lord than of the pursuit of his cowardly assailant, turned back from following him to attend to his prostrate chief.
As he bent over Lord Woodville, he noticed a dark patch on his shining armour. There was a deep dent in the globular breast-plate, and the broken end of a lance head was sticking in it.
Ralph was in despair; the Captain of the Wight lay motionless in his harness; the silence was broken only by the cry of a sea-fowl as it circled over head, and the distant thud of the sea as it rolled on the shore below. Was Ralph the only living thing in that lonely valley among the solemn hills?
He undid the buckle of his lord's helmet, and reverently removed the cumbrous tilting-helm. As he did so he heard a faint sigh from the stricken knight, and as the moonlight fell on his noble features he opened his eyes.
"My lord, my lord, thou art not dead!" cried Ralph in joy. But no answer came back, the eyes had closed again, and despair once more seized on the young esquire.
What could he do? He looked round. What was it that flickered against his face? The air was piercingly cold, and the moon had become obscured by a thickening of the air. Ralph had opened his visor, that he might attend his lord more easily. Again something flickered in his face, cold and feathery. It was snowing.
Here was a fresh cause for anxiety. Alone in that sequestered valley, who could bring them help? And he did not dare to leave his lord alone, for fear that caitiff should return to finish the murderous work. As Ralph looked round in despair at the dreary scene, his heart sank within him. The landscape was fast becoming one grey indistinguishable blot, and the feeble light of the hidden moon was turning to a sickly livid hue. In a short time, too, he knew the moon would set.
A faint noise on the left caused Ralph to look round. The four bodies lay still and stark; but there was something moving out of the grey obscurity of the distance. Ralph closed his visor and handled his sword. The dark object drew nearer, and a yellow spark seemed to be coming with it. Ralph called out,--
"Whoever thou art, hasten thy steps; if foe, that I may handle thee, or if friend, that thou mayest help my lord."
"'Tis a friend, my son, and I come apace as fast as my stiffening joints will let me," cried a deep voice.
"Thank Heaven!" murmured the esquire. "Then my lord will not die."
By this time the dim shadow had come nearer, and Ralph saw that there were two figures--one tall and burly, the other short and slight. Both were draped in long cloaks, partially covered with the fast-falling snow. The taller of the new comers carried a lantern.
Dim and ghostly the figures looked in their peaked hoods and long mantles, entirely concealing face and form.
"Ah! we have come in time: no, no, too late!" and the slighter figure uttered a shrill and bitter cry of pain, as it bent over the lifeless mass of armour which held the unknown knight.
"Look to my lord first," said Ralph shortly.
"My son, 'tis the young child's father; my lord will wait," answered the elder stranger mildly, as he went to help his childish companion.
But Ralph barred the way.
"Whoever thou art, thou shall see to my lord first," he cried, in a resolute tone.
Seeing the fierceness of the youth, the old man quietly answered,--
"As thou wilt, my son; but thou shouldest respect youth, old age, and filial grief. But go thou and help the child, while I attend to thy lord."
Ralph, rebuked, did as he was told, there was such dignity, gentleness, and authority in the voice and manner of the tall stranger.
It was now very difficult to see. The moon had set, and the snow was falling fast, while the wind sighed mournfully through the withered boughs and twigs of the lonely thorn tree.
"May God have mercy on all dying souls!" murmured the dim shadow as it bent over the pale face of Lord Woodville; and Ralph could have sobbed aloud in anguish of heart as he felt his lord was dead.
"Oh, help me! help me! Master Lisle!" cried the agonised voice of the other stranger, shivering with cold and pain of heart. "Undo his helm or he will die, an he be not gone already," and a piteous sob of utter woe broke from the crouching figure.
Ralph, thinking only of his sorrow, did not notice the keen grief of the other, but he hastened up nevertheless, and speedily undid the helm.
"Oh, father! father!" sobbed the shivering voice; "speak, father!"
But no sound came from the set mouth, and the child broke out into piteous distress, sobbing and choking as though her heart would break.
Ralph was touched. Even in his own stony sorrow he felt for the poor child.
"Nay, nay, he may not be dead," he said, trying to comfort her. "See, he moves!" he cried, noticing a quiver of the gauntleted hand.
"Let me look, my son," said the gentle voice of the other stranger. "Go thou, catch yonder horse; thy lord lives, and will recover."
"Will he?" cried Ralph joyously, springing up and going in search of the horses, which, well trained as they were, were standing under the shelter of the thorn-bush out of the fast-driving snow.
When he returned leading the two horses, he was delighted to find Lord Woodville sitting up.
"My fair boy," said the Captain of the Wight, in a faint voice, "thou must help me on to my charger and lead me home. I have been hard stricken, albeit the wound is not mortal. But before thou aidest me, see to the state of Sir George Lisle: I would be loth he should die."
Lord Woodville spoke with difficulty, and paused between his words.
Ralph did as he was told, and found the two shrouded figures still bending over the inanimate knight.
"The Lord Woodville hath sent me to make inquiry of the knight--how fareth he?"
"Make answer that he is sore stricken, and in parlous case; but an we may get him to a place of shelter, he may do well."
Ralph returned and reported the message.
"Is there no other horse but mine? If not, take mine and leave me here," said Lord Woodville simply.
He had drawn his sword, and was holding it by the blade before him. The sword thus held had all the proportions of a Latin cross.
"'Thou shalt love thine enemies. Do good to those who hate thee,'" murmured the wounded Captain of the Wight.
"My lord, there is the knight's own horse, or he can have mine."
"Haste thee, then! gentle youth, for his wounds and mine are growing stiff, and there is need of shelter," faintly gasped the wounded Captain.
With rather more difficulty Ralph caught the other horse, and led it up to the little group in the snow. Then, by dint of hard exertion, the Hermit of St Catherine's--for it was he who had come to their aid--and Ralph lifted the wounded knight on to his horse, and the old man holding him in his high-peaked saddle, with the slight figure leading the horse by its bridle, they disappeared in the grey obscurity.
Ralph now returned to his lord. To his surprise and joy he found the Captain of the Wight had risen to his feet. The Hermit had removed the corslet, extracted the spear-head, and staunched the wound with some balsam and simples for healing sword or lance wounds. With effort he was able to mount his horse, and with Ralph holding the bridle, and ready to steady his lord in his saddle should he feel faint or giddy, the two figures wended their way over the snow towards Carisbrooke Castle.
It was a weary journey, and Ralph never felt so relieved in his life as when he descried the noble pile standing up black and grand in the midst of the white landscape.
With wonderful courage and resolution Lord Woodville sat erect in his saddle as they entered by the little postern gate, at which only one archer was on guard. He so carried himself until they reached the door of his own apartments, then, dismounting with Ralph's aid, he staggered to a settle in the hall and fainted away.
Ralph had presence of mind enough not to disturb the house. He went to Lady Trenchard's apartments and called her. That prudent lady soon came, and with her husband's assistance they managed to get the Lord Woodville to his room. Seeing his lord in safe hands, Ralph left to look after the horses. But Humphrey had already led them away, and in a few moments more Ralph, with the aid of his trusty varlet, had taken off his harness, and was soon fast asleep.
When he awoke next morning, the chapel bell was tolling, and he could hear the merry voices of the other pages as they lounged round the hall door before going into chapel. All things seemed as usual, but one more strange adventure had added its experience to the life of Ralph. He could scarcely believe it was little more than half a year since he had left his home.
CHAPTER XXII.
OF THE VOICE OF THE CHARMER.
During the next two months events of importance had occurred. The Captain of the Wight had recovered from his wound in time to attend the splendid ceremony of his niece's coronation, and his faithful young esquire had accompanied him to London. It was a joyful time. On their march from Southampton to the metropolis, Ralph obtained leave to visit his home.
Attended by Humphrey, he separated from the retinue of the Captain of the Wight at Southampton, to join it again at Guildford. By riding fast he would be able to make up for the longer distance, and would thus obtain time to spend one night at home.
The talk of all the garrison of Carisbrooke Castle and indeed of all the south of England, was the approaching war with France. No man doubted, and all men wished, that Henry VII. would be driven to take the part of his old benefactor, Francis, Duke of Brittany, in the defence of his duchy against the troops of France, led by the young King Charles VIII. It was so obviously the policy of England to prevent this powerful duchy being united to the French crown, which was already giving signs of the power it possessed, under the crafty rule of Louis XI., that far-seeing English statesmen like the Bishop of Ely, Master Christopher Urswick, and Sir John Edgecomb, the prototypes of England's diplomatists, could not doubt that Henry must see the vast importance of keeping France disunited, and of maintaining such an "imperium in imperio" as Brittany in semi-independence. Englishmen still longed to wipe out the disgrace of their expulsion from France, and any prospect of war with that country was hailed with joy. For war meant, according to the views of the time, not an impoverishment of both contending nations, but an increase of wealth to one or the other. Every esquire or common soldier might return a rich man. If, now-a-days, young men go forth to the ends of the earth to dig for gold, or spend their young lives in isolated exile in the wilds of the far West, or the savannahs of South America, or the rainless plains of Australia, with what eagerness would they have turned to war, where strength of arm and average good fortune meant glory, social distinction, and personal wealth? The capture of a rich prisoner in war meant the payment of a large ransom; and, as a wise man-at-arms knew, the best investment of his money was in forming a troop; the capture of one rich prisoner resulted in the decrease of power to his country's foe, as well as the personal aggrandisement of his captor. And all this brilliant prospect of success was enhanced by the scene in which the aspirant to fame displayed his prowess. Not drearily working at dull, monotonous manual labour far from the surroundings of civilisation, but in the very heart of social life carving out wealth, and fame, and name. No wonder war was popular.
To the eyes of the English people there never had been a time better suited for recovering the Duchies of Normandy, Guienne, and Gascony, since their final loss, but thirty years before. France's extremity had always been England's opportunity; and it was through Brittany and Normandy that English men-at-arms had poured to the conquest of France--to such splendid victories as Crecy and Agincourt. As Scotland was the thorn in England's side, so Brittany and Burgundy were the sharp points wherewith to rasp the French.
By a strange coincidence, the two capitals of Burgundy and Brittany, similar in name--Nancy and Nantes--received the mortal remains of their two last dukes within ten years of each other. In 1477 the last male of the house of Burgundy was borne from the field of battle to his splendid tomb in Nancy, leaving his only daughter to be despoiled of her inheritance by the craft of Louis XI.; while in 1488 the last male of the house of Brittany was entombed in the magnificent pile erected to his memory in the church of the Carmelites at Nantes, leaving also an only daughter to be fought for by an emperor, a king, a royal duke, and a puissant lord of the Pyrenees. And, by another singular fatality, the same Prince became the husband of both heiresses. Maximilian won, but speedily lost, both Mary of Burgundy and Anne of Brittany.
The common talk of all men, therefore, was the expedition that would shortly sail for France. The Captain of the Wight made no secret of his intentions, but determined to obtain the royal sanction first.
Full of the exciting prospects before him, and proud of his rapid progress, Ralph rode eagerly home.
With what joy he saw the blue smoke curling over the brown trees which hid the old manor house.
"See, Humphrey, there's the gilded vane on the west gable, and now I can see the stacks of chimneys. Whoop, lad, get on;" and the joyous boy urged his horse to a quicker pace. In a few minutes more he had turned the corner of the road, and before him lay the picturesque range of old gables and low windows.
He had not been able to let his parents know of his coming. He cantered up to the gate, jumped off his horse, and in another minute was in his mother's arms.
There is no need to describe the pride and joy of his parents, or the half-concealed awe of his brother Jasper. His younger brother had gone to Oxenford, and sent home from time to time accounts of his progress. After a delightful visit, all too short for Ralph and his parents, the young esquire set out to rejoin his lord. He arrived in time at Guildford, and the next day they entered the capital.
The King had already returned with his nobles and men-at-arms from the progress he had been making in the north, and the next day the ceremony of the coronation of the Queen was to take place. Ralph was in immediate attendance on his lord, who, as uncle of the Queen, held a high place of honour in the ceremonies. The esquire was witness of the installation of fourteen Knights of the Bath, and was astonished at the grandeur, solemnity, and state of the proceedings. But what amazed him most was the gorgeous procession of barges, all gilded and bedecked with flags, which accompanied the Queen on the Thames. He was forcibly reminded of Yolande as he saw the lovely young Queen, with her fair yellow hair rippling in golden masses down her back, intertwined with strings of jewels, and crowned with a golden crown; dressed in "white cloth of gold of damask," and with a richly furred ermine mantle over her shapely shoulders. But the palm of beauty was carried off by her second sister Cicely, the loveliest woman of her time, whose romantic life had not yet reached its most romantic period. Ralph little knew that that exquisite face and queenly figure would one day reside in a humble manor-house but three miles from his future home, and that her husband would be lower in social station than himself.
He attended on the Captain of the Wight as one of the suite, at the coronation banquet in the great hall, and Ralph was again surprised at the gorgeous pageant. But he did not like to see two such fair damoiselles as the Lady Catherine Grey and Mistress Ditton sitting under the table at the lovely Queen's feet, and could not understand why the Lady Oxford and the Lady Rivers should hold up, from time to time, a handkerchief before that sweet face, while he pitied their having to kneel through such a long state ceremony.[*]
[*] Leland.Collectanea.
He heard how urgently his lord strove to obtain the sanction of Henry VII. to enlist men-at-arms and archers for the aid of the Bretons. But the presence of the French Ambassadors, chief among whom were the Lord Daubigny, a Scotch nobleman in the service of the French crown, combined with a fear of internal troubles in case he should engage in foreign wars, kept that cautious monarch from giving any permission.
It was the opinion, however, of Lord Woodville, as well as of most of the English nobles and statesmen, that the King would not be at all averse to an expedition being fitted out privately, which he could disavow in public. Indeed most men thought he would be very much gratified by such an exhibition of zeal.
Full of these ideas, and encouraged by the promises of assistance he received from many experienced knights, as well as by numerous offers of service from men of lesser rank, Sir Edward Woodville returned to his island government.
The coronation had taken place in November; it was now the middle of January 1488. The next two months were employed in sounding the principal inhabitants of the island.
The Breton gentlemen had gone back to Brittany trusting to the promised aid, and carrying with them exaggerated ideas of Lord Woodville's position and power.
Ralph and the other pages enjoyed their lives as healthy boys engaged in the manly employments of life in a mediæval castle must have enjoyed them. Hawking, hunting, daily drill and exercise, boating and fishing, such were their occupations. Ralph had never breathed a word of the midnight duel, nor did he know what had become of the wounded knight. The Captain of the Wight never referred to it, and he kept his own counsel. The valley was once revisited by him, as far as he could recollect its whereabouts; but in the coombes and dells of the downs there were so many level swards at their base, that he was in doubt whether he had come across the right one. There were no traces of any combat about them, there was the thorn bush in one and another, and a little sedgy stream, but no fresh mounds or splintered spears.
Ralph had seen much of his cousin Yolande, and his affection and admiration for her were unbounded; but he could not disguise from himself that although she treated him with absolute candour and sisterly affection, yet she always grew silent if the Captain of the Wight were near, and hung on every word that nobleman spoke. It never crossed Ralph's mind to be jealous, only he wished the Captain of the Wight did not appear quite so often upon the scene.
But the thoughts of that nobleman were far removed from such trivial subjects, if credence was to be placed in his words and actions. By sound of trumpet and proclamation the inhabitants of the Isle of Wight were summoned to a general muster at Shide Bridge, a place already celebrated by a previous muster to take account of the military strength of the island in the reign of King Edward the Second, held by John de la Hoese and John de Lisle.
Thither on the day appointed the gentry of the island, with the yeomen and country people, wended their way. The Bailiffs of Newport, Newtown, Yarmouth, and Brading, accompanied by the richer of the burgesses of those boroughs, attended. There were the bailiffs and stewards of the various estates held by the ecclesiastical bodies of Winchester College, Whorwell Monastery, Christchurch Priory, and Ashey; while the Abbot of Quarr, the Prior of Carisbrooke, representing the Carthusian monastery of Shene, and the Bailiff of Appuldurcombe, for the nunnery of St Clare, without Aldgate, were also present. There came, besides, the reeves of the manors belonging to the imprisoned Earl of Warwick, from Brixton and Swainston. There were representatives of all the island families: Sir Nicholas Wadham, Sir John Oglander, Sir William Lisle of Wootton, Master Meaux, recovered from his rough handling of five months before, a Bowerman from Brooke, Trenchards from Watchingwell and Shalfleet, a Dineley from Woolverton, a Cheke from Mattistone, the Bowermans of Austerborne or Osborn, John Racket of Knighton, and his relative by marriage, Leigh of Woolverton in Bembridge, a Hawles of the ancient family of De Aula from Stenbury Manor. There were Urrys, Keyneys, De Heynos, Bruyns, with many others too numerous to mention, and a crowd of the lesser yeomen and common people. When all were assembled, the Captain of the Wight, in full armour, but with bare head, mounted on his splendid charger, and surrounded by his seneschals, esquires, and pages, addressed the crowd.
In a stirring speech he explained the situation. He told how many evils the French had inflicted upon their forefathers. How in Edward the First's reign they had threatened the island, but were daunted by the stout preparations of the ancestors of many there present. How again in Edward the Third's time they harassed the island by their evil depredations, until under the brave Sir Theobald Russel of Yaverland, who gave his life for his people, they were driven out with loss and shame. How again in Richard the Second's reign the whole island was overrun, and cruel damage inflicted, when all their towns were in flames, and no place safe but the Castle of Carisbrooke. But here again the ancient valour of their race broke out, and under the stout Sir Hugh Tyrrel, "that right hardy knight," they chased the false Frenchmen to their ships, slaying them by scores, "insomuch that from that day Deadman's Lane went by no other name, and Neddie's Hill is still there to show the burial place of the marauders." Again how valorously they drove off Waleran de St Pol, that "noble knight of haut lineage," and frightened away the caitiffs again a few years after; while in Henry the Fifth's time they slew many who were running away to their ships.
"Shall we then," went on the Captain, "not recover from these false robbers the wealth they have gotten from us? Shall we not avenge on them the wrongs they have done to us? Think, all ye brave knights and sturdy yeomen, of the wealth ye will gain. Think all ye young esquires and right hardy varlets of the honour and renown ye will acquire in the eyes of your fair mistresses. And, above all, think of the glory of being the first to lead the way to victory, and recover for England and our King the ancient lands and duchies of which she hath been so foully robbed. I will stake life and fortune on the venture. I will warrant all men against loss. You will do an action pleasing to all England, and will save an oppressed people, an aged duke, and a fair princess from the cruel hands of the ravisher. They are Bretons, so are we. They hate the French, so do we. The tongue they speak is the native tongue of our sovereign lord the King. Their hero is Arthur; their country is the home of Lancelot-du-lac, Merlin, and all whom we reverence as our own. Shall we not bring help, if in so doing we enrich ourselves, destroy our enemies, win everlasting fame and name, and save our lives and the lives of our children from future outrage? Shall we not bring help? Who are our allies? The King of the Romans, Lord of Austria, Italy, Allemayne, Brabant, and Flanders; the Duke of Brittany, the Duke of Orleans, the Prince of Orange, the Lord d'Albret, and many more of high lineage, great estate, and mighty valour. Did fate ever offer such a chance? and shall we throw it all away? Rather than let France, our bitter foe, rule over our ancient ally, I myself will go with only my own household, and with my single lance will venture my life for such a cause, losing it with ready will, if so it must be. But, noble knights, gallant esquires, worthy burgesses, and sturdy yeomen, shall we not all go together? Shall we not win wealth, renown, safety, and the everlasting gratitude of our King, our country, and our children?"
There was a deep murmur of applause. Every one was moved. Even the more reflecting portion of the crowd recognised the truth of many passages in the rousing speech of their Captain. The enthusiasm of the younger men was wild. They applauded vociferously, drawing their swords and waving them over their heads, and it was with difficulty the voice of Sir William Lisle could be heard. He was speaking in support of their Captain, and relating the terror the fears of French invasions had roused throughout the island, so much so that his own ancestor had withdrawn to the mainland, like many others of the island population.
When he had finished, many other speakers followed; and at last it was resolved that the Captain of the Wight should be asked to select such as would be most serviceable in the cause, while such as could not go should give of their substance to properly equip the poorer sort.
So ended this memorable meeting; and, greatly pleased with the success of the day, Lord Woodville returned to Carisbrooke.
In the course of the next week, so many gentlemen and yeomen presented themselves eager to go on the expedition, that Lord Woodville and his officers had some difficulty in making a selection. But by the end of the week forty gentlemen, and about four hundred yeomen, were enrolled, and directed to hold themselves in readiness to sail early in the following week.
The excitement in the island was at this time intense. The inhabitants felt the eyes of England were upon them; they felt proud of themselves and of their gallant Captain; and there was scarcely a family, whether rich or poor, which did not contribute some member--in many cases several--to the forthcoming expedition.
Ralph was very busy, like every one else in the castle. Weapons and armour were given out, drill was incessantly going on, and all the tailors in Newport were hard at work making surcoats for the men-at-arms and archers. Every man of the expedition was to wear a white tabard with the red cross of St George blazoned on it.
At last the important day arrived. Ralph had received permission to visit his relations the evening before. It was an exquisite spring evening, and the scene was lovely as he rode over the long hill between Newport and Wootton.[*] Before him lay the winding creek embowered in thick oak woods--those woods which gave the name to his kinsman's branch of the Lisle family, and perhaps a name to the little hamlet of Wodyton. Beyond stretched the undulating land which hid the Monastery of Quarr, whose deep-toned bell was sounding to complines across the still woods and glassy waters of the creek; while away in the purple distance stretched the gleaming Solent, unruffled by the slightest breeze, and bounded by the dim Sussex shore.
[*] Wootton, in Domesday Book "Odetone;" called Wodyton in Bishop Woodlock's Return of the Parishes in the Island; Woditone in the account of the watches kept in the 18th of Ed. II., and in Cardinal Beaufort's Valuation, Woodyton; and in the 8th of Ed. III. Wodyton.
Ralph rode down into the valley, where the grey mist floated in mysterious wreaths, from out of which the blue smoke of Briddesford Manor rose like a faint column in the still atmosphere, only to hang above the mist in a greyer cloud.
The young esquire felt sad for the first time. He found his cousin awaiting him in the dark old porch. After a few words of friendly greeting, Ralph became silent.
"Why, cousin Ralph, what aileth thee?" said his cousin.
"I hardly know, sweet cousin mine, and yet I do know, only thou wilt laugh at me; and so I would not say what yet I fain would."
Yolande smiled a sad smile, but she said quietly,--
"Nay, fair cousin, say it not. I know what thou thinkest. It may never be. I told thee months ago. Thou wilt some day know how true I spoke. We cannot all have what we wish; and even if we could, we should soon wish for something else."
"Well, I would like to try," said Ralph bluntly.
"Ay, and so should I," sighed Mistress Yolande. "But, Ralph, promise me thou wilt look well after thy lord. He is over venturesome, and, I fear me much, he careth naught for life; indeed I sometimes think he would rather go hence." Yolande's voice became tremulous. She recovered herself after a pause. "Thou wilt watch over him, Ralph? I know not why, but I feel I shall never look upon him more!"
And so his lovely cousin had no more words for him than that he should take care of his lord? No matter, Ralph felt he only lived for her. He would willingly die to give her happiness. He simply answered,--
"I will do my duty."
They then went into the house, and Ralph took a respectful adieu of old Sir William Lisle.
"Go forth, my kinsman, thou art a worthy son of our noble house. I would well that thou, when thou returnest, shouldst take daughter and lands, and rear up a stalwart line. But it will be as God wills it. Take my blessing, and go forth to victory."
So Ralph left his kinsfolk, sadder at heart than he had ever been in all his life, but resolved to bring back his lord in safety and glory to the Wight, or die with him in France.
As he rode back over St George's Down--for he took a longer way back, being in a dreamy and melancholy mood--the soft light of the young moon shone in the pale primrose of the western sky. The night-jar uttered its melancholy note, and flapped heavily past in the silence of the evening, while a distant owl raised its plaintive cry from the dark woods which faded in the grey and ghostly mist of the northern valley. This was his last night in England. How many would see their homes again of all that gallant band of high-spirited men?
But a step near at hand roused him from his reverie. Two figures passed him almost unobserved. The slighter one turned to look, gave a little sigh, and went on with its taller companion, who seemed to walk with difficulty.