“Only a small number will be sent,” said the Count. “That is the King’s own stipulation.”
Constance was forced to accept, but with a sad heart, and dismissed the Count, who at once started for home with his attendants. The merrymaking arranged by the Count continued in Rennes, and the Duchess took part in it with apparent pleasure. But, as often as she could, she visited the room where Arthur played upon Bertha’s lap and crowed and laughed in play with Alan. She pressed her darling to her heart and sighed, “It is all for you, my son, all for you.”
Not long after these events Philip’s troops marched into Brittany, where they met with a quiet reception; but when they attempted to establish themselves in Normandy, they encountered violent resistance. The powerful barons there had made a complete surrender to the English government. They had accepted Geoffrey as its representative and had submitted to him, but they would not recognize Constance, for before her departure to England Eleanor had won them over to her side. Their followers were well armed, and stoutly resisted the French troops. In the numerous encounters which occurred the interests of the Duke of Brittany were no longer considered. The stake was the mastery of England or of France, and one or the other side alternately gained the upper hand.
It was still quiet in Brittany, and in Constance’s vicinity Höel and his men kept good watch. Longingly and often the Duchess gazed at the child in her arms and wished that he could soon be a man to fight with sword in hand for her and her rights. Thus they were living in apparent security at the castle in Rennes, but really in continual fear of approaching dangers. The times were troublous, and the world was full of disquiet, but Arthur passed his days pleasantly, in an atmosphere of love. Life was all smiles for him. Under Bertha’s care and Höel’s devotion he became both gentle and courageous, and as he grew stronger nothing delighted him more than rivalry with Alan in all knightly practices. The latter, older and stronger, was not only attached to the young Duke by friendship, but by duty and devotion, and thus became both his companion and protector. They were inseparable, and shared everything in common. They roamed the woods and fields together with all the joyous enthusiasm of youth, but their greatest longing was to perform heroic feats. They were much more delighted to listen to Höel as he told them of his adventures and exploits at arms than to the chaplain, who was their instructor. With rapt attention they heard the story of how Höel and Duke Geoffrey rode together to Normandy and other provinces, overcame the haughty barons, stormed their strong castles, and sent them to England to pay fresh homage to the King. Arthur longed to be such a hero, and his dearest wish was to assist his mother in the restoration of the ancient authority. Combining boldness and gentleness, he was specially fitted to rule, and it was his greatest pride that he was entitled to the position of ruler by birth.
Arthur was in his tenth year when the report reached them that King Henry’s sons, incited by Eleanor, had conspired to prevent his return from Scotland. Unexpectedly, however, he suddenly appeared in England and frustrated their plot. The news disquieted Constance so greatly that she sent Höel for information. He had been absent several days, and his return was now eagerly awaited.
One evening the Duchess was looking from her window, which commanded an extended view of the city and its vicinity. Fatigued with riding and hunting, Arthur had sought his mother, and was resting his head upon her shoulder. She turned to him and stroked his heated brow. Bertha and Alan were also present, and the room was very quiet. Suddenly Bertha stepped to the window and exclaimed, “There comes my husband with a stranger.” The two rapidly drew near, and dismounted in the castle-yard, whence, seeing the ladies at the window, Höel came to their apartment. Bertha and the boys met him in the anteroom, at the door of which stood the Duchess. “What news do you bring?” she asked.
“Bad news,” replied Höel. “King Henry is dead.”[8]
The Duchess silently motioned to the knight to enter, and seated herself. After Bertha had taken the boys away, Höel began: “The King died of a broken heart, so the people say. He could not endure the thought that the Queen had plotted his overthrow.”
“Horrible!—and the Princes?”
“Richard threw himself at his father’s feet and begged forgiveness. Prince John, on the other hand, hypocritically sought to clear himself of guilt. But the King knew only too well. ‘All three sons,’[9]he groaned, and fell unconscious.”
Constance started, and Höel was silent. Yes, the third one was Geoffrey.
“And did he die at once? Did he leave no instructions concerning the kingdom? Had he no thought for Geoffrey’s son?” asked the Duchess.
“They say he longed for his grandson and mourned because he had not been able to see him. He drew up his will and placed it in the keeping of the Lord High Chancellor. Then he turned his thoughts to divine things, took the sacrament, and passed away.”
Constance was silent for some time, then asked, “And does any one know the contents of the will?”
“It is sealed up in the royal exchequer and can be opened only in case the Prince—no, King Richard—shall die childless. Only the confidential witnesses know its contents,” said Höel.
“KingRichard!” replied Constance. “God be thanked it is Richard who has come to the throne. He is noble and high-minded, and will protect us.”
“God grant it! Would that he could soon come to France and restore order.”
“Whence came the rider who brought the news?”
“From Rouen. English vessels have landed there, and brought Norman knights who were in the Scottish campaign. They will guard the country until he can come himself and take possession.”
“As soon as King Richard comes to Rouen, we will seek him there.”
“Meanwhile,” said Höel, “I will make ample preparations to insure your safety.”
“Is it not shameful,” said Constance indignantly, “that the Duchess of Brittany should be insecure in her own country?”
Höel was awaited in the hall by the two boys, who plied him with questions. The death of King Henry made a deep impression upon Arthur, who already realized that his fate had rested in his grandfather’s hands. For the first time also he realized the insecurity of human greatness, and when suddenly the bells tolled in the city’s church towers, and the castle chapel bell added its solemn peals, he was greatly overcome, and held fast to Alan’s hand.
It was a beautiful summer morning, and the hills and valleys of Brittany were flooded with sunlight. All Nature seemed exultant, and all living things were sharing her transports. The beauty of the fields and green woods concealed alike all traces of the last winter’s storms and the ravages so often occasioned by men when they sow the earth with fire and blood.
As if still more to enhance the beauty of the scene, a cavalcade was seen approaching from the adjacent wooded heights. The riders followed the winding road, now in groups, now singly, and sometimes were entirely hidden from view. Clear, ringing voices, joyous laughter, and now and then deep manly voices mingled with the neighing of horses. The travellers were the Duchess of Brittany, her son, and attendants. The seneschal rode in advance with two heralds, followed by Constance in a riding-habit of green silk, mounted upon a beautiful palfrey. Höel rode by her side, his fiery bay taking the lead whenever the road narrowed, to make room for the Duchess’s horse. Then came Duke Arthur and Alan on prancing black steeds. Arthur sat jauntily yet securely in his saddle, his slight figure being a trifling burden for the noble animal, which seemed to take pride in carrying him. He looked boyish yet distinguished. His unusual beauty was a sufficient mark of his high birth even if his costume had not proclaimed it. He wore a cloak of brown silk embroidered with gold, and over it a short, dark satin mantle tipped with ermine. From his cap waved a heron plume, fastened with jewels. He was a figure of beauty as he rode through the charming world about him, engaged in earnest talk with Alan. Behind the youths followed the squires and troopers, next the Duchess’s ladies, and in the rear the servants with the sumpter horses. It was an imposing though not a warlike train.
Their destination was Rouen, where King Richard had arrived, not, as Constance had hoped, to settle her affairs, but to consult with Philip Augustus about the Crusade.[10]It was all the more urgent, therefore, for the Duchess to seek an interview with him and ascertain his plans before he entered upon such a long and dangerous journey. The King had been notified of her visit and had arranged for her safe passage through Normandy, whose frontier she was now approaching. As they emerged from the woods Höel heard a cry and the sound of a struggle in a thicket close at hand, and ordered a halt. Before he began an investigation, the disturbers of the peace appeared. Two men were dragging another along, answering his appeals with blows and abusive epithets. The victim was an old man, and the sight aroused Arthur’s indignation. He rode up at once, and ordered the men to give an account of their conduct, and in the meantime to release the old man. The latter fell upon his knees and looked up to Arthur with tearful eyes. Höel and Alan came forward and heard the indignant protest of the two men. They declared they were bailiffs in the service of the King of France. “This man,” they said, pointing to the kneeling victim, “is a Jew. The last day of grace King Philip allowed the Jews has expired.”
“Is this true?” asked Arthur.
The old man looked up and said: “Listen, most gracious Prince, for, although I know you not, I can see the reflection of the crown upon your brow. Yes, it is true. The great King Philip Augustus, although he has long allowed our race to live in his kingdom, has now set his face against us. He has said, ‘Take the staff and leave the country; any one of you found in France after the day which I set shall die.’ The King’s servants have hounded us. They have plundered our homes; they have driven off our poor and wretched people. I was on my way to Holland, where our people have freedom to live, but I was so overcome by grief and hunger that I had to stay in the city until to-day—and now they have caught me.”
“It looks bad for you, Jew,” said Höel, shrugging his shoulders.
The bailiffs were again about to seize their prisoner, but Arthur cried: “Stop! Let him go free. It is my wish that he shall accompany us.”
“We are the King’s servants,” demurred the bailiffs, “and must obey his orders.”
“I am in command here, not King Philip,” said Arthur boldly and proudly. “I am the Duke of Brittany. Take yourselves off, or my men shall bind you.”
The bailiffs, astonished at the delicate boy, who spoke with such dignity, lost no time in getting away.
The Jew, when he realized that he was free, bowed to the earth before Arthur and kissed his feet. The old man was so tattered, befouled, and ill-favored that Arthur had some scruples about addressing him, but at last he said, “If I protect you as far as Rouen will you then take ship to Holland?”
The old man consented, saying, “God will help me on.”
Arthur gave him one of the packhorses, whose load was distributed among the other animals, and ordered the servants to let him ride with them. More quickly than might have been expected of one so weak, the Jew swung himself into the saddle and joined the little band, which once more resumed its march.
Constance took no part in the occurrence, and when Arthur rode up and entreated her approval of his act she said to him with some anxiety, “When the bailiffs complain to Philip he may be angry with you, my son.”
Arthur became thoughtful as Höel added, “The life of this Jew is of little consequence to Philip, for whatever he has of value the King will be sure to get.”
“How is that?” asked Arthur.
“The dispersal of the Jews was ordered to please the Pope,” said Höel, “and out of their wealth King Philip will raise the means for arming the Crusaders.”
“That is not kingly,” said Arthur indignantly.
“All the same they are Jews, and their treasures will be taken for the King’s service. How can it harm them anyway? They exude gold as these pines do pitch.”
Arthur reflected upon Höel’s words with considerable surprise and almost regretted his display of sympathy. But when he looked back and saw the bent figure of the Jew following the others, who shunned him, he thought to himself, “Still, I could not let him perish.”
That evening the Duchess and her most distinguished companions stopped at one of the stately abbeys of that region, and Arthur arranged that the Jew should spend the night with the servants who looked after the horses outside. They had soon become accustomed to their silent fellow-traveller, who served them for a laughing-stock.
After the fourth day the travellers at last approached their destination. They met crowds along the country road—haughty knights, warriors, and pilgrims intending to take part in the expedition to Palestine, besides ecclesiastics and monks, traders and shopkeepers. It was a good-natured crowd, but it often obstructed our travellers, and at times they were separated from each other. Arthur and Alan were frequently delayed by a group going in the opposite direction; then, laughing and shouting, they rejoined their party. But toward evening Höel decided to ride faster, so that they might reach the city before the gates closed. The party got more closely together, and Höel rode along the line, urging on both people and horses. While thus engaged he discovered that the Jew was no longer with them, and that the horse he had been riding was quietly following the others. Höel caught it by the bridle and looked about him to see if he were not mistaken. As he was doing so he noticed a piece of paper tied to the saddle, with a ring attached to it. He untied it and hastened to the Duke.
“Your ward has flown,” began Höel.
“So? Then he is both false and ungrateful,” said the Duke, in some confusion.
“Not this time,” replied Höel. “He has left the horse and this—see here.” He handed his find to Arthur, who took the ring from the paper with much surprise. Upon the billet was written in Latin:
“To the Duke of Brittany, in gratitude for saving his life.—Abraham of Paris.”
The ring was a heavy gold one with a magnificent emerald set in it. Arthur twirled it about, delighted with its brilliancy, then put it on his finger and placed the paper in his cloak.
“Abraham of Paris,” repeated the Duchess thoughtfully. “I well remember that name. He is called the richest of the Paris Jews. The King often bade him come to the court, and purchased jewels of him, and when he needed money Abraham furnished it; but I wish nothing to be said about our meeting him.”
After brief delay at the gate, the travellers were admitted and escorted to the place selected for them. As Constance was anxious to meet the King at once, she sent word to the seneschal and followed him to the castle, accompanied by Arthur, Höel, and Alan. A marshal met them near the entrance and called a servant to aid them in dismounting. There was in the courtyard such a crowd of knights, pages, and court people of various ranks that they made slow progress. Arthur paid little attention to the brilliant rooms through which they passed or to the persons who occupied them. His thoughts were fixed upon one object—to see Richard, his uncle.
The marshal bade Höel and Alan wait in the great hall, where two halberdiers kept guard, and then beckoned to a page and ordered him to wait upon the Duchess. The page disappeared behind a door, which he almost immediately reopened. Stepping back into an anteroom, he left the guests free to enter. With rapidly beating heart Arthur crossed the threshold, following his mother, and found himself in a spacious apartment, at the upper end of which King Richard rose from a carven arm-chair and advanced to meet the Duchess.[11]Arthur almost cried out when he saw the figure of the King before him, just as he had always imagined him to look, only more stately. The grandeur about him affected him but little, for his gaze was riveted upon the face of the King, which revealed dignity joined with strength and goodness, and upon those eyes which beamed so mildly upon his friends and flashed so terribly upon his enemies.
He greeted the Duchess cordially, took her hand, and said: “It is long, dear sister-in-law, since we met, and we have passed through great sorrows. But you have had one consolation,” he added, placing his hand upon Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur took the King’s other hand and kissed it. King Richard invited his guests to be seated and took his place between them. Then he looked at Arthur again, murmuring to himself, “Geoffrey! Geoffrey!” Tears filled the Duchess’s eyes as Richard continued: “We loved each other dearly. Geoffrey was less impulsive, and restrained me from committing many a rash act, but he stood by me to the last. Do you know, Lady Constance, when I was engaged in that unfortunate revolt against my father, how I came to you alone in the darkness of night, pursued by his soldiers? They demanded me as their prisoner, but Geoffrey would not surrender me, and we beat our assailants back from the walls. Geoffrey surely saved his brother, but in doing so he was in rebellion against his father.”
During this conversation Arthur was lost in contemplation of his uncle. Even without armor Richard was the ideal of a hero. He was the incomparable knight who in every tournament dashed horse and rider into the dust; for whom no foe was too strong, no fortress too secure, and who, after his victories, sang in competition with the troubadours.
A smile lit up Richard’s face as he noticed the boy’s rapt gaze, and, turning suddenly, he asked, “What are you thinking about, Arthur?”
“I was thinking,” replied Arthur with a start—“oh, I was thinking that my father could not help standing by you. As brother and as knight he could not have done otherwise.”
“And yet,” said Richard, looking at the red cross fastened upon his left shoulder, “the Church now demands that I shall go to the Holy Land and make expiation for my resistance to my father’s authority. I have promised to go, and shall keep my word, though it is hard to leave my kingdom, which is not yet quieted. Oh, Arthur, if you were only a man and could fight by my side! There is glory still to be acquired in the morning-land for him who is victor under the banner of Godfrey of Bouillon,[12]and the celestial crown of the martyr for him who falls.”
Greatly excited by Richard’s words, Arthur fell upon his knees, exclaiming, “I will go with you, my uncle and my king: I will be your page, your servant!”
Constance stretched out her hand as if to restrain him, but Richard said with a quiet smile: “No, Arthur; wait until you have come to a man’s strength. There will be great deeds for you to perform later.”
Arthur and the Duchess rose to take leave of the King, who embraced her, saying: “As you may be in need of rest, I will not detain you longer, but I will receive you again to-morrow as my guest.”
The King struck a shield hanging upon the wall, whereupon two pages and the marshal entered, and under their respectful escort the Duchess and Duke left the castle after they had been rejoined by Höel and Alan.
On the following day Arthur saw Richard in the midst of his brilliant and warlike retinue. The Duchess sat at the table next to the King, with Arthur by her side. Famous men, knights, statesmen, and ecclesiastics had seats below the Duke, who was quite elated because his rank placed him next the King. Their greetings reminded him that he must prove himself worthy of them by his own merit and heroic deeds, and a new world was revealed to him as he listened to the words of these men of wide experience, though he but half understood them. Many a one noticed the enthusiasm of the boy, and his high-bred mien, and was charmed by him. When King Richard raised his glass to drink the health of his sister-in-law, the Duchess Constance, the guests joyously responded, and added, “Long live Duke Arthur of Brittany!”
Greatly excited, Arthur rose to thank them, and, turning to Richard, exclaimed, “I will prove myself, my royal uncle, worthy of the honor paid me by these brave men.”
His admirers gathered about him enthusiastically, spoke of his great and brilliant future, and praised him as a true scion of the Plantagenets.
“Did you hear, Alan?” he said to his devoted friend, when at last they were alone in their room; “I am destined to achieve fame and greatness. I shall no longer be content to lead a quiet, unknown life.”
All who came to know the Prince held him in the highest esteem, and were surprised that so noble a youth had developed in comparative obscurity. Many thought that King Richard might be childless, and that he was going to a distant war which would be full of danger. In that case the next heir to the English throne was Arthur.
Hardly a word passed about Constance’s affairs and Höel’s solicitude. Richard referred her to King Philip as soon as he should arrive; and when Constance, greatly embarrassed, asked, “Are you angry because we accepted his protection in a time of need?” Richard replied, “I do not blame you; you had to have him for a friend, for England left you in the lurch. My mother—” Here the King broke off abruptly, and then closed by saying, “I think everything will be arranged by Philip. Arthur, of course, will keep Geoffrey’s possessions, not only because of respect for the dead, but also for our love of his son.”
After a week, which to Arthur passed like a pleasant hour, King Philip arrived in Rouen. His principal counsellors and several high ecclesiastics were in his retinue, but not so many soldiers as in that of Richard.
Arthur was present at the first meeting of the two sovereigns, and Philip’s searching glance discovered him even before Richard introduced them. At the words, “My cousin and ward,” Philip stooped and kissed his forehead. When Arthur, greatly moved by his cordiality of manner, greeted him as the protector of his childhood, Philip’s serious face was illuminated with a gracious smile, revealing the favorable impression the Duke had made upon him. He had always sought the control of the Duke of Brittany to hold England in check, but now he so unexpectedly found Arthur such an engaging personality that he determined not to lose sight of him. He called upon Constance and renewed his assurances of friendship. When she expressed some anxiety lest, in the absence of the two kings, she might be troubled by Eleanor, who was to remain in England as regent, Philip invited her to go to his court. “You and your son,” he said, “shall be under my feudal protection; and should you have any fear for your personal safety, you can be sure of an honorable reception in Paris.”
Constance expressed her thanks in Richard’s presence, hoping he would make a still closer claim to Arthur; but the Crusade monopolized all his thoughts. He had already recognized Brittany as the hereditary fief which would belong to Arthur when he came of age, and with this assurance Constance had to be content.
The departure of King Richard well-nigh broke Arthur’s heart, and Richard embraced him with deep emotion. Philip admonished them again to go to Paris whenever it seemed best.
“That will yet happen,” said Höel to Alan on their way back. “Philip well knows that fate will force Arthur into his arms. Had Richard thought more of the future, we should not have been going home thus.”
The friendly reception which the young Duke everywhere met as he reëntered Brittany made the home-coming very dear to him. The situation had changed, as he now realized, and the people had great expectations of his future. When he came to the gates of cities, the people went out to meet him with welcomes and good wishes. Arthur showed interest and kindness for all, and the Duchess gave him precedence everywhere and rejoiced at the enthusiasm manifested for him, both by high and by low.
Upon their arrival at Rennes they received sad news. Bertha was no more. She had died after a brief illness. It was the first real sorrow in Arthur’s life, and his grief was hardly less than that of Höel and Alan, who felt as if their happiness were forever lost. It separated Arthur’s present life from his past life, and served to concentrate his thoughts upon the future. All the news from the great world, into which he had had a brief glance, now became of interest to him, especially everything concerning the Crusade. As time passed, wandering pilgrims and minstrels came and told of events in the morning-land,—of Richard’s exploits before Acre and Ascalon,[13]and of his heroic conduct in times of danger, which had won for him the name of “Lion-hearted.” Then news ceased to come for a long time; but suddenly the report spread that Philip Augustus had returned to France with only a remnant of his army. It seemed incredible at first, but they soon found that it was true, for the Duchess received a letter from Paris in which Philip urgently requested her to come there with Arthur. She hesitated, however, for her safety in Brittany was not imperilled. The King’s letter surprised them all, particularly Arthur, who had a presentiment that it foreshadowed a turning-point in his life.
One evening a pilgrim appeared at the castle gate and desired to speak with the Duke. The latter had just returned from the chase and was standing in the anteroom as the stranger entered.
“Rest yourself, holy man,” said Arthur, “and then tell me your errand.”
“Allow me to speak with you in private,” replied the pilgrim. After Arthur had dismissed those standing about, the pilgrim whispered a few words to him.
Hardly had he done so before Arthur made a loud outcry, and rushed into the terrified Duchess’s apartment, exclaiming, “Richard is a prisoner!” As he knew nothing more about it, the Duchess, after summoning Höel, had the pilgrim brought to her, and asked him for the particulars. As soon as the latter removed his palmer’s hat, Höel recognized him as Count Guntram, one of the Crusaders in Richard’s army. After the first greetings he told, at Arthur’s request, the story of the events which led to the abandonment of Palestine. Forsaken by his allies, whom he had alienated by his haughtiness of manner, Richard realized when it was too late that he could not rescue Jerusalem with his army alone. He withdrew reluctantly from the Holy City, and decided to return. His vessel was separated from the others and wrecked upon the Italian coast. Too impatient to wait for the rest of the fleet, he undertook to retreat with a few companions. As they had to traverse a hostile country, they adopted the garb of pilgrims, but they could not elude the sharp scrutiny of spies. Richard fell into the hands of the Duke of Austria, whom he had greatly offended during the Crusade, and the Duke consigned his distinguished prisoner to Henry the Sixth, Emperor of Germany.[14]His fugitive companions were making their way to their homes.
Arthur, completely absorbed in Richard’s fate, contemplated plans for his deliverance, and had no doubt that all the princes would unite with him to rescue the prisoner. Guntram, however, gloomily shook his head, and said: “Richard is imprisoned in the strong castle of Trifels[15]on the Rhine, and there he will remain until he is released for a heavy ransom. Think rather about yourself and your own affairs, noble Prince. Your Uncle John, hoping that Richard will never return, is preparing to attack Brittany and get you into his power as soon as possible. Make your escape at once, lest all the noble scions of the house of Plantagenet fall, and John remain, to the misfortune of the world.”
Knight Guntram frequently repeated his warning before he left the Duchess’s court, and the impression it made upon his hearers was soon strengthened by indications of its truth.
The country gradually began to grow restless and excited. The coast-dwellers removed into the interior, for English vessels had been seen, and they feared a landing. A letter also was received from Queen Eleanor, in which the Duchess was warned not to make any claims upon England for her son’s rights, as they would not be recognized. In the event of Richard’s death, John, who was now sharing the sovereignty with Eleanor, would certainly succeed to the throne.
In view of the manifest danger to the Duke’s rights it was decided that they must seek the protection and help of Philip Augustus. Accompanied by their nearest and most devoted attendants, Duchess Constance and Arthur once more set out, this time upon an eventful journey. Mourning over the fate of their country and their own fate as well, they left their beloved Brittany. Hardly had they crossed the frontier when John’s troops poured into the country, beat back the mercenaries of Philip Augustus, and placed his banner above the gates of the city. The people mournfully submitted to his yoke, hoping in their secret hearts for the return of their legitimate ruler.
Constance and Arthur were received at the court of Philip Augustus in Paris not after the manner of fugitives. The King gave them royal recognition, and his spouse, the gracious Agnes of Meran, greeted them most cordially. Philip evinced a peculiarly friendly interest in Arthur; but he met his urgent request for assistance with a quiet smile, saying, “I shall do all in my power to help you to retain your possessions and all your rights. In the meantime, as there is a quarrel to be settled between me and the Count of Flanders, will you go with me and win your spurs on my side?”
The King looked sharply at Arthur, who, thirsting for action, acceded to his proposal notwithstanding the Duchess’s disapproval. She was obliged to consent in the end, however, for Höel and Alan, who found idle court life intolerable, gladly agreed to go also, and were eager to participate in the affair.
Arthur was to be admitted to knighthood at once, and chose Alan for his brother-in-arms. During the night which preceded the important ceremony, the youths kept knightly vigil to uplift their souls in prayer. They were escorted by Höel and some of the leading knights to the castle chapel, where they were left alone, after an impressive parting. The barred doors shut them out from the world, and they knelt a long time before the altar, engaged in their devotions. These concluded, they arose, and with drawn swords made a circuit of the chapel walls, pausing at times before the memorials of distinguished princes, whose statues seemed almost ghostly in the uncertain flickerings of the ever-burning lamps. The banners fastened to the columns, which reached to the dome, fluttered, and the trophies gave out a hollow sound as the youths passed them. At last they reached the altar again, and almost involuntarily Arthur began to express his deep emotions. He thought of the cruel fate which had snatched his father from him, and of the sorrowful burden which had overwhelmed his mother. With a firm voice he pictured the future for which he longed so ardently and hopefully. He would earn distinction and fame under Philip’s leadership, and all brave heroes would gladly help him in his struggle for his rights. Then, when Richard had returned to the throne of England, and he had earned Philip’s good-will, how successfully his life would unfold! “And you, Alan, my brother-in-arms,” he said, turning to him, “shall always be nearest my side, however high a station I may reach.”
Glowing with youthful enthusiasm, Alan knelt before Arthur and lowered his sword with the utmost reverence, for he believed in Arthur with all his soul. Joyfully the latter exclaimed: “Oh, that a sign might be given to reveal my future!”
At that instant the moon broke through the clouds and illuminated the lofty stained glass windows. In the sudden crimson glow Arthur and Alan looked as if they were sprinkled with blood. Their faces, hair, and shoulders were tinted a deep red. They gazed upon one another with astonishment, but the red glow soon disappeared, and they were once more in the semi-darkness. Though the effect, which was caused by the light passing through the ruby-red panes, was easily explainable, yet they were deeply impressed by it. They spoke no more, but stood motionless by the altar, awaiting the coming of day.
The morning light had hardly broken when the doors of the chapel were opened and a band of knights came to greet their new brothers. Höel embraced them and smiled at Arthur’s disturbed countenance; but when he saw that Alan too was pale and agitated, he became serious. There was no time to question them, for a multitude quickly poured into the chapel. The entire court was soon assembled. The ecclesiastics gathered about the altar, and at last the King entered with the Queen and the Duchess Constance. At the close of the religious service Philip entered the chancel and bade Arthur kneel. Touching his shoulder with his sword, he dubbed him knight and received his vows. When Alan had likewise been admitted to knighthood, their golden spurs were given them, and shouting “Saint Denis!” and “Saint George!” the knights embraced their new comrades. All present joined in congratulation, and Höel had to tear them away almost by force, so that they might have rest and refreshment and be in readiness for the afternoon’s tournament. When the time came, they were assisted in putting on their armor by knights, but Arthur kept his sash in his hand so that his mother might bind it about him. The gloomy night was forgotten, and as he passed along the spacious corridors of the Louvre[16]every one he met stopped to admire his youthful beauty and to make smiling return for his friendly greeting.
As he approached the Duchess’s apartment he heard delightful strains of music, and hesitated about entering; for Constance, since the great sorrow had come into her life, seldom touched the harp. At last, however, he softly opened the door and glanced into the large room. The Duchess was reclining upon a couch, her head resting upon her hand, and her pale face bedewed with tears. A young lady, who was playing the harp, sat near her on a tabouret. She ceased as Arthur quickly advanced and bowed low to the two ladies. The younger rose in surprise and looked inquiringly at the Duchess, who took her hand and, turning to Arthur, said, “You must know, my son, who has played so beautifully for my consolation. This is the Princess Marie of France,[17]whom Philip has brought from the cloisters to-day. Though it is our first meeting, she well knows my sorrow.”
“Noble lady,” said Marie gently, “I too have known sorrow. My mother is dead.”
“May the blessing of Heaven comfort you, gracious lady, and bring its peace to a heart which knows so well how to comfort others,” exclaimed Arthur. “I shall go to the field contentedly, for I know that an angel will be at my mother’s side.”
Trumpet peals from the courtyard summoned to the tournament. The clank of armor was heard in the anteroom, and knights were in waiting to act as Arthur’s escort.
“It is my first venture with arms, dear mother. Give me your blessing, I beseech you,” implored Arthur; “and you, Princess, shall tie on my sash as a surety of good fortune in the contest.”
Marie directed a questioning glance at the Duchess, and when she smiled in return, threw the scarf over Arthur’s shoulder and fastened it. After a word of thanks, Arthur hastened to his waiting associates, and the ladies betook themselves to the Queen, whose guests they were to be at the tournament.
The field was encircled with a dense throng of persons of all ranks. The spectators watched Arthur eagerly as he rode in, followed by Alan and four knights, who drew up in line. Their adversaries confronted them in similar line. At a signal from the King the knights rushed at each other. Höel smilingly watched hisprotégés, who distinguished themselves by their daring and dexterity. At the first onset Arthur parried the thrust of his enemy, and at the second advanced from the other side with such fury that his opponent was taken off his guard and was dismounted. Arthur was declared victor. The same good fortune attended him in the remaining contests, and at the close he received a wreath from the Queen’s own hands as his prize. Never was handsomer knight seen than Arthur, as with visor raised he lifted his crowned head and saluted the princesses. At the court banquet he was assigned a place between his mother and the Princess Marie, and his heart swelled with joy and pride.
The time for the departure of the expedition drew nigh, and Arthur spent his leisure moments in the company of the Duchess and her young friend. On the last evening the King visited them, and after a brief conversation turned to the Duke. “Take a long farewell,” said he. “Guard yourself in battle, for your reward will be Marie’s hand.”
Arthur and the Princess stood speechless with surprise for some time, but the silence was at last broken by the Duchess: “Yes, Arthur, it is the King’s will to give Marie to you as wife, and to me as daughter, some day, when our lot is a happier one.”
“For that I hope, with God’s help,” answered the King.
Arthur was in the field several months with Philip, and though he had to endure all that powerful warrior’s severe discipline, he fought for him as valiantly as he would have done for himself. All this time the enemy remained unsubdued; but at last the King, having cut off all probable chance of escape, looked for a decisive result. The day for the attack was fixed, and everything was made ready. On the evening before the battle, after issuing his orders, the King retired to his tent to read some letters which a messenger had brought from Paris. The chancellor urgently entreated him to return, for disorder was spreading, and the finances were in such desperate condition that he could procure no more money.
“Ha!” said the King to himself, “how shall we meet the needs of the Empire? There is but one way. The Jews must empty their pockets. The ban shall be raised. We expelled them to please the Pope, who is now secretly plotting with my enemies against me and annoying me in every way.” The King called for his secretary, but instead of that official a knight suddenly entered the tent. Recognizing Arthur, he waited for him to speak.
“Oh, my King,” said Arthur excitedly, “I have had news from my uncle.”
Philip frowned and asked, “What does John want now?”
“My news is not from John; I am speaking of Richard. He is free. He is no longer a prisoner in the castle of Trifels.”
“How,” interrupted the King, “has the ransom been furnished?”
“He is free,” repeated Arthur; “a deserter from the Netherlands brought the tidings. Richard has embarked on the Holland coast. They recognized him, though he went there in disguise.”
“Alone!” said the astonished King. “Oh, the Lion-hearted!”
“Without doubt he has crossed to England,” continued Arthur excitedly, “and now it is time my King, for me to hasten to his assistance.”
“Thoughtless youth!” broke in Philip, “would you forsake me before the end of the campaign and ingloriously leave before we know whether Richard has actually reached his fatherland?”
Arthur grew thoughtful, and retired to consult Höel and Alan. The latter was eager to go, for he was not enthusiastic in his devotion to Philip; he would rather have fought for Richard. But Höel twirled his gray mustache and shook his head. He feared Richard’s rash and unstable disposition, and knew that he could not be relied upon. “Philip is right in this matter,” he said. “Let us first dispose of this Fleming; after that it will be time to think of the other matter.”
The battle was fought the next day, and resulted in the defeat of the Count of Flanders after a stout resistance. The King himself led his warriors, sword in hand, in an attack upon the enemy, who were seeking to hold a bridge. His battle-cry, “Montjoie St. Denis!”[18]spread panic in the ranks of his foes, and “Plantagenet!” “Plantagenet!” resounded where Arthur and his knights were fighting.