CHAPTER XVI.WITHIN THE CASTLE WALLS.The Lady Aliva had been carried off to Bedford in a half-unconscious state; for though she had awoke from her sleep refreshed and restored--thanks to the kind care of Mistress Hodges--the treacherous priest had so arranged that nothing should hinder him from carrying out his part of the shameful contract.After the departure of the lay-brother he returned to the chapel."Daughter," he said to Aliva, through the half-open door of the sacristy, "thou hast done well in seeking the protection of Mother Church, and I, the humble minister of this altar, will see that thou art well guarded if thou remainest here.""Thanks, reverend father," replied the maiden; "but a short time since, towards dawn of day, methinks (but I have slept since), this faithful woman's son offered to set off to my father's house at Bletsoe and warn the household there of my whereabouts.""Thy messenger will be yet some time ere he returneth," answered the priest, "and if thou art minded to depart at once, we needs must find some other means of conveyance for thee, lady. I have looked round about since it grew light, and thy pursuers have departed," he added, revolving in his mind how best to induce Aliva to enter the horse-litter from Bedford, which he guessed would by now not be far off."Thanks for the hospitality of this holy sanctuary," Aliva replied, "but I would fain depart as speedily as may be," she added, not caring to occupy the sacristy of a chapel as her apartment any longer than was necessary, and with an indefinable dislike, if not distrust, of the speaker."So be it, lady," Bertram hastened to answer. "I will myself to Bedford. Doubtless from some of the burghers can I procure a conveyance suited to thy rank. Moreover, thou art doubtless weak in body, and I have taken upon myself to order food to be brought thee."So saying he moved to the door and beckoned to some one without. A woman from the village entered, bringing such food and wine as the hostelry could supply."Thou mayest eat yonder in the sacristy, my daughter, for it is not consecrated to holy purposes."He followed the woman into the priest's room and then dismissed her. This left him alone for a few moments, for Aliva had entered the chapel to kneel down before the rude altar, and offer up a heartfelt thanksgiving for her preservation.Father Bertram took a small vial from within his robe and poured some drops from it into the wine-flask.He had not studied the art of drug-concocting in the infirmary of his late monastery in vain.Then he passed out of the chapel, saying that he was going to Bedford.Aliva rose from her knees and went into the sacristy and found the food awaiting her. But she could not swallow, famished though she was, the rough village fare copiously seasoned with garlic."Alack!" exclaimed Goody Hodges. "But thou wilt die of weakness. See the wine-flask, lady! Drink, if thou canst not stomach the food."Aliva did as she advised; and when the priest shortly returned, having brought the litter which he had found waiting on the bridge, and having received back again the pledge of the crucifix, he found the maiden in a half-unconscious state."Alack, alack! father, she hath swooned again!" cried the deluded peasant woman."She is overwrought with her hardships," replied the priest. "We must get her home with all speed. I have found a litter on the road, and it is in readiness. Help me to bear her to it."The fresh morning air outside the chapel door partially revived Aliva. Opening her eyes she moaned,--"Where am I? where are you taking me?""Home, daughter, to Bletsoe. Let me lay you in the litter!" exclaimed Bertram hurriedly, and rudely pushing back Dame Hodges, who had stopped short when she too recognized the De Breauté livery, and saw that she had been deceived.Aliva sank back languidly on the cushions, and her eyes closed again. She was deaf to a well-known voice imploring her to stay, and unaware of the lay-brother's gallant attempt to detain her.When she recovered her senses again, the litter was jolting fearfully, for the horses were going at the top of their speed. Bertram rightly conjectured that Aliva had taken but little of the drugged wine, and was alarmed lest its numbing influence should wear off ere his captive was safely secured. So he urged the postillion along, galloping by his side.With returning consciousness Aliva drew aside the curtains of the litter and looked out. They were certainly not on the road to Bletsoe; she saw that at once. They were swinging through streets, and curious burgesses came to their house doors, marvelling what brought the litter of the Lady Margaret out so early.While she was doubting whether she should cry for help or fling herself from the litter, it turned under an echoing gateway, and stopped in a courtyard before the entrance of a castle keep.A girl of about her own age came down the steps."Lady, please to alight and follow me to the apartment prepared for you."Aliva descended from the litter and looked around her, bewildered. A group of men-at-arms were drawn up at a respectful distance, and the grooms who had brought her stood silent by their horses. The priest had vanished as soon as he had seen her safe into the castle.Aliva turned to the girl beside her."Where am I?" she murmured, still half dazed. "Is this not Bedford Castle? There has been treachery--treachery by that ill-looking priest! This is more of De Breauté's doings, damsel.""Nay, lady, I can tell thee naught, save that my lord Sir Fulke bade me prepare a lodging in the keep for a lady who was to arrive in my lady's litter. Thy chamber is ready on the floor above the great hall, next to my lady's bower. Prithee, let me lead thee thither."Aliva felt somewhat reassured by this reception. At least she found herself in the care of women.Silently she allowed her conductress to show her the way across the hall and up a turret stair to her apartment, where she sank wearily on a couch.The pretty waiting-woman bustled about, offering the unhappy girl various attentions. She brought her articles of dress from her mistress's coffer, and assisted Aliva to remove her travel-stained garments and clothe herself in becoming attire.The latter eyed her curiously."And who art thou, maiden?" she inquired."My name is Beatrice Mertoun. I am the waiting-woman of the Lady Margaret, the wife of Sir Fulke. And thou, lady, if I might make so bold?""I am Aliva de Pateshulle from Bletsoe," returned Aliva."From Bletsoe!" echoed Beatrice. "Methought I remembered your face and figure as one of the nuns at Elstow when I attended my mistress to the retreat there. We returned but yesterday. But thou art no nun--no sister of an abbey?""Nay," replied Aliva, "but I wore the habit of a novice as a penitent during the retreat. Doubtless," she added, sighing, "this trouble which hath come upon me is the reward of my sins.""Fair lady," said Beatrice gently, "you look sad;" and she came and knelt down at her feet."Sad!" exclaimed Aliva, raising herself on her elbow and gazing down at the waiting-maid with horror-stricken face; "I am miserable--betrayed--undone! Ah, I see it all now--this foul plot! William de Breauté hath encompassed my ruin!""William de Breauté!" cried Beatrice. "It is he who is at the bottom of this, forsooth! By my halidom,Isee daylight now! I overheard him speaking of you with his brother--and then the chapel, repaired and cleaned. That was what Sir Fulke meant as he watched the men at work and said in jesting mood that from his own experience an unwilling bride was all the sweeter for the trouble of snaring and catching her, and William de Breauté answered that for his part he cared not for a ripe plum that fell into one's mouth without the picking.""The chapel--an unwilling bride!" gasped poor Aliva. "The Lady Margaret was such! I see it all, alas! Does my father know of this? Does he give his consent?""Alas, fair lady, I know naught! It pains me to see thee in such grief, and in good sooth I mind me well of the stories I have heard of the unwilling wooing, the hasty bridal of my mistress. But, lady, cheer thee. Thou art weary and mazed. Rest here awhile, and talk no more, and I will watch by thee."The bright spring afternoon was already waning when, some hours after the events related above, the two maidens walked out upon the south wall of the castle. Beatrice had persuaded Aliva to come thither, hoping that the fresh air might revive her drooping spirits; and Sir Fulke had given permission that his prisoner might repair thither when she pleased, though the precincts of the castle were forbidden.As they paced up and down the terrace the fertile brain of Mistress Beatrice, already a warm partisan of the fair young prisoner, began to weave plans of escape."Canst swim, fair lady?" she inquired. "'Twould be naught to leap into Ouse water from yon turret! Or, better still, that thy knight (she took it for granted that Aliva had a knight) should bring hither a skiff some dark night, beneath the walls!"At that moment they heard the twang of an archer's bow sounding from the gate-house hard by.CHAPTER XVII.THE KING IN COUNCIL.For some time Ralph lay in a precarious state in the house of one of the burgesses of Bedford. The bolt from the cross-bow had given him a nasty wound, which it required all the skill of the leech to heal. Moreover, he lay fretting and fuming at the thought that his Aliva was a prisoner in the hands of his enemy, and his mental anxiety seriously interfered with his bodily recovery.As he got better, however, he received visits from many of the principal townspeople, who were much attached to the house of De Beauchamp, and full of pity for the young knight."Sir Ralph," quoth one of these grave personages, as he sat solemnly stroking his beard by the pallet where the young man still lay, "if one richer in the experience of years than thou art may be permitted to advise thee, I would show thee how useless a waste of life and blood would be any attempt of thine, unaided, to rescue thy fair lady from her direful plight.""Marry, but have I not learned that lesson already!" ejaculated Ralph irritably; "but whither then to get aid? for get aid I must. This emprise is of more worth to me than a dozen lives! Speak you on behalf of your kind, Gilbert the Clothier, the other traders and craftsmen of the town? Are ye ready to strike a blow against this tyrant?""I crave thy pardon, Sir Knight, but we are men of peace, unused to warlike weapons, and we have much to lose. With one swoop Fulke de Breauté could burn about our ears all the amassed gain of a lifetime!"Ralph shrugged his shoulders impatiently."'Tis vain to speak to barn-door fowls of the liberty of the hawk's flight!" replied Ralph, somewhat ungraciously. "But, Sir Merchant, if the only weapons ye can use be your tools and your measuring-yards, yet methinks ye have store of wisdom in your heads, in full measure above us who spend all our wits upon our sinews!" he added laughingly. "Prithee, counsel me.""There are none in all the county round, in these days when so many of our gentlefolks are impoverished with the wars and disturbances of these last years, who can hope to lift a spear successfully against this rich Frenchman," the merchant began. "We must e'en seek aid further afield. Anon I had word brought me that the churchmen brook ill that the learned brother of Martin de Pateshulle and Thomas de Muleton lies in the keeping of the enemy of the Church, and are minded to stir in this matter with the king.""The king!" exclaimed Ralph, half raising himself. "That is in good sooth good news!""The king holds a council shortly at Northampton, as ye know," Gilbert went on, "and it is there they purport to lay our case before him and his barons and bishops assembled.""I will to Northampton, then," cried Ralph eagerly. "Certes, I was even purposing to go thither ere this unlucky scratch detained me. I sought the king's favour to give me some command in this army which is about to inarch for the north.""Better turn your lance-point nearer home, Sir Knight," the merchant replied. "There will be work enow and glory enow to be gotten for all who list in pulling down this robber Frenchman's stronghold!""I will to Northampton as soon as this leech who holds me in his clutches gives me leave to buckle on my armour again," Ralph added.And so it came about that, not many days later, our hero rode over to Northampton, where he found the king in council with the bishops, abbots, barons, and justices.[image]The council at Northampton.The youthful Henry III. was at this time only seventeen years old, though he had been declared to be of age two years before. His trusted guardian and adviser, Hubert de Burgh, was, however, still with him, and was present at the council. The old chronicler tells how, while the monarch and his advisers were thus assembled, deliberating on the affairs of state, news was brought of the raid upon the judges, and of the capture of Henry de Braybrooke by William de Breauté.Here was an unbearable insult to the royal supremacy. The attention of the council was instantly turned from the banks of the Tweed to those of the Ouse.In the storm of indignation which was aroused by the Robber Baron's latest misdeed the voice of the Church made itself heard. The judges of the land were at that period mostly ecclesiastics. Could they put up with this indignity to their learned brother? Was not Fulke also a destroyer of abbeys and churches? Had he not pulled down St. Paul's Church at Bedford? and had not that impious raid upon St. Alban's Abbey been but poorly atoned for by the discipline in the chapter-house? Had any restitution been made?Further, doubtless, the great barons called to their master's council--they whose sires had forced his father to sign Magna Charta on the field of Runnymede, and who had spilt their blood for the liberties of England--had somewhat to say against this French upstart, De Breauté, this bastard soldier of fortune, who had ensconced himself in a fortress where one of the old Norman families had been established ever since the days of the Conqueror.Prelate and lord both agreed that the most pressing question of the day was the overthrow of this robber chief.When Ralph rode into the ancient town of Northampton, now crowded with the magnates of the land, he had no difficulty in finding men of position and weight who were willing to introduce him, as a scion of the De Beauchamp family, to the council.Henry and his advisers, in earnest discussion over this business of Bedford, were not sorry to find one who was well acquainted with the castle and its fortifications. Accordingly, when Ralph was presented to the council, he was received by the young king with much cordiality. Henry III., though one of the few weak-minded monarchs of the strong Plantagenet line, was still so young that his character could hardly be said to be yet formed, and any mistakes he might make were naturally set down to his youth and inexperience. This affair of Bedford Castle, however, was an undertaking in which he exhibited all the promptitude and energy of his predecessors upon the throne. He resolved to attend the siege in person, and ordered his council to suspend all other business and direct their attention solely to the means of carrying it out.The council of war, or committee, to whom were confided the necessary preparations, took Ralph into their confidence. They were presided over by no less a personage than Hubert de Burgh himself, who summoned the young knight to appear before them in the chamber in Northampton Castle, where they held their conclave.Ralph's feelings, as he found himself in the presence of one so renowned, formerly the governor of Dover Castle, and the custodian in Brittany of King John's luckless nephew Arthur, and the late guardian of the king, were those of some shyness. He was a plain, country-born youth, unused to courts and dignitaries, and even of late years a landless, penniless knight, one of an outcast family. But the great justiciary's manner reassured him."Sir Ralph," he said, "we understand that thou wast brought up in Bedford Castle, and art well acquainted with all its parts.""Certes, noble Hugh," replied Ralph, "always excepting those portions where Fulke de Breauté may have made alterations and additions during the last few years.""Well answered, and with a caution exceeding thy years, Sir Knight. Say on--what alterations?""By my faith, I can scarcely tell! But he hath pulled down and well-nigh destroyed the church of St. Paul, and the stones thereof have been used in the castle walls.""For new work, mean you, or for the strengthening of old work?" inquired the justiciary."That cannot I rightly say," answered Ralph, "for since my uncle was driven forth, or rather surrendered to Fulke acting in his sovereign's name, I have not set foot within the castle walls."But he added beneath his breath: "Would I were within at this moment!"De Burgh overheard him, and with some surprise."So shalt thou be, and that shortly, and with stout men-at-arms at thy back, an I mistake not. But for the nonce we must learn more about these walls. How sayest thou the castle lieth?""Along the banks of the Ouse, and on the north side of the stream.""And its defences--what be they? All say that the keep was indeed built by thy ancestor Pain de Beauchamp, and is strong and not easily to be assaulted.""The keep is indeed strong and well built," Ralph replied, "and round it run a high wall and a deep moat. On the west side only might an attack be made with any hope of victory, for there lie the bailey yards, the gate-house, and the barbican. Moreover, between the outer and the inner bailey there standeth a tower, which we call the old tower, the like of which, I have heard tell, is not to be found in many castles, and which commands the bridge."As he spoke Ralph made a sort of rough drawing."Here," he said, "is the keep, upon a lofty mound. On this side only is an entrance possible. We must e'en break through all the outer defences, and pass on from west to east. But it will be no light emprise."A gleam of pleasure came over the face of the veteran."By the bones of St. Thomas," he exclaimed, "thou showest no mean knowledge or skill, fair sir. Where hast thou learned the art of war?""I have oft heard my uncle tell the story of how King Stephen besieged the castle when our ancestor Milo de Beauchamp held it for the Empress Matilda, nigh upon a hundred years ago," modestly answered Ralph. "He even contended that it was so strong that no attack could prevail, and that had it been better victualled it would never have surrendered. And then, noble knight, if I may make so bold as to remind thee, there is that sad passage in the history of our house which hath been seared into the memory of my boyhood--I mean when my uncle, Sir William, surrendered to this same Fulke, who came in the name of our late king, who was indeed the enemy of our house. Ofttimes hath my uncle gone over that tale with me, and hath showed me how he might yet have held the castle had he possessed better stores and more men."The end of this interview was that Ralph, in consideration of the valuable information he had proved himself willing and able to bestow, was admitted to all the deliberations of the council, and was listened to with attention. Neither his uncle William de Beauchamp, nor his kinsman at Eaton Socon, had come to Northampton; the latter by reason of his age, and the former on account of his sullen despair, and perhaps also hindered by a latent distrust of the house of Plantagenet, which had dealt so ill with him. Thus it happened that Ralph represented, as it were, the De Beauchamp family.He was given plenty to do in the way of hastening preparations, moreover, and as his heart was in the work, for Aliva's sake, he was busy both night and day.His duties brought him into frequent communications with a personage who was much to the front when any question of a siege was on hand--namely, John de Standen, the chief of the miners. Ralph soon discovered that John had considerable knowledge of Bedford Castle and its fortifications. This puzzled him not a little at the time, and it was not till later on that he solved the mystery.When the chief of the miners and his assistants had determined what supplies of material were necessary for the siege, royal writs were issued for their production. Timber was required for the manufacture of the bombarding engines orpetraria, which were to fling great stones at the castle, and ox or horse hides were needed for the protection of these machines. Thousands of quarrels were ordered for the cross-bows and dart-throwing engines. Iron was ordered in great quantities, to be worked up on the spot, and pickaxes and other tools were not forgotten.Moreover, writs were issued to the sheriffs of Hertford, Oxford, Cambridge, Huntingdon, Northampton, Warwick, Leicester, Rutland, Essex, Suffolk, Norfolk, Lincoln, and Middlesex, directing them to send two men from each plough-land (the usual division of land in those days) to work the aforementioned engines. Then the feeding of these men had to be attended to. One Peter Buyam, a Burgundian merchant, was ordered to purchase one hundred and eight casks of wine at St. Botolph's fair, at forty-three shillings and four-pence a cask.From St. Briavels in Gloucestershire, the native place of John de Standen, were brought thirty assistant miners. But carpenters, saddlers, and leather-workers, to shape the shields for the engines, were found nearer at hand by the sheriffs of the counties of Northampton and Bedford, as were also the men who were to fashion the stones to be discharged from the petraria. The whole of the midlands was astir over the siege of Bedford Castle.Neither was the Church inactive. To show their horror at the outrages of the wicked Fulke, the assembled prelates and abbots forthwith granted the king a subsidy of half a mark for each of their plough-lands, and also sent, for each hide of land held by them, two men to work the engines, taking care, however, to obtain an acknowledgment from the king that this was a special grant. The priory of Newenham, which had been founded by the De Beauchamps, furnished the stones for the bombardment, and the abbey of St. Alban's naturally took a deep interest in the proceedings, which are fully chronicled in the records of the house.No sooner, however, was it known that a Bedfordshire maiden, the Lady Aliva de Pateshulle, was a prisoner of the foreign interloper, than all the men of the county rose to assist in the undertaking. Even our stalwart friend the Benedictine lay-brother, as soon as--thanks to the care of Lady Mabel--he had recovered at Eaton Socon from the dastardly wound inflicted by Bertram de Concours, found his way to the headquarters of preparations.Martin de Pateshulle, also, as one of those justices whose writs had been so rudely repudiated by Fulke, was summoned to the council. This worthy ecclesiastic, who was none the worse for his overthrow by William de Breauté's horsemen, was much concerned over the fate of his niece.In him Ralph, tortured by anxiety which he was striving to drown in work, found a friend and ready sympathizer."My son," said the archdeacon one day at the close of a long sitting of the council of war, "thou toilest in this business both as a servant of Holy Church and as a gallant knight for the rescue of fair lady."Ralph sighed."Indeed, venerable father, it is only when my whole heart is busy with my work that it finds peace. I am torn with doubts and fears concerning her whom I love. Could I but have one word, one token from her! Could I but hear something of her, were it even ill news! But this silence, it ofttimes is more than I can bear."John de Standen, still busy at the table over a rough sketch, looked up at these words."Sir Knight," he said, "thou meanest what thou sayest? Hast a stout heart? Canst bear ill news?"Ralph sprang from his seat, and gripped the king's miner by the arm till he winced."Speak, man, I conjure thee! Thou hast heard aught?""Speech is just what is forbidden to me," replied John. "My lips are sealed. All the message I have for thee is: 'Haste, or it may be too late!' Ask me no more."CHAPTER XVIII.HEARD UNDERGROUND.On the twenty-second of June 1224, the king arrived at Bedford, and the siege of the castle commenced almost immediately. Outside the town, on the Northampton road, pavilions were pitched for himself, for Hubert de Burgh the justiciary, and other great officers, while the troops and their officers, Ralph de Beauchamp among them, were quartered in rude shelters near the castle, or billeted upon the townsfolk, that they might be ready to repel any sortie which the besieged might make with a view of burning the engines of war. Close to these latter were encamped the men who worked them, together with the miners, carpenters, and other artificers ready for their respective turn of duty.Before any hostile movement was commenced, however, the king, in due form, summoned the castle to surrender. An ecclesiastic was detailed for the purpose; for priests in those days often performed strange functions.It was but an empty form, for no one expected that the king's command would be obeyed. Moreover, Sir Fulke de Breauté himself was not in the castle. With the astute craftiness which pervaded all his actions, he had gone away some little while before, leaving his brother in command. He took himself off into Wales, where he joined the Earl of Chester, who, though siding for some time with the king, had left him, in conjunction with some other barons, under somewhat suspicious circumstances.As was to be expected, William de Breauté made answer to the archdeacon--for such was the office of the king's messenger--that he had received no orders from his brother to surrender the castle, and that he certainly should not do so without authority from him. So the siege was begun without delay.The method of taking a castle in those days was much the same as that which continued in vogue till, long afterwards, stone walls gave place to earthworks. The walls were first battered by stones thrown from the petraria, and when a breach had been made a storming-party rushed in. The only change consequent upon the introduction of gunpowder was that cannon then took the place of the stone-throwing engines.The machines were placed one or two on each side of the castle, and they must have been of considerable size and strength, as one of them projected stones right across the river. The men who worked them were protected against the quarrels, arrows, and other missiles directed at them from the walls, by screens made of ox and horse hides. Two lofty erections, which towered far above the fortifications of the castle, were manned by slingers and cross-bowmen, who thence shot down upon the garrison on the walls and in the baileys below them.Close up against the face of the wall itself was pushed a movable screen, called the "cat," the object of which was to protect John de Standen and his men as they carried on their work of undermining the walls.Ralph was ordered by his superior officer, a grim old baron who had been one of those assembled at Runnymede when John signed the charter, but who now supported his son, to pay special attention to the mining operations. To Ralph and John de Standen attached himself one who could hardly be called a soldier, though he exhibited all the courage and zeal which are the necessary qualities of a man of war. This was the young lay-brother from St. Alban's. He was received as a sort of volunteer, and was granted permission to serve in the mining work, for his religious vows, he said, forbade him to carry sword or spear. This young man proved, however, a valuable assistant.A kind of friendly rivalry went on between the two branches of warfare into which the besiegers were divided. Those who had charge of the engines favoured the notion of pounding the walls till they battered them down. The sappers and miners, however, built their hopes of reducing the fortress upon their methods of burrowing underneath it. But before these latter were able to push on far with their works, the besiegers above ground gained two important advantages. They carried by assault the barbican or outer defence of the gate, and with but a loss of four or five men. By this means they were able to rush the gate itself, and in a second assault forced their way into the outer bailey or yard, the first one on the west side.Here were the store-houses, and here also were kept the horses and live stock which the besieged took care to have always within the castle walls. Forage, grain, and such like bulky articles as could not be removed into the keep were likewise stored in the yard. All these fell into the hands of the besiegers, who removed the arms, the horses, and the pigs, and burned the buildings which contained the corn and hay. The besieged retreated within the inner wall, which defended the lesser bailey.But between the upper and lower bailey there stood--a rather unusual feature in a Norman castle--a strong building known by the name of the "old tower." It had probably something to do with fortifications which at an earlier date protected the bridge across the Ouse, before the castle precincts were prolonged westwards. Here the besieged gathered in strength and made an obstinate stand.The assistance of John de Standen and his men was now necessary. The other defences, the barbican and the wall of the outer bailey, had been carried by assault, the soldiers climbing the walls and forcing their way within. But the wall which separated the two baileys, protected as it was by the old tower, proved a more formidable obstacle. The king's troops intrenched themselves in the outer bailey, and the cat was wheeled into position ready for the operations of the miners.These latter worked with a will. Ere long they were able to report to Ralph de Beauchamp, as their superior officer, that the foundations of the old tower were undermined, and that the building would fall directly the stays and struts with which they had propped it up should be removed.So Ralph went down into the mine with John de Standen, that he in his turn might report to his superiors that the underground work was indeed finished, and that the soldiers might be held in readiness to storm the inner bailey.With some professional pride the king's miner conducted the knight through the dark passages he had burrowed, explaining as he went the manner in which the supports should be removed directly he received the signal to do so.They were just beneath the old tower, and John de Standen was enlarging on the excellent arrangements which he had made for the overthrow of the building, when, to their intense astonishment, a woman's voice was heard speaking in the vault overhead."By my faith," cried John de Standen, "but I wot not that we had dug so close to the lower vault of the tower. Methinks I must be out of my reckoning, Sir Knight, or mayhap your recollection of the place plays you false.""In good sooth we are close beneath the tower," replied Ralph. "How thinkest thou, good John? Has the enemy countermined, or are they about to break in upon our works?"Before John de Standen could vouchsafe an opinion, the voice again was heard from above."Ho, royal miners, are ye below?""We be miners sure enow," called John de Standen in reply. "But who be ye above there?--They cannot be for Sir Fulke," he added in a lower tone to Ralph, "or they would not let us hear them. Methinks, too, the voice is that of a woman or a boy.""I am for the king and his miners," spoke the voice again. "But tell me, prithee, is your master, John de Standen, with thee?""I, John de Standen, myself am here, and speak; and with me is no one save Sir Ralph de Beauchamp," replied the miner. "But speak; who art thou? Woman or boy; no man, I trow?""Now fie upon thee, John de Standen," said the unseen speaker, "that thou knowest not the voice of Beatrice Mertoun.""Beshrew me, Beatrice, if I can know thy voice, an itbethou, if it come to me through these plaguy paving-stones," cried De Standen. "Moreover, why askestthou, hearing me speak, if I am John de Standen?""Marry," exclaimed Beatrice, "in the night all cats are gray. All men's voices sound the same. But mind thee, John, how oft thou hast sworn that thou wouldest know my voice anywhere."John de Standen felt he was getting the worst of the argument. He changed the subject."And prithee, fair Beatrice, what art doing above us?""Hush! not so loud," she answered. "I have but a few moments. The guard watch closely the vault ever since that machine of thine was dragged up against the tower. I marvel much that they have not heard the noise of thy workers, and broken in upon thee. But for many days have I too watched, hoping to get a word with thee, for I have a message to send to a knight. But stay--didst not say one Sir Ralph de Beauchamp was with thee?""In good sooth I am here," replied Sir Ralph, both amused and puzzled by this unexpected and remarkable meeting between the king's miner and a lady who seemed an old acquaintance, if nothing nearer. "I am here, lady fair, whosoever thou art, for methinks a fair face must e'en suit so sweet a voice.""She is the waiting-woman of the Lady Margaret de Ripariis, and a mighty comely damsel withal," explained the bold miner."Now a truce to fair speeches! I have somewhat to say to Sir Ralph that ill brooks delay. The Lady Aliva, who is prisoner here--"The Lady Aliva! I know it well!" shouted Ralph, forgetful of the caution to speak softly. "But tell me quick, I pray thee, is she safe? is she well?""Safe as yet," replied Beatrice. "But there is mischief brewing against her. Say, did I not see thee carried away wounded from before the castle gate not many weeks since? They brought thy helmet into the castle. I showed it to the Lady Aliva, and she knew it for thine by the crest. And then darkness seized her mind, for not long after came Fulke de Breauté to her, and told her that thou wast slain!""The lying scoundrel!" cried Ralph hotly. "Could I but meet him, he would see I am yet alive!""Ere he quitted the castle he came oft to her with suit of marriage for his brother," Beatrice went on, lying down upon the stone floor above and speaking with her mouth to an open joint she had discovered between two of the paving slabs. "Canst hear me, Sir Knight? The guards approach; I must tell thee in few words, for I hear the warders relieved not many posts away. William de Breauté came himself to the lady to plead his suit. But she hates him. She told him so to his face.""She told him so on his face!" muttered Ralph."But the chapel hath been prepared," continued the waiting-woman, "and that traitor priest, Bertram de Concours, was ready. They dragged the lady thither by force. Sir Fulke and William de Breauté were waiting. What might have happened I know not, but my Lady Margaret stepped forward, and shamed the shameless man into respect for a lady.""And all this while she was faithful to me, though believing me dead!" exclaimed Ralph, half to himself."But Sir Fulke, ere he left for the marches of Wales, swore a great oath he would find her wedded ere he return, or else--And William de Breauté, he apeth the fine French gentleman. He maketh sweet speeches, and vows that when the king's troops be driven back, and the care of the castle be passed from him, he will return to bask once more in the sunlight of his lady's eyes! Faugh! the smooth-tongued villain! He has sung the same song to me, but not to my honour. But hist! they come!"A sound, as of the trampling of armed men, penetrated to those below. Then the eager listeners there caught some words in a rough man's voice."Pardie! pretty maiden, what doest here? Must pay forfeit with a kiss ere thou depart!"Then there was the sound of a struggle and a scream, and John de Standen shook his fist in mute rage at the floor above him.CHAPTER XIX.FEARS AND HOPES.William de Beauchamp, the taciturn and melancholy, had not attended the council at Northampton. But he could not well absent himself when an attack was made upon the castle which once had been his; and for his own benefit, for the king had promised to reinstate him as soon as the Robber Baron should have been driven out. He had been given a command in the royal force, and found himself in the anomalous position of besieging his own castle.But the march of events did not, as might well have been imagined, raise his drooping spirits. He was, indeed, more dismal than ever, having got a fixed idea in his head that he should never come to his own again. Though he had escaped unhurt from the two first assaults, by which the barbican and the outer bailey had been won, he was well aware that yet more serious struggles were before the besiegers ere they might hope to win the inner bailey and the keep. These assaults, he had made up his mind, he should not survive, and in his gloomiest, most funereal manner, called Ralph to him at the close of a summer's evening, when they were resting from duty in the house of Gilbert the Clothier, where they were quartered, and prepared to deliver to him what he supposed to be his last wishes and dispositions."Nephew Ralph," he began, in his most lugubrious tones, "thou hast been as a son to me, since my only son was cut off in early childhood.""True, uncle much revered by me," replied Ralph, puzzled at this solemn address. "I know not quite if I have been a good son to thee, but thou hast, in good sooth, given me all the father's care I have ever known.""And now, Nephew Ralph," William de Beauchamp continued, "I am about to confide to thee a very precious and holy message. Thou hast heard tell of the Lady Margaret de Ripariis?""Ay, certes," replied Ralph."And now that my time is at hand, and that the sands of my life are--""Thy time is at hand! By my faith, uncle, what mean these words?""Thou wottest that ere long we attack the old tower and the inner bailey," the uncle proceeded, in a tragic manner."I have but just come from the old tower, where John de Standen hath showed me how nigh is its overthrow.""Hark ye, nephew. I shall fall then; I know it of a certainty. I have seen in a dream that I shall not survive the assault. I shall ne'er again set eyes on the Lady Margaret, now for many years the unhappy wife of Fulke de Breauté. Once, when we were young and she was fair, we plighted our troth, and I have never forgotten it, though a cruel fate tore us asunder. My wife, who was ne'er to me as the first love of my youth the Lady Margaret, hath been dead these many years; and had the time come for the end of the miserable Fulke, I would fain have offered myself again to my once affianced bride. But I die before him. I feel it. For us there is no hope."Ralph began to perceive the gloomy forebodings that had seized his uncle, and tried, but in vain, to reassure him, pointing out how much danger he had already escaped, and bidding him hope for the best."For eight long years thou hast pined an exile from the halls of thine ancestors, uncle. But to-day our star is again in the ascendant, and fortune smiles once more upon the De Beauchamps."William shook his head sadly."It may not be, nephew. But bear thou to the Lady Margaret my last words of unalterable affection for the love of my youth.""Nay, uncle, thou shalt bear them thyself, when Fulke shall have gone to the perdition reserved for him! But cease these dark meditations, and list awhile to a sprightly wooing I overheard 'twixt one of those within the castle, and no less a person than the king's miner, in the old tower, this very noontide."And to turn his uncle's thoughts, Ralph proceeded to relate the strange meeting between John de Standen and Beatrice.But at the very hour these two talked thus together in Master Gilbert's guest-chamber, the subject of their conversation, the Lady Margaret, sat with her waiting-woman in the deep window of the lady's bower.The latter was brimming over with eagerness to impart to Aliva the good news she had just ascertained as to Ralph's safety, but deemed it prudent to confide it first to her mistress."By'r Lady, mistress mine, I vow I heard him, though I cannot say I saw him, and he is whole and in good heart.""The saints be praised!" ejaculated Lady Margaret. "It hath grieved me sore that this sweet maiden should be thus held prisoner by my evil-disposed brother, and yet sadder am I to think that she should have been told her knight was slain.""And such a knight, lady! Fair spoken, and of good courage. I heard it in the ring of his voice, as he hasted to ask after her welfare, how much he loveth her.""Thou knewest that he was the Lady Aliva's knight, then, Beatrice?""Ever since the affair of the helmet, lady. My Lady Aliva could not contain herself then, when she knew him wounded, and told me all. She is as true to him as the pole-star to the north, or as I to--""I know it, Beatrice, and it would be a deadly sin, and one I will stand out against as long as I draw breath, were she to be forced to wed William. The lying wretch! he will stick at naught to gain his end. To tell Aliva Sir Ralph was dead! Alas, alas! But peace, Beatrice; here she comes. I will tell her the news."Inwardly chafing at being deprived of the pleasure of imparting such delightful information, Beatrice retreated behind the chair of her mistress as Aliva entered.The weary weeks the latter had spent as a prisoner since that fatal morning when she was hurried into the castle, and the intense mental anguish she had endured since the helmet of the wounded knight had been handed to her on the ramparts that same evening, had left their traces on Aliva's pale cheek. The listless attitude in which she sank upon a stone seat, and gazed with mournful eyes out into the fast-falling summer twilight, contrasted strangely with the natural vigour and vivacity of the brave horsewoman who had led William de Breauté such a chase over the Ouse marshes. Something akin to despair had crushed her soul since Sir Fulke had brought her the news of Sir Ralph's death."Daughter," began Lady Margaret, tenderly drawing the fair head which leaned so wearily upon the thin hand down upon her knee, "I have somewhat to say to thee. This suit of my husband's brother--methinks Sir Fulke knew, as well as thou and I, how vain it was to urge it while thy true knight yet lived--""It were ever vain, lady, were Ralph alive or dead. Death would be sweeter to me than marriage with William de Breauté," replied Aliva mournfully."He hath used treachery once to gain his end; what if he hath also used deceit of words?" Lady Margaret went on. "Other De Beauchamps than thy knight bear the crest thou sawest on the casque.""Ah, lady," moaned Aliva, "beguile me not with vain hopes. Did not Beatrice here see him fall?""In good sooth! But, lady, I saw him not die.""Mind you how the townsfolk bore him off with much care? Perchance Hubert of Provence aimed not o'er true with his quarrel--""He is but a sorry wight in many things, lady," put in Beatrice scornfully."And the leeches are possessed of marvellous skill, as thou well knowest, and Sir Ralph is young and strong--""Wasyoung and strong, you mean, lady. O prithee, peace! Open not thus afresh a wound which bleeds, ay, and will bleed for ever!""My lady means what she says, and naught else," interrupted Beatrice, unable to restrain herself any longer. "He is young and strong, or beshrew me for a deaf old crone, for I trow his voice was strong enough this noontide!""His voice!" exclaimed Aliva, raising herself eagerly, and a faint colour overspreading her pallid cheek. "O Beatrice, mock me not!""Thou mockest thyself, daughter," said Lady Margaret, smiling. "Take heart o' grace. Beatrice speaks true; she hath heard him not many hours since."And Beatrice, coming forward and falling at her lady's knees, poured forth her wonderful tale in a torrent of words.When she paused for lack of breath, Aliva rose, like one waking from a dream, and clutched Beatrice's arm."Beatrice, an thou lovest me, take me to this chink in the vault of the old tower. Haste thee, haste thee! Let me hear him speak again.""Alas, lady! but this very evening William de Breauté hath ordered that all women keep within the keep, as the enemy presseth us round so close."A merry laugh as of old, the first which had rung from her since she had been a prisoner, and the first to which the lady's bower had re-echoed for many a day, burst from Aliva's lips. With the violent revulsion of feeling born of her youth and high mettle, she waved her hand scornfully and laughed again."William de Breauté! Oh, he may command and order, in good sooth, if it please him. What for him now, or for his commands! Methinks his time comes apace, and Ralph de Beauchamp will be master here. My Ralph--to think they had dared to tell me that he was slain!"And then she fell to bidding Beatrice tell her story all over again."Pretty Beatrice, an could I, I would give thee a lapful of gold nobles for this news thou hast brought. It is to me worth a king's ransom. I feel like one risen from the dead. But I trow, Mistress Beatrice," she added archly, "that thou hast had thy reward, in that the bold miner was also below. But tell me once more the very words Sir Ralph spake.""Nay, nay, maidens," put in Lady Margaret; "it is already night, and joy oft wearies as much as grief. Let us now to rest while we may. The strife will begin again at dawn.""Lady," cried Aliva, embracing the elder woman with tenderness, "go thou and rest if thou canst. I could not close my eyes for very joy.--Go, Beatrice, and leave me here a while alone, that I may think it all o'er again. Go to thy dreams of mines and miners!"Left to herself, Aliva sat down in the deep window-seat where Lady Margaret had sat when Sir Fulke related to her a less pleasant vision of the night than that which probably haunted the couch of Beatrice--a dream which now seemed in fair way of coming true. The short July darkness had fallen. Across the river the petraria were at rest, and in the silence of the night Aliva only"Heard the sound, and could almost tellThe sullen words of the sentinel,As his measured step on the stone belowClanked as he paced it to and fro."Aliva gazed out into the beautiful balmy night, and a peace to which she had long been a stranger stole in upon her heart. The world was at rest, and it seemed sad to think that in a few short hours, when the darkness should be over, man would be once more at his cruel work of war. But the stars, shining deep in the purple overhead and reflected in the placid stream below, seemed to her stars of hope."It is the hour when lovers' vowsSeem sweet in every whispered word,And gentle winds and waters nearMake music to the lonely ear."As she gazed she thought she heard her name called softly from out of the gloom below."Aliva!" said a voice, "Aliva!"
CHAPTER XVI.
WITHIN THE CASTLE WALLS.
The Lady Aliva had been carried off to Bedford in a half-unconscious state; for though she had awoke from her sleep refreshed and restored--thanks to the kind care of Mistress Hodges--the treacherous priest had so arranged that nothing should hinder him from carrying out his part of the shameful contract.
After the departure of the lay-brother he returned to the chapel.
"Daughter," he said to Aliva, through the half-open door of the sacristy, "thou hast done well in seeking the protection of Mother Church, and I, the humble minister of this altar, will see that thou art well guarded if thou remainest here."
"Thanks, reverend father," replied the maiden; "but a short time since, towards dawn of day, methinks (but I have slept since), this faithful woman's son offered to set off to my father's house at Bletsoe and warn the household there of my whereabouts."
"Thy messenger will be yet some time ere he returneth," answered the priest, "and if thou art minded to depart at once, we needs must find some other means of conveyance for thee, lady. I have looked round about since it grew light, and thy pursuers have departed," he added, revolving in his mind how best to induce Aliva to enter the horse-litter from Bedford, which he guessed would by now not be far off.
"Thanks for the hospitality of this holy sanctuary," Aliva replied, "but I would fain depart as speedily as may be," she added, not caring to occupy the sacristy of a chapel as her apartment any longer than was necessary, and with an indefinable dislike, if not distrust, of the speaker.
"So be it, lady," Bertram hastened to answer. "I will myself to Bedford. Doubtless from some of the burghers can I procure a conveyance suited to thy rank. Moreover, thou art doubtless weak in body, and I have taken upon myself to order food to be brought thee."
So saying he moved to the door and beckoned to some one without. A woman from the village entered, bringing such food and wine as the hostelry could supply.
"Thou mayest eat yonder in the sacristy, my daughter, for it is not consecrated to holy purposes."
He followed the woman into the priest's room and then dismissed her. This left him alone for a few moments, for Aliva had entered the chapel to kneel down before the rude altar, and offer up a heartfelt thanksgiving for her preservation.
Father Bertram took a small vial from within his robe and poured some drops from it into the wine-flask.
He had not studied the art of drug-concocting in the infirmary of his late monastery in vain.
Then he passed out of the chapel, saying that he was going to Bedford.
Aliva rose from her knees and went into the sacristy and found the food awaiting her. But she could not swallow, famished though she was, the rough village fare copiously seasoned with garlic.
"Alack!" exclaimed Goody Hodges. "But thou wilt die of weakness. See the wine-flask, lady! Drink, if thou canst not stomach the food."
Aliva did as she advised; and when the priest shortly returned, having brought the litter which he had found waiting on the bridge, and having received back again the pledge of the crucifix, he found the maiden in a half-unconscious state.
"Alack, alack! father, she hath swooned again!" cried the deluded peasant woman.
"She is overwrought with her hardships," replied the priest. "We must get her home with all speed. I have found a litter on the road, and it is in readiness. Help me to bear her to it."
The fresh morning air outside the chapel door partially revived Aliva. Opening her eyes she moaned,--
"Where am I? where are you taking me?"
"Home, daughter, to Bletsoe. Let me lay you in the litter!" exclaimed Bertram hurriedly, and rudely pushing back Dame Hodges, who had stopped short when she too recognized the De Breauté livery, and saw that she had been deceived.
Aliva sank back languidly on the cushions, and her eyes closed again. She was deaf to a well-known voice imploring her to stay, and unaware of the lay-brother's gallant attempt to detain her.
When she recovered her senses again, the litter was jolting fearfully, for the horses were going at the top of their speed. Bertram rightly conjectured that Aliva had taken but little of the drugged wine, and was alarmed lest its numbing influence should wear off ere his captive was safely secured. So he urged the postillion along, galloping by his side.
With returning consciousness Aliva drew aside the curtains of the litter and looked out. They were certainly not on the road to Bletsoe; she saw that at once. They were swinging through streets, and curious burgesses came to their house doors, marvelling what brought the litter of the Lady Margaret out so early.
While she was doubting whether she should cry for help or fling herself from the litter, it turned under an echoing gateway, and stopped in a courtyard before the entrance of a castle keep.
A girl of about her own age came down the steps.
"Lady, please to alight and follow me to the apartment prepared for you."
Aliva descended from the litter and looked around her, bewildered. A group of men-at-arms were drawn up at a respectful distance, and the grooms who had brought her stood silent by their horses. The priest had vanished as soon as he had seen her safe into the castle.
Aliva turned to the girl beside her.
"Where am I?" she murmured, still half dazed. "Is this not Bedford Castle? There has been treachery--treachery by that ill-looking priest! This is more of De Breauté's doings, damsel."
"Nay, lady, I can tell thee naught, save that my lord Sir Fulke bade me prepare a lodging in the keep for a lady who was to arrive in my lady's litter. Thy chamber is ready on the floor above the great hall, next to my lady's bower. Prithee, let me lead thee thither."
Aliva felt somewhat reassured by this reception. At least she found herself in the care of women.
Silently she allowed her conductress to show her the way across the hall and up a turret stair to her apartment, where she sank wearily on a couch.
The pretty waiting-woman bustled about, offering the unhappy girl various attentions. She brought her articles of dress from her mistress's coffer, and assisted Aliva to remove her travel-stained garments and clothe herself in becoming attire.
The latter eyed her curiously.
"And who art thou, maiden?" she inquired.
"My name is Beatrice Mertoun. I am the waiting-woman of the Lady Margaret, the wife of Sir Fulke. And thou, lady, if I might make so bold?"
"I am Aliva de Pateshulle from Bletsoe," returned Aliva.
"From Bletsoe!" echoed Beatrice. "Methought I remembered your face and figure as one of the nuns at Elstow when I attended my mistress to the retreat there. We returned but yesterday. But thou art no nun--no sister of an abbey?"
"Nay," replied Aliva, "but I wore the habit of a novice as a penitent during the retreat. Doubtless," she added, sighing, "this trouble which hath come upon me is the reward of my sins."
"Fair lady," said Beatrice gently, "you look sad;" and she came and knelt down at her feet.
"Sad!" exclaimed Aliva, raising herself on her elbow and gazing down at the waiting-maid with horror-stricken face; "I am miserable--betrayed--undone! Ah, I see it all now--this foul plot! William de Breauté hath encompassed my ruin!"
"William de Breauté!" cried Beatrice. "It is he who is at the bottom of this, forsooth! By my halidom,Isee daylight now! I overheard him speaking of you with his brother--and then the chapel, repaired and cleaned. That was what Sir Fulke meant as he watched the men at work and said in jesting mood that from his own experience an unwilling bride was all the sweeter for the trouble of snaring and catching her, and William de Breauté answered that for his part he cared not for a ripe plum that fell into one's mouth without the picking."
"The chapel--an unwilling bride!" gasped poor Aliva. "The Lady Margaret was such! I see it all, alas! Does my father know of this? Does he give his consent?"
"Alas, fair lady, I know naught! It pains me to see thee in such grief, and in good sooth I mind me well of the stories I have heard of the unwilling wooing, the hasty bridal of my mistress. But, lady, cheer thee. Thou art weary and mazed. Rest here awhile, and talk no more, and I will watch by thee."
The bright spring afternoon was already waning when, some hours after the events related above, the two maidens walked out upon the south wall of the castle. Beatrice had persuaded Aliva to come thither, hoping that the fresh air might revive her drooping spirits; and Sir Fulke had given permission that his prisoner might repair thither when she pleased, though the precincts of the castle were forbidden.
As they paced up and down the terrace the fertile brain of Mistress Beatrice, already a warm partisan of the fair young prisoner, began to weave plans of escape.
"Canst swim, fair lady?" she inquired. "'Twould be naught to leap into Ouse water from yon turret! Or, better still, that thy knight (she took it for granted that Aliva had a knight) should bring hither a skiff some dark night, beneath the walls!"
At that moment they heard the twang of an archer's bow sounding from the gate-house hard by.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE KING IN COUNCIL.
For some time Ralph lay in a precarious state in the house of one of the burgesses of Bedford. The bolt from the cross-bow had given him a nasty wound, which it required all the skill of the leech to heal. Moreover, he lay fretting and fuming at the thought that his Aliva was a prisoner in the hands of his enemy, and his mental anxiety seriously interfered with his bodily recovery.
As he got better, however, he received visits from many of the principal townspeople, who were much attached to the house of De Beauchamp, and full of pity for the young knight.
"Sir Ralph," quoth one of these grave personages, as he sat solemnly stroking his beard by the pallet where the young man still lay, "if one richer in the experience of years than thou art may be permitted to advise thee, I would show thee how useless a waste of life and blood would be any attempt of thine, unaided, to rescue thy fair lady from her direful plight."
"Marry, but have I not learned that lesson already!" ejaculated Ralph irritably; "but whither then to get aid? for get aid I must. This emprise is of more worth to me than a dozen lives! Speak you on behalf of your kind, Gilbert the Clothier, the other traders and craftsmen of the town? Are ye ready to strike a blow against this tyrant?"
"I crave thy pardon, Sir Knight, but we are men of peace, unused to warlike weapons, and we have much to lose. With one swoop Fulke de Breauté could burn about our ears all the amassed gain of a lifetime!"
Ralph shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"'Tis vain to speak to barn-door fowls of the liberty of the hawk's flight!" replied Ralph, somewhat ungraciously. "But, Sir Merchant, if the only weapons ye can use be your tools and your measuring-yards, yet methinks ye have store of wisdom in your heads, in full measure above us who spend all our wits upon our sinews!" he added laughingly. "Prithee, counsel me."
"There are none in all the county round, in these days when so many of our gentlefolks are impoverished with the wars and disturbances of these last years, who can hope to lift a spear successfully against this rich Frenchman," the merchant began. "We must e'en seek aid further afield. Anon I had word brought me that the churchmen brook ill that the learned brother of Martin de Pateshulle and Thomas de Muleton lies in the keeping of the enemy of the Church, and are minded to stir in this matter with the king."
"The king!" exclaimed Ralph, half raising himself. "That is in good sooth good news!"
"The king holds a council shortly at Northampton, as ye know," Gilbert went on, "and it is there they purport to lay our case before him and his barons and bishops assembled."
"I will to Northampton, then," cried Ralph eagerly. "Certes, I was even purposing to go thither ere this unlucky scratch detained me. I sought the king's favour to give me some command in this army which is about to inarch for the north."
"Better turn your lance-point nearer home, Sir Knight," the merchant replied. "There will be work enow and glory enow to be gotten for all who list in pulling down this robber Frenchman's stronghold!"
"I will to Northampton as soon as this leech who holds me in his clutches gives me leave to buckle on my armour again," Ralph added.
And so it came about that, not many days later, our hero rode over to Northampton, where he found the king in council with the bishops, abbots, barons, and justices.
[image]The council at Northampton.
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The council at Northampton.
The youthful Henry III. was at this time only seventeen years old, though he had been declared to be of age two years before. His trusted guardian and adviser, Hubert de Burgh, was, however, still with him, and was present at the council. The old chronicler tells how, while the monarch and his advisers were thus assembled, deliberating on the affairs of state, news was brought of the raid upon the judges, and of the capture of Henry de Braybrooke by William de Breauté.
Here was an unbearable insult to the royal supremacy. The attention of the council was instantly turned from the banks of the Tweed to those of the Ouse.
In the storm of indignation which was aroused by the Robber Baron's latest misdeed the voice of the Church made itself heard. The judges of the land were at that period mostly ecclesiastics. Could they put up with this indignity to their learned brother? Was not Fulke also a destroyer of abbeys and churches? Had he not pulled down St. Paul's Church at Bedford? and had not that impious raid upon St. Alban's Abbey been but poorly atoned for by the discipline in the chapter-house? Had any restitution been made?
Further, doubtless, the great barons called to their master's council--they whose sires had forced his father to sign Magna Charta on the field of Runnymede, and who had spilt their blood for the liberties of England--had somewhat to say against this French upstart, De Breauté, this bastard soldier of fortune, who had ensconced himself in a fortress where one of the old Norman families had been established ever since the days of the Conqueror.
Prelate and lord both agreed that the most pressing question of the day was the overthrow of this robber chief.
When Ralph rode into the ancient town of Northampton, now crowded with the magnates of the land, he had no difficulty in finding men of position and weight who were willing to introduce him, as a scion of the De Beauchamp family, to the council.
Henry and his advisers, in earnest discussion over this business of Bedford, were not sorry to find one who was well acquainted with the castle and its fortifications. Accordingly, when Ralph was presented to the council, he was received by the young king with much cordiality. Henry III., though one of the few weak-minded monarchs of the strong Plantagenet line, was still so young that his character could hardly be said to be yet formed, and any mistakes he might make were naturally set down to his youth and inexperience. This affair of Bedford Castle, however, was an undertaking in which he exhibited all the promptitude and energy of his predecessors upon the throne. He resolved to attend the siege in person, and ordered his council to suspend all other business and direct their attention solely to the means of carrying it out.
The council of war, or committee, to whom were confided the necessary preparations, took Ralph into their confidence. They were presided over by no less a personage than Hubert de Burgh himself, who summoned the young knight to appear before them in the chamber in Northampton Castle, where they held their conclave.
Ralph's feelings, as he found himself in the presence of one so renowned, formerly the governor of Dover Castle, and the custodian in Brittany of King John's luckless nephew Arthur, and the late guardian of the king, were those of some shyness. He was a plain, country-born youth, unused to courts and dignitaries, and even of late years a landless, penniless knight, one of an outcast family. But the great justiciary's manner reassured him.
"Sir Ralph," he said, "we understand that thou wast brought up in Bedford Castle, and art well acquainted with all its parts."
"Certes, noble Hugh," replied Ralph, "always excepting those portions where Fulke de Breauté may have made alterations and additions during the last few years."
"Well answered, and with a caution exceeding thy years, Sir Knight. Say on--what alterations?"
"By my faith, I can scarcely tell! But he hath pulled down and well-nigh destroyed the church of St. Paul, and the stones thereof have been used in the castle walls."
"For new work, mean you, or for the strengthening of old work?" inquired the justiciary.
"That cannot I rightly say," answered Ralph, "for since my uncle was driven forth, or rather surrendered to Fulke acting in his sovereign's name, I have not set foot within the castle walls."
But he added beneath his breath: "Would I were within at this moment!"
De Burgh overheard him, and with some surprise.
"So shalt thou be, and that shortly, and with stout men-at-arms at thy back, an I mistake not. But for the nonce we must learn more about these walls. How sayest thou the castle lieth?"
"Along the banks of the Ouse, and on the north side of the stream."
"And its defences--what be they? All say that the keep was indeed built by thy ancestor Pain de Beauchamp, and is strong and not easily to be assaulted."
"The keep is indeed strong and well built," Ralph replied, "and round it run a high wall and a deep moat. On the west side only might an attack be made with any hope of victory, for there lie the bailey yards, the gate-house, and the barbican. Moreover, between the outer and the inner bailey there standeth a tower, which we call the old tower, the like of which, I have heard tell, is not to be found in many castles, and which commands the bridge."
As he spoke Ralph made a sort of rough drawing.
"Here," he said, "is the keep, upon a lofty mound. On this side only is an entrance possible. We must e'en break through all the outer defences, and pass on from west to east. But it will be no light emprise."
A gleam of pleasure came over the face of the veteran.
"By the bones of St. Thomas," he exclaimed, "thou showest no mean knowledge or skill, fair sir. Where hast thou learned the art of war?"
"I have oft heard my uncle tell the story of how King Stephen besieged the castle when our ancestor Milo de Beauchamp held it for the Empress Matilda, nigh upon a hundred years ago," modestly answered Ralph. "He even contended that it was so strong that no attack could prevail, and that had it been better victualled it would never have surrendered. And then, noble knight, if I may make so bold as to remind thee, there is that sad passage in the history of our house which hath been seared into the memory of my boyhood--I mean when my uncle, Sir William, surrendered to this same Fulke, who came in the name of our late king, who was indeed the enemy of our house. Ofttimes hath my uncle gone over that tale with me, and hath showed me how he might yet have held the castle had he possessed better stores and more men."
The end of this interview was that Ralph, in consideration of the valuable information he had proved himself willing and able to bestow, was admitted to all the deliberations of the council, and was listened to with attention. Neither his uncle William de Beauchamp, nor his kinsman at Eaton Socon, had come to Northampton; the latter by reason of his age, and the former on account of his sullen despair, and perhaps also hindered by a latent distrust of the house of Plantagenet, which had dealt so ill with him. Thus it happened that Ralph represented, as it were, the De Beauchamp family.
He was given plenty to do in the way of hastening preparations, moreover, and as his heart was in the work, for Aliva's sake, he was busy both night and day.
His duties brought him into frequent communications with a personage who was much to the front when any question of a siege was on hand--namely, John de Standen, the chief of the miners. Ralph soon discovered that John had considerable knowledge of Bedford Castle and its fortifications. This puzzled him not a little at the time, and it was not till later on that he solved the mystery.
When the chief of the miners and his assistants had determined what supplies of material were necessary for the siege, royal writs were issued for their production. Timber was required for the manufacture of the bombarding engines orpetraria, which were to fling great stones at the castle, and ox or horse hides were needed for the protection of these machines. Thousands of quarrels were ordered for the cross-bows and dart-throwing engines. Iron was ordered in great quantities, to be worked up on the spot, and pickaxes and other tools were not forgotten.
Moreover, writs were issued to the sheriffs of Hertford, Oxford, Cambridge, Huntingdon, Northampton, Warwick, Leicester, Rutland, Essex, Suffolk, Norfolk, Lincoln, and Middlesex, directing them to send two men from each plough-land (the usual division of land in those days) to work the aforementioned engines. Then the feeding of these men had to be attended to. One Peter Buyam, a Burgundian merchant, was ordered to purchase one hundred and eight casks of wine at St. Botolph's fair, at forty-three shillings and four-pence a cask.
From St. Briavels in Gloucestershire, the native place of John de Standen, were brought thirty assistant miners. But carpenters, saddlers, and leather-workers, to shape the shields for the engines, were found nearer at hand by the sheriffs of the counties of Northampton and Bedford, as were also the men who were to fashion the stones to be discharged from the petraria. The whole of the midlands was astir over the siege of Bedford Castle.
Neither was the Church inactive. To show their horror at the outrages of the wicked Fulke, the assembled prelates and abbots forthwith granted the king a subsidy of half a mark for each of their plough-lands, and also sent, for each hide of land held by them, two men to work the engines, taking care, however, to obtain an acknowledgment from the king that this was a special grant. The priory of Newenham, which had been founded by the De Beauchamps, furnished the stones for the bombardment, and the abbey of St. Alban's naturally took a deep interest in the proceedings, which are fully chronicled in the records of the house.
No sooner, however, was it known that a Bedfordshire maiden, the Lady Aliva de Pateshulle, was a prisoner of the foreign interloper, than all the men of the county rose to assist in the undertaking. Even our stalwart friend the Benedictine lay-brother, as soon as--thanks to the care of Lady Mabel--he had recovered at Eaton Socon from the dastardly wound inflicted by Bertram de Concours, found his way to the headquarters of preparations.
Martin de Pateshulle, also, as one of those justices whose writs had been so rudely repudiated by Fulke, was summoned to the council. This worthy ecclesiastic, who was none the worse for his overthrow by William de Breauté's horsemen, was much concerned over the fate of his niece.
In him Ralph, tortured by anxiety which he was striving to drown in work, found a friend and ready sympathizer.
"My son," said the archdeacon one day at the close of a long sitting of the council of war, "thou toilest in this business both as a servant of Holy Church and as a gallant knight for the rescue of fair lady."
Ralph sighed.
"Indeed, venerable father, it is only when my whole heart is busy with my work that it finds peace. I am torn with doubts and fears concerning her whom I love. Could I but have one word, one token from her! Could I but hear something of her, were it even ill news! But this silence, it ofttimes is more than I can bear."
John de Standen, still busy at the table over a rough sketch, looked up at these words.
"Sir Knight," he said, "thou meanest what thou sayest? Hast a stout heart? Canst bear ill news?"
Ralph sprang from his seat, and gripped the king's miner by the arm till he winced.
"Speak, man, I conjure thee! Thou hast heard aught?"
"Speech is just what is forbidden to me," replied John. "My lips are sealed. All the message I have for thee is: 'Haste, or it may be too late!' Ask me no more."
CHAPTER XVIII.
HEARD UNDERGROUND.
On the twenty-second of June 1224, the king arrived at Bedford, and the siege of the castle commenced almost immediately. Outside the town, on the Northampton road, pavilions were pitched for himself, for Hubert de Burgh the justiciary, and other great officers, while the troops and their officers, Ralph de Beauchamp among them, were quartered in rude shelters near the castle, or billeted upon the townsfolk, that they might be ready to repel any sortie which the besieged might make with a view of burning the engines of war. Close to these latter were encamped the men who worked them, together with the miners, carpenters, and other artificers ready for their respective turn of duty.
Before any hostile movement was commenced, however, the king, in due form, summoned the castle to surrender. An ecclesiastic was detailed for the purpose; for priests in those days often performed strange functions.
It was but an empty form, for no one expected that the king's command would be obeyed. Moreover, Sir Fulke de Breauté himself was not in the castle. With the astute craftiness which pervaded all his actions, he had gone away some little while before, leaving his brother in command. He took himself off into Wales, where he joined the Earl of Chester, who, though siding for some time with the king, had left him, in conjunction with some other barons, under somewhat suspicious circumstances.
As was to be expected, William de Breauté made answer to the archdeacon--for such was the office of the king's messenger--that he had received no orders from his brother to surrender the castle, and that he certainly should not do so without authority from him. So the siege was begun without delay.
The method of taking a castle in those days was much the same as that which continued in vogue till, long afterwards, stone walls gave place to earthworks. The walls were first battered by stones thrown from the petraria, and when a breach had been made a storming-party rushed in. The only change consequent upon the introduction of gunpowder was that cannon then took the place of the stone-throwing engines.
The machines were placed one or two on each side of the castle, and they must have been of considerable size and strength, as one of them projected stones right across the river. The men who worked them were protected against the quarrels, arrows, and other missiles directed at them from the walls, by screens made of ox and horse hides. Two lofty erections, which towered far above the fortifications of the castle, were manned by slingers and cross-bowmen, who thence shot down upon the garrison on the walls and in the baileys below them.
Close up against the face of the wall itself was pushed a movable screen, called the "cat," the object of which was to protect John de Standen and his men as they carried on their work of undermining the walls.
Ralph was ordered by his superior officer, a grim old baron who had been one of those assembled at Runnymede when John signed the charter, but who now supported his son, to pay special attention to the mining operations. To Ralph and John de Standen attached himself one who could hardly be called a soldier, though he exhibited all the courage and zeal which are the necessary qualities of a man of war. This was the young lay-brother from St. Alban's. He was received as a sort of volunteer, and was granted permission to serve in the mining work, for his religious vows, he said, forbade him to carry sword or spear. This young man proved, however, a valuable assistant.
A kind of friendly rivalry went on between the two branches of warfare into which the besiegers were divided. Those who had charge of the engines favoured the notion of pounding the walls till they battered them down. The sappers and miners, however, built their hopes of reducing the fortress upon their methods of burrowing underneath it. But before these latter were able to push on far with their works, the besiegers above ground gained two important advantages. They carried by assault the barbican or outer defence of the gate, and with but a loss of four or five men. By this means they were able to rush the gate itself, and in a second assault forced their way into the outer bailey or yard, the first one on the west side.
Here were the store-houses, and here also were kept the horses and live stock which the besieged took care to have always within the castle walls. Forage, grain, and such like bulky articles as could not be removed into the keep were likewise stored in the yard. All these fell into the hands of the besiegers, who removed the arms, the horses, and the pigs, and burned the buildings which contained the corn and hay. The besieged retreated within the inner wall, which defended the lesser bailey.
But between the upper and lower bailey there stood--a rather unusual feature in a Norman castle--a strong building known by the name of the "old tower." It had probably something to do with fortifications which at an earlier date protected the bridge across the Ouse, before the castle precincts were prolonged westwards. Here the besieged gathered in strength and made an obstinate stand.
The assistance of John de Standen and his men was now necessary. The other defences, the barbican and the wall of the outer bailey, had been carried by assault, the soldiers climbing the walls and forcing their way within. But the wall which separated the two baileys, protected as it was by the old tower, proved a more formidable obstacle. The king's troops intrenched themselves in the outer bailey, and the cat was wheeled into position ready for the operations of the miners.
These latter worked with a will. Ere long they were able to report to Ralph de Beauchamp, as their superior officer, that the foundations of the old tower were undermined, and that the building would fall directly the stays and struts with which they had propped it up should be removed.
So Ralph went down into the mine with John de Standen, that he in his turn might report to his superiors that the underground work was indeed finished, and that the soldiers might be held in readiness to storm the inner bailey.
With some professional pride the king's miner conducted the knight through the dark passages he had burrowed, explaining as he went the manner in which the supports should be removed directly he received the signal to do so.
They were just beneath the old tower, and John de Standen was enlarging on the excellent arrangements which he had made for the overthrow of the building, when, to their intense astonishment, a woman's voice was heard speaking in the vault overhead.
"By my faith," cried John de Standen, "but I wot not that we had dug so close to the lower vault of the tower. Methinks I must be out of my reckoning, Sir Knight, or mayhap your recollection of the place plays you false."
"In good sooth we are close beneath the tower," replied Ralph. "How thinkest thou, good John? Has the enemy countermined, or are they about to break in upon our works?"
Before John de Standen could vouchsafe an opinion, the voice again was heard from above.
"Ho, royal miners, are ye below?"
"We be miners sure enow," called John de Standen in reply. "But who be ye above there?--They cannot be for Sir Fulke," he added in a lower tone to Ralph, "or they would not let us hear them. Methinks, too, the voice is that of a woman or a boy."
"I am for the king and his miners," spoke the voice again. "But tell me, prithee, is your master, John de Standen, with thee?"
"I, John de Standen, myself am here, and speak; and with me is no one save Sir Ralph de Beauchamp," replied the miner. "But speak; who art thou? Woman or boy; no man, I trow?"
"Now fie upon thee, John de Standen," said the unseen speaker, "that thou knowest not the voice of Beatrice Mertoun."
"Beshrew me, Beatrice, if I can know thy voice, an itbethou, if it come to me through these plaguy paving-stones," cried De Standen. "Moreover, why askestthou, hearing me speak, if I am John de Standen?"
"Marry," exclaimed Beatrice, "in the night all cats are gray. All men's voices sound the same. But mind thee, John, how oft thou hast sworn that thou wouldest know my voice anywhere."
John de Standen felt he was getting the worst of the argument. He changed the subject.
"And prithee, fair Beatrice, what art doing above us?"
"Hush! not so loud," she answered. "I have but a few moments. The guard watch closely the vault ever since that machine of thine was dragged up against the tower. I marvel much that they have not heard the noise of thy workers, and broken in upon thee. But for many days have I too watched, hoping to get a word with thee, for I have a message to send to a knight. But stay--didst not say one Sir Ralph de Beauchamp was with thee?"
"In good sooth I am here," replied Sir Ralph, both amused and puzzled by this unexpected and remarkable meeting between the king's miner and a lady who seemed an old acquaintance, if nothing nearer. "I am here, lady fair, whosoever thou art, for methinks a fair face must e'en suit so sweet a voice."
"She is the waiting-woman of the Lady Margaret de Ripariis, and a mighty comely damsel withal," explained the bold miner.
"Now a truce to fair speeches! I have somewhat to say to Sir Ralph that ill brooks delay. The Lady Aliva, who is prisoner here--
"The Lady Aliva! I know it well!" shouted Ralph, forgetful of the caution to speak softly. "But tell me quick, I pray thee, is she safe? is she well?"
"Safe as yet," replied Beatrice. "But there is mischief brewing against her. Say, did I not see thee carried away wounded from before the castle gate not many weeks since? They brought thy helmet into the castle. I showed it to the Lady Aliva, and she knew it for thine by the crest. And then darkness seized her mind, for not long after came Fulke de Breauté to her, and told her that thou wast slain!"
"The lying scoundrel!" cried Ralph hotly. "Could I but meet him, he would see I am yet alive!"
"Ere he quitted the castle he came oft to her with suit of marriage for his brother," Beatrice went on, lying down upon the stone floor above and speaking with her mouth to an open joint she had discovered between two of the paving slabs. "Canst hear me, Sir Knight? The guards approach; I must tell thee in few words, for I hear the warders relieved not many posts away. William de Breauté came himself to the lady to plead his suit. But she hates him. She told him so to his face."
"She told him so on his face!" muttered Ralph.
"But the chapel hath been prepared," continued the waiting-woman, "and that traitor priest, Bertram de Concours, was ready. They dragged the lady thither by force. Sir Fulke and William de Breauté were waiting. What might have happened I know not, but my Lady Margaret stepped forward, and shamed the shameless man into respect for a lady."
"And all this while she was faithful to me, though believing me dead!" exclaimed Ralph, half to himself.
"But Sir Fulke, ere he left for the marches of Wales, swore a great oath he would find her wedded ere he return, or else--And William de Breauté, he apeth the fine French gentleman. He maketh sweet speeches, and vows that when the king's troops be driven back, and the care of the castle be passed from him, he will return to bask once more in the sunlight of his lady's eyes! Faugh! the smooth-tongued villain! He has sung the same song to me, but not to my honour. But hist! they come!"
A sound, as of the trampling of armed men, penetrated to those below. Then the eager listeners there caught some words in a rough man's voice.
"Pardie! pretty maiden, what doest here? Must pay forfeit with a kiss ere thou depart!"
Then there was the sound of a struggle and a scream, and John de Standen shook his fist in mute rage at the floor above him.
CHAPTER XIX.
FEARS AND HOPES.
William de Beauchamp, the taciturn and melancholy, had not attended the council at Northampton. But he could not well absent himself when an attack was made upon the castle which once had been his; and for his own benefit, for the king had promised to reinstate him as soon as the Robber Baron should have been driven out. He had been given a command in the royal force, and found himself in the anomalous position of besieging his own castle.
But the march of events did not, as might well have been imagined, raise his drooping spirits. He was, indeed, more dismal than ever, having got a fixed idea in his head that he should never come to his own again. Though he had escaped unhurt from the two first assaults, by which the barbican and the outer bailey had been won, he was well aware that yet more serious struggles were before the besiegers ere they might hope to win the inner bailey and the keep. These assaults, he had made up his mind, he should not survive, and in his gloomiest, most funereal manner, called Ralph to him at the close of a summer's evening, when they were resting from duty in the house of Gilbert the Clothier, where they were quartered, and prepared to deliver to him what he supposed to be his last wishes and dispositions.
"Nephew Ralph," he began, in his most lugubrious tones, "thou hast been as a son to me, since my only son was cut off in early childhood."
"True, uncle much revered by me," replied Ralph, puzzled at this solemn address. "I know not quite if I have been a good son to thee, but thou hast, in good sooth, given me all the father's care I have ever known."
"And now, Nephew Ralph," William de Beauchamp continued, "I am about to confide to thee a very precious and holy message. Thou hast heard tell of the Lady Margaret de Ripariis?"
"Ay, certes," replied Ralph.
"And now that my time is at hand, and that the sands of my life are--"
"Thy time is at hand! By my faith, uncle, what mean these words?"
"Thou wottest that ere long we attack the old tower and the inner bailey," the uncle proceeded, in a tragic manner.
"I have but just come from the old tower, where John de Standen hath showed me how nigh is its overthrow."
"Hark ye, nephew. I shall fall then; I know it of a certainty. I have seen in a dream that I shall not survive the assault. I shall ne'er again set eyes on the Lady Margaret, now for many years the unhappy wife of Fulke de Breauté. Once, when we were young and she was fair, we plighted our troth, and I have never forgotten it, though a cruel fate tore us asunder. My wife, who was ne'er to me as the first love of my youth the Lady Margaret, hath been dead these many years; and had the time come for the end of the miserable Fulke, I would fain have offered myself again to my once affianced bride. But I die before him. I feel it. For us there is no hope."
Ralph began to perceive the gloomy forebodings that had seized his uncle, and tried, but in vain, to reassure him, pointing out how much danger he had already escaped, and bidding him hope for the best.
"For eight long years thou hast pined an exile from the halls of thine ancestors, uncle. But to-day our star is again in the ascendant, and fortune smiles once more upon the De Beauchamps."
William shook his head sadly.
"It may not be, nephew. But bear thou to the Lady Margaret my last words of unalterable affection for the love of my youth."
"Nay, uncle, thou shalt bear them thyself, when Fulke shall have gone to the perdition reserved for him! But cease these dark meditations, and list awhile to a sprightly wooing I overheard 'twixt one of those within the castle, and no less a person than the king's miner, in the old tower, this very noontide."
And to turn his uncle's thoughts, Ralph proceeded to relate the strange meeting between John de Standen and Beatrice.
But at the very hour these two talked thus together in Master Gilbert's guest-chamber, the subject of their conversation, the Lady Margaret, sat with her waiting-woman in the deep window of the lady's bower.
The latter was brimming over with eagerness to impart to Aliva the good news she had just ascertained as to Ralph's safety, but deemed it prudent to confide it first to her mistress.
"By'r Lady, mistress mine, I vow I heard him, though I cannot say I saw him, and he is whole and in good heart."
"The saints be praised!" ejaculated Lady Margaret. "It hath grieved me sore that this sweet maiden should be thus held prisoner by my evil-disposed brother, and yet sadder am I to think that she should have been told her knight was slain."
"And such a knight, lady! Fair spoken, and of good courage. I heard it in the ring of his voice, as he hasted to ask after her welfare, how much he loveth her."
"Thou knewest that he was the Lady Aliva's knight, then, Beatrice?"
"Ever since the affair of the helmet, lady. My Lady Aliva could not contain herself then, when she knew him wounded, and told me all. She is as true to him as the pole-star to the north, or as I to--"
"I know it, Beatrice, and it would be a deadly sin, and one I will stand out against as long as I draw breath, were she to be forced to wed William. The lying wretch! he will stick at naught to gain his end. To tell Aliva Sir Ralph was dead! Alas, alas! But peace, Beatrice; here she comes. I will tell her the news."
Inwardly chafing at being deprived of the pleasure of imparting such delightful information, Beatrice retreated behind the chair of her mistress as Aliva entered.
The weary weeks the latter had spent as a prisoner since that fatal morning when she was hurried into the castle, and the intense mental anguish she had endured since the helmet of the wounded knight had been handed to her on the ramparts that same evening, had left their traces on Aliva's pale cheek. The listless attitude in which she sank upon a stone seat, and gazed with mournful eyes out into the fast-falling summer twilight, contrasted strangely with the natural vigour and vivacity of the brave horsewoman who had led William de Breauté such a chase over the Ouse marshes. Something akin to despair had crushed her soul since Sir Fulke had brought her the news of Sir Ralph's death.
"Daughter," began Lady Margaret, tenderly drawing the fair head which leaned so wearily upon the thin hand down upon her knee, "I have somewhat to say to thee. This suit of my husband's brother--methinks Sir Fulke knew, as well as thou and I, how vain it was to urge it while thy true knight yet lived--"
"It were ever vain, lady, were Ralph alive or dead. Death would be sweeter to me than marriage with William de Breauté," replied Aliva mournfully.
"He hath used treachery once to gain his end; what if he hath also used deceit of words?" Lady Margaret went on. "Other De Beauchamps than thy knight bear the crest thou sawest on the casque."
"Ah, lady," moaned Aliva, "beguile me not with vain hopes. Did not Beatrice here see him fall?"
"In good sooth! But, lady, I saw him not die."
"Mind you how the townsfolk bore him off with much care? Perchance Hubert of Provence aimed not o'er true with his quarrel--"
"He is but a sorry wight in many things, lady," put in Beatrice scornfully.
"And the leeches are possessed of marvellous skill, as thou well knowest, and Sir Ralph is young and strong--"
"Wasyoung and strong, you mean, lady. O prithee, peace! Open not thus afresh a wound which bleeds, ay, and will bleed for ever!"
"My lady means what she says, and naught else," interrupted Beatrice, unable to restrain herself any longer. "He is young and strong, or beshrew me for a deaf old crone, for I trow his voice was strong enough this noontide!"
"His voice!" exclaimed Aliva, raising herself eagerly, and a faint colour overspreading her pallid cheek. "O Beatrice, mock me not!"
"Thou mockest thyself, daughter," said Lady Margaret, smiling. "Take heart o' grace. Beatrice speaks true; she hath heard him not many hours since."
And Beatrice, coming forward and falling at her lady's knees, poured forth her wonderful tale in a torrent of words.
When she paused for lack of breath, Aliva rose, like one waking from a dream, and clutched Beatrice's arm.
"Beatrice, an thou lovest me, take me to this chink in the vault of the old tower. Haste thee, haste thee! Let me hear him speak again."
"Alas, lady! but this very evening William de Breauté hath ordered that all women keep within the keep, as the enemy presseth us round so close."
A merry laugh as of old, the first which had rung from her since she had been a prisoner, and the first to which the lady's bower had re-echoed for many a day, burst from Aliva's lips. With the violent revulsion of feeling born of her youth and high mettle, she waved her hand scornfully and laughed again.
"William de Breauté! Oh, he may command and order, in good sooth, if it please him. What for him now, or for his commands! Methinks his time comes apace, and Ralph de Beauchamp will be master here. My Ralph--to think they had dared to tell me that he was slain!"
And then she fell to bidding Beatrice tell her story all over again.
"Pretty Beatrice, an could I, I would give thee a lapful of gold nobles for this news thou hast brought. It is to me worth a king's ransom. I feel like one risen from the dead. But I trow, Mistress Beatrice," she added archly, "that thou hast had thy reward, in that the bold miner was also below. But tell me once more the very words Sir Ralph spake."
"Nay, nay, maidens," put in Lady Margaret; "it is already night, and joy oft wearies as much as grief. Let us now to rest while we may. The strife will begin again at dawn."
"Lady," cried Aliva, embracing the elder woman with tenderness, "go thou and rest if thou canst. I could not close my eyes for very joy.--Go, Beatrice, and leave me here a while alone, that I may think it all o'er again. Go to thy dreams of mines and miners!"
Left to herself, Aliva sat down in the deep window-seat where Lady Margaret had sat when Sir Fulke related to her a less pleasant vision of the night than that which probably haunted the couch of Beatrice--a dream which now seemed in fair way of coming true. The short July darkness had fallen. Across the river the petraria were at rest, and in the silence of the night Aliva only
"Heard the sound, and could almost tellThe sullen words of the sentinel,As his measured step on the stone belowClanked as he paced it to and fro."
"Heard the sound, and could almost tellThe sullen words of the sentinel,As his measured step on the stone belowClanked as he paced it to and fro."
"Heard the sound, and could almost tell
The sullen words of the sentinel,
As his measured step on the stone below
Clanked as he paced it to and fro."
Aliva gazed out into the beautiful balmy night, and a peace to which she had long been a stranger stole in upon her heart. The world was at rest, and it seemed sad to think that in a few short hours, when the darkness should be over, man would be once more at his cruel work of war. But the stars, shining deep in the purple overhead and reflected in the placid stream below, seemed to her stars of hope.
"It is the hour when lovers' vowsSeem sweet in every whispered word,And gentle winds and waters nearMake music to the lonely ear."
"It is the hour when lovers' vowsSeem sweet in every whispered word,And gentle winds and waters nearMake music to the lonely ear."
"It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whispered word,
And gentle winds and waters near
Make music to the lonely ear."
As she gazed she thought she heard her name called softly from out of the gloom below.
"Aliva!" said a voice, "Aliva!"