Soon after Walter's return from France Dame Vernon returned to her
country estate, and a year passed before he again saw her. During this
time the truce which had been established between England and France had
remained unbroken. It was certain, however, that ere long the two powers
would again come to blows. The King of England had honourably observed
the terms of the treaty. Upon his return home he had entirely disbanded
his army and had devoted his whole attention to increasing the trade and
prosperity of the country. The measures which he took to do this were
not always popular with the people of England, for seeing how greatly
they excelled the English manufacturers Edward encouraged large numbers
of Flemings and other foreign workmen to settle in London, and gave
them many privileges to induce them to do so; this the populace strongly
resented. There was a strong ill feeling against the Flemings and
serious popular riots took place, for the English traders and workmen
considered that these foreigners were taking the bread from their
mouths. The king, however, was wiser than his people, he saw that
although the English weavers were able to produce coarse cloths, yet
that all of the finer sort had to be imported from the Continent. He
deemed that in time the Flemings would teach their art to his subjects,
and that England would come to vie with the Low Countries in the quality
of her produce. Such was indeed afterwards the case, and England gained
greatly by the importation of the industrious Flemings, just as she
afterwards profited from the expulsion from France of tens of thousands
of Protestant workmen who brought here many of the manufactures of which
France had before the monopoly. The relations between England and the
Flemings were at this time very close, for the latter regarded England
as her protector against the ambition of the King of France.
But while King Edward had laid aside all thought of war, such was not
the case with Phillip of Valois. He had retired after the signature
of the treaty full of rage and humiliation; for hitherto in all their
struggles his English rival had had the better of him, and against
vastly superior forces had foiled all his efforts and had gained alike
glory and military advantage. King Edward had hardly set sail when
Phillip began to break the terms of truce by inciting the adherents
of Charles of Blois to attack those of De Montford, and by rendering
assistance to them with money and men. He also left no means untried
to detach Flanders from its alliance with England. Several castles and
towns in Brittany were wrested from the partisans of De Montford, and
King Edward, after many remonstrances at the breaches of the conditions
of the truce, began again to make preparations for taking the field.
Several brilliant tournaments were held and every means were taken to
stir up the warlike spirit of the people.
One day Walter had attended his lord to the palace and was waiting in
the anteroom with many other squires and gentlemen, while Sir Walter,
with some other noblemen, was closeted with the king, discussing the
means to be adopted for raising funds for a renewal of a war with
France, when a knight entered whom Walter had not previously seen at
court.
“Who is that?” he asked one of his acquaintances; “methinks I know his
face, though it passes my memory to say where I have seen it.”
“He has been away from England for some two years,” his friend answered.
“That is Sir James Carnegie; he is a cousin of the late Sir Jasper
Vernon; he left somewhat suddenly a short time after Dame Vernon had
that narrow escape from drowning that you wot of; he betook himself
then to Spain, where he has been fighting the Moors; he is said to be
a valiant knight, but otherwise he bears but an indifferent good
reputation.”
Walter remembered the face now; it was that of the knight he had seen
enter the hut of the river pirate on the Lambeth marshes. When released
from duty he at once made his way to the lodging of Dame Vernon. Walter
was now nineteen, for a year had elapsed since the termination of the
French war, and he was in stature and strength the match of most men,
while his skill at knightly exercises, as well as with the sword, was
recognized as pre-eminent among all the young esquires of the court.
After the first greeting he said to Dame Vernon: “I think it right to
tell you, lady, that I have but now, in the king's anteroom, seen the
man who plotted against your life in the hut at Lambeth. His face is
a marked one and I could not mistake it. I hear that he is a cousin
of yours, one Sir James Carnegie, as you doubtless recognized from my
description of him. I came to tell you in order that you might decide
what my conduct should be. If you wish it so I will keep the secret
in my breast; but if you fear aught from him I will openly accuse him
before the king of the crime he attempted, and shall be ready to meet
him in the ordeal of battle should he claim it.”
“I have seen Sir James,” Lady Vernon said. “I had a letter writ in a
feigned hand telling him that his handiwork in the plot against my life
was known, and warning him that, unless he left England, the proofs
thereof would be laid before justice. He at once sailed for Spain,
whence, he has returned but a few days since. He does not know for
certain that I am aware of his plottings against us; but he must have
seen by my reception of him when he called that I no longer regard him
with the friendship which I formerly entertained. I have received a
message from him that he will call upon me this evening, and that he
trusts he will find me alone, as he would fain confer with me on private
matters. When I have learned his intentions I shall be the better able
to judge what course I had best adopt. I would fain, if it may be, let
the matter rest. Sir James has powerful interest, and I would not have
him for an open enemy if I can avoid it; besides, all the talk and
publicity which so grave an accusation against a knight, and he of mine
own family, would entail, would be very distasteful to me; but should I
find it necessary for the sake of my child, I shall not shrink from
it. I trust, however, that it will not come to that; but I shall not
hesitate, if need be, to let him know that I am acquainted with his evil
designs towards us. I will inform you of as much of our interview as it
is necessary that you should know.”
That evening Sir James Carnegie called upon Dame Vernon. “I would not
notice it the other day, fair cousin,” he said, in return for her stiff
and ceremonious greeting; “but methinks that you are mightily changed
in your bearing towards me. I had looked on my return from my long
journeying for something of the sisterly warmth with which you once
greeted me, but I find you as cold and hard as if I had been altogether
a stranger to you. I would fain know in what way I have forfeited your
esteem.”
“I do not wish to enter into bygones, Sir James,” the lady said, “and
would fain let the past sleep if you will let me. Let us then turn
without more ado to the private matters concerning which you wished to
speak with me.”
“If such is your mood, fair dame, I must needs fall in with it, though
in no way able to understand your allusion to the past, wherein my
conscience holds me guiltless of aught which could draw upon me your
disfavour. I am your nearest male relative, and as such would fain
confer with you touching the future of young Mistress Edith, your
daughter. She is now nigh thirteen years of age, and is the heiress of
broad lands; is it not time that she were betrothed to one capable of
taking care of them for her, and leading your vassals to battle in these
troubled times?”
“Thanks, Sir James, for your anxiety about my child,” Dame Vernon said
coldly. “She is a ward of the king. I am in no way anxious that an early
choice should be made for her; but our good Queen Philippa has promised
that, when the time shall come, his Majesty shall not dispose of her
hand without my wishes being in some way consulted; and I have no doubt
that when the time shall come that she is of marriageable age--and I
would not that this should be before she has gained eighteen years, for
I like not the over young marriages which are now in fashion--a knight
may be found for her husband capable of taking care of her and her
possessions; but may I ask if, in so speaking to me, you have anyone in
your mind's eye as a suitor for her hand?”
“Your manner is not encouraging, certes; but I had my plan, which would,
I hoped, have met with your approval. I am the young lady's cousin,
and her nearest male relative; and although we are within the limited
degrees, there will be no difficulty in obtaining a dispensation from
Rome. I am myself passably well off, and some of the mortgages which I
had been forced to lay upon my estates have been cleared off during my
absence. I have returned home with some reputation, and with a goodly
sum gained in the wars with the Moors. I am older than my cousin
certainly; but as I am still but thirty-two, this would not, I hope, be
deemed an obstacle, and methought that you would rather entrust her to
your affectionate cousin than to a stranger. The king has received me
very graciously, and would, I trust, offer no opposition to my suit were
it backed by your goodwill.”
“I suppose, Sir James,” Dame Vernon said, “that I should thank you for
the offer which you have made; but I can only reply, that while duly
conscious of the high honour you have done my daughter by your offer, I
would rather see her in her grave than wedded to you.”
The knight leapt from his seat with a fierce exclamation. “This is too
much,” he exclaimed, “and I have a right to know why such an offer on my
part should be answered by disdain, and even insolence.”
“You have a right to know,” Dame Vernon answered quietly, “and I will
tell you. I repeat that I would rather see my child in her grave than
wedded to a man who attempted to compass the murder of her and her
mother.”
“What wild words are these?” Sir James asked sternly. “What accusation
is this that you dare to bring against me?”
“I repeat what I said, Sir James,” Dame Alice replied quietly. “I know
that you plotted with the water pirates of Lambeth to upset our boat as
we came down the Thames; that you treacherously delayed us at Richmond
in order that we might not reach London before dark; and that by
enveloping me in a white cloak you gave a signal by which I might be
known to your creatures.”
The knight stood for a moment astounded. He was aware that the fact that
he had had some share in the outrage was known, and was not surprised
that his cousin was acquainted with the secret; but that she should know
all the details with which but one besides himself was, as he believed,
acquainted, completely stupefied him. He rapidly, however, recovered
himself.
“I recall now,” he said scornfully, “the evidence which was given
before the justices by some ragged city boy, to the effect that he had
overheard a few words of a conversation between some ruffian over in the
Lambeth marshes, and an unknown person; but it is new to me indeed that
there was any suspicion that I was the person alluded to, still less
that a lady of my own family, in whose affection I believed, should
credit so monstrous an accusation.”
“I would that I could discredit it, Sir James,” Dame Vernon said sadly;
“but the proofs were too strong for me. Much more of your conversation
than was narrated in court was overheard, and it was at my request that
the ragged boy, as you call him, kept silence.”
“And is it possible,” the knight asked indignantly, “that you believed
the word of a fellow like this to the detriment to your kinsman? Why, in
any court of law the word of such a one as opposed to that of a knight
and gentleman of honour would not be taken for a moment.”
“You are mistaken, sir,” Dame Vernon said haughtily. “You may remember,
in the first place, that the lad who overheard this conversation risked
his life to save me and my daughter from the consequences of the attack
which he heard planned; in the second place, he was no ragged lad,
but the apprentice of a well-known citizen; thirdly, and this is of
importance, since he has recognized you since your return, and is ready
should I give him the word, to denounce you. He is no mere apprentice
boy, but is of gentle blood, seeing that he is the son of Sir Roland
Somers, the former possessor of the lands which I hold, and that he is
in high favour with the good knight Sir Walter Manny, whose esquire he
now is, and under whom he distinguished himself in the wars in France,
and is, as Sir Walter assured me, certain to win his spurs ere long.
Thus you see his bare word would be of equal value to your own, beside
the fact that his evidence does not rest upon mere assertion; but that
the man in the hut promised to do what you actually performed, namely,
to delay me at Richmond, and to wrap me in a white cloak in order that I
might be recognized by the river pirates.”
Sir James was silent. In truth, as he saw, the evidence was
overwhelmingly strong against him. After a while he stammered out, “I
cannot deny that I was the man in question; but I swear to you that
this boy was mistaken, and that the scoundrel acted altogether beyond my
instructions, which were simply that he should board the boat and carry
you and your daughter away to a safe place.”
“And with what object, sir,” Dame Vernon said contemptuously, “was I to
be thus taken away?”
“I do not seek to excuse myself,” the knight replied calmly, having now
recovered his self-possession, “for I own I acted wrongly and basely;
but in truth I loved you, and would fain have made you my wife. I knew
that you regarded me with only the calm affection of a kinswoman; but
I thought that were you in my power you would consent to purchase your
freedom with your hand. I know now that I erred greatly. I acknowledge
my fault, and that my conduct was base and unknightly, and my only
excuse is the great love I bore you.
“And which,” the lady said sarcastically, “you have now transferred to
my daughter. I congratulate you, Sir James, upon the possession of a
ready wit and an invention which does not fail you at a pinch, and of
a tongue which repeats unfalteringly any fable which your mind may
dictate. You do not, I suppose, expect me to believe the tale. Still, I
own that it is a well-devised one, and might, at a pinch, pass muster;
but fear not, Sir James. As hitherto I have kept silence as to the
author of the outrage committed upon me, so I have no intention of
proclaiming the truth now unless you force me to do so. Suffice that
both for myself and for my daughter I disclaim the honour of your hand.
So long as you offer no molestation to us, and abstain from troubling us
in any way, so long will my mouth be sealed; and I would fain bury in
my breast the memory of your offence. I will not give the world's tongue
occasion to wag by any open breach between kinsfolk, and shall therefore
in public salute you as an acquaintance, but under no pretence whatever
will I admit you to any future private interview. Now leave me, sir,
and I trust that your future life will show that you deeply regret the
outrage which in your greed for my husband's lands you were tempted to
commit.”
Without a word Sir James turned and left the room, white with shame and
anger, but with an inward sense of congratulation at the romance which
he had, on the spur of the moment, invented, and which would, he felt
sure, be accepted by the world as probable, in the event of the share
he had in the matter being made public, either upon the denunciation of
Dame Vernon or in any other manner.
One determination, however, he made, and swore, to himself, that he
would bitterly avenge himself upon the youth whose interference had
thwarted his plans, and whose report to his kinswoman had turned her
mind against him. He, at any rate, should be put out of the way at the
first opportunity, and thus the only witness against himself be removed;
for Lady Vernon's own unsupported story would be merely her word against
his, and could be treated as the malicious fiction of an angry woman.
The following day Dame Vernon sent for Walter, and informed him exactly
what had taken place.
“Between Sir James and me,” she said, “there is, you see, a truce. We
are enemies, but, we agree to lay aside our arms for the time. But,
Walter, you must be on your guard.
“You know as well as I do how dangerous this man is, and how good a cause
he has to hate you. I would not have divulged your name had I not known
that the frequency of your visits here and the encouragement which I
openly give you as the future suitor of my daughter, would be sure to
come to his ears, and he would speedily discover that it was you
who saved our lives on the Thames and gave your testimony before the
justices as to the conversation in the hut on the marshes. Thus I
forestalled what he would in a few days have learnt.”
“I fear him not, lady,” Walter said calmly. “I can hold mine own, I
hope, against him in arms, and having the patronage and friendship of
Sir Walter Manny I am above any petty malice. Nevertheless I will hold
myself on my guard. I will, so far as possible, avoid any snare which
he may, as 'tis not unlikely, set for my life, and will, so far as I
honourably can, avoid any quarrel with which he may seek to saddle me.”
A few days later Walter again met Sir James Carnegie in the king's
anteroom, and saw at once, by the fixed look of hate with which he had
regarded him, that he had already satisfied himself of his identity.
He returned the knight's stare with a cold look of contempt. The knight
moved towards him, and in a low tone said, “Beware, young sir, I have a
heavy reckoning against you, and James Carnegie never forgets debts of
that kind!”
“I am warned, Sir James,” Walter said calmly, but in the same low tone,
“and, believe me, I hold but very lightly the threats of one who does
not succeed even when he conspires against the lives of women and
children.”
Sir James started as if he had been struck. Then, with a great effort he
recovered his composure, and, repeating the word “Beware!” walked across
to the other side of the chamber. The next day Walter went down the
river and had a talk with his friend Geoffrey.
“You must beware, lad,” the armourer said when he told him of the return
of Sir James Carnegie and the conversation which had taken place between
them. “This man is capable of anything, and careth not where he chooseth
his instruments. The man of the hut at Lambeth has never been caught
since his escape from Richmond Jail--thanks, doubtless, to the gold
of his employer--and, for aught we know, may still be lurking in the
marshes there, or in the purlieus of the city. He will have a grudge
against you as well as his employer, and in him Sir James would find a
ready instrument. He is no doubt connected, as before, with a gang of
water pirates and robbers, and it is not one sword alone that you would
have to encounter. I think not that you are in danger just at present,
for he would know that, in case of your murder, the suspicions of Dame
Vernon and of any others who may know the motive which he has in getting
rid of you would be excited, and he might be accused of having had a
share in your death. Still, it would be so hard to prove aught against
him, that he may be ready to run the risk in order to rid himself of
you. Look here, Walter. What think you of this?” and the smith drew out
from a coffer a shirt of mail of finer work than Walter had ever before
seen.
“Aye, lad, I knew you would be pleased,” he said in answer to Walter's
exclamation at the fineness of the workmanship. “I bought this a month
ago from a Jew merchant who had recently come from Italy. How he got it
I know not, but I doubt if it were honestly, or he would have demanded
a higher price than I paid him. He told me that it was made by the first
armourer in Milan, and was constructed especially for a cardinal of the
church, who had made many enemies by his evil deeds and could not sleep
for fear of assassination. At his death it came as the Jew said,
into his possession. I suppose some rascally attendant took it as a
perquisite, and, knowing not of its value, sold it for a few ducats to
the Jew. However, it is of the finest workmanship. It is, as you see,
double, and each link is made of steel so tough that no dagger or
sword-point will pierce it. I put it on a block and tried the metal
myself, and broke one of my best daggers on it without a single link
giving. Take it, lad. You are welcome to it. I bought it with a special
eye to you, thinking that you might wear it under your armour in battle
without greatly adding to the weight; but for such dangers as threaten
you now it is invaluable. It is so light and soft that none will dream
that you have it under your doublet, and I warrant me it will hold you
safe against the daggers of Sir James's ruffians.”
Walter did not like taking a gift so valuable, for his apprenticeship as
an armourer had taught him the extreme rarity and costliness of so fine
a piece of work. Geoffrey, however, would not hear of his refusal, and
insisted on his then and there taking off his doublet and putting it
on. It fitted closely to the body, descending just below the hips, and
coming well up on the neck, while the arms extended to the wrists.
“There!” the smith said with delight. “Now you are safe against sword or
dagger, save for a sweeping blow at the head, and that your sword can
be trusted to guard. Never take it off, Walter, save when you sleep; and
except when in your own bed, at Sir Walter Manny's, I should advise
you to wear it even at night. The weight is nothing, and it will not
incommode you. So long as this caitiff knight lives, your life will not
be safe. When he is dead you may hang up the shirt of mail with a light
heart.”