_THE CAPTIVE A CONQUEROR._
"We shall meet again!" the Prince had said as he rode off from
Kenilworth upon that bright summer's morning.
The time was drawing near when that promise was about to be
fulfilled--when Edward, the King's son, was to come to Kenilworth once
more, not as captive, but as conqueror.
All England was up in arms, watching with a sense of breathless
expectancy the result of the collision, when the armies of Prince and
Earl should stand face to face and meet in mortal conflict.
De Montfort was still the idol of the people, and many a notable
fortress and city was in his hands, declaring for him and his cause. But
the anomaly of a captive King ruling through and by the will of a
conquering subject was becoming intolerable to knights and nobles. It
was a state of affairs which could last only so long as King and Prince
remained captives. The moment young Edward was free, ready to head a
party that was already gathering enthusiastically about him, De Montfort
knew that a great and grave peril threatened him and his cause. They
had the King in their hands, and the King was induced to disclaim and
denounce his son as "a son of rebellion;" nevertheless all the world
knew that, were Henry himself free, he would not lose a moment in
joining young Edward, and in crushing by every means in his power the
strong opposition of his Barons.
And now the Barons' party was split and rent. Gloucester and all his
following had gone over to the Prince. He was master of all the line of
the Severn, and his own county of Chester had unanimously declared for
him.
London and the Cinque Ports were all in the Earl's interest, and the
Welsh had joined with him against their English foe. The struggle was
plainly to take place out here in the west, where the Prince seemed to
be gathering power and the Earl losing it, unless indeed the wild Welsh
kerns could be regarded as a set off against the desertion of English
knights and nobles.
The heart of the Prince beat high with anticipation of coming triumph.
He was at Worcester, and his position was not without elements of peril;
for Leicester was at Hereford, and was looking for reinforcements from
his son Simon, whom he had summoned from the south to meet him. It was
rumoured that Simon was returning by way of Kenilworth, and it was the
purpose of the Earl to hem in the army of the Prince between his own
lines and the advancing forces of his son. If he could achieve this
purpose, all might yet be saved; but Simon had already delayed too long,
and even now no certain tidings of his whereabouts had reached the
Earl's camp.
The household of Kenilworth was broken up. Almost immediately after the
escape of the Prince, De Montfort had sent his son Amalric to fetch his
mother and sister away to some safer place, nearer to the coast, where
they would be farther removed from the scene of conflict, and ready to
leave the country should the day go against them. The Countess with her
daughter was now at Dover, eagerly seeking to gather and send
reinforcements to her lord in the west.
Some of these things were known to Edward as he lay in his quarters at
Worcester; and yet his soul was in no wise dismayed, for he was
surrounded by brave hearts and willing hands, and had a premonition
within him that the tide of fortune had turned, and that the days of his
adversity were drawing to a close.
He was walking to and fro in meditation in the precincts of the
Cathedral, where he had heard mass earlier in the day, when the sound of
rapid approaching steps caused him to turn, and he saw Hugh le Barbier
hastening towards him.
"Comest thou with tidings?" asked the Prince eagerly.
"I have been told that a woman has arrived at the city, desiring speech
with the Prince," answered Hugh. "She will not answer questions, nor
unveil her face, but says that she comes from Kenilworth, and that she
brings tidings for the ears of the Prince. Since she would not say more
whatever was asked of her, I came forth to find you. Will it please you
to grant her an audience? If she comes indeed from Kenilworth, she may
bring news worth hearing, for men say that young Simon de Montfort is
collecting reinforcements there."
"I will see her at once," answered the Prince. "Go, have her brought to
my quarters, and come thou thither thyself. It may well be that she
brings tidings. I will hear what she has to say."
Hugh hastened away, the Prince returned to his lodgings, and before long
there was brought before him a veiled figure that seemed strangely
familiar, albeit for the moment he could not recollect where or in what
circumstances he had seen it before.
"Who art thou?" he asked courteously; "and whence dost thou come? and
what is thy message?"
"I come from the forests surrounding the Castle of Kenilworth," answered
the veiled woman in a low voice. "I have come with news for thee, O
Prince. I have sworn to be avenged upon the house of De Montfort for the
death of my brother. I come now to sell one scion of that bloody house
into thine hands!"
As she spoke the woman threw back her veil, and Hugh gave a great start
of surprise. For standing before him, wan and wild, haggard and
dishevelled, was the once beautiful Lotta Balzani, the woman who had
once madly loved himself--or feigned to do so--the twin sister of his
own wife!
For Hugh was married now. He had wedded Linda shortly after the battle
of Lewes, with the full consent of his parents. His wife was not far
away, for Hugh's home lay not any great distance from this town, and he
had but lately parted from her to join the standard of the Prince. With
a great astonishment in his eyes he gazed at the changed face of Lotta.
There was in her look something of wildness akin to madness, and when
her eyes met his she gave no sign of recognition. It seemed as though
the present had completely blotted out the past.
The Prince was eyeing her intently, almost sternly.
"Art thou the veiled woman who whispered strange words to me at
Kenilworth on New-Year's Eve, and brought to me a word in writing from
my mother?"
"The same," answered Lotta, in her still, low-toned fashion.
"The sister of him who did strive to do to death mine uncle, the Earl of
Leicester, in his own house? Was it, in sooth, thine hand which placed
the fatal chalice in his?"
"It was!" answered Lotta, flinging back her head in a superb gesture of
scorn; "and would that he had drained it on the spot! I knew not then
what it contained, though I would have given it to him even had I known;
for why should I pity or spare? none has ever showed pity upon me! But
when he did to death my brother--when I saw that lifeless form swinging
from the battlements of the Castle in the dim light of dawn--then, then
I lifted my hand to heaven, and vowed vengeance upon Earl Simon and his
house! I have bided my time--I have waited and watched--and now the hour
for vengeance is at hand. I will sell him into the hand of his foes,
even as Jael sold Sisera. Would that I could with these very hands
drive a nail into his temples, that he should no more lift up that
proud head!"
There was something so wild and strange in the manner of the woman that
the Prince recoiled a little, and glanced at Hugh with questioning eyes.
"I know her well," he replied in a whisper to the Prince. "She is that
strange creature of whom we have told you, the twin sister of my
wife--the one of whom we heard that she had been dabbling in black magic
and forbidden arts, and that she had disappeared from her home, no one
knew whither."
Edward, who had the proverbial memory of royalty, bent his head. He
remembered the strange story told him of the twin sisters, and the
adventures which had befallen Hugh during his courtship of the one.
Little likeness now existed between the gentle Linda and this gaunt,
haggard sister; but the Prince's eyes rested with interest upon the once
beautiful face, and he spoke more gently as he put the next question,--
"But the Earl of Leicester is at Hereford; what canst thou do against
him?"
"Simon the elder may be there, but Simon the younger is at
Kenilworth--feasting, drinking, idling his time away; whilst
his men lie not within the strong walls of the Castle, but in the
village--unprotected, careless, secure! They spend their days in
drinking confusion to the Prince and his army, and laugh to scorn all
thought of fear. Instead of pressing on to join his father, the foolish
youth delights himself in his present pleasant quarters, and sends
forth wine and all good stores from the Castle, to refresh and
strengthen the men after their march, as he says, but rather that they
may enjoy themselves and sing songs to his honour and glory. He is so
puffed up that none may speak a word of warning to him. Fall then upon
him. Cut his army in pieces. There will be none to resist, none to give
battle. All are sunk in the security of the fool; the Lord will give
them a prey into thine hand."
Edward's face lighted up with a strange expression. If this news were
indeed true, it was a great thing for him to know. He had been aware of
his own peril should father and son effect a junction, and he had
marched thus far to seek to avert it. If he could fall upon young
Simon's army in this state of demoralization, and effectually rout it or
cut it to pieces, why then he could give battle fearlessly to the Earl,
with at least equal chances of success.
But if this should be a trap?
He looked earnestly into the woman's face. The eyes were wild, but there
was no shiftiness in them. Rather it seemed as though a fire of fury
burned within her--as though she were inspired with a prophetic fire.
Suddenly she raised her arms and called aloud in tragic tones,--
"Fall upon them! fall upon them! do unto them as they have done! The
Lord has given them an easy prey into thine hand. Let not one of them
escape thee! Slay them without mercy, even as Elijah slew the prophets
of Baal at the brook Kishon. Let the river which washes the walls of
Kenilworth be dyed red by the blood of those that serve the bloodthirsty
Earl, who slew my brother!"
The Prince turned to Hugh and said in a low voice,--
"Methinks she speaks truth. These may be the words of madness, but not
of falsehood. I will forthwith summon the men, and to-night we will make
a rapid march and seek to surprise this sluggard captain. But what shall
we do for this poor creature? She is not fit to be left to wander in the
woods as she speaks of doing. She should be cared for somewhere, and
brought if possible to her right mind."
"I will take care of her," answered Hugh quickly; "I will take her home
to my wife, her sister. If any one can do her good, it will be my gentle
Linda. Methinks that the old fire of malice and jealousy is burnt out.
She seems not to know my face or voice. Let me have the charge of her,
and I will join your highness's forces at Kenilworth as soon as may be."
"Yes, that will be best," answered the Prince. "Take her to thy home and
thy wife, and leave her not till thou dost see all well betwixt them.
Then follow me if thou canst; for methinks the tide of battle is about
to turn, and that soon I may have the power as well as the will to
reward those faithful and loyal servants who have followed me in the
days of adversity."
Hugh approached Lotta, who with trembling hands was drawing the veil
over her face once again, and he noted that she seemed to sway like a
broken reed.
"Lotta," he said, in a very gentle tone, "come with me, my sister. I
will take thee to Linda."
A little shiver ran through her frame, and suddenly she spoke in wild,
eager tones,--
"Linda! Linda! Linda! O sister, sister, have pity, have mercy upon me!"
and then she burst into wild weeping, and sank senseless to the ground
at his feet.
A litter was quickly prepared, Lotta was placed in it, and before
nightfall Hugh had arrived with his charge at the door of his own home.
Already the stir of arrival had aroused the inmates, and Linda came
running forth from the parlour, uttering a cry of joy as she flung
herself upon her husband's neck. Then Hugh, holding her close to him,
whispered in her ear the strange story he had to tell, and Linda
approached the litter with a face full of awe, affection, and eagerness.
"Lotta!" she said softly, "dear, dear Lotta! Thou hast come back to
me--at last!"
With a strange strangled cry Lotta sprang forward, clasped her sister
wildly in her arms, and then once more fell senseless to the ground.
Late that night, as Hugh sat over the fire after having told all his
tale to his parents, who had then gone to bed, the door opened, and
Linda stole in, a strange expression upon her pale face. She made
straight for the shelter of her husband's arms, and lay there, the tears
coursing quietly down her face.
"How is it with Lotta, sweetheart?" he asked.
"Hugh," answered Linda, "I think she will die; but she has no desire to
live. I think she has bitterly repented of the past; and if she can but
lay aside her thoughts of hatred, and learn to forgive even her
enemies, methinks death would perhaps be the happiest thing for her. Oh,
she has had a strange and terrible life! Heaven grant that she has not
lost her soul, seeking after unhallowed things! But that was Tito's
fault. Surely God will not visit it upon her!"
Then Linda told to her husband the tale that she had heard in fragments
from her sister's fevered lips.
After the failure of the second attempt upon Hugh's life and liberty,
when Lotta had been forced to the conclusion that she would never win
him against his will, and when Tito and Boger, who had been the authors
of both plots, had been forced to fly, the unhappy girl had turned her
attention to the study of those black arts of magic and mystery which
had so fascinated Tito, and of which he possessed a certain amount of
knowledge, gleaned from books in his possession. Lotta now studied
these, with the result that a morbid and unhealthy curiosity arose
within her, and she believed herself gifted by some occult powers which
she might develop, did she but know how.
Thus it was that when, after a considerable interval, Roger and Tito
ventured once more to return to England, and Tito desired to obtain
possession of his books and other things, he found that Lotta was eager
and willing to join them; and in their travels she proved a valuable
ally, her gifts of thought-reading and her mesmeric powers, which
rapidly developed with practice, making her a useful medium.
They travelled both in England and in France, and after a time she
married Roger de Horn, who appeared to have transferred to her the
fierce affection he had once shown for Linda. It did not appear,
however, that her heart was greatly drawn towards her husband. It was
more of Tito that she talked, and his untimely and tragic death was
plainly graven upon her heart in characters of fire.
Of the poisoning plot itself Lotta had small knowledge. She could not
say at whose instigation it had been planned, though she knew that a
large sum had been paid to her husband and brother for the death of the
Earl, which they had sworn to compass. Part of the reward was paid
beforehand, but the bulk was to be given if the matter were brought to a
successful issue. When all was lost, Lotta had rushed out to seek to
rouse Roger to some desperate attempt at the rescue of the hapless Tito.
But not only did Roger refuse to move hand or foot; he also forcibly
withheld her from seeking to save him or to die with him, as she
desired. Since then there had been burning within the sister's heart a
fierce flame of hatred against the Earl who had condemned her brother,
and against the man who refused to try to aid his comrade in the hour of
extremity.
She had refused to leave the neighbourhood of Kenilworth, and Roger had
seemed afraid to leave her there alone. They had led a strange life in
caves and fastnesses of the forest, living upon such game as they could
snare and shoot, and upon the wild berries and herbs of the woods. They
had money, and occasionally bought from the peasants, but feared to show
themselves openly; for it was said that there was a price set upon the
heads of the accomplices of the wizard, and they were afraid of being
recognized.
Now, however, in the confusion and excitement of Lord Simon's arrival
with his disorderly host, and their ill-advised stay at and about the
Castle of Kenilworth, Lotta felt that her day of vengeance had come.
Without a word to her husband--who was drinking with the soldiers,
secure now from recognition in so great a company--she had started forth
to find the army of the Prince, and having delivered her foe into the
hands of the enemy, it seemed as though all wish for life had expired
within her. To be avenged for the fate of Tito had been her one desire;
if that were accomplished, she seemed to have nothing else for which to
live. But she had turned with all the affection of childhood towards her
sister, and Linda's tears flowed as she spoke of this. Lotta appeared to
have no real recollection of the episodes of her life in which Hugh had
a part. When Linda had spoken of them, she had assented with something
of perplexity in her face, but without seeming to recollect fully what
it was all about. She appeared to know that her sister was married, and
showed no emotion at the sound of her husband's name. To hold Linda's
hand, to feel her near, to feel her kisses on her cheek, appeared all
she wanted. She was so tired, she kept saying, she wanted to rest--to
rest. And presently when she sank to sleep, Linda had gone to find her
husband to tell him all.
"I must forth to join the Prince to-morrow," he said; "but I am right
glad to leave Lotta so well cared for. Perchance she will live to be our
sister and friend yet; and I will seek news of that evil man her
husband, and we will hope that he may yet come to repent of his sins.
Keep her safe, and let her rest. Whether she live or die, we shall
always be glad that we have seen her again, and that she has returned to
her better self."
Hugh rode forth at break of day, after a few hours of rest, and in due
course found himself drawing near to Kenilworth. The sun was sinking by
that time, and he was aware of a great tumult and excitement as he
approached. All the country folks were in a state of the greatest
agitation and alarm, and from them Hugh first learned the nature of the
engagement in which he had not partaken, but which had occurred early
that very morning.
It had been as Lotta had described. In fancied security, in the heart of
his own county, where all were loyal to the cause, the younger Simon had
neglected all precautions, had left his soldiers outside the Castle
walls, and had not even posted sentries to watch the roads.
At dawn upon that fatal first of August, the sleeping soldiers had been
awakened by the clash and crash of arms, and by loud, fierce cries.
"Come forth, traitors; come out of your holes, ye dogs! Ye shall all be
slain. Ye have betrayed your King. His vengeance be upon you!"
Then had followed a scene of indescribable confusion. The wretched men,
thus awakened from sleep, their enemies actually upon them, sprang from
their beds, and rushed half naked to their death. Some fought gallantly
for their lives, and fighting fell. Some fled across the moat, and found
a temporary asylum in the Castle with Lord Simon himself, who, paralyzed
by terror, could do nothing but hide behind his strong walls, with a few
of his own immediate knights and gentlemen about him, whilst his army
melted like snow before this vigorous attack, and the waters of the moat
were dyed red with the blood of the slain.
This was the tale that Hugh heard from the terrified peasants as he rode
onwards, and indeed soon enough he saw for himself abundant signs of
carnage. But the slaughter, if sudden, had been brief; for the Prince
had given quarter to all who asked, and had been content to permit the
escape of great numbers of raw youths, who, having been hastily levied
during Simon's march, were ready to disperse in the extremity of terror,
and could be trusted, once they reached the safe shelter of their own
homes, not to tempt their fate by taking up arms again.
As for the plunder, that was something to boast of. Simon had made
requisition all along the route from the friendly towns, and his mother
had collected and furnished him with ample supplies. The horses taken
were so numerous that the very pages and foot-boys of Edward's army
could ride the steeds of knights, and the weary chargers which had
brought the victors all those miles from Worcester could take their ease
in the wake of the army, whilst the Prince, with fresh horses, rode
forward as fast as he would.
For he had no desire to tarry here, nor to attempt to storm the fortress
itself, with its small garrison and Lord Simon at the head. The Prince's
great aim and object now was to meet the Earl in person on the
battlefield, and to try conclusions with him once and for all, before he
had had time to recover from the heavy blow struck him to-day, of which
he could not yet be aware.
Hugh found him giving personal orders for a rapid march on Gloucester,
with prisoners and booty, from which place he would next march against
De Montfort's army, and overthrow it in open battle. The light of
victory was already in Edward's eyes, and his cheerful confidence seemed
to have communicated itself to all his host.
A touch upon his arm made Hugh look suddenly round, and he found himself
face to face with his quondam comrade Gilbert Barbeck. Gilbert was not a
man of war, but had fallen in with the Prince's army as he was taking a
journey upon business. He had seen the battle and its result, and now
spoke a word in Hugh's ear.
"Come," he said; "I have somewhat to show thee."
And when Hugh followed him wonderingly, he added,--
"Dost remember how we fruitlessly pursued Roger de Horn into the forest
long ago, and how he once and again escaped the fate he deserved? Well,
he has not escaped it to-day. He has been eating and drinking and
sleeping with the soldiers of young De Montfort since they came here.
And now he lies in the trench with the slain, and will trouble the earth
no more. He has met the fate his deeds deserve, albeit not as we once
desired."
Hugh started at the sound of these words, and followed Gilbert quickly
to the spot where the soldiers of Edward were burying the slain. If
indeed this thing were so, he ought to know it for a certainty.
"See there," said Gilbert, pointing downwards; "methinks there is no
mistaking that face!"
Hugh looked, and a slight shiver took hold upon him.
"True enough," he answered briefly, as he turned away; "that is the dead
face of him who was Roger de Horn."
So Lotta was a widow!