WHEN the first pain caused by the separation from his dear mother and
brother began to subside in Louis' heart,—and it must be admitted that
it began to subside pretty soon, the day being so bright and everybody
in such good spirits,—he felt quite proud to see himself at the head of
such a goodly company, and greatly wished that they would fall in with
some enemy, so that he might have a little conquering to tell about when
he should reach his future home. But no enemy was met, and, if a fight
had taken place, it is not likely that the boy would have been able to
boast of his part in it, for Bernard was very careful of his young
charge, and as soon as they had left the neighborhood of the Chateau de
Viteau, and had entered the forest through which ran their road for the
greater part of the journey, he made Louis ride about the middle of the
little procession, while he himself went a short distance in advance,
looking carefully about him for the first signs of robbers, or any one
else who might be likely to dispute their passage. [Illustration: LOUIS
AND BERNARD ON THEIR WAY TO DE BARRAN'S CASTLE.]
But no such persons were met, and towards the end of the afternoon Louis
and his train rode into the court-yard of the castle.
The moment that he entered the great gates, the quick eye of the boy
perceived that he had come to a place very different from his mother's
chateau. He had supposed there would be a difference, but had never
imagined it would be so great. There were a good many serving-people, of
various ranks and orders, at Viteau. There were ladies in attendance on
his mother; and sometimes there were knights and other visitors, whose
diversions had made what Raymond and Louis had considered a very gay
time; but there never had been anything like the lively scenes which met
the eye of our young friend, both in the court-yard and in the halls of
the castle itself. Outside there were boy-pages running on various
errands, or standing about, watching other people and neglecting their
own business; and there were squires, men-at-arms, and archers who were
lounging in the shade, or busily at work rubbing up a piece of armor, or
putting a point on an arrow-head or on a blunted lance. Here and there
was a knight not clad in armor, but in fine silk and embroidered cloth,
looking at horses which were being led about the inclosure by varlets or
inferior serving-men, who generally were dressed in clothes of dirty
leather. Two barefooted monks, one of them holding the bridle of a
donkey, with a bag thrown across his back, were talking together near
the gate. Some people were laughing, some were talking, some were
calling to others at a distance, and some were hammering; the horses
were making a good deal of noise with their feet; a man was blowing a
horn, which he had begun to blow as soon as Louis entered the gates, and
which was intended, it appeared, as a general announcement that somebody
had arrived who was a friend, and had been admitted freely. All
together, there was more noise, and moving about, and standing still,
and lying down, than Louis had ever seen, at one time, before.
Inside the castle there was not so much bustle; but knights and ladies,
the first generally dressed much more finely, and with more show of
color and ornament than their female companions, were to be seen here
and there. The pages who were not running about or standing still
outside, seemed to be doing the same inside; there was a clatter of
metal and wooden dishes in the dining-hall, where the servants were
preparing supper; and, in a room opening into the great hall, a tall
knight sat upon a stool, with a little harp on his knee, singing one of
the romantic songs which were so much liked in those days, and
accompanying his voice with a steady "tum-tum" on the harp-strings.
Around him were several knights and ladies, some sitting and some
standing, and all listening, with much satisfaction, to his song.
The Count de Barran, a tall, spare man, with an ugly but good-humored
face, gave Louis a kindly welcome.
"He is the son of Raymond de Viteau, my old brother-at-arms," he said to
a knight with a great brown beard, who stood beside him, "and I shall
try to make of him as good a knight as his—as I can."
"You were going to say 'as good a knight as his father,' good sir," said
Louis quickly, looking up into Barran's face. "Do you think I cannot be
that?"
"That will depend upon yourself," said the master of the castle. "Your
father was brave and noble above his fellow-knights. If you become his
equal, my little fellow, I shall be very proud. And now I shall send you
to my sister, the Lady Clemence, who will see that you are taken care
of."
"The boy's quickness of wit comes out well, even now," said the
brown-bearded knight; "but you may have to wait for the bravery and the
honor to show themselves."
"Not long, I hope," replied Barran. "Good blood must soon make some
sign, if he has it in him."
The next day Bernard and his train returned to Viteau, with many
messages from Louis, and the life of the boy, as the youngest page in
the castle, fairly commenced. In a few days he began to understand his
duties, and to make friends among the other pages, all of whom were sons
of well-born people. These boys had come to the castle to receive the
only education they would ever have. Louis did not at first very much
like to wait upon the knights and ladies at table, and to find himself
expected to serve so many people in so many ways; but he soon became
used to these things, especially when he saw other boys, whom he knew to
be just as good as he was, doing what he was expected to do.
He had a bright, interesting face, and he soon became a favorite,
especially among the ladies, for they liked to be waited upon by a page
who was so good-humored and quick. The Count de Barran was not married,
and his sister, the Lady Clemence, was at the head of domestic affairs
in his castle.
The only very young person among the visitors at the castle was a little
girl named Agnes, the motherless daughter of Count Hugo de Lanne, the
brown-bearded man who had talked with De Barran about his new page.
Between this girl and Louis a friendship soon sprang up. Agnes was a
year older than he, and she knew so much of castle-life, and of the
duties of a page, that she became one of his best instructors. She was a
lively, impulsive girl; and this was the reason, no doubt, why she and
Louis got on so well together.
One morning, as Agnes was passing through an upper hall, she saw,
standing at a window which overlooked the court-yard, our young friend
Louis, with an enormous battle-ax over his shoulder. As she approached,
he turned from the window, out of which he had been looking.
"What in the world," she cried, "are you doing with that great ax, and
what makes you look so doleful?"
"I am taking the ax down to the armorer's shop, to be sharpened and
polished," he said.
"It is too big a thing for you to be carrying about," said Agnes, "and
it seems sharp enough now. And as to you, you look as if you were going
somewhere to cut your head off with it. What is the matter with you?"
"That is the matter," said Louis, turning again to the window, and
pointing to a body of horsemen who were just riding out of the gate.
They had dogs with them, and several of them carried each a hooded
falcon perched upon his wrist.
"Did you want to go hunting herons? Is that what troubles you?" asked
Agnes.
"No, indeed; I don't want to go," said Louis. "I hate to see falcons."
"What did you look at them for, then?" asked Agnes. "But I don't see how
you can hate them. I love to see them swooping about, so lordly, in the
air. Why do not you like them as well as I do?"
Moved by a strong desire to share his secret with some one, Louis, after
a little hesitation, finally put the battle-ax on the floor, and told
Agnes the whole story of the loss of his brother's falcon, first making
her promise that she would never repeat it to any one. He told it all in
a straightforward way, and finished by explaining how the sight of the
hunters made him think of his poor brother, who could not go hawking for
ever so long. Indeed, he did not know that Bernard would be willing to
get another hawk and take all the trouble of training it. He might be
very angry.
"I think it's easy enough to make that right," said Agnes. "You ought to
give your brother another hawk, already trained."
"I would like much to know where I am to get it," said Louis.
Agnes thought for a moment.
"My father will give you one," she said, "if I ask him. If he questions
me as to what you want with it, I can tell him, with truth, that you
want to give it to your brother, who has no falcon, and who needs one
very much."
"Do you really think he would give me one?" asked Louis, with
brightening face.
"I am sure of it," said Agnes. "He has plenty of trained falcons, and he
could spare one easily enough. I will ask him, as soon as he comes back
to-day."
Accordingly, when Count Hugo returned from his hawking expedition that
afternoon, he was met by his little daughter, who asked him for a
falcon, a well-trained and good one, which could hunt hares as well as
birds, and which would be sure to come back to its master whenever it
was called.
Of course such a request as this excited some surprise, and required a
good deal of explanation. But when Count Hugo, who was a very indulgent
father, and who had also quite a liking for Louis, heard what was to be
done with the bird, he consented to give it.
"If he wanted it for himself," he said, "I should not let him have it,
for a page has no need of falcons, and a boy of the right spirit ought
not to desire gifts; but, as he wants it for his brother, who is in a
station to use it, it shows a generous disposition, and he shall have
it." And calling to one of his falconers to bring him a hawk, he handed
it to Agnes, and told her that she should herself give it to her young
friend.
"He and you can look at it for a quarter of an hour," said the Count,
"and then he must bring it back to Orion, here, who will feed and take
care of it until the boy has an opportunity of sending it to his
brother. Don't take its hood off, and keep your fingers well clear of
its beak."
When Agnes appeared with the falcon unsteadily perched on her two small
fists, which she had covered with a scarf, to keep its talons from
hurting her, Louis was overwhelmed with delight. He was sure that this
was a much finer bird than the one he had lost.
When the falcon had been sufficiently admired, and had been returned to
its keeper, and when Louis had run to find Count Hugo, and had thanked
him for his kindness, the question arose between the two young friends:
How was he to be carried to Raymond?
[Illustration: LOUIS, AGNES, AND THE FALCON.]
"If I had any way of riding there, I'd take it to him myself. I want him
to have it just as soon as he can get it," said Louis.
"I can lend you my jennet," said Agnes. "He is small, but can travel
far."
"You will lend him!" cried Louis. "And are you not going to use him for
two days? It will take at the very least two days to go to Viteau and
come back."
"I may not ride him for a week," said Agnes. "But you must not travel to
your mother's house alone. You must wait until some company is going
that way."
Louis would have been willing to start off by himself, but he knew he
would not be allowed to do so; and he had to curb his impatience for
three whole days before an opportunity of making his journey offered
itself. Then a knight from the south was leaving the castle, with a
small train, and as they would pass near Viteau, Louis was allowed to
accompany them.
The Count de Barran was not pleased that his new page should ask for
leave of absence so soon; but, as it was represented that there was good
reason for the journey, and as the Lady Clemence urged the boy's
request, he was allowed to go.
So, early one morning Louis started away, the gayest of his company, his
little Spanish steed were evidently the present dwelling-places of these
robbers, or _cotereaux_, as they were called. There were several classes
of highwaymen, or brigands, in France at this time, and of these the
_cotereaux_ were, probably, the most numerous.
There were fires built in various places about the open space in which
the huts had been erected, and there were a good many men around the
fires. A smell of cooking meat made Louis feel sure that supper would
soon be ready, and this was a comforting thing to him, for he was very
hungry. The supper which was served to him was of plain food, but he had
enough, and the bed he slept on, at the back part of the Captain's hut,
was nothing but a lot of dry leaves and twigs, with a coarse cloth
thrown over it; but Louis was very tired, and it was not long before he
was sound asleep.
He was much troubled, of course, at the thought of going to bed in this
way, in the midst of a band of robbers, but he was not afraid that they
would do him any injury, for he had heard enough about these _cotereaux_
to know that they took prisoners almost always for the purpose of making
money out of them, and not to do them useless harm. If he had been an
older and a deeper thinker, he would, probably, have thought of the harm
which might be done to him in case no money could be made by overtaken.
He expected to be pursued, for he knew the knight and his men would not
allow him to go off by himself if it could be prevented.
So he galloped on, his falcon tightly grasping the saddle-bow, and he
himself turning around every few minutes, to see if he were followed.
But he saw no horsemen riding after him. The knight's men had straggled
a good deal after they had turned into the new road, and Louis was not
missed for an hour or two. Then, when his absence was discovered, the
knight sent three men after him, with instructions to bring him back, or
to escort him to Viteau, in case they found him near that place. It was
supposed, of course, that he had slipped away, so as to get home as soon
as possible.
The men did not like the job at all, for they feared they would not be
able to return until after dark to the chateau where their party was to
spend the night, and they did not fancy traveling at night for the sake
of a boy they knew very slightly, and cared very little about. So, after
riding five or six miles, they agreed to halt until nearly night, and
ride back to their party at the top of their speed, and report that they
had overtaken Louis, and had accompanied him to a spot within sight of
his mother's chateau. This story was believed by the knight from the
south, who had no very clear idea as to the distance of Viteau from the
forks of the road; and no further thought was given to the young page.
As for Louis, he kept madly on his way. His horse was strong and fleet,
but it was beginning to flag a little in its pace, when, suddenly, it
stopped short. A tall man stood in front of it, and in a moment had
seized the panting animal by the bridle. Another man, with a pike in his
hand, appeared on the right, while several others came out from behind
some bushes on the left. The tall man wore a cuirass, or body-armor, of
steel rings linked closely together, which had probably once been bright
and shining, but which was now very rusty and old. He wore no other
armor, and his clothes seemed torn and soiled. The whole party, indeed,
as Louis, with open mouth and eyes, glanced quickly around him,—too much
startled to speak,—seemed to be a very rusty set of fellows.
Louis did not long remain silent. Indeed, he was the first one to speak.
He had often seen such persons as these among the serfs and varlets at
the castle, and he had been accustomed to respect from them.
"Ho there!" he cried, "move out of my way. Step from the road, do you
hear? I am going home to my mother's chateau, and I am in a hurry."
"Your mother can wait," said the tall man. "We should be pleased to have
your company ourselves to-night. So do not be angry. You can not go on."
"I believe," cried Louis, his eyes flashing, although they were full of
tears, "that you are a set of robbers."
"That is true," said the other, "and this little man, and this little
horse, and this very fine falcon, are our booty."
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