KING JOHN.—I’ll tell thee what, my friend,
He is a very serpent in my way;
And wheresoe’er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me.—Dost thou understand me?
KING JOHN
There was brave feasting in the Castle of York, to which Prince John
had invited those nobles, prelates, and leaders, by whose assistance he
hoped to carry through his ambitious projects upon his brother’s
throne. Waldemar Fitzurse, his able and politic agent, was at secret
work among them, tempering all to that pitch of courage which was
necessary in making an open declaration of their purpose. But their
enterprise was delayed by the absence of more than one main limb of the
confederacy. The stubborn and daring, though brutal courage of
Front-de-Bœuf; the buoyant spirits and bold bearing of De Bracy; the
sagacity, martial experience, and renowned valour of Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, were important to the success of their conspiracy; and,
while cursing in secret their unnecessary and unmeaning absence,
neither John nor his adviser dared to proceed without them. Isaac the
Jew also seemed to have vanished, and with him the hope of certain sums
of money, making up the subsidy for which Prince John had contracted
with that Israelite and his brethren. This deficiency was likely to
prove perilous in an emergency so critical.
It was on the morning after the fall of Torquilstone, that a confused
report began to spread abroad in the city of York, that De Bracy and
Bois-Guilbert, with their confederate Front-de-Bœuf, had been taken or
slain. Waldemar brought the rumour to Prince John, announcing, that he
feared its truth the more that they had set out with a small
attendance, for the purpose of committing an assault on the Saxon
Cedric and his attendants. At another time the Prince would have
treated this deed of violence as a good jest; but now, that it
interfered with and impeded his own plans, he exclaimed against the
perpetrators, and spoke of the broken laws, and the infringement of
public order and of private property, in a tone which might have become
King Alfred.
“The unprincipled marauders,” he said—“were I ever to become monarch of
England, I would hang such transgressors over the drawbridges of their
own castles.”
“But to become monarch of England,” said his Ahithophel coolly, “it is
necessary not only that your Grace should endure the transgressions of
these unprincipled marauders, but that you should afford them your
protection, notwithstanding your laudable zeal for the laws they are in
the habit of infringing. We shall be finely helped, if the churl Saxons
should have realized your Grace’s vision, of converting feudal
drawbridges into gibbets; and yonder bold-spirited Cedric seemeth one
to whom such an imagination might occur. Your Grace is well aware, it
will be dangerous to stir without Front-de-Bœuf, De Bracy, and the
Templar; and yet we have gone too far to recede with safety.”
Prince John struck his forehead with impatience, and then began to
stride up and down the apartment.
“The villains,” he said, “the base treacherous villains, to desert me
at this pinch!”
“Nay, say rather the feather-pated giddy madmen,” said Waldemar, “who
must be toying with follies when such business was in hand.”
“What is to be done?” said the Prince, stopping short before Waldemar.
“I know nothing which can be done,” answered his counsellor, “save that
which I have already taken order for.—I came not to bewail this evil
chance with your Grace, until I had done my best to remedy it.”
“Thou art ever my better angel, Waldemar,” said the Prince; “and when I
have such a chancellor to advise withal, the reign of John will be
renowned in our annals.—What hast thou commanded?”
“I have ordered Louis Winkelbrand, De Bracy’s lieutenant, to cause his
trumpet sound to horse, and to display his banner, and to set presently
forth towards the castle of Front-de-Bœuf, to do what yet may be done
for the succour of our friends.”
Prince John’s face flushed with the pride of a spoilt child, who has
undergone what it conceives to be an insult. “By the face of God!” he
said, “Waldemar Fitzurse, much hast thou taken upon thee! and over
malapert thou wert to cause trumpet to blow, or banner to be raised, in
a town where ourselves were in presence, without our express command.”
“I crave your Grace’s pardon,” said Fitzurse, internally cursing the
idle vanity of his patron; “but when time pressed, and even the loss of
minutes might be fatal, I judged it best to take this much burden upon
me, in a matter of such importance to your Grace’s interest.”
“Thou art pardoned, Fitzurse,” said the prince, gravely; “thy purpose
hath atoned for thy hasty rashness.—But whom have we here?—De Bracy
himself, by the rood!—and in strange guise doth he come before us.”
It was indeed De Bracy—“bloody with spurring, fiery red with speed.”
His armour bore all the marks of the late obstinate fray, being broken,
defaced, and stained with blood in many places, and covered with clay
and dust from the crest to the spur. Undoing his helmet, he placed it
on the table, and stood a moment as if to collect himself before he
told his news.
“De Bracy,” said Prince John, “what means this?—Speak, I charge
thee!—Are the Saxons in rebellion?”
“Speak, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse, almost in the same moment with his
master, “thou wert wont to be a man—Where is the Templar?—where
Front-de-Bœuf?”
“The Templar is fled,” said De Bracy; “Front-de-Bœuf you will never see
more. He has found a red grave among the blazing rafters of his own
castle and I alone am escaped to tell you.”
“Cold news,” said Waldemar, “to us, though you speak of fire and
conflagration.”
“The worst news is not yet said,” answered De Bracy; and, coming up to
Prince John, he uttered in a low and emphatic tone—“Richard is in
England—I have seen and spoken with him.”
Prince John turned pale, tottered, and caught at the back of an oaken
bench to support himself—much like to a man who receives an arrow in
his bosom.
“Thou ravest, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse, “it cannot be.”
“It is as true as truth itself,” said De Bracy; “I was his prisoner,
and spoke with him.”
“With Richard Plantagenet, sayest thou?” continued Fitzurse.
“With Richard Plantagenet,” replied De Bracy, “with Richard
Cœur-de-Lion—with Richard of England.”
“And thou wert his prisoner?” said Waldemar; “he is then at the head of
a power?”
“No—only a few outlawed yeomen were around him, and to these his person
is unknown. I heard him say he was about to depart from them. He joined
them only to assist at the storming of Torquilstone.”
“Ay,” said Fitzurse, “such is indeed the fashion of Richard—a true
knight-errant he, and will wander in wild adventure, trusting the
prowess of his single arm, like any Sir Guy or Sir Bevis, while the
weighty affairs of his kingdom slumber, and his own safety is
endangered.—What dost thou propose to do De Bracy?”
“I?—I offered Richard the service of my Free Lances, and he refused
them—I will lead them to Hull, seize on shipping, and embark for
Flanders; thanks to the bustling times, a man of action will always
find employment. And thou, Waldemar, wilt thou take lance and shield,
and lay down thy policies, and wend along with me, and share the fate
which God sends us?”
“I am too old, Maurice, and I have a daughter,” answered Waldemar.
“Give her to me, Fitzurse, and I will maintain her as fits her rank,
with the help of lance and stirrup,” said De Bracy.
“Not so,” answered Fitzurse; “I will take sanctuary in this church of
Saint Peter—the Archbishop is my sworn brother.”
During this discourse, Prince John had gradually awakened from the
stupor into which he had been thrown by the unexpected intelligence,
and had been attentive to the conversation which passed betwixt his
followers. “They fall off from me,” he said to himself, “they hold no
more by me than a withered leaf by the bough when a breeze blows on
it!—Hell and fiends! can I shape no means for myself when I am deserted
by these cravens?”—He paused, and there was an expression of diabolical
passion in the constrained laugh with which he at length broke in on
their conversation.
“Ha, ha, ha! my good lords, by the light of Our Lady’s brow, I held ye
sage men, bold men, ready-witted men; yet ye throw down wealth, honour,
pleasure, all that our noble game promised you, at the moment it might
be won by one bold cast!”
“I understand you not,” said De Bracy. “As soon as Richard’s return is
blown abroad, he will be at the head of an army, and all is then over
with us. I would counsel you, my lord, either to fly to France or take
the protection of the Queen Mother.”
“I seek no safety for myself,” said Prince John, haughtily; “that I
could secure by a word spoken to my brother. But although you, De
Bracy, and you, Waldemar Fitzurse, are so ready to abandon me, I should
not greatly delight to see your heads blackening on Clifford’s gate
yonder. Thinkest thou, Waldemar, that the wily Archbishop will not
suffer thee to be taken from the very horns of the altar, would it make
his peace with King Richard? And forgettest thou, De Bracy, that Robert
Estoteville lies betwixt thee and Hull with all his forces, and that
the Earl of Essex is gathering his followers? If we had reason to fear
these levies even before Richard’s return, trowest thou there is any
doubt now which party their leaders will take? Trust me, Estoteville
alone has strength enough to drive all thy Free Lances into the
Humber.”—Waldemar Fitzurse and De Bracy looked in each other’s faces
with blank dismay.—“There is but one road to safety,” continued the
Prince, and his brow grew black as midnight; “this object of our terror
journeys alone—He must be met withal.”
“Not by me,” said De Bracy, hastily; “I was his prisoner, and he took
me to mercy. I will not harm a feather in his crest.”
“Who spoke of harming him?” said Prince John, with a hardened laugh;
“the knave will say next that I meant he should slay him!—No—a prison
were better; and whether in Britain or Austria, what matters it?—Things
will be but as they were when we commenced our enterprise—It was
founded on the hope that Richard would remain a captive in Germany—Our
uncle Robert lived and died in the castle of Cardiffe.”
“Ay, but,” said Waldemar, “your sire Henry sate more firm in his seat
than your Grace can. I say the best prison is that which is made by the
sexton—no dungeon like a church-vault! I have said my say.”
“Prison or tomb,” said De Bracy, “I wash my hands of the whole matter.”
“Villain!” said Prince John, “thou wouldst not bewray our counsel?”
“Counsel was never bewrayed by me,” said De Bracy, haughtily, “nor must
the name of villain be coupled with mine!”
“Peace, Sir Knight!” said Waldemar; “and you, good my lord, forgive the
scruples of valiant De Bracy; I trust I shall soon remove them.”
“That passes your eloquence, Fitzurse,” replied the Knight.
“Why, good Sir Maurice,” rejoined the wily politician, “start not aside
like a scared steed, without, at least, considering the object of your
terror.—This Richard—but a day since, and it would have been thy
dearest wish to have met him hand to hand in the ranks of battle—a
hundred times I have heard thee wish it.”
“Ay,” said De Bracy, “but that was as thou sayest, hand to hand, and in
the ranks of battle! Thou never heardest me breathe a thought of
assaulting him alone, and in a forest.”
“Thou art no good knight if thou dost scruple at it,” said Waldemar.
“Was it in battle that Lancelot de Lac and Sir Tristram won renown? or
was it not by encountering gigantic knights under the shade of deep and
unknown forests?”
“Ay, but I promise you,” said De Bracy, “that neither Tristram nor
Lancelot would have been match, hand to hand, for Richard Plantagenet,
and I think it was not their wont to take odds against a single man.”
“Thou art mad, De Bracy—what is it we propose to thee, a hired and
retained captain of Free Companions, whose swords are purchased for
Prince John’s service? Thou art apprized of our enemy, and then thou
scruplest, though thy patron’s fortunes, those of thy comrades, thine
own, and the life and honour of every one amongst us, be at stake!”
“I tell you,” said De Bracy, sullenly, “that he gave me my life. True,
he sent me from his presence, and refused my homage—so far I owe him
neither favour nor allegiance—but I will not lift hand against him.”
“It needs not—send Louis Winkelbrand and a score of thy lances.”
“Ye have sufficient ruffians of your own,” said De Bracy; “not one of
mine shall budge on such an errand.”
“Art thou so obstinate, De Bracy?” said Prince John; “and wilt thou
forsake me, after so many protestations of zeal for my service?”
“I mean it not,” said De Bracy; “I will abide by you in aught that
becomes a knight, whether in the lists or in the camp; but this highway
practice comes not within my vow.”
“Come hither, Waldemar,” said Prince John. “An unhappy prince am I. My
father, King Henry, had faithful servants—He had but to say that he was
plagued with a factious priest, and the blood of Thomas-a-Becket, saint
though he was, stained the steps of his own altar.—Tracy, Morville,
Brito 47 loyal and daring subjects, your names, your spirit, are
extinct! and although Reginald Fitzurse hath left a son, he hath fallen
off from his father’s fidelity and courage.”
“He has fallen off from neither,” said Waldemar Fitzurse; “and since it
may not better be, I will take on me the conduct of this perilous
enterprise. Dearly, however, did my father purchase the praise of a
zealous friend; and yet did his proof of loyalty to Henry fall far
short of what I am about to afford; for rather would I assail a whole
calendar of saints, than put spear in rest against Cœur-de-Lion.—De
Bracy, to thee I must trust to keep up the spirits of the doubtful, and
to guard Prince John’s person. If you receive such news as I trust to
send you, our enterprise will no longer wear a doubtful aspect.—Page,”
he said, “hie to my lodgings, and tell my armourer to be there in
readiness; and bid Stephen Wetheral, Broad Thoresby, and the Three
Spears of Spyinghow, come to me instantly; and let the scout-master,
Hugh Bardon, attend me also.—Adieu, my Prince, till better times.” Thus
speaking, he left the apartment. “He goes to make my brother prisoner,”
said Prince John to De Bracy, “with as little touch of compunction, as
if it but concerned the liberty of a Saxon franklin. I trust he will
observe our orders, and use our dear Richard’s person with all due
respect.”
De Bracy only answered by a smile.
“By the light of Our Lady’s brow,” said Prince John, “our orders to him
were most precise—though it may be you heard them not, as we stood
together in the oriel window—Most clear and positive was our charge
that Richard’s safety should be cared for, and woe to Waldemar’s head
if he transgress it!”
“I had better pass to his lodgings,” said De Bracy, “and make him fully
aware of your Grace’s pleasure; for, as it quite escaped my ear, it may
not perchance have reached that of Waldemar.”
“Nay, nay,” said Prince John, impatiently, “I promise thee he heard me;
and, besides, I have farther occupation for thee. Maurice, come hither;
let me lean on thy shoulder.”
They walked a turn through the hall in this familiar posture, and
Prince John, with an air of the most confidential intimacy, proceeded
to say, “What thinkest thou of this Waldemar Fitzurse, my De Bracy?—He
trusts to be our Chancellor. Surely we will pause ere we give an office
so high to one who shows evidently how little he reverences our blood,
by his so readily undertaking this enterprise against Richard. Thou
dost think, I warrant, that thou hast lost somewhat of our regard, by
thy boldly declining this unpleasing task—But no, Maurice! I rather
honour thee for thy virtuous constancy. There are things most necessary
to be done, the perpetrator of which we neither love nor honour; and
there may be refusals to serve us, which shall rather exalt in our
estimation those who deny our request. The arrest of my unfortunate
brother forms no such good title to the high office of Chancellor, as
thy chivalrous and courageous denial establishes in thee to the
truncheon of High Marshal. Think of this, De Bracy, and begone to thy
charge.”
“Fickle tyrant!” muttered De Bracy, as he left the presence of the
Prince; “evil luck have they who trust thee. Thy Chancellor, indeed!—He
who hath the keeping of thy conscience shall have an easy charge, I
trow. But High Marshal of England! that,” he said, extending his arm,
as if to grasp the baton of office, and assuming a loftier stride along
the antechamber, “that is indeed a prize worth playing for!”
De Bracy had no sooner left the apartment than Prince John summoned an
attendant.
“Bid Hugh Bardon, our scout-master, come hither, as soon as he shall
have spoken with Waldemar Fitzurse.”
The scout-master arrived after a brief delay, during which John
traversed the apartment with, unequal and disordered steps.
“Bardon,” said he, “what did Waldemar desire of thee?”
“Two resolute men, well acquainted with these northern wilds, and
skilful in tracking the tread of man and horse.”
“And thou hast fitted him?”
“Let your grace never trust me else,” answered the master of the spies.
“One is from Hexamshire; he is wont to trace the Tynedale and
Teviotdale thieves, as a bloodhound follows the slot of a hurt deer.
The other is Yorkshire bred, and has twanged his bowstring right oft in
merry Sherwood; he knows each glade and dingle, copse and high-wood,
betwixt this and Richmond.”
“’Tis well,” said the Prince.—“Goes Waldemar forth with them?”
“Instantly,” said Bardon.
“With what attendance?” asked John, carelessly.
“Broad Thoresby goes with him, and Wetheral, whom they call, for his
cruelty, Stephen Steel-heart; and three northern men-at-arms that
belonged to Ralph Middleton’s gang—they are called the Spears of
Spyinghow.”
“’Tis well,” said Prince John; then added, after a moment’s pause,
“Bardon, it imports our service that thou keep a strict watch on
Maurice De Bracy—so that he shall not observe it, however—And let us
know of his motions from time to time—with whom he converses, what he
proposeth. Fail not in this, as thou wilt be answerable.”
Hugh Bardon bowed, and retired.
“If Maurice betrays me,” said Prince John—“if he betrays me, as his
bearing leads me to fear, I will have his head, were Richard thundering
at the gates of York.”