On quitting the Duke, De Lacy dispatched a page for his squire and was
then conducted to his quarters on the floor above.
Tossing his gauntlets and bascinet upon the high bed that stood in the
corner near the door, he crossed to the small deep window and swung
back the sash. Below him lay the broad bailey, that at this hour was
alive with the servitors and retainers of the Duke. Before the
dwellings against the inner wall children were playing, and through the
fading light of the April afternoon rose a medley of sounds. From the
direction of the distant gateway sounded the ring of steel-shod hoofs,
and presently a body of horsemen cantered across the stone pavement and
drew rein before the keep. A gruff command followed, and just as the
rank was broken and the soldiery dispersed the sweet tones of the bell
of All Saints' Chapel came floating over the walls.
The Knight crossed himself instinctively, and then, leaning on the
ledge, his thoughts turned to his family's past and to why he, though
of the blood of one of the Conqueror's favorite Barons, was a stranger
in England.
The main branch of the House of Lacy, once so powerful in Britain, had
become extinct almost two centuries before; and although Sir Aymer's
ancestor had borne an honorable part in the wars of the Third Edward
yet, like Chandos, he was content to remain a simple banneret. When
the Second Richard went down before his usurping cousin, the then head
of the family had stood, to the last, true to his rightful King; and
hence it was small wonder that to Sir Richard de Lacy the atmosphere of
the Court of the new Monarch was not agreeable. When Henry of Monmouth
brought France again under English rule, Sir Richard rode no more to
the wars; and the heir being but an infant, his retainers were mustered
under a stranger's banner. During the later struggles of Bedford and
of Warwick to retain the fast relaxing hold of England upon the domains
beyond the Channel, the then Baron had done his devoir full knightly,
but it is not in a losing struggle that families win advancement, and,
to the last Lancastrian King, Sir Edward de Lacy was not known. Then
came the Wars of the Roses and, ere Aymer's sire could bind the White
Rose to his helmet, a sudden illness stilled his hand in death; and
thus, again, had the House lost an opportunity to rise in fame and
power. Much honor had Sir Aymer won in the recent small wars and
constant fightings of the Continent, and in the right of his mother's
family he might have aspired to high rank at the French Court; but
Louis, "the Fell," was not a warrior's King, nor had long residence in
a foreign clime bred in Sir Aymer forgetfulness of the land of his
birth.
And so, at length, he had furled his pennon, and followed by his
faithful squire and a few of his retainers he sought the English Court.
And with him went the solemn purpose either to restore the once great
name he bore to its place among the chivalry of England or to let it
perish utterly with him. Within a few weeks of his arrival, Edward's
sudden death occurred, and he had been quick to appreciate that his
opportunity lay with Gloucester in the North. A friendship formed with
the Duke of Buckingham some years previous in Paris, and which had been
renewed in London, had stood him in good stead; for being acquainted
with De Lacy's purpose of seeking Pontefract, Stafford had to his great
satisfaction made him his confidential messenger in the very matter
which was then so near to Richard's heart.
The entry of the squire broke in on the Knight's thoughts, and he
turned from the window.
"Make haste, Giles," said he, "and get me out of this steel."
With the skill of long practice it was quickly done; and removing the
suit of thin yellow leather worn under the harness, De Lacy donned a
doublet and short gown of black velvet, and then, throwing himself upon
the bed, he awaited the summons to the evening meal.
Meanwhile, the squire had laid aside his own armor and stood forth in
his leather suit that was creased and soiled by the iron weight.
Giles Dauvrey was no fledgling whose apprenticeship had begun among the
dainty pages of my lady's bower. A Gascon, and lowly born, he was a
simple man-at-arms when, in a small affray on the Italian border, he
had chanced to ward from Sir Aymer de Lacy's head the battle-axe that,
falling on him from behind, must else have cleft him to the gorget.
The young Knight had thereupon obtained the man's transfer to his own
following and--becoming assured of his bravery and martial fitness--he
had made him his squire when, a few months later, an Italian cross-bolt
had wrought a vacancy in the post. Stocky in build, wonderfully quick
and thoroughly trained in arms, he also had the rare faculty of
executing an order without the slightest evasion, and could be trusted
in any emergency either of discretion or valor. Right often had the
two stood side by side in the press of skirmish and the rush of
battle,--for they had ever sought the locality of strife--and there had
come to be little choice for the foeman between the accomplished
axe-play of the master and the sweeping blows of the sturdy squire.
And as among the veteran soldiery of the French-Italian borders no name
stood higher than De Lacy, so also was no wearer of the silver spurs
more respected than he who bore the banner of the Trippant Stag.
"It is a great fortress, Giles," said the Knight. "Never have I seen a
stronger."
"Marry, no; nor one, I ween, wherein the discipline was sterner. Are
all castles in this land of yours, my lord, so conducted?"
"All wherein the Duke of Gloucester holds command."
"Of a truth, then," said Dauvrey, "the tales I have heard of this
Prince are not so wide of the clout."
"What were the tales?"
"They were many and various, yet I gathered that he was a great warrior
and fit to be a ruler of men."
"And you gathered truly," returned De Lacy. "He is the best soldier
and shrewdest man in all this island Kingdom."
"How looks he to the eye, my lord?"
"You may judge that for yourself; observe him at the evening meal.
Here comes the summons."
A step came rapidly up the stairs and a page halted at the half-opened
doorway.
"His Grace requests that Sir Aymer de Lacy join him in the great hall,"
he said.
The Knight arose and flung his short cloak about him.
"Lead on," he ordered; "we follow."
When they entered the hall the Duke was already seated on the dais,
surrounded by the officers of his household. On the right, De Lacy
recognized Sir Robert Wallingford, to whom, as Constable of Pontefract,
he had been conducted upon his arrival; but the others he was not able
to identify, although, of course, he knew by reputation several who
should be among them. The chair on Richard's left was unoccupied, and
he motioned for De Lacy to take it.
"Sit you here," he said. . . . "Gentlemen, I present Sir Aymer de
Lacy. He is fresh from London and, I doubt not, can give you much news
of the Court and Capital."
All arose and bowed to De Lacy, who bowed back at them.
"My knowledge, such as it is," said he, "is freely yours. Yet as I was
only a few weeks in London my budget may be very meagre. But if you
will ask, I will gladly tell you what I know."
And they did not hesitate to ask, and he was kept busy answering
questions upon every conceivable subject, from the details of the
funeral of the dead King to the fashion of the latest gown. Indeed it
was not until the meal was almost over that he had an opportunity for a
word aside to the Duke.
"May I ask Your Grace the name of the fair-haired man yonder?" he said.
"I cry pardon," Richard exclaimed. "I forgot you were a stranger in
England. He is my Chamberlain, Sir William Catesby. . . The
black-moustached Knight with the scar on his forehead, who has just put
down his wine glass, is Sir Richard Ratcliffe. . . The elderly man
beside him with the gray hair and ruddy countenance is Sir Robert
Brackenbury. . . The one with the thin, dark face and broad shoulders
is Lord Darby of Roxford.--The rest are younger men and of less
prominence. . . The one beside Darby is Sir Ralph de Wilton, next to
him is Sir James Dacre, and on Dacre's left is Sir Henry de Vivonne."
He pushed back his chair and arose.
"Gentlemen," said he, "you are excused from further attendance." Then
he called to De Wilton.
"Sir Ralph," he said, "Sir Aymer de Lacy is of the Household. Give
him some idea of his duties, and then sponsor him in Her Grace's
presence chamber."
And Aymer liked De Wilton on the instant, with his courteous manner and
frank, gracious smile, and for an hour or more they sat in pleasant
conversation. Then Sir Ralph was summoned to the Duke, and De Lacy,
postponing, perforce, his presentation to the Duchess' household until
the morrow, went for a stroll on the ramparts.
Night had settled down; the sky was clear and through the cool, crisp
air the stars were shining brightly. The turmoil in the bailey had
subsided, but from the quarters of the soldiery rose the hum of voices
that now and then swelled out into the chorus of some drinking or
fighting song. There were lights in many of the dwellings where lived
the married members of the permanent garrison, and from them ever and
anon came the shrill tones of some shrewish, woman scolding her
children or berating her lord and master. For a while Sir Aymer paced
the great wide wall, reflecting upon what had occurred since he came to
Pontefract and the matters he had learned from De Wilton. But through
it all a woman's face kept with him and led his thoughts awry, and
presently he turned aside and leaned upon the parapet.
He had found her--and by accident; and had lost her the same instant.
Beatrix of Clare, the greatest heiress in England, was not for him--a
wanderer and a stranger. She had warned him plainly that day in
Windsor Forest--though he, not knowing her, had missed the point till
now. He might not presume to speak to her until properly
presented--nor even then to refer to what had passed or so much as
intimate that they had met before. . . And yet had not Gloucester
himself bade him be not so humble--that his birth was equal to her own?
Why should he not aspire . . . why not seek her favor . . . what more
favorable conditions would he ever know than now? How extraordinary it
was that she should be in Pontefract--the length of England from where
he saw her last. Surely the Fates were kind to him! And had she
recognized him? No, for she had not even given him a glance. He had
thought to meet her in the presence chamber this very night; and
now--he must wait until the morrow. Yet the morrow was sure . . . and
then he would see again that sweet face, those ruddy tresses and grey
eyes . . . would hear that silvery voice. . .
Hark! he heard it now.
"Why so abstracted, sir?" it seemed to say.
He stood quite still--would it come again?
St. Denis! there it was!
"Is she so far away, Sir Ralph?" it asked.
Sir Ralph! What had Sir Ralph to do with this music?
There came a soft laugh and a touch of a hand on his shoulder.
He whirled around--and stared in wonder at the woman of his dream.
"Oh!" she said. "Oh! I thought you were Sir Ralph de Wilton . . . the
night is dark--pray, forgive me."
De Lacy bowed low.
"I am Sir Ralph de Wilton," he said.
The Countess smiled.
"You are very good," she said, and moved away.
"May not Sir Ralph walk with you?" De Lacy asked.
She stopped and with head half turned looked at him thoughtfully.
"Yes, if he wish," she answered.
For a space they walked in silence; she with head averted. . .
Presently she laughed.
"Silence is new in Sir Ralph," she said.
"He was waiting leave to speak."
"And that is newer still."
"You like the new?" he asked audaciously.
"Oh! it is variety for the moment"--with the faintest lift of the
chin--"though doubtless it would get tiresome in time."
"Let us enjoy the moment then," said he. "I was thinking of you when
you came."
"I regret, Sir Ralph, I may not be equally flattering."
"So does Sir Ralph."
"Though I will admit my thoughts were of a man."
"He shall have my gage at sunrise."
She shook her head. "They were not worth it--only idle curiosity
concerning a new member of the Household I noticed in the Duke's
chamber this afternoon." . . . She became interested in her cloak. "I
do not now even recall his name," she added negligently.
De Lacy smiled and looked at the stars.
Presently she shot a quick glance up at him.
"Did you not meet him at the evening meal, Sir Ralph?"
"He was there--on the Duke's left," De Lacy answered carelessly.
"And his name?"
"De Lacy---Aymer de Lacy."
"A good North of England name," she commented.
"Aye, it once ran with Clare in Yorkshire," he answered.
"The Clares are done," said she, and sighed a bit.
"And the flower of them all bloomed last," he added gravely.
But she put the words aside.
"Do not be foolish, Sir Ralph. You know I dislike compliments. Tell
me about this Sir Aymer de Lacy--I never heard of him at Court."
"He has lived all his life in France."
"Patriotic, truly!" with a shrug.
"As to that," said the Knight, "it is fit that he should answer for
himself, and not through Sir Ralph de Wilton; though either Richard of
Gloucester entirely ignored the point or else he was quite satisfied."
She laughed. "Then it is not for me to raise it; so tell me why he
came to Pontefract."
"To take service with the Duke, I fancy--and methinks he has already
found one more reason for staying than for coming."
"The Duke is reason enough for a soldier who wants a man for a master,"
she said. Then suddenly faced about. "Let us hasten--I fear I have
overstayed my time."
As they rounded a bastion near the keep they encountered Lord Darby.
"Ah, Beatrix, well met," he said, offering his arm and nodding
carelessly to De Lacy. "Her Grace desires you."
"Did she send you for me?" the Countess asked, ignoring his arm and
hurrying on--and De Lacy noting it, kept beside her.