From the middle of the fourteenth to the middle of the fifteenth
centuries, and even, perhaps, to a much later period, there existed,
spread over the whole continent--equally in France, in Flanders, in
Italy, and in Germany--a particular class of men, whose livelihood was
obtained by the sword, and by the sword alone. In time of hostility,
they were soldiers; in time of peace, they were plunderers; and long
habituated to reap alone the iron harvest of war, they never dreamed
of turning the sword into the reaping-hook; a sort of proceeding which
they would have considered the basest degradation of an instrument
which they held in as high a degree of veneration, as that in which it
was regarded by the ancient Scythians.
In the interior of France, indeed, such a thing as peace was sometimes
to be found; but Germany, and its frontiers towards France, presented
such a number of great vassals, and independent princes, each of whom
had the right of waging war against his neighbour--a right which they
took care should not fall into desuetude--that the mercenary soldiers,
who at that time infested the world, were rarely, for any long period,
under the necessity of cultivating the arts of peace, even in their
own peculiar manner, in the heart of the green forest.
During the earlier part of the great struggle between France and
England, these men had assembled in bodies of thousands and tens of
thousands; and, during the existence of any of the temporary
suspensions of hostilities, which took place from time to time, they
seized upon some town or castle, lived at free quarters in the
country, and laid prince and peasant, city and village alike, under
contribution. Gradually, however, these great bodies became scattered;
kings found it more imperatively necessary to overcome such internal
foes, than to oppose an external enemy. The nobles also leagued
together to destroy any of the great bands that remained; but the
smaller ones--tolerated at first as a minor evil, consequent upon the
system of warfare of the day--were always in the end encouraged,
protected, and rewarded, when hostilities between any two powers
rendered their services needful to each; and were not very severely
treated, when circumstances compelled them to exercise their military
talents on their own account. Scarcely a great lord through Germany,
or Burgundy, or Flanders, had not a band of this kind, more or less
formidable, according to his wealth and power, either in his pay, or
under his protection. The character of the adventurer, indeed, of each
particular troop, greatly depended upon the disposition and manners of
the lord to whom they were for the time attached; but, on the whole,
they were a very much libelled people; and though in actual warfare
they were certainly worse than the ordinary feudal soldier of the day,
in time of peace they were infinitely better than the class of common
robber, that succeeded upon their extinction. There were times,
indeed, when, under the guidance of some fierce and ruthless leader,
they committed acts which disgraced the history of human nature; but
upon ordinary occasions, though they carried into the camp a strong
touch of the plundering propensities of the freebooters, yet, when war
was over, they bore with them, to the cavern or the wood, many of the
frank and gallant qualities of the chivalrous soldier.
It was in the hands of a body of such men, though of a somewhat better
quality than usual, that we last left Martin Fruse, the worthy burgher
of Ghent, beginning to recover from the apprehensions which he had at
first entertained, and to enjoy himself in proportion to the rapid
transition he had undergone, from a feeling of terror to a sense of
security. The balance of human sensation is so nicely suspended, that
scarcely is a weight removed from the heart, ere up flies the beam, as
far above as it was below; and long does it vibrate before it attains
the equipoise. Such, I believe, are the feelings of every bosom:
though some, ashamed of the sudden transition, have power enough to
master its expression, and clothe themselves with external calmness,
while their hearts are really as much agitated as those of other men.
Not so, however, with good Martin Fruse: though, occasionally, in
affairs of policy, he thought himself called upon to make a bungling
attempt to give an air of diplomatic secrecy and caution to his
language and manner; and though, when prompted by others, he could
speak an equivocal speech, and fancy himself a skilful negotiator upon
the faith of a doubtful sentence, yet, in general, the emotions of his
heart would bubble up to the surface unrestrained. On the present
occasion, as cold capon and rich ham, strong Rhenish and fruity
Moselle, gave pledges of the most satisfactory kind for his future
safety, his joy sparkled forth with somewhat childish glee; and his
good friends, the robbers, in the midst of the green forest, supplied,
in his affections, the place of many a boon companion of the rich town
of Ghent.
The stores of the sumpter-horse were soon nearly consumed; but it was
remarked by the worthy burgher, that a portion which, by nice
computation, he judged might satisfy the appetite of two hungry
citizens, together with a couple of large flasks of the best wine,
were set apart with reverential care, as if for some person who was
not present, but who was held by his companions in a high degree of
respect. After governing his curiosity for some time, that most
unrestrainable of all human passions got the better of him; and by
some sidelong questions he endeavoured to ascertain for whom this
reservation was made.
"Oh no! no, no!" replied the personage who had hitherto acted as the
leader of the freebooters, "we must not touch that; it is put by for
our captain, who will be here presently, and will tell us," he added,
with a malicious grin, as he played upon the apprehensions of the good
citizen--"and will tell us what we are to do with thee and thine, good
Master Martin Fruse. Thou art not the first syndic of the weavers, I
trow, who has dangled from a beam; and one could not choose a more
airy place to hang in, on a summer's day."
Though Martin Fruse perceived that there was a touch of jest at the
bottom of his companion's speech, yet the very thought of dangling
from a beam--a fate which the Duke of Burgundy was fully as likely to
inflict upon a rebellious subject, as the most ferocious freebooter
upon a wandering traveller--caused a peculiar chilly sensation to
pucker up his whole skin; but, as his danger from the robbers was the
more pressing and immediate of the two, he applied himself strenuously
to demonstrate, that it was both unjust and unreasonable to hang a man
either to beam or bough, after having abetted him in making himself
very comfortable in the world in which God had placed him. There was
something in the arguments he deduced from capon and hock, together
with the terror that he evidently felt, and a degree of childish
simplicity of manner, which made the freebooters roar with laughter;
and they were just indulging in one of these merry peals, when a
sudden rustle on the bank over their head gave notice that some one
was approaching.
"Hold by the roots, boy!" cried a rough voice above. "Here! Set your
foot there. Now jump: as far as you can. That's right! Cleared it, by
St. George! Now, slip down. So here we are."
As he spoke the last words, Matthew Gournay, followed by young Hugh of
Gueldres, stood within one pace of the spot where the freebooters had
been regaling. Two or three of the latter had started up to welcome
him, holding high one of the torches, to light his descent; and as he
came forward, his eye ran over the evidences of their supper, and the
party who had partaken of it, with some degree of surprise.
"How now, my merry men?" he cried, laughing. "Ye have had some sport,
it would seem; but, by our Lady! I hope ye have left me a share, and
something for this poor lad, who is dying of hunger."
"Plenty, plenty for both," replied many of the voices; "that is to
say, enough for one meal at least; the next we must find elsewhere."
"But here are some Gandois traders," added one of the party, "waiting
your awful decree, and trembling in every limb lest they should be
hanged upon the next tree."
"God forbid!" replied Matthew Gournay. "We will put them to light
ransoms, for rich citizens. Who is the first? Stand up, good man.
What! Martin Fruse!" he exclaimed, starting back, as the light fell
upon the face of the burgher. "My old friend, Martin Fruse, in whose
house I lodged when I came to teach the men of Ghent how to get up a
tumult! Little did I think I should so soon have thee under
contribution."
"Nay, nay, good Master Gournay," replied the burgher, "right glad am I
to see thee. In truth, I thought I had fallen into worse hands than
thine. I know well enough," he added, with a somewhat doubtful
expression of countenance, notwithstanding the confidence which his
words implied--"I know well enough that thou hast no heart to take a
ransom from thine old companion."
"Faith but thou art wrong, Martin," replied Matthew Gournay, laying
his heavy hand upon the citizen's shoulder. "Thine own ransom shall be
light, and that of thy comrades also, for thy sake; but something we
must have, if it be but to keep up good customs. A trifle, a mere
trifle: a benevolence, as our good kings call it in England, when they
take it into their heads to put the clergy to ransom."
"Nay, but," said Martin Fruse, whose confidence and courage were fully
restored by the sight of his friend's face; "nay, but consider that I
was taken while journeying for the sole purpose of conferring with
thee and Adolph of Gueldres concerning the general rising we
purposed."
"Well, well, we will speak further hereafter," answered Matthew
Gournay. "That job is all over for the present; and as, doubtless, the
duke has heard of our doings, it may go hard with your purses, and
with my neck, if he catch us, which please God he shall not do. But we
must think of some way of getting you all back to Ghent in safety.
Now, Halbert of the hillside," he added, addressing one of his old
band, who was probably an Englishman like himself, "hie thee to the
midway oak. Thou wilt there find the old seneschal. Tell him all is
safe! Bid him tarry there till to-morrow, collecting all our friends
that come thither; and, in the meantime, to send me the leathern
bottles from the hollow tree. These flimsy flasks furnish scarce a
draught for a boy; and, good faith, I will be merry to-night, whatever
befall to-morrow. Up the bank, up the bank," he continued; "'tis but a
quarter of a mile that way."
While the messenger was gone in search of the fresh supply of wine
which the leathern bottles implied, Matthew Gournay, and the young
companion, whom he had brought with him, despatched the provisions
which had been saved by the very miraculous abstinence of the
freebooters; and at the same time the two flasks of Rhenish
disappeared with a celerity truly astonishing. Four capacious bottles,
holding about a gallon each, were soon after added to the supply, and
all present were called upon to partake.
A scene of merriment and joy then succeeded, which would be impossible
to describe; such, indeed, as perhaps no men ever indulged in whose
lives were not held by so uncertain a tenure, whose moments of
security were not counterbalanced by so many hours of danger, and
whose pleasures were not bought by so many labours and pains, that it
became their only policy to quaff the bowl of joy to the very dregs,
while it was yet at their lips, lest, at the first pause,
circumstance, that unkind step-dame, should snatch it angrily from
their hands for ever. The final explosion of their merriment was
called forth by good Martin Fruse, who, after showing many signs and
symptoms of weary drowsiness, declared that he should like to go to
bed, and asked, with much simplicity, where he was to sleep.
"Sleep!" exclaimed Matthew Gourney, "sleep! Why where the fiend would
you sleep?"
"I mean, where's your house, good Master Matthew Gournay?" rejoined
Martin Fruse, with open eyes, from which all expression was banished
by surprise at finding his question a matter of laughter, he knew not
why. "It's all very well to sup in the wood in a fine summer night;
but it's growing late and cold, and I do think we had better a great
deal get us to our warm beds."
The only answer which he received to this speech, from the robbers,
was a new peal of laughter; but, at the same moment, his nephew
plucked him by the sleeve, exclaiming, "Hist, uncle! ye only make the
knaves grin; you may sleep where you are, or not sleep at all for this
night. Have you not heard how these men covet no covering but the
green boughs of the forest?"
"Thou art somewhat malapert, young sir," said Matthew Gournay, fixing
upon him a glance into which various parts of the boy's speech, not
very respectful to the freebooters, had called up a degree of
fierceness that was not the general expression of his countenance;
"thou art somewhat malapert; and, if thy uncle follow my advice, he
will make thy shoulders now and then taste of the cloth-yard measure,
else thou wilt mar his fortune some fine day. The boy says true,
however, good Martin; here sleepest thou this night, if thou sleepest
at all; so get thee under yonder bank, with that broad oak tree above
thy head, to guard thee from the westerly wind, and thank Heaven thou
hast so fair a canopy. There, wrap thy cloak about thee; ask God's
blessing, and sleep sound. To-morrow I will wake thee early, to talk
of what may best be done to speed thee on thy way in safety; for many
of the duke's bands are about; and without we can get thee some good
escort, thou art like to be in the same plight as the ass, who,
running away from a dog, fell in with a lion."
Although Martin Fruse believed himself to be as wise as any man that
ever lived, except King Solomon, he had a peculiar dislike, or rather,
it may be called, a nervous antipathy, to the very name of an ass;
but, when it was introduced, as on the present occasion, in the form
of a simile, to exemplify his own situation, his feelings were wounded
in a deep degree. In silent indignation, therefore, for he knew not
what to reply, he arose, and proceeded to the spot pointed out, where,
having made himself as comfortable as circumstances permitted him to
do, he lay down, and, notwithstanding a firm determination not to
close an eye, he was soon pouring forth a body of nasal music, which
seemed intended to shame the nightingales for their silence in the
autumn season.
The rest of the travellers took up with such couches as they could
find; and the robbers, too, one by one, wrapped their cloaks about
them, and resigned themselves to sleep. The two last who remained
awake were Matthew Gournay and young Hugh of Gueldres, whose slumber
by the cascade in the morning had sufficiently removed the weariness
of his limbs, to leave his mind free to rest upon the sorrows of the
past and the dangers of the present.
With him the leader of the freebooters held a long, and, to them, an
interesting conversation; in the course of which the boy narrated all
the events which had lately occurred to him: the storming of his
father's castle by the troops of Burgundy; the perils he had
undergone; the difficulties of his escape; his desolation and despair
when he found himself a wanderer and an outcast; his long and weary
journey; his adventure with the Dauphin, whom he described as a French
traveller; and the manner in which that base and artful prince had
deceived him. He told it all with so much simple pathos, that he
called up something very like a tear in the adventurer's clear blue
eye; and Matthew Gournay, laying his broad hand affectionately on his
head, exclaimed "Never mind, my young lord, never mind; you are not
without friends, and never shall be, so long as Matthew Gournay lives;
for I swear by the blessed Virgin, and all the saints to boot, that my
sword shall fight your quarrels, and my lance shall be at your
command, till I see you a righted man. But, as you say that the Lord
of Hannut is your cousin in the first degree, thither we must go for
help and counsel. I know him well, too; for my good band helped to
keep his castle for him, when the black riders were about last year:
and what with the troops of spirits that folks say he can command, and
the company of the good fellows that I shall soon gather together
again, we shall be able to do something for you, no doubt. By the
way," he added, seeming suddenly to bethink himself of some fact that
had before escaped his attention, "these travellers, you say, are gone
to Hannut too, and under their escort these Gandois weavers may pass
unsuspected on their way homeward."
"What if they refuse to take them?" said Hugh of Gueldres.
"By the Lord, they shall eat more cold iron than they can well
stomach," replied the adventurer: "but I must sleep, my young lord, I
must sleep, if I would rise fresh to-morrow! Lend us thy hand to shift
off this plastron." So saying, he disencumbered himself of his
breastplate, and the other pieces of defensive armour which might have
rendered his sleep uncomfortable; and, laying them down by his steel
cap or basinet, which he had previously taken off, he wrapped the end
of his mantle round his head, stretched himself on the ground, grasped
the hilt of his dagger tight with his right hand; and, in that
attitude, fell into as sound a sleep as if he had never tasted crime
or heard of danger. The boy soon followed his example, and all was
silence.
About an hour before daylight the following morning, Martin Fruse was
awakened by some one shaking him by the shoulder. He roused himself
with many a yawn, rose up, stretched his round limbs, which were sadly
stiffened by a night's lodging upon the cold ground and, gazing round,
perceived, by the mingled light of the expiring fire and one or two
pine-wood torches stuck in the ground, that the party of adventurers
had been considerably increased during his sleep; and that they were
now all busily employed in saddling horses and preparing for a march,
except, indeed, Matthew Gournay himself, whose grasp it was that had
awakened him. He was now informed, in a few brief words, without any
precise explanation, that a means had suggested itself for sending him
and his companions forward towards Ghent, with less danger than that
to which they would be exposed in travelling alone. For this courtesy,
and for the permission to return at all, Matthew Gournay exacted,
under the name of ransom, a sum so much smaller than the fears of the
worthy burgher had anticipated, that he only affected to haggle for a
florin or two less, in order to keep up the custom of bargaining, so
necessary to him in his mercantile capacity. A hint, however, from
Matthew Gournay, that, if he said another word, the sum demanded
should be tripled, soon set the matter at rest; and in a few minutes
the whole party were on horseback, and on their way to the castle of
Hannut.
On their arrival at the gate of the barbacan, they were instantly
challenged by a sentry, who at that early hour stood watching the
first grey streaks of the dawn. After various inquiries and messages
to and from the interior of the castle, they were led round to a small
postern, and, being made to dismount, were led, one after another, by
torchlight, up one of those narrow, almost interminable staircases,
still to be found in every old building whose erection can be traced
to the feudal period.