We must now, once more, change the scene; and, leaving Ghent to
proceed step by step through all the mazes of anarchy and confusion,
which are sure for a time to succeed the overthrow of established
authority, we must trace the events which were occurring to some of
the other personages connected with this true history.
Once more, then, let us turn to the forest of Hannut, which now, in
the depth of winter, offered a very different scene from that which it
had displayed either in the full summer or the brown autumn. It was
early in the morning of the 20th of January; and, except on the
scattered beeches which, mingling here and there with the oak, and the
elm, and the birch, retained their crisp brown leaves longer than any
of the other trees, not a bough in the wood, but, stript of all that
ornamented it in the warmer season, was encrusted with a fine white
coating of glistening frost-work. Little snow, indeed, covered the
ground, and that which had fallen was too hard frozen to have any
tenacity, but--drifted about the forest in a fine white powder, lodged
here and there amongst the withered leaves, or collected in thick
sweeps upon the dingle side--it retained no form but that given to it
by the wind; so that the deep footprint of the stag or boar was
effaced almost as soon as made, and the only mark by which the eye of
the most experienced huntsman could have traced the lair of his
quarry, would have been by the hoar frost brushed off the boughs of
the thickets in the animal's course through the wood.
The morning was as clear and bright as if the sun were just starting
from the dark pavilion of the night, to run his race of glory through
the long course of a summer's day, but the wind, whistling keenly
through the woods, and tingling on the cheeks of the early forester,
told that the sharp reign of winter was in the height of its power.
In a wide, open, grassy spot, about half a mile from the high road to
Louvain, were collected, on the morning to which I refer, about a
dozen of our good friends the green riders. One or two were on
horseback; but the greater part had dismounted, and were employing
themselves in all the various ways which men devise to warm themselves
on a winter's morning. They were evidently waiting for some one; and
though the people who are watched for by such gentry, are not
generally in the most enviable situation in the world, yet, on the
present occasion, the freebooters seemed to have no hostile purpose in
view, and spoke of the person they expected as one of themselves.
"Cold work he will have of it, Master Matthew," said one of the
adventurers, addressing the florid, white-haired old man, whom we have
had occasion to notice somewhat particularly in the cavern.
"By my faith!" replied the other, "when anything disagreeable is to be
done, he does not spare himself."
"Ay, but such is the leader for us," rejoined the other. "Think you he
will be long? It is mighty cold, and the horses are half frozen."
"Hark!" cried his companion, "that clatter may answer your question.
By the Lord! he is coming down the hill at a fearful rate, for so
slippery as it is. I trust he is not pursued. Stand to your arms, my
men, and be ready to mount!"
As he spoke, the sound of a horse's feet at full gallop was heard
through the clear frosty air; and, in a moment after, along the little
road--which wound away from the open space where the adventurers were
collected over the side of a steep acclivity--was seen a man on
horseback, darting down towards them, without the slightest apparent
regard to the sharpness of the descent, or the slipperiness of the
road. He was armed like themselves, but with the distinction, that
instead of the open basinet, or round steel cap, without visor, which
they wore, his head was covered by a plumed casque, the beaver of
which was down.
He drew not a rein till he was in the midst of them; then, with one
slight touch, checked his horse and vaulted to the ground. The haste
in which he had arrived was now equalled by the rapidity of his words,
as he gave a number of different orders to the men who surrounded him,
clearly and precisely, but with a celerity which showed that no time
was to be lost.
"Matthew, my good lieutenant," he said, laying his hand upon the
shoulder of the old man, "who is fittest to send to Germany, on an
errand to a prince?"
"Why not myself?" demanded the adventurer.
"Because I want you here, and cannot do without you," replied the
chief.
"Well, then, send Walter there," rejoined the old man; "he is a
Frenchman, and courtly in his way."
"Courtly and honest, too," added the Vert Gallant, "which is a wonder.
There, Master Walter, take that letter to the Bishop of Triers. You
will find him at Cologne with the bishop of that city. There, mount
and be gone! you know your way. Here is a purse of gold to pay your
expenses. The bishop will send you on to the archduke. The Germans are
frugal; therefore be not you over fine. Yet spare not the florins,
where it may do honour to him that sent you. Away!"
"You, good Matthew, yourself," continued the Vert Gallant, "speed like
lightning to Ghent; but cast off your steel jacket, and robe me
yourself like the good burgher of a country town. Seek out your old
friend Martin Fruse: confer with him, and with his nephew Albert
Maurice; they are now all powerful in Ghent. Bid them beware of Louis
King of France. Tell them it is his purpose to force the Princess Mary
into a marriage with his puny son, and to make her yield her fair
lands into his hand, that he himself may seize them all when death
lays hold upon his sickly boy. Bid them oppose it by all means, but by
none more than by delay. Risk not your person, however; and if you
cannot speak with them in safety, write down the message, and have it
given by another hand. You, Frank Van Halle--you are bold and shrewd,
though you have but little speech: follow Matthew Gournay, habited as
his man; but when you are within the walls of Ghent, find out some way
of speech with the princess; and, whether in public or in private,
give her that ring, with this small slip of paper. Then leave the city
as quickly as you may."
"I doubt me it will be sure death?" replied Van Halle, looking up with
an inquiring glance. "What! you afraid, Van Halle!" exclaimed his
leader; "but go; there is no fear."
"Afraid! No, no," answered the man; "but I only thought, if I were to
die, I would go home first, and, with Martin of Gravelines and Dick
Drub-the-Devil, would drink out the pipe of sack I bought: pity it
should be wasted."
"Keep it for another time," said the Vert Gallant, "for, by my faith,
your errand to Ghent will never stop your drinking it."
"Well, well, if I die, tell the other two to finish it," rejoined Van
Halle; "pity it should be wasted;" and so sprang on his horse.
"Hold, Matthew," cried the Vert Gallant, as the two soldiers were
about to depart without more words; "meet me five days hence in the
wood between Swynaerde and Deynse. So lose no time. You know the red
cross near Astene."
The two instantly rode off; and the Vert Gallant then turned to the
others, and continued his orders, for marching the whole force he had
under his command, which seemed to be considerable, into the woods in
the neighbourhood of Ghent.
Those woods, though then very extensive, and covering acres of ground
which are now in rich cultivation, were nevertheless too small to
afford perfect shelter and concealment for such a large body of
adventurers as had long tenanted the vaster and less frequented
forest-tracks near Hannut, unless the entire band were subdivided into
many smaller ones, and distributed through various parts of the
country. All this, however, was foreseen and arranged by the leader of
the free companions; and it is probable that he also trusted to the
distracted state of the country--throughout which anything like
general police was, for the time, at an end--for perfect immunity in
his bold advance to the very gates of the capital of Flanders.
All his orders were speedily given, and one by one his companions left
him, as they received their instructions, so that at length he stood
alone. He paused for a moment on the spot, patting the neck of his
strong fiery horse; and--as men will sometimes do when they fancy
themselves full of successful designs, and are excited by the
expectation of great events--addressing to the nearest object of the
brute creation those secret outbreakings of the heart, which he might
have feared to trust in the unsafe charge of human beings.
"Now, my bold horse, now," he exclaimed, "the moment is come, for
which, during many a long year, I have waited and watched. The star of
my house is once more in the ascendant, and the reign of tyranny is at
an end; let him who dares, stand between me and my right, for not
another hour will I pause till justice is fully done."
While he was thus speaking, a sort of slight distant murmur came
along, so mingled with the whistling of the wind, that he had to
listen for some moments before he could ascertain whether it proceeded
merely from the increased waving of the boughs occasioned by the gale
rising, or whether it was the distant sound of a number of persons
travelling along the road which he had just passed.
He was soon satisfied; and as he clearly distinguished voices, and the
jingling tramp of a travelling party of that day, he sprang upon his
charger, leaped him over a small brook that trickled half-congealed
through the grass, and plunged into a deep thicket beyond, the bushes
and trees of which were of sufficient height to screen him from the
observation of the passengers.
The party whose tongues he had heard soon came to the spot where he
had lately stood. It comprised about thirty people, all well armed,
and dressed splendidly, bearing the straight cross, which at that time
distinguished France from Burgundy. The magnificent apparel of the
whole body, the number of the men-at-arms of which it was principally
composed, together with certain signs of peaceful dispositions on
their own part, evinced at once, to the practised eye that watched
them, that the cavalcade which came winding along the road consisted
of some envoy from France and his escort; furnished, probably, with
those letters of safe-conduct which guarded them from any hostile act
on the part of the government of the country through which they
passed, but prepared to resist any casual attacks from the lawless
bands that were then rife.
Not exactly at the head of the cavalcade--for two stout archers, armed
at all points, led the way--but at the head of the principal body,
appeared a small, dark, ill-featured man, whose person even an
extraordinary display of splendour in his apparel, sufficed not to
render anything but what it was, insignificant. Velvet and gold and
nodding plumes could do nought in his favour; and the only thing which
made his appearance in any degree remarkable, was an air of silent,
calm, and determined cunning, which had in it something fearful from
its very intensity. One gazed upon him as on a serpent, which, however
small and powerless in appearance, inspires terror in much mightier
things than itself, from the venom of its fangs.
He rode on quietly, speaking little to any one; and that which he did
say was all uttered in a calm, soft, insinuating tone, which
corresponded well with the expression of his countenance. The rest of
the party laughed and talked with much less ceremony and restraint
than the presence of so dignified a person as an ambassador might have
required, had he been by state and station fit to have inspired
respect. Such seemed not to be the case in the present instance; and
though not one word on any other than the most common-place subjects
passed amongst the followers of the Count de Meulan--for so the
ambassador was called--yet their light laughter and gay jokes,
breaking forth every moment close to his ear, were anything but
reverential.
Some little difficulty seemed now to occur in regard to the road that
the party were travelling. It appeared that hitherto, on turning
slightly from the high road, they had followed the foot-marks of the
Vert Gallant's charger; taking them for those left by the horse of an
avant-courier, who had been despatched to prepare for them at the next
town. When they found, however, that the steps turned into the
savannah, and lost themselves in a number of others, a halt
immediately took place; and, after a short consultation, by order of
the ambassador, the whole party wheeled round, and wisely returned to
the high road.
Their whole proceedings, however, had been watched by one they knew
not of; and almost before they were out of sight, the Vert Gallant
emerged from his concealment, and, with a laugh which rang with
contempt, turned his horse's head and galloped away.
The Count de Meulan--or, in other words, Olivier le Dain, the barber
of Louis XI. whom that monarch had raised from the lowest class for
the basest qualities, and whom he now sent as ambassador, to treat
with the young heiress of Burgundy, and to intrigue with her
subjects--had hardly proceeded two hours on the high road, when a fat
rolling monk of the order of St. Francis, mounted on a sleek mule, the
picture of himself, joined the rear of the ambassador's escort, and
entering into jovial conversation with some of the men-at-arms,
besought their leave to travel as far as they went on the road to
Ghent under their protection, alleging that the country was in such a
disturbed state, that even a poor brother like himself could not
pursue his journey in any safety. The light-hearted Frenchmen easily
granted his request, observing, in an under tone to each other, that
Oliver the Devil--such was the familiar cognomen of the respectable
personage they followed--could not in all conscience travel without a
monk in his train.
Father Barnabas, whom we have seen before, no sooner found himself
added to the suite of the ambassador, than he displayed all those
qualities he well knew would make his society agreeable to the
men-at-arms who had given him protection; and by many a jolly carouse,
and many a licentious bacchanalian song, he soon won favour on all
hands. Even the barber count himself, whose more sensual propensities
were only restrained by his cunning, found no fault with the merry
friar, whose sly and cutting jests, combined with the sleek and quiet
look of stupidity which always accompanied them, found means to draw
up even his lip into a smile, that might have been mistaken for a
sneer. On one occasion he felt disposed to put some shrewd questions
to worthy Father Barnabas as to his situation and pursuits, and even
began to do so on the second night of their journey, as, occupying the
best seat by the fire in the little hostelrie at which they lodged, he
eyed the impenetrable fat countenance before him with the sort of
curiosity one feels to pry into anything that we see will be difficult
to discover.
But the monk was at least his match; and if the weapons with which
they engaged in the keen contest of their wits were not precisely the
same on both parts, the combat resembled that of the elephant and the
rhinoceros; whenever Oliver the wicked strove to seize the monk and
close with him, his antagonist ran under him and gored him. Thus,
when, by some casual words, the envoy thought he had discovered that
his companion was a native of Saarvelt, and suddenly put the question
to him at once, the other replied, "No, no; I only remember it well,
on account of a barber's boy who was there, and whose real name
was--pho! I forget his real name; but he is a great man now-a-days,
and has held a basin under the nose of a king."
The quiet, unconscious manner in which this was said, left Olivier le
Dain, with all his cunning, in doubt whether the jolly friar really
recognised in him the barber's boy of Saarvelt, or whether the
allusion had been merely accidental; but he resolved not to
interrogate any more a person of such a memory, and possibly
determined to take care that the most effectual stop should be put to
its exercise in future, if those plans regarding Ghent should prove
successful, in the execution of which he was now engaged.
Too wise, however, to show any harshness towards the monk at the
time--a proceeding which would have pointed home the sarcasm for his
men-at-arms, on whose faces he thought he had remarked a sneering
smile as the other spoke--he allowed good father Barnabas still to
travel under his escort, meditating a lesson for him when he arrived
at his journey's end, which some might have thought severe. In the
meantime, as they journeyed on, there was about the monk a sort of
subdued triumph--a self-satisfied chuckle in his laugh, especially
when he jested with the gay and boasting Frenchmen upon their arms and
their exploits--which occasionally wakened a suspicion in the mind of
Olivier le Dain, whose own conduct was far too crooked for him to
believe that any one else could act straightforwardly.
Still no danger appeared; and the party arrived in perfect safety,
within about four leagues of Ghent. There, after pausing for supper at
an inn, it was found, on preparing to resume their journey, and enter
the city that night, that the person who had hitherto guided them was
so drunk as hardly to be able to sit his horse. The ambassador
demanded a guide of the host, but none could be found; and the worthy
keeper of the inn answered, with true Flemish coolness, that he would
not spare any one of his own household. "Could not the monk guide
them?" he demanded. "If his eyes served him, he had seen his broad
face in that part of the world before."
"Ay, marry can I, my son," replied Father Barnabas; "but I offer no
service before it is asked. There is a proverb against it, man."
As the affairs he had to transact were of deep importance, and minutes
were of the utmost consequence to success, Olivier le Dain, though by
no means fond of riding at night, and not at all prepossessed in
favour of the monk, consented to accept him as a guide; and the party
accordingly set out. By a whispered arrangement between the
respectable Count de Meulan and the captain of his escort, however, a
large part of the armed attendants rode on at a sufficient distance
before, to enable Oliver to make his retreat if he heard any attack
upon this advanced guard; while the monk, riding between two troopers,
close to the worthy barber, was held as a sort of hostage for the
security of the road on which he was about to pilot them.
Father Barnabas, whether he perceived anything strange in this array
or not, made no opposition, and jogged on contentedly upon his mule,
chattering gaily as he went, and seasoning his discourse with various
choice allusions to barbers, and basins, and beards, much more to the
gratification of the men-at-arms than of Olivier le Dain.
Thus proceeded the cavalcade, till they reached the little wood
of Swynaerde, near Merebek, where the road from Alost, in ancient
days, crossed the Scheldt, over a wooden bridge, at which a certain
pontage was charged upon each horse that passed. Here the mind of the
barber ambassador was in some degree relieved, by hearing from the
toll-taker, that all was quite quiet and safe, though six good miles
still lay between him and Ghent, and that through a dark wood of tall
trees. At the distance of about a mile from the bridge, was a red
cross, marking the direction of four different roads, which there
intersected each other; and the whole party paused, as it was too dark
to read the information thereon inscribed, to receive the instructions
of the monk. "Straight on! straight on!" cried Father Barnabas; and
the first part of the escort moved forward, though somewhat nearer to
the rest of the body than before; but the moment they had again
resumed their march, there was a low, sharp whistle, and a sound of
rushing and rustling all around them. Olivier le Dain, who was already
following the van, drew in his rein; and the whistle, repeated a
thousand times in different parts of the wood round about, showed him
at once that his party was beset. Fear certainly was the predominant
feeling in his mind; but even that very absorbing sensation did not
banish a passion equally strong; and while he turned his horse's head
to fly back to the bridge with all speed, he did not fail to say, in a
voice but little changed from its ordinary calm and sustained tone,
"We are betrayed! Kill the monk!"
But both Olivier's purpose of escape, and his desire of vengeance,
were disappointed. At the very first whistle, the friar had slipped,
unperceived, from his sleek mule, and, passing under the animal's
belly, was no longer to be seen; and before the luckless ambassador
could reach the road, which led away to the bridge, he found it
occupied by armed men. To whichever side he turned, the same sight
presented itself; and even on the highway leading to Ghent a still
stronger party was interposed between him and the first division of
his escort. Thus then he remained in the midst of the open square of
the cross road, accompanied by about twelve attendants, and surrounded
by a body of adventurers, which could not consist of less than one or
two hundred, but which fear and darkness magnified into a much greater
number.
The scene and situation were by no means pleasant. Not a sound was to
be heard, but the echo of horses' feet ringing over the hard frozen
ground, from which he justly inferred that the advanced party of his
escort, by whom he was neither loved nor respected, finding themselves
infinitely overmatched, had galloped off, leaving him to his fate; and
nothing was to be seen in the darkness of the night, but the black
trunks of the trees, slightly relieved by the colour of the ground,
which was covered by a thin drift of snow, while a number of dim human
forms appeared, occupying all the different roads; and a multitude of
faint, dull spots of fire, drawn in a complete circle round him,
showed the ambassador that the slow matches of the arquebusiers, into
whose hands he had fallen, were prepared against resistance.
For a moment or two not a word was spoken; but at length a voice not
far from him exclaimed, "Lord a' mercy! Only to think of the barber's
boy of Saarvelt coming ambassador to Ghent! Lack a day! lack a day,
Noll! lack a day! thou art become a mighty great man! Thou hast
lathered and shaved to some purpose, ha, ha, ha!" And the voice of the
monk was drowned in his own laughter, the contagious merriment of
whose thick plum-porridge sounds instantly affected all around; and
the whole forest rang and echoed to the peals.
"What would you, fair sirs?" demanded the soft silken tones of Olivier
le Dain. "If laughter be all you seek, laugh on; but let me pass upon
my way. If it be gold you want, there, take my purse; I make you
welcome to it."
"A fool and his money!" cried the monk, snatching the purse. "But,
'faith! Master Noll, the barber, it is generous of you to give what
you cannot keep unless we like it."
"Cease your fooling, monk!" said the stern voice of some one advancing
from the wood. "Get off your horse, Sir Barber; you shall know my
pleasure with you, when it suits me to tell it. And now answer me! How
dare you, a low mechanical slave, presume to undertake a mission to
the Duchess of Burgundy, without one drop of noble blood in your
veins?"
"Your pardon, fair sir!" replied Oliver, dismounting slowly, and
standing in an attitude of deprecation before the tall commanding
figure by whom he was addressed; "your pardon; I was rendered noble by
my sovereign lord the king, for the very purpose, as his letters
patent will show."
"Faith! the letters patent must be miraculous ones, that could ennoble
one drop of your slave's blood," replied the Vert Gallant. "There,
take him away! Treat him not ill; but keep him safe and fast. Search
his person, his servants, and his sumpter horses. Examine well the
stuffings of the saddles, and the paddings of their coats; and bring
every paper and parchment you may find."
"But listen to me, fair sir! Only hear me!" entreated Olivier le Dain.
"Surely you will not show such treatment to an ambassador. My papers
and my person are sacred in every Christian land."
"Pshaw!" cried the Vert Gallant. "When Louis, King of France, so far
forgets what is due to a princess, as to send to the heiress of
Burgundy a mean, cunning barber, as an ambassador, he can only expect
that others will also forget the character with which he chooses to
invest his lackey. Besides, what is it to me that you are ambassador
to Burgundy? You are no ambassador to me. I am duke of the forests;
and when you come as envoy to me, you shall have forest cheer. Away
with him and do my bidding!"
Closely guarded, but well treated, Olivier le Dain and his attendants
were detained for some days in the woods near Ghent, during the
greater part of which time, though occasionally compelled to sleep in
a hut of boughs, they resided generally in a small lonely house, which
had belonged in former days to the forester.
At length, one morning, suddenly, while the twilight was still grey,
the ambassador and his followers were called from their repose, and
placed upon the horses which brought them. All their apparel and
jewels were restored, as well as their arms; and of the treasure,
which the barber had brought with him, for the purpose of bribing the
populace of Ghent, a sufficient portion was left in his possession to
maintain his dignity, but not to effect the object he had intended.
He was then told to proceed upon his way, for that he was free to come
or go; and with all speed he turned his rein towards Ghent, at which
place he arrived in safety, though seven days after the period that
had been fixed for his appearance.