Leonard Ashton was awakened the next morning by the light of the rising
sun streaming in where the curtain of the tent had been raised to admit
the fresh dewy morning air. The sunbeams fell on the hair and face of
Eustace as he leant over Gaston, who lay stretched on the couch, and
faintly spoke: "I tell you it is more. Such fever as this would not be
caused by this trifling cut. There is sickness abroad in the camp, and
why should it not be my turn as well as another man's. Take care of
yourself, Sir Eustace."
No sooner did Leonard understand the sense of these words, than he
sprang up, rushed out of the tent, and never rested till he thought
himself at a safe distance, when he shouted to Eustace to come to him.
"Has he got this fever on him?" exclaimed he, as Eustace approached.
"He is very ill at ease," replied Eustace, "but to my mind it is caused
by yesterday's fatigue and heat, added to the wine which he would
drink."
"It is the fever, I say," replied Ashton; "I am sure it is. Come away,
Eustace, or we shall all be infected."
"I cannot leave him," said Eustace.
"What? You do not mean to peril yourself by going near him?" said
Ashton.
"I think not that there is peril in so doing," answered Eustace; "and
even if there were, I could not leave him in sickness, after all his
kindness to me and patience with my inexperience."
"He is no brother nor cousin to us," said Leonard. "I see not why we
should endanger our lives for a stranger. I will not, for my own part;
and, as your old friend and comrade, I would entreat you not."
These were kinder words than Eustace had heard from Ashton since the
beginning of his jealousy, and he answered, as he thought they were
meant, in a friendly tone, "Thanks, Leonard, but I cannot look on
Gaston d'Aubricour as a stranger; and had I fewer causes for attachment
to him, I could not leave my post."
"Only you do not expect me to do the same," said Leonard; "my father
sent me here to gain honour and wealth, not to be poisoned with the
breath of a man in a fever."
"Assuredly not," said Eustace. "I will arrange matters so that you
shall no longer sleep in our tent. But let me ask of you, Leonard,
what was the meaning of your conduct of yesterday?"
"You may ask yourself," said Leonard, sullenly; "it is plain enough,
methinks."
"Have a care, Leonard. Remember that my brother's authority is given
to me."
"Much good may it do you," said Leonard; "but that is nothing to me. I
am no vassal of yours, to come at your call. I have my own friends,
and am not going to stay in this infected part of the camp with men who
keep a fever among them. Give me but my sword and mantle from the
tent, and I will trouble you no more."
"Wait, Leonard, I will take all measures for your safety; but remember
that I am answerable to the Prince for my brother's followers."
"Answer for your own serfs," retorted Leonard, who had nearly succeeded
in working himself into a passion. "My father might be willing to
grace Sir Reginald by letting me follow him, but by his death I am my
own man, and not to move at your beck and call, because the Prince laid
his sword on your shoulder. Knave Jasper," he called to one of the
men-at-arms, "bring my sword and cloak from the tent; I enter it no
more."
"I know not how far you may be bound to me," said Eustace, "and must
inquire from some elder Knight, but I fear that your breaking from me
may be attended with evil effects to your name and fame."
Leonard had put on his dogged expression, and would not listen. He had
already set his mind on joining _le Borgne Basque_, and leaving the
service which his own envious service rendered galling; and the panic
excited in his mind by Gaston's illness determined him to depart
without loss of time, or listening to the representations which he
could not answer. He turned his back on Eustace, and busied himself
with the fastenings of his sword, which had by this time been brought
to him. Even yet Eustace was not rebuffed. "One more hint, Leonard.
From what I am told, there is more peril to thy health in revelry than
in the neighbourhood of poor Gaston. If you will quit one who wishes
you well, take heed to your ways."
Still the discourteous Squire made no reply, and walked off in all the
dignity of ill-humour. The young Knight, who really had a warm feeling
of affection for him, stood looking after him with a sigh, and then
returned to his patient, whom he found in an uneasy sleep. After a few
moments' consideration, he summoned old Guy to take the part of nurse,
and walked to the tent of Sir Richard Ferrars, to ask his counsel.
The old Knight, who was standing at the door of his tent, examining
into some hurt which his steed had received the day before, kindly and
cordially greeted Eustace on his approach. "I am glad you are not
above taking advice," he said, "as many a youth might be after such
fresh honours."
"I feel but too glad to find some one who will bestow advice on me,"
said Eustace; and he proceeded to explain his difficulties with regard
to Leonard Ashton.
"Let him go! and a good riddance," said Sir Richard; "half your cares
go with him."
"Yet I am unwilling not to attempt to hinder my old comrade from
running to ruin."
"You have quite enough on your own hands already," said the old Knight;
"he would do far more harm in your troop than out of it, and try your
patience every hour."
"He is my old playfellow," said Eustace, still dissatisfied.
"More shame for him," said Sir Richard; "waste not another thought on
so cross-grained a slip, who, as I have already feared, might prove a
stumbling-block to you, so young in command as you are. Let him get
sick of his chosen associates, and no better hap can befall him. And
for yourself, what shall you do with this sick Squire?"
"What can I do, save to give the best attendance I may?"
"Nay, I am not the man to gainsay it. 'Tis no more than you ought. And
yet--" He surveyed the young Knight's slender form and slightly
moulded limbs, his cheeks pale with watching and the oppressive heat of
the night, and the heavy appearance of the eyelids that shaded his dark
blue thoughtful eyes. "Is your health good, young man?"
"As good as that of other men," said Eustace.
"Men!" said Sir Richard; "boys, you mean! But be a man, since you
will, only take as good care of yourself as consists with duty. I had
rather have you safe than a dozen of these black-visaged Gascons."
Eustace further waited to mention to Sir Richard his untoward encounter
with Sir John Chandos, and to beg him to explain it to the old Baron.
"I will," said Sir Richard; "and don't take old Chandos's uncourtliness
too much to heart, young Eustace. He means you no ill. Do your duty,
and he will own it in time."
Eustace thanked the old Knight, and with spirits somewhat cheered,
returned to his tent, there to devote himself to the service of his
sick Squire. The report that the fever was in his tent made most
persons willing to avoid him, and he met little interruption in his
cares. Of Leonard, all that he heard was from a man-at-arms, who made
his appearance in his tent to demand Master Ashton's arms, horse, and
other property, he having entered the service of Sir William Felton;
and Eustace was too much engaged with his own cares to make further
inquiry after him.
For a day or two Gaston d'Aubricour's fever ran very high, and just
when its violence was beginning to diminish, a fresh access was
occasioned by the journey from Burgos to Valladolid, whither he was
carried in a litter, when the army, by Pedro's desire, marched thither
to await his promised subsidy. The unwholesome climate was of most
pernicious effect to the whole of the English army, and in especial to
the Black Prince, who there laid the foundation of the disorder which
destroyed his health. Week after week passed on, each adding heat to
the summer, and increasing the long roll of sick and dying in the camp,
while Gaston still lay, languid and feeble by day, and fevered by
night; there were other patients among the men-at-arms, requiring
scarcely less care; and the young Knight himself, though, owing to his
temperate habits, he had escaped the prevailing sickness, was looking
thin and careworn with the numerous troubles and anxieties that were
pressing on him.
Still he had actually lost not one of his men, and after the first week
or two, began to have more confidence in himself, and to feel his place
as their commander more than he would have done had Gaston been able to
assist him. At last his trusty Squire began slowly to recover, though
nightly returns of fever still kept him very weak.
"The Pyrenean breezes would make me another man," said he, one evening,
when Eustace had helped him to the front of the tent, where he might
enjoy the coolness which began to succeed the sultry heat of the day.
"I hear," said Eustace, "that we are to return as soon as the Prince
can be moved. He is weary of waiting till this dog of a Spaniard will
perform his contract."
"By my faith," said d'Aubricour, "I believe the butcherly rogue means
to cancel his debts by the death of all his creditors. I would give my
share of the pay, were it twenty times more, for one gust of the
mountain air of my own hills."
"Which way lies your home, Gaston?" asked Eustace. "Near the pass by
which we crossed?"
"No; more to the west. My home, call you it? You would marvel to see
what it is now. A shattered, fire-scathed keep; the wolf's den in
earnest, it may be. It is all that is left of the Castle d'Albricorte."
"How?" exclaimed Eustace. "What brought this desolation?"
"Heard you never my story?" said Gaston. "Mayhap not. You are fresh
in the camp, and it is no recent news, nor do men question much whence
their comrades come. Well, Albricorte was always a noted house for
courage, and my father, Baron Beranger, not a whit behind his
ancestors. He called himself a liegeman of England, because England
was farthest off, and least likely to give him any trouble, and made
war with all his neighbours in his own fashion. Rare was the prey that
the old Black Wolf of the Pyrenees was wont to bring up to his lair,
and right merry were the feastings there. Well I do remember how my
father and brothers used to sound their horns as a token that they did
not come empty-handed, and then, panting up the steep path, would come
a rich merchant, whose ransom filled our purses half a year after, or a
Knight, whose glittering armour made him a double prize, or--"
"What! you were actually--"
"Freebooters, after the fashion of our own Quatre fils Aymon," answered
Gaston, composedly. "Yes, Beranger d'Albricorte was the terror of all
around, and little was the chance that aught would pursue him to his
den. So there I grew up, as well beseemed the cub of such a wolf,
racing through the old halls at my will."
"Your mother?" asked Eustace.
"Ah! poor lady! I remember her not. She died when I was a babe, and
all I know of her was from an old hag, the only woman in the Castle, to
whom the charge of me was left. My mother was a noble Navarrese damsel
whom my father saw at a tourney, seized, and bore away as she was
returning from the festival. Poor lady! our grim Castle must have been
a sad exchange from her green valleys--and the more, that they say she
was soon to have wedded the Lord of Montagudo, the victor of that
tourney. The Montagudos had us in bitter feud ever after, and my
father always looked like a thunderstorm if their name was spoken.
They say she used to wander on the old battlements like a ghost, ever
growing thinner and whiter, and scarce seemed to joy even in her babes,
but would only weep over them. That angered the Black Wolf, and there
were chidings which made matters little better, till at last the poor
lady pined away, and died while I was still an infant."
"A sad tale," said Eustace.
"Ay! I used to weep at it, when the old crone who nursed me would tell
it over as I sat by her side in the evening. See, here is holy relic
that my mother wore round her neck, and my nurse hung round mine. It
has never been parted from me. So I grew up to the years of pagehood,
which came early with me, and forth I went on my first foray with the
rest of them. But as we rode joyously home with our prey before us, a
band of full a hundred and fifty men-at-arms set on us in the forest.
Our brave thirty--down they went on all side. I remember the tumult,
the heavy mace uplifted, and my father's shield thrust over me. I can
well-nigh hear his voice saying, 'Flinch not, Gaston, my brave
wolf-cub!' But then came a fall, man and horse together, and I went
down stunned, and knew no more till a voice over me said, 'That whelp
is stirring--another sword-thrust!' But another replied, 'He bears the
features of Alienor, I cannot slay him.'"
"It was your mother's lover?"
"Montagudo? Even so; and I was about to beg for mercy, but, at my
first movement, the other fellow's sword struck me back senseless once
more, and when I recovered my wits, all was still, and the moonlight
showed me where I was. And a fair scene to waken to! A score of dark
shapes hung on the trees--our trusty men-at-arms--and my own head was
resting on my dead father's breast. Us they had spared from
hanging--our gentle blood did us that service; but my father and my
three brethren all were stone dead. The Count de Bearn had sworn to
put an end to the ravages of the Black Wolf, and, joining with the
Montagudos, had done the work, like traitor villains as they were."
"And yourself, Gaston?"
"I was not so badly wounded but that I could soon rise to my feet--but
where should I go? I turned towards the Castle, but the Bearnese had
been there before me, and I saw flames bursting from every window. I
was weak and wounded, and sank down, bleeding and bewailing, till my
senses left me; and I should have died, but for two Benedictines
journeying for the service of their Convent. The good brethren were in
fear for their bags in going through the Black Wolf's country, but they
had pity on me; they brought me to myself, and when they had heard my
tale, they turned aside to give Christian burial to my father and
brothers. They were holy men, those monks, and, for their sakes, I have
spared the cowl ever since. They tended me nearly as well as you have
done, and brought me to their Convent, where they would fain have made
a monk of me, but the wolf was too strong in me, and, ere a month was
passed, I had been so refractory a pupil, that they were right glad to
open the Convent gates. I walked forth to seek my fortune, without a
denier, with nothing but the sword I had taken from my father's hand,
and borne with me, much against the good men's will. I meant to seek
service with any one who would avenge me on the Count de Bearn. One
night I slept on the hill-side, one day I fasted, the next I fell in
with Sir Perduccas d'Albret's troop. I had seen him in my father's
company. He heard my tale, saw me a strong, spirited lad, and knew a
d'Aubricour would be no discredit to his free lances. So he took me as
his page, and thence--but the tale would be long--I became what you see
me."
"And you have never seen your own Castle again?"
"But once. D'Albret laughed when I called on him to revenge me on the
Count de Bearn, and bade me bide my time till I met him in battle. As
to my heritage, there was no hope for that. Once, when I had just
broken with Sir Nele Loring, and left his troop, and times were hard
with me, I took my horse and rode to Albricorte, but there was nought
but the bare mountain, and the walls black with fire. There was,
indeed, a wretched shepherd and his wife, who trembled and looked
dismayed when they found that one of the Albricortes still lived; but I
could get nothing from them, unless I had taken a sheep before me on
the saddle; so I rode off again to seek some fresh service, and, by
good hap, lit on Sir Reginald just as old Harwood was dead. All I have
from my father is my name, my shield, and an arm that I trust has
disgraced neither."
"No, indeed. Yours is a strange history, Gaston; such as we dream not
of in our peaceful land. Homeless, friendless, I know not how you can
be thus gay spirited?"
"A light heart finds its way through the world the easiest," said
Gaston, smiling. "I have nothing to lose, and no sorrows to waste time
on. But are you not going forth this cool evening, Sir Eustace? you
spoke of seeking fresh tidings of the Prince."
Eustace accordingly walked forth, attended by his yeoman, John Ingram;
but all he could learn was, that Edward had sent a remonstrance to the
King of Castile on the delay of the subsidy.