In the early morning, Sir Eustace and his few followers were in their
saddles, little Arthur riding between his uncle and Gaston. The chief
part of the day was spent on the journey. They dined, to Arthur's
glee, on provisions they had brought with them, seated on a green bank
near a stream, and at evening found themselves at the door of a large
hostel, its open porch covered by a vine.
The host and his attendants ran out at first to meet them with
alacrity, but, on seeing them, appeared disappointed. And as the
Knight, dismounting, ordered supper and bed, the host replied that he
could indeed engage to find food, and to accommodate their steeds, but
that the whole of the inn had been secured on behalf of two noble
ladies and their train, who were each moment expected.
"Be it so," said Eustace; "a truss of hay beside our horses, or a
settle by the fire, is all we need. Here is a taste already of a
warrior's life for you, Arthur."
The boy was delighted, certain that to sleep beside his pony was far
more delightful, as well as more manly, than to rest in his bed, like a
lady at home.
As this was arranged, a sound of horses' feet approached, and a band of
men-at-arms rode up to the door. Arthur started and seized his uncle's
hand as he recognized the Clarenham colours and badge, uttering an
exclamation of dismay. "Never fear, Arthur," said Eustace, "they come
from the way opposite to ours. It is not pursuit. See, it is an
escort--there are ladies among them."
"Four!" said Arthur. "Uncle, that tall dame in black must be the Lady
Muriel. And surely the white veil tied with rose-colour belongs to
kind Cousin Agnes."
"True! These are no Clarenhams to guard against," said Eustace to his
Squire, who looked ready for action. "Lady Muriel, the step-mother of
the Baron and his sister, is my godmother, and, by birth, a Lynwood."
Then stepping forward, he assisted the elder lady to dismount; she
returned his courtesy by a slight inclination, as to a stranger, but
her companion, who had lightly sprung to the ground, no sooner
perceived him than she exclaimed, "Eustace!" then laying her hand on
Lady Muriel's arm, "Mother, it is Sir Eustace Lynwood."
"Ha! my gallant godson!" said the Baroness, greeting him cordially.
"Well met, brave youth! No wonder in that knightly figure I did not
know my kinswoman's little page. How does my gentle niece, Eleanor?"
"Alack! then you have not heard the tidings?" said Eustace.
"We heard long since she was sick with grief," said Lady Muriel, much
alarmed. "What mean you? Is she worse? You weep--surely she still
lives!"
"Ah! honoured dame, we come even now from laying her in her grave. Here
is her orphan boy."
Young Agnes could not restrain a cry of grief and horror, and trying to
repress her weeping till it should be without so many witnesses, Lady
Muriel and her bower-woman led her to their apartments in the inn.
Eustace was greatly affected by her grief. She had often accompanied
her step-mother on visits to Lynwood Keep in the peaceful days of their
childhood; she had loved no sport better than to sit listening to his
romantic discourses of chivalry, and had found in the shy, delicate,
dreamy boy, something congenial to her own quiet nature; and, in short,
when Eustace indulged in a vision, Agnes was ever the lady of it, the
pale slight Agnes, with no beauty save her large soft brown eyes, that
seemed to follow and take in every fancy or thought of his. Agnes was
looked down on,--her father thought she would do him little
honour,--her brother cared not for her; save for her step-mother she
would have met with little fostering attention, and when Eustace saw
her set aside and disregarded, his heart had bounded with the thought
that when he should lay his trophies at her feet, Agnes would be
honoured for his sake. But Eustace's honours had been barren, and he
could only look back with a sad heart to the fancies of his youth, when
he had deemed Knight-errantry might win the lady of his love.
Eleanor had been one of the few who had known and loved the damsel of
Clarenham, and had encouraged her to lay aside her timidity. Agnes wept
for her as a sister, and still could hardly restrain her sobs, when
Eustace and his nephew were invited to the presence of the ladies to
narrate their melancholy tale.
Many tears were shed, and caresses lavished upon the orphan. The
ladies asked his destination, and on hearing that he was to be taken to
the Prince's court at Bordeaux, Agnes said, "We, too, are bound to the
Prince's court. I am to journey thither with Fulk. Were it not better
for Arthur to travel with us? Most carefully would we guard him. It
would spare him many a hardship, for which he is scarce old enough; and
his company would be a solace, almost a protection to me. My pretty
playfellow, will you be my travelling companion?"
"I would go with you, Cousin Agnes, for you are kind and gentle, and I
love you well; but a brave Knight's son must learn to rough it; and
besides, I would not go with Sir Fulk, your brother, for he is a false
and cruel Knight, who persecuted my blessed mother to the very death."
"Can this be? O speak, Eustace!" said Agnes. "What means the boy?
Hath Fulk shown himself other than a loving kinsman?"
The Baroness, who understood her step-son's character better than did
his young sister, and who was informed of the old enmity between the
two houses, felt considerable anxiety as to what they were now to hear;
when Eustace, beginning, "Ah, Lady, I grieve twice in the day to sadden
your heart; yet since so much has been said, it were best to relate the
whole truth," proceeded to tell what had passed respecting the wardship
of young Arthur. Agnes's eyes filled with burning tears of
indignation. "O dear Lady Mother!" cried she, "take me back to our
Convent! How can I meet my brother! How conceal my anger and my
shame!"
"This is far worse than even I feared," said Lady Muriel. "I knew Fulk
to be unscrupulous and grasping, but I did not think him capable of
such foul oppression. For you, my sweet Agnes--would that I could
prevail on him to leave you in the safe arms of the cloister--but,
alas! I have no right to detain you from a brother's guardianship."
"I dreaded this journey much before," said Agnes; "but now, even my
trust in Fulk is gone; I shall see round me no one in whom to place
confidence. Alas! alas!"
"Nay, fair Agnes," said Eustace, "he will surely be a kind brother to
thee--he cannot be otherwise."
"How love and trust when there is no esteem? Oh, Mother, Mother! this
is loneliness indeed! In that strange, courtly throng, who will
protect and shelter me?"
"There is an Arm--" began the Baroness.
"Yes, noble Lady, there is one arm," eagerly exclaimed Eustace, "that
would only deem itself too much honoured if it could be raised in your
service."
"I spoke of no arm of flesh," said Lady Muriel, reprovingly--and
Eustace hung his head abashed. "I spake of the Guardian who will never
be wanting to the orphan."
There was a silence, first broken by Eustace. "One thing there is,
that I would fain ask of your goodness," said he: "many a false tale,
many a foul slander, will be spoken of me, and many may give heed to
them; but let that be as it will, they shall not render my heart heavy
while I can still believe that you give no ear to them."
"Sir Eustace," said the Lady of Clarenham, "I have known you from
childhood, and it would go hard with me to believe aught dishonourable
of the pupil of Sir Reginald and of Eleanor."
"Yes, Sir Eustace," added Agnes, "it would break my heart to distrust
you; for then I must needs believe that faith, truth, and honour had
left the world."
"And now," said Lady Muriel, who thought the conversation had been
sufficiently tender to fulfil all the requirements of the connection of
families, and of their old companionship, "now, Agnes, we must take
leave of our kind kinsman, since, doubtless, he will desire to renew
his journey early to-morrow."
Eustace took the hint, and bent his knee to kiss the hands which were
extended to him by the two ladies; then left the room, feeling, among
all the clouds which darkened his path, one clear bright ray to warm
and gladden his heart. Agnes trusted his truth, Agnes would be at
Bordeaux,--he might see her, and she would hear of his deeds.
Agnes, while she wept over her kinswoman's death and her brother's
faults, rejoiced in having met her old playfellow, and found him as
noble a Knight as her fancy had often pictured him; and in the
meanwhile, the good old Lady Muriel sighed to herself, and shook her
head at the thought of the sorrows which an attachment would surely
cause to these two young creatures.
It was early in the morning that Eustace summoned his nephew from the
couch which one of the Clarenham retainers had yielded him, and,
mounting their horses, they renewed their journey towards the coast.
Without further adventure, the Lances of Lynwood, as Arthur still chose
to call their little party, safely arrived at Rennes, the capital of
Brittany, where Jean de Montford held his court. Here they met the
tidings that Charles V. had summoned the Prince of Wales to appear at
his court, to answer an appeal made against him to the sovereign by the
vassals of the Duchy of Aquitaine. Edward's answer was, that he would
appear indeed, but that it should be in full armour, with ten thousand
Knights and Squires at his back; and the war had already been renewed.
The intelligence added to Eustace's desire to be at Bordeaux, but he
could not venture through the enemy's country without exposing himself
to death or captivity; and even within the confines of Brittany itself,
Duke John, though bound by gratitude and affection to the alliance of
the King, who had won for him his ducal coronet, was unable to control
the enmity which his subjects bore to the English, and assured the
Knight that a safe-conduct from him would only occasion his being
robbed and murdered in secret, instead of being taken a prisoner in
fair fight and put to ransom.
If Eustace had been alone with his staunch followers, he would have
trusted to their good swords and swift steeds; but to place Arthur in
such perils would be but to justify Fulk's accusations; and there was
no alternative but to accept the offer made to him by Jean de Montford,
for the sake of his Duchess, a daughter of Edward III., to remain a
guest at his court until the arrival of a sufficient party of English
Knights, who were sure to be attracted by the news of the war.
No less than two months was he obliged to wait, during which both he
and Gaston chafed grievously under their forced captivity; but at
length he learnt that a band of Free Companions had arrived at Rennes,
on their way to offer their service to the Prince of Wales; accordingly
he set forth, and after some interval found himself once more in the
domains of the house of Plantagenet.
It was late in the evening when he rode through the gates of Bordeaux,
and sought the abode of the good old Gascon merchant, where he had
always lodged. He met with a ready welcome, and inquiring into the
most recent news of the town, learnt that the Prince was considered to
be slightly improved in health; but that no word was spoken of the army
taking the field, and the war was chiefly carried on by the siege of
Castles. He asked for Sir John Chandos, and was told that high words
had passed between him and the Prince respecting a hearth-tax, and that
since he had returned to his government, and seldom or never appeared
at the council board. It was the Earl of Pembroke who was all-powerful
there. And here the old Gascon wandered into lamentable complaints of
the aforesaid hearth-tax, from which Eustace could scarcely recall him
to answer whether the English Baron de Clarenham had arrived at
Bordeaux. He had come, and with as splendid a train as ever was
beheld, and was in high favour at court.
This was no pleasing intelligence, but Eustace determined to go the
next day to present his nephew to the Prince immediately after the
noontide meal, when it was the wont of the Plantagenet Princes to throw
their halls open to their subjects.
Accordingly, leading Arthur by the hand, and attended by Gaston, he
made his appearance in the hall just as the banquet was concluded, but
ere the Knights had dispersed. Many well-known faces were there, but
as he advanced up the space between the two long tables, he was amazed
at meeting scarce one friendly glance of recognition; some looked
unwilling to seem to know him, and returned his salutation with distant
coldness; others gazed at the window, or were intent on their wine, and
of these was Leonard Ashton, whom to his surprise he saw seated among
the Knights.
Thus he passed on until he had nearly reached the dais where dined the
Prince and the personages of the most exalted rank. Here he paused as
his anxious gaze fell upon the Prince, and marked his countenance and
mien--alas! how changed! He sat in his richly-carved chair, wrapped in
a velvet mantle, which, even on that bright day of a southern spring,
he drew closer round him with a shuddering chilliness. His elbow
rested on the arm of his chair, and his wasted cheek leant on his
hand--the long thin fingers of which showed white and transparent as a
lady's; his eyes were bent on the ground, and a look of suffering or of
moody thought hung over the whole of that face, once full of free and
open cheerfulness. Tears filled Eustace's eyes as he beheld that wreck
of manhood and thought of that bright day of hope and gladness when his
brother had presented him to the Prince.
As he hesitated to advance, the Prince, raising his eyes, encountered
that earnest and sorrowful gaze, but only responding by a stern glance
of displeasure. Eustace, however, stepped forward, and bending one
knee, said, "My Lord, I come to report myself as returned to your
service, and at the same time to crave for my nephew the protection you
were graciously pleased to promise him."
"It is well, Sir Eustace Lynwood," said Edward, coldly, and with a
movement of his head, as if to dismiss him from his presence; "and you,
boy, come hither," he added as Arthur, seeing his uncle rise and
retreat a few steps, was following his example. "I loved your father
well," he said, laying his hand on the boy's bright wavy hair, "and you
shall find in me a steady friend as long as you prove yourself not
unworthy of the name you bear."
In spite of the awe with which Arthur felt his head pressed by that
royal hand, in spite of his reverence for the hero and the Prince, he
raised his eyes and looked upon the face of the Prince with an earnest,
pleading, almost upbraiding gaze, as if, child as he was, he deprecated
the favour, which so evidently marked the slight shown to his uncle.
But the Prince did not heed him, and rising from his chair, said,
"Thine arm, Clarenham. Let us to the Princess, and present her new
page. Follow me, boy."
With a wistful look at his uncle, standing alone on the step of the
dais, Arthur reluctantly followed the Prince as, leaning on Clarenham's
arm, he left the hall, and, crossing a gallery, entered a large
apartment. At one end was a canopy embroidered with the arms and
badges of the heir of England, and beneath it were two chairs of state,
one of which was occupied by Joan Plantagenet, Princess of Wales, once
the Fair Maid of Kent, and though now long past her youth, still
showing traces of beauty befitting the lady for whom her royal cousin
had displayed such love and constancy.
As her husband entered, she rose, and looking anxiously at him, while
she came forward to meet him, inquired whether he felt fatigued. "No,
my fair dame," replied the Prince, "I came but to present you your new
page; the young cousin, respecting whose safety my Lord de Clarenham
hath been so much in anxiety."
"Then it is his uncle who hath brought him?" asked Joan.
"Yes," replied Edward, "he himself brought him to the hall, and even
had the presumption to claim the protection for him that I pledged to
his father, when I deemed far otherwise of this young Eustace."
"What account does he give of the length of time that he has spent on
the road?" asked the Princess.
"Ay, there is the strangest part of the tale," said Fulk Clarenham,
with a sneer, "since he left the poor simple men at Lynwood believing
that he was coming at full speed to seek my Lord the Prince's
protection for the child, a convenient excuse for eluding the inquiries
of justice into his brawls at the funeral, as well as for the rents
which he carried off with him; but somewhat inconsistent when it is not
for five months that he makes his appearance at Bordeaux, and then in
the society of a band of _routiers_."
"It shall be inquired into," said the Prince.
"Nay, nay, my Lord," said Fulk, "may I pray you of your royal goodness
to press the matter no further. He is still young, and it were a pity
to cast dishonour on a name which has hitherto been honourable. Since
my young cousin is safe, I would desire no more, save to guard him from
his future machinations. For his brother's sake, my Lord, I would
plead with you."
"Little did I think such things of him," said the Prince, "when I laid
knighthood on his shoulder in the battle-field of Navaretta; yet I
remember even then old Chandos chid me for over-hastiness. Poor old
Chandos, he has a rough tongue, but a true heart!"
"And, under favour, I would say," answered Clarenham, "that it might
have been those early-won honours that turned the head of such a mere
youth, so entirely without guidance, or rather, with the guidance of
that dissolute Squire, who, I grieve to observe, still haunts his
footsteps. Knighthood, with nought to maintain it, is, in truth, a
snare."
"Well, I am weary of the subject," said the Prince, leaning back in his
chair. "The boy is safe, and, as you say, Fulk, that is all that is of
importance. Call hither the troubadour that was in the hall at noon.
I would have your opinion of his lay," he added, turning to his wife.
The indignation may be imagined with which Arthur listened to this
conversation, as he stood on the spot to which Edward had signed to him
to advance, when he presented him to the Princess. He longed ardently
to break in with an angry refutation of the slanders cast on his uncle,
but he was too well trained in the rules of chivalry, to say nothing of
the awful respect with which he regarded the Prince, to attempt to
utter a word, and he could only edge himself as far away as was
possible from Clarenham, and cast at him glances of angry reproach.
His uneasy movements were interpreted as signs of fatigue and
impatience of restraint by one of the ladies, who was sitting at no
great distance, a very beautiful and graceful maiden, the Lady Maude
Holland, daughter to the Princess of Wales, by her first marriage; and
she kindly held out her hand to him, saying, "Come hither, my pretty
page. You have not learnt to stand stiff and straight, like one of the
supporters of a coat-of-arms. Come hither, and let me lead you to
company better suited to your years."
Arthur came willingly, as there was no more to hear about his uncle;
and besides, it was away from the hateful Clarenham. She led him
across the hall to a tall arched doorway, opening upon a wide and
beautiful garden, filled with the plants and shrubs of the south of
France, and sloping gently down to the broad expanse of the blue waves
of the Garonne. She looked round on all sides, and seeing no one, made
a few steps forward on the greensward, then called aloud, "Thomas!" no
answer, "Edward! Harry of Lancaster!" but still her clear silvery
voice was unheeded, until a servant came from some other part of the
building, and, bowing, awaited her orders. "Where are Lord Edward and
the rest?" she asked.
"Gone forth," the servant believed, "to ride on the open space near St.
Ursula's Convent."
"None left at home?"
"None, noble Lady."
"None," repeated Lady Maude, "save the little Lord Richard, whose baby
company your pageship would hardly esteem. You must try to endure the
quietness of the lady's chamber, unless you would wish to be at once
introduced to the grave master of the Damoiseaux."
At this moment Arthur's eye fell upon a lady who had just emerged from
a long shady alley, up which she had been slowly walking, and the
bright look of recognition which lighted up his face, was so different
from the shy and constrained expression he had hitherto worn, that Lady
Maude remarked it, and following his gaze, said, "Lady Agnes de
Clarenham? Ah yes, she is of kin to you. Let us go meet her." Then,
as they approached, she said, "Here, Agnes, I have brought you a young
cousin of yours, whom the Prince has just conducted into my mother's
chamber, where he bore so rueful a countenance that I grew pitiful
enough to come forth on a bootless errand after his fellow Damoiseaux,
who, it seems, are all out riding. So I shall even leave him to you,
for there is a troubadour in the hall, whose lay I greatly long to
hear."
Away tripped Lady Maude, well pleased to be free from the burthen her
good-nature had imposed on her.
"Arthur," exclaimed Agnes, "what joy to see you! Is your uncle here?"
"Yes," said Arthur, "but oh, Cousin Agnes! if you had been by to hear
the foul slanders which Sir Fulk has been telling the Prince--oh,
Agnes! you would disown him for your brother."
"Arthur," said Agnes, with a voice almost of anguish, "how could
he--why did he tarry so long on the road?"
"How could we come on when the Duke of Brittany himself said it was
certain death or captivity? We were forced to wait for an escort. And
now, Agnes, think of your brother saying that Uncle Eustace carried off
the rents of Lynwood, when every man in the Castle could swear it was
only the money Father Cyril had in keeping for his inheritance."
"Alas!" said Agnes.
"And the Prince will believe it--the Prince looks coldly on him
already, and my uncle loves the Prince like his own life. Oh, he will
be ready to die with grief! Agnes! Agnes! what is to be done? But
you don't believe it!" he proceeded, seeing that she was weeping
bitterly. "You do not believe it--you promised you never would! Oh
say you do not believe it!"
"I do not, Arthur; I never believed half they said of him; but oh, that
long delay was a sore trial to my confidence, and cruelly confirmed
their tales."
"And think of Fulk, too, hindering the Prince from inquiring, because
he says he would spare my uncle for my father's sake, when the truth
is, he only fears that the blackness of his own designs should be seen!
And Gaston, too, he slandered. Oh, Agnes! Agnes! that there should be
such wickedness, and we able to do nought!"
"Nought but weep and pray!" said Agnes. "And yet I can bear it better
now that you are here. Your presence refutes the worst accusation, and
removes a heavy weight from my mind."
"You distrust him too! I cannot love you if you do."
"Never, never! I only feared some evil had befallen you, and grieved
to see the use made of your absence. Your coming should make my heart
light again."
"Shall I often see you, Cousin Agnes? for there is none else in this
wide Castle that I shall care for."
"Oh yes, Arthur, there are full twenty pages little older than
yourself--Lord Thomas Holland, the Prince's stepson, brother to the
lady that led you to me; little Piers de Greilly, nephew to the Captal
de Buch; young Lord Henry of Lancaster; and the little Prince Edward
himself. You will have no lack of merry playmates."
"Ah, but to whom can I talk of my blessed mother and of Uncle Eustace,
and of Lynwood Keep, and poor old Blanc Etoile, that I promised Ralph I
would bear in mind?"
"Well, Arthur," said Agnes, cheerfully, "it is the pages' duty to wait
on the ladies in hall and bower, and the ladies' office to teach them
all courtly manners, and hear them read and say the Credo and Ave. You
shall be my own especial page and servant. Is it agreed?"
"Oh yes," said the boy. "I wonder if the master of the Damoiseaux is
as strict as that lady said, and I wonder when I shall see Uncle
Eustace again."