The open space beyond the walls of Bordeaux presented a bright and
lively scene. It was here that the pages of the Black Prince were wont
to exercise those sports and pastimes for which the court of the palace
scarce offered sufficient space, or which were too noisy for the
neighbourhood of the ladies, and of the invalid Prince.
Of noble and often of princely birth were all who entered that school
of chivalry, and, for the most part, the fine open countenances, noble
bearing, and well-made figures of the boys, testified their high
descent, as completely as the armorial bearings embroidered on the back
and front of their short kirtles. Many different provinces had sent
their noblest to be there trained in the service of the bravest Knights
and Princes. There, besides the brown-haired, fair-skinned English
boy, was the quick fiery Welsh child, who owned an especial allegiance
to the Prince; the broad blue-eyed Fleming, whose parents rejoiced in
the fame of the son of Philippa of Hainault; the pert, lively Gascon,
and the swarthy Navarrese mountaineer--all brought together in close
and ever-changing contrast of countenance, habits, and character.
Of all the merry groups scattered through that wide green space, the
most interesting was one formed by three boys, who stood beneath a
tree, a little from the rest. The two eldest might be from ten to
eleven years old, the third two or three years younger, and his
delicate features, fair pale complexion, and slender limbs, made him
appear too weak and childish for such active sports as the rest were
engaged in, but that the lordly glance of his clear blue eye, his firm
tread, and the noble carriage of his shapely head, had in them
something of command, which attracted notice even before the exceeding
beauty of his perfectly moulded face, and long waving curls of golden
hair.
So like him, that they might have passed for brothers, was one of the
elder boys, who stood near--there was the same high white brow, proud
lip, regular features, and bright eye; but the complexion, though
naturally fair, was tanned to a healthy brown where exposed to the sun;
the frame was far stronger and more robust; and the glance of the eye
had more in it of pride and impatience, than of calm command so
remarkable in the little one. The three boys were standing in
consultation over an arrow which they had just discovered, stuck deep
in the ground.
"'Tis my arrow, that I shot over the mark on Monday," said the elder.
"Nay, Harry," said the younger boy, "that cannot be; for remember
Thomas Holland said your arrow would frighten the good nuns of St.
Ursula in their garden."
"It must be mine," persisted Harry--"for none of you all can shoot as
far."
"Yes, English Arthur can," said the little boy. "He shot a whole
cloth-yard beyond you the day--"
"Well, never mind, Edward," said Harry, sharply--"who cares for
arrows?--weapons for clowns, and not for Princes!"
"Nay, not so, Lord Harry," interrupted the third boy: "I have heard my
uncle say, many a time, that England's archery is half her
strength--and how it was our archers at the battle of Crecy--"
"I know all that--how the men of Genoa had wet bow-strings, and ours
dry ones," said Henry; "but they were peasants, after all!"
"Ay; but a King of England should know how to praise and value his good
yeomen."
Henry turned on his heel, and, saying, "Well, let the arrow be whose it
will, I care not for it," walked off.
"Do you know why Harry of Lancaster goes, Arthur?" said Edward, smiling.
"No, my Lord," replied Arthur.
"He cannot bear to hear aught of King of England," was the answer. "If
you love me, good Arthur, vex him not with speaking of it."
"Father Cyril would say, he ought to learn content with the rank where
he was born," said Arthur.
"Father Cyril, again!" said Prince Edward. "You cannot live a day
without speaking of him, and of your uncle."
"I do not speak of them so much now," said Arthur, colouring, "It is
only you, Lord Edward, who never make game of me for doing so--though,
I trow, I have taught Pierre de Greilly to let my uncle's name alone."
"Truly, you did so," said Edward, laughing, "and he has scarce yet lost
his black eye. But I love to hear your tales, Arthur, of that quiet
Castle, and the old Blanc Etoile, and your uncle, who taught you to
ride. Sit down here on the grass, and tell me more. But what are you
staring at so fixedly? At the poor jaded horse, that yonder
man-at-arms is urging on so painfully?"
"'Tis--No, it is not--Yes, 'tis Brigliador, and John Ingram himself,"
cried Arthur. "Oh, my uncle! my uncle!" And, in one moment, he had
bounded across the ditch, which fenced in their exercising ground, and
had rushed to meet Ingram. "Oh, John!" exclaimed he, breathlessly,
"have they done it? Oh, tell me of Uncle Eustace! Is he alive?"
"Master Arthur!" exclaimed Ingram, stopping his wearied horse.
"Oh, tell me, Ingram," reiterated Arthur, "is my uncle safe?"
"He is alive, Master Arthur--that is, he was when I came away, but as
sore wounded as ever I saw a Knight. And the butcher of Brittany is
upon them by this time! And here I am sent to ask succours--and I know
no more whom to address myself, than the cock at the top of Lynwood
steeple!"
"But what has chanced, John?--make haste, and tell me."
And John, in his own awkward and confused style, narrated how he had
been entrapped by Sanchez, and the consequences of his excess. "But,"
said he, "I have vowed to our Lady of Taunton, and St. Joseph of
Glastonbury, that never again--"
Arthur had covered his face with his hands, and gave way to tears of
indignation and grief, as he felt his helplessness. But one hand was
kindly withdrawn, and a gentle voice said, "Weep not, Arthur, but come
with me, and my father will send relief to the Castle, and save your
uncle."
"You here, Lord Edward?" exclaimed Arthur, who had not perceived that
the Prince had followed him. "Oh yes, thanks, thanks! None but the
Prince can save him. Oh, let me see him myself, and that instantly!"
"Then, let us come," said Edward, still holding Arthur's hand.
Arthur set off at such a pace, as to press the little Prince into a
breathless trot by his side; but he, too, was all eagerness, and
scorned to complain. They proceeded without interruption to the court
of the palace. Edward, leading the way, hastened to his mother's
apartments. He threw open the door, looked in, and, saying to Arthur,
"He must be in the council chamber," cut short an exclamation of Lady
Maude Holland, by shutting the door, and running down a long gallery to
an ante-chamber, where were several persons waiting for an audience,
and two warders, with halberts erect, standing on guard outside a
closed door.
"The Prince is in council, my Lord."
Edward drew up his head, and, waving them aside with a gesture that
became the heir of England, said, "I take it upon myself." He then
opened the door, and, still holding Arthur fast by the hand, led him
into the chamber where the Prince of Wales sat in consultation.
There was a pause of amazement as the two boys advanced to the high
carved chair on which the Prince was seated--and Edward exclaimed,
"Father, save Arthur's uncle!"
"What means this, Edward?" demanded the Prince of Wales, somewhat
sternly. "Go to your mother, boy--we cannot hear you now, and--"
"I cannot go, father," replied the child, "till you have promised to
save Arthur's uncle! He is wounded!--the traitors have wounded
him!--and the French will take the Castle, and he will be slain! And
Arthur loves him so much!"
"Come here, Edward," said the Prince, remarking the flushed cheek and
tearful eye of his son, "and tell me what this means."
Edward obeyed, but without loosing his hold of his young friend's hand.
"The man-at-arms is come, all heat and dust, on the poor drooping,
jaded steed--and he said, the Knight would be slain, and the Castle
taken, unless you would send him relief. It is Arthur's uncle that he
loves so well."
"Arthur's uncle?" repeated the Prince--and, turning his eyes on the
suppliant figure, he said, "Arthur Lynwood! Speak, boy."
"Oh, my Lord," said Arthur, commanding his voice with difficulty, "I
would only pray you to send succour to my uncle at Chateau Norbelle,
and save him from being murdered by Oliver de Clisson."
It was a voice which boded little good to Arthur's suit that now spoke.
"If it be Sir Eustace Lynwood, at Chateau Norbelle, of whom the young
Prince speaks, he can scarce be in any strait, since the garrison is
more than sufficient."
The little page started to his feet, and, regarding the speaker with
flashing eyes, exclaimed, "Hearken not to him, my Lord Prince! He is
the cause of all the treachery!--he is the ruin and destruction of my
uncle;--he has deceived you with his falsehoods!--and now he would be
his death!"
"How now, my young cousin!" said Clarenham, in a most irritating tone
of indifference--"you forget in what presence you are."
"I do not," replied Arthur, fiercely. "Before the Prince, Fulk
Clarenham, I declare you a false traitor!--and, if you dare deny it,
there lies my gloves!"
Fulk only replied by a scornful laugh, and, addressing the Prince,
said, "May I pray of your Grace not to be over severe with my young
malapert relation."
The Captal de Buch spoke: "You do not know what an adversary you have
provoked, Fulk! The other day, I met my nephew, little Pierre, with an
eye as black as the patch we used to wear in our young days of
knight-errantry. 'What wars have you been in, Master Pierre?' I asked.
It was English Arthur who had fought with him, for mocking at his
talking of nothing but his uncle. But you need not colour, and look so
abashed, little Englishman!--I bear no more malice than I hope Pierre
does--I only wish I had as bold a champion! I remember thine uncle, if
he is the youth to whom the Constable surrendered at Navaretta, and of
whom we made so much."
"Too much then, and too little afterwards," said old Sir John Chandos.
"You do not know all, Chandos," said the Prince.
"You do not yourself know all, my Lord," said Arthur, turning eagerly.
"Lord de Clarenham has deceived you, and led you to imagine that my
uncle wished ill to me, and wanted to gain my lands; whereas it is he
himself who wants to have me in his hands to bend me to his will. It is
he who has placed traitors in Chateau Norbelle to slay my uncle and
deliver him to the enemy; they have already wounded him almost to
death"--here Arthur's lips quivered, and he could hardly restrain a
burst of tears--"and they have sent for Sir Oliver de Clisson, the
butcher. Gaston will hold out as long as they can, but if you will not
send succours, my Lord, he will--will be slain; and kind Gaston too;"
and Arthur, unable to control himself any longer, covered his face with
his hands, and gave way to a silent suppressed agony of sobs and tears.
"Cheer thee, my boy," said the Prince, kindly; "we will see to thine
uncle." Then, looking at his nobles, he continued, "It seems that
these varlets will allow us no more peace; and since there does in
truth appear to be a Knight and Castle in jeopardy, one of you had,
perhaps, better go with a small band, and clear up this mystery. If it
be as the boy saith, Lynwood hath had foul wrong."
"I care not if I be the one to go, my Lord," said Chandos; "my men are
aver kept in readiness, and a night's gallop will do the lazy knaves
all the good in the world."
Arthur, brushing off the tears, of which he was much ashamed, looked at
the old Knight in transport.
"Thanks, Chandos," said the Prince; "I would commit the matter to none
so willingly as to you, though I scarce would have asked it,
considering you were not quite so prompt on a late occasion."
"My Lord of Pembroke will allow, however, that I did come in time,"
said Sir John. "It was his own presumption and foolhardiness that got
him into the scrape, and he was none the worse for the lesson he
received. But this young fellow seems to have met with this mischance
by no fault of his own; and I am willing to see him righted; for he is
a good lad as well as a brave, as far as I have known him."
"How came the tidings?" asked the Prince. "Did not one of you boys say
somewhat of a man-at-arms?"
"Yes, my Lord," said Arthur; "John Ingram, my uncle's own yeoman, has
come upon Brigliador with all speed. I sent him to the guard-room,
where he now waits in case you would see him."
"Ay," said old Chandos, "a man would have some assurance that he is not
going on a fool's errand. Let us have him here, my Lord."
"Cause him to be summoned," said the Prince to Arthur.
"And at the same time," said Chandos, "send for my Squire, Henry
Neville, to the ante-chamber. The men may get on their armour in the
meantime."
In a few minutes John Ingram made his appearance, the dust not yet
wiped from his armour, his hair hanging is disordered masses over his
forehead, and his jaws not completely resting from the mastication of a
huge piece of pasty. His tale, though confused, could not be for an
instant doubted, as he told of the situation in which he had left
Chateau Norbelle and its Castellane, "The best man could wish to live
under. Well, he hath forgiven me, and given me his hand upon it."
"Forgiven thee--for what?" said the Prince.
"Ah! my Lord, I may speak of treason, but I am one of the traitors
myself! Did not the good Knight leave me in charge to make my rounds
constantly in the Castle, while he slept after his long watching? and
lo, there comes that wily rascal, the Seneschal, Sanchez, with his
''Tis a cold night, friend John; the Knight wakes thee up early; come
down to the buttery, and crack a cup of sack in all friendliness!'
Down then go I, oaf that I was, thinking that, may be, our Knight was
over strict and harsh, and pulled the reins so tight, that a poor
man-at-arms must needs get a little diversion now and then--as the
proverb says, 'when the cat's away, the mice may play.' But it was
drugged, my Lord, else when would one cup of spiced wine have so
overcome me that I knew nought till I hear Master d'Aubricour shouting
treason in the courtyard like one frantic? But the Knight has forgiven
me, and I have sworn to our blessed Lady of Taunton, and St. Joseph of
Glastonbury, that not a draught of wine, spiced or unspiced, shall
again cross my lips."
"A wholesome vow," said the Prince; "and her is a token to make thee
remember it,"--and he placed in the hand of the yeoman a chain of some
value. "Go to the guard-room, where you shall be well entertained till
such time as we need thee again, as we may, if you have been, as you
say, long in Sir Eustace Lynwood's service. But what now? Hast more to
say?"
"I would say--so please you, my Lord--that I pray you but to let me
ride back to Chateau Norbelle with this honourable Knight, for I owe
all service to Sir Eustace, nor could I rest till I know how it fares
with him."
"As you will, good fellow," said the Prince; "and you, Chandos, come
with me to my chamber--I would speak with you before you depart."
"My Lord," said Arthur, "would you but grant me one boon--to go with
Sir John to Chateau Norbelle?"
"You too? You would almost make me think you all drawn by witchcraft
to this Castle!" But Arthur's eagerness extorted a consent, and he
rode off amid Sir John Chandos's troop, boldly enough at first, but by
and by so sleepily, that, as night advanced, Sir John ordered him to be
placed in front of a trooper, and he soon lost all perception of the
rough rapid pace at which they travelled. It was broad day when he was
awakened by a halt, and the first thing he heard was, "There is St.
George's pennon still safe!"
He sat upright, gazed eagerly forwards, and beheld a tall dark tower
rising by the bank of a stream at some distance. "Chateau Norbelle?"
he asked.
"Oh, ho! my little page," said Chandos. "You are alive again, are you?
Ay, Chateau Norbelle it is--and we are in time it seems! But let us
have you on your own steed again. And let us see--if Oliver be there
himself, we shall have sharp work. Ay, keep you by the side of the old
master leech there--he will be sure to keep out of peril. Now--close
in--lances in rest--bows bent. Forward banner!"
Arthur, by no means approving of the companionship assigned him,
contrived to wedge in his pony a little in the rear of Sir John's two
Squires, as the whole squadron rode down the slope of the hill, and up
the ascent on which the Castle stood. Loud cries and shrieks from
within began to strike their ears--the clash of arms--all the tumult of
attack and defence raging fearfully high and wild.
"Ho, ho! friend Oliver!--we have you in a trap!" said old Chandos, in
high glee, as he drew up close without the walls. "Neville, guard the
gates!"
He signed to about half his band to remain without, and cut off the
retreat of the enemy. The Jew doctor chose his post in their rear,
close to the Castle moat--but not so Arthur. Unnoticed and forgotten,
he still kept close behind the Squire, who rode alongside of Sir John
Chandos, as he crossed the drawbridge. The Castle gate was open, and
showed a wild confused mass of struggling men and flashing arms. It
was the last, most furious onset, when Clisson, enraged by the long
resistance of so weak a garrison, was concentrating his strength in one
effort, and, in the excitement of the assault, he had failed to remark
that his sentinels had transgressed his orders, and mingled with the
crowd, who were striving, by force of numbers, to overwhelm the small
troop of defenders of the bartizan.
In rushed Chandos, shouting his war-cry!--In dashed his stout warriors,
and loud and fierce pealed forth "St. George! St George!" drowning the
now feebler note of "Montjoie, St. Denis!" and fearful were the shrieks
of horror and of pain that rose mingled with it. Hemmed in, attacked in
front and rear, their retreat cut off, the French looked in vain for
escape; some went down beneath the tremendous charge of the English,
some cried for mercy, and surrendered as prisoners. Oliver de Clisson
himself, seeing that all was lost, swinging round his head his heavy
battle-axe, opened for himself a way, and, with a few followers, broke
through the men whom Chandos had left outside, and, cutting down a
groom who was holding it, captured one of his led horses, on which he
rode off at his leisure, confident in his own gigantic strength.
So little resistance had been offered, that Arthur's bold advance had
involved him in little danger; he was borne onwards, and only was
conscious of a frightful tumult, where all seemed to be striking and
crushing together. At last, there was something of a lull; the cries
of mercy, and offers to surrender, alone were heard. Arthur found his
pony standing still, and himself pressed hither and thither by the
crowd, from which he knew not how to escape.
Above these various sounds he heard an opening door--there was a press
forward, which carried him with it. The heavy doors, shivered here and
there by Clisson's axe, had been thrown wide open; but the crowd closed
in--he saw no more. He threw himself from his pony, struggled
forwards, and at last, emerging between the arms of two tall men, he
beheld Sir John Chandos dismounting from his war-horse, which was held
by a grim, bloody, dusty figure in broken armour, whose length of limb,
and the crisp, black, curled hair that showed through the shattered
helmet, proved that it could be no other than Gaston d'Aubricour.
Arthur darted forwards, his heart upon his lips; but neither Knight nor
Squire had eye or ear for him; they were hastily exchanging queries
about--he knew not what--they were not of his uncle; and, borne on by
his impatience, he hurried past them up the narrow stone stair. More
than one corpse--a ghastly sight--lay on the steps, but he hastened on;
half a dozen men were standing on the stones at the top, all, like
Gaston, dusty and gory, and leaning on their weapons, or on the wall,
as if exhausted. They were looking intently at the court, and gave no
heed to the boy, as he ran on into the hall. Two men lay there
groaning before the fire. Arthur stood and looked round, hesitating
whether to ask them for his uncle; but, perceiving the spiral stairs,
quickly ascended. Far and far up he wound, till he came to a low-browed
arch; he paused, and saw a large vaulted room, through the loop-hole
window of which shone a yellow stream of golden sunshine. There was a
low bed in one corner, and on it lay a motionless form. On tiptoe, and
with a throbbing heart, the boy approached; he saw the face--it was
ghastly pale. He stood transfixed--could it be?--yes, it must still
be, his own Uncle Eustace.