GRISELL’S PATIENCE
When silent were both voice and chords,
The strain seemed doubly dear,
Yet sad as sweet,—for English words
Had fallen upon the ear.
WORDSWORTH, _Incident at Bruges_.
MEANWHILE Leonard was recovering and vexing himself as to his future
course, inclining chiefly to making his way back to Wearmouth to
ascertain how matters were going in England.
One afternoon, however, as he sat close to thine window, while Grisell
sang to him one of her sweet old ballads, a face, attracted by the
English words and voice, was turned up to him. He exclaimed, “By St.
Mary, Philip Scrope,” and starting up, began to feel for the stick which
he still needed.
A voice was almost at the same moment heard from the outer shop inquiring
in halting French, “Did I see the face of the Beau Sire Leonard
Copeland?”
By the time Leonard had hobbled to the door into the booth, a tall
perfectly-equipped man-at-arms, in velvet bonnet with the Burgundian
Cross, bright cuirass, rich crimson surcoat, and handsome sword belt, had
advanced, and the two embraced as old friends did embrace in the middle
ages, especially when each had believed the other dead.
“I deemed thee dead at Towton!”
“Methought you were slain in the north! You have not come off
scot-free.”
“Nay, but I had a narrow escape. My honest fellows took me to my uncle
at Wearmouth, and he shipped me off with the good folk here, and cares
for my maintenance. How didst thou ’scape?”
“Half a dozen of us—Will Percy and a few more—made off from the woful
field under cover of night, and got to the sea-shore, to a village—I know
not the name—and laid hands on a fisher’s smack, which Jock of Hull was
seaman enough to steer with the aid of the lad on board, as far as
Friesland, and thence we made our way as best we could to Utrecht, where
we had the luck to fall in with one of the Duke’s captains, who was glad
enough to meet with a few stout fellows to make up his company of
men-at-arms.”
“Oh! Methought it was the Cross of Burgundy. How art thou so well
attired, Phil?”
“We have all been pranked out to guard our Duke to the King of France’s
sacring at Rheims. I promise thee the jewels and gold blazed as we never
saw the like—and as to the rascaille Scots archers, every one of them was
arrayed so as the sight was enough to drive an honest Borderer crazy.
Half their own kingdom’s worth was on their beggarly backs. But do what
they might, our Duke surpassed them all with his largesses and
splendour.”
“Your Duke!” grumbled Leonard.
“Aye, mine for the nonce, and a right open-handed lord is he. Better be
under him than under the shrivelled skinflint of France, who wore his
fine robes as though they galled him. Come and take service here when
thou art whole of thine hurt, Leonard.”
“I thought thy Duke was disinclined to Lancaster.”
“He may be to the Queen and the poor King, whom the Saints guard, but he
likes English hearts and thews in his pay well enough.”
“Thou knowst I am a knight, worse luck.”
“Heed not for thy knighthood. The Duke of Exeter and my Lord of Oxford
have put their honours in their pouch and are serving him. Thy lame leg
is a worse hindrance than the gold spur on it, but I trow that will
pass.”
The comrades talked on, over the fate of English friends and homes, and
the hopelessness of their cause. It was agreed in this, and in many
subsequent visits from Scrope, that so soon as Leonard should have shaken
off his lameness he should begin service under one of the Duke’s
captains. A man-at-arms in the splendid suite of the Burgundian Dukes
was generally of good birth, and was attended by two grooms and a page
when in the field; his pay was fairly sufficient, and his accoutrements
and arms were required to be such as to do honour to his employer. It
was the refuge sooner or later of many a Lancastrian, and Leonard, who
doubted of the regularity of his uncle’s supplies, decided that he could
do no better for himself while waiting for better times for his Queen,
though Master Lambert told him that he need not distress himself, there
were ample means for him still.
Grisell spun and sewed for his outfit, with a strange sad pleasure in
working for him, and she was absolutely proud of him when he stood before
her, perfectly recovered, with the glow of health on his cheek and a
light in his eye, his length of limb arrayed in his own armour, furbished
and mended, his bright helmet alone new and of her own providing (out of
her mother’s pearl necklace), his surcoat and silken scarf all her own
embroidering. As he truly said, he made a much finer appearance than he
had done on the morn of his melancholy knighthood, in the
poverty-stricken army of King Henry at Northampton.
“Thanks,” he said, with a courteous bow, “to his good friends and hosts,
who had a wonderful power over the purse.” He added special thanks to
“Mistress Grisell for her deft stitchery,” and she responded with
downcast face, and a low courtesy, while her heart throbbed high.
Such a cavalier was sure of enlistment, and Leonard came to take leave of
his host, and announced that he had been sent off with his friend to
garrison Neufchâtel, where the castle, being a border one, was always
carefully watched over.
His friends at Bruges rejoiced in his absence, since it prevented his
knowledge of the arrival of his beloved Queen Margaret and her son at
Sluys, with only seven attendants, denuded of almost everything, having
lost her last castles, and sometimes having had to exist on a single
herring a day.
Perhaps Leonard would have laid his single sword at her feet if he had
known of her presence, but tidings travelled slowly, and before they ever
reached Neufchâtel the Duke had bestowed on her wherewithal to continue
her journey to her father’s Court at Bar.
However, he did not move. Indeed be did not hear of the Queen’s journey
to Scotland and fresh attempt till all had been again lost at Hedgeley
Moor and Hexham. He was so good and efficient a man-at-arms that he rose
in promotion, and attracted the notice of the Count of Charolais, the
eldest son of the Duke, who made him one of his own bodyguard. His time
was chiefly spent in escorting the Count from one castle or city to
another, but whenever Charles the Bold was at Bruges, Leonard came to the
sign of the Green Serpent not only for lodging, nor only to take up the
money that Lambert had in charge for him, but as to a home where he was
sure of a welcome, and of kindly woman’s care of his wardrobe, and where
he grew more and more to look to the sympathy and understanding of his
English and Burgundian interests alike, which he found in the maiden who
sat by the hearth.
From time to time old Ridley came to see her. He was clad in a pilgrim’s
gown and broad hat, and looked much older. He had had free quarters at
Willimoteswick, but the wild young Borderers had not suited his old age
well, except one clerkly youth, who reminded him of little Bernard, and
who, later, was the patron of his nephew, the famous Nicolas. He had
thus set out on pilgrimage, as the best means of visiting his dear lady.
The first time he came, under his robe he carried a girdle, where was
sewn up a small supply from Father Copeland for his nephew, and another
sum, very meagre, but collected from the faithful retainers of Whitburn
for their lady. He meant to visit the Three Kings at Cologne, and then
to go on to St. Gall, and to the various nearer shrines in France, but to
return again to see Grisell; and from time to time he showed his honest
face, more and more weather-beaten, though a pilgrim was never in want;
but Grisell delighted in preparing new gowns, clean linen, and fresh hats
for him.
Public events passed while she still lived and worked in the Apothecary’s
house at Bruges. There were wars in which Sir Leonard Copeland had his
share, not very perilous to a knight in full armour, but falling very
heavily on poor citizens. Bruges, however, was at peace and exceedingly
prosperous, with its fifty-two guilds of citizens, and wonderful trade
and wealth. The bells seemed to be always chiming from its many
beautiful steeples, and there was one convent lately founded which began
to have a special interest for Grisell.
It was the house of the Hospitalier Grey Sisters, which if not actually
founded had been much embellished by Isabel of Portugal, the wife of the
Duke of Burgundy. Philip, though called the Good, from his genial
manners, and bounteous liberality, was a man of violent temper and
terrible severity when offended. He had a fierce quarrel with his only
son, who was equally hot tempered. The Duchess took part with her son,
and fell under such furious displeasure from her husband that she retired
into the house of Grey Sisters. She was first cousin once removed to
Henry VI.—her mother, the admirable Philippa, having been a daughter of
John of Gaunt—and she was the sister of the noble Princes, King Edward of
Portugal, Henry the great voyager, and Ferdinand the Constant Prince; and
she had never been thoroughly at home or happy in Flanders, where her
husband was of a far coarser nature than her own family; and, in her own
words, after many years, she always felt herself a stranger.
Some of Grisell’s lace had found its way to the convent, and was at once
recognised by her as English, such as her mother had always prized. She
wished to give the Chaplain a set of robes adorned with lace after a
pattern of her own devising, bringing in the five crosses of Portugal,
with appropriate wreaths of flowers and emblems. Being told that the
English maiden in Master Groot’s house could devise her own patterns, she
desired to see her and explain the design in person.