The New Life
Armed, and with helmet in hand, Höel entered the hall at early dawn,
only to find it deserted. The chapel too was closed, for the chaplain
had gone, and only the knights keeping the death-watch remained.
A page brought the knight a warm drink. He drained the cup, and as he
turned to hand it back to him he saw the priest descending the stairs
which led to the apartments of the Duchess.
“Have you seen our gracious lady? Then arrange for my admission also,”
Höel said to him.
“Come outside with me,” replied the chaplain, much agitated, “and hear
what I have to say, not here where we are so near the dead, but under
God’s sky.”
Overcome with astonishment, Höel followed the chaplain as he strode
forward in haste to the courtyard. As they went, a loud trumpet-blast
sounded jubilantly from the battlements.
“Is the warder out of his senses? What means this fanfare in the house
of the dead?” exclaimed Höel indignantly. “And what does that mean also?
The black flag has been lowered on the watch-tower, and the banner with
the arms of the Plantagenets floats in its place.”
“It means, noble knight,” replied the chaplain, “that Brittany has a new
Duke,—our Lady Constance has a son.”[4]
The knight’s eyes glistened with delight, but it was only for an
instant. With a sigh he gently said: “Poor Geoffrey! Unfortunate child!”
Then he stood for a time in deep thought. “All the same,” he said at
last, recovering himself, “messengers must carry the double news to all
the castles and cities. The Council of the dead Duke must send
ambassadors to the courts of England and France.”
“As King Henry is engaged in a campaign against Scotland and Queen
Eleanor passes away the time among her castles in Guienne, there does
not seem to be urgent need of haste,” said the chaplain.
“You are wrong. They must be informed as speedily as possible,” replied
the knight. As he was in the act of mounting his steed, which a squire
had brought, a page rushed up and summoned him to the Duchess.
The knight followed the messenger to an upper room, where one of the
maids promptly met him, and conducted him to a large apartment, against
the rear wall of which the Duchess’s bed stood under a gilded canopy.
The curtains were partly drawn back, and in the half darkness he saw the
face of the Duchess among the silken pillows. Höel knelt and awaited her
commands. She motioned him to rise, and said, “Show him the child,
Joconde.”
The nurse approached, and lifted the veil from the little white bundle
she was carrying, so that he might see the child. As he stooped to look
at him, the little one opened its eyes and uttered a faint cry. The
plaintive tone pierced Höel’s heart. He laid his hand upon the child’s
head and said with deep emotion, “Accept my homage, son of my brave lord
and friend.”
The Duchess bade Joconde retire, and then said, “May all, worthy knight,
like yourself, pay homage to Duke Arthur of Brittany, for it was this
name my husband selected for his first son.” She gave way to her
emotions for a moment, and then said with firm voice:
“Take this signet ring of my husband’s, show it to the members of the
Council at Rennes,[5] and bid them execute my commands. The citizens of
every city shall assemble; and to them and to every country it shall be
proclaimed that Duchess Constance of Brittany will maintain the ducal
authority, and that during the minority of her son she will rule all the
possessions of the deceased Duke Geoffrey Plantagenet, with the help of
God and the nobles of Brittany. Send a messenger also to the King of
England and inform him of the death of his son and the birth of a
grandson. But, above all, send a prudent man with a letter to King
Philip Augustus at Paris.[6] Assure the King of our feudal loyalty as a
vassal of France, and tell him we shall render him our usual service in
time of peace or war, and pay the customary tribute. In consideration of
this he is to assist us in case of necessity against any enemy of our
country or of the young Duke. Have the letter drawn up in temperate and
friendly tone.”
“It shall be done, my lady,” replied Höel; “and what are your wishes as
to the funeral of the Duke?”
“He shall be buried in the Cathedral at Rennes, and the chaplain must
see that everything necessary is done. Now go, and God preserve you. May
you quickly return for our protection.” She leaned back, wearied. The
curtains were closed, and the knight left the apartment with a feeling
of relief. When he reached the courtyard he summoned his people and the
chaplain, who inquired what commissions the Duchess had given him. He
answered curtly, “Chaplain, he who says women are weak and timid has
never known the Duchess Constance.”
“But, tell me—”
“Only this,” said Höel, with his hand upon his horse’s bridle, “France
is the watchword. She said scarcely a word about England.”