Away from the tall narrow gateway of Rollo's Tower, with the cluster of
friendly, sorrowful faces looking forth from it, away from the booth-like
shops of Rouen, and the stout burghers shouting with all the power of
their lungs, "Long live Duke Richard! Long live King Louis! Death to
the Fleming!"--away from the broad Seine--away from home and friends,
rode the young Duke of Normandy, by the side of the palfrey of the King
of France.
The King took much notice of him, kept him by his side, talked to him,
admired the beautiful cattle grazing in security in the green pastures,
and, as he looked at the rich dark brown earth of the fields, the Castles
towering above the woods, the Convents looking like great farms, the many
villages round the rude Churches, and the numerous population who came
out to gaze at the party, and repeat the cry of "Long live the King!
Blessings on the little Duke!" he told Richard, again and again, that his
was the most goodly duchy in France and Germany to boot.
When they crossed the Epte, the King would have Richard in the same boat
with him, and sitting close to Louis, and talking eagerly about falcons
and hounds, the little Duke passed the boundary of his own dukedom.
The country beyond was not like Normandy. First they came to a great
forest, which seemed to have no path through it. The King ordered that
one of the men, who had rowed them across, should be made to serve as
guide, and two of the men-at-arms took him between them, and forced him
to lead the way, while others, with their swords and battle-axes, cut
down and cleared away the tangled branches and briars that nearly choked
the path. All the time, every one was sharply on the look-out for
robbers, and the weapons were all held ready for use at a moment's
notice. On getting beyond the forest a Castle rose before them, and,
though it was not yet late in the day, they resolved to rest there, as a
marsh lay not far before them, which it would not have been safe to
traverse in the evening twilight.
The Baron of the Castle received them with great respect to the King, but
without paying much attention to the Duke of Normandy, and Richard did
not find the second place left for him at the board. He coloured
violently, and looked first at the King, and then at Osmond, but Osmond
held up his finger in warning; he remembered how he had lost his temper
before, and what had come of it, and resolved to try to bear it better;
and just then the Baron's daughter, a gentle-looking maiden of fifteen or
sixteen, came and spoke to him, and entertained him so well, that he did
not think much more of his offended dignity.--When they set off on their
journey again, the Baron and several of his followers came with them to
show the only safe way across the morass, and a very slippery,
treacherous, quaking road it was, where the horses' feet left pools of
water wherever they trod. The King and the Baron rode together, and the
other French Nobles closed round them; Richard was left quite in the
background, and though the French men-at-arms took care not to lose sight
of him, no one offered him any assistance, excepting Osmond, who, giving
his own horse to Sybald, one of the two Norman grooms who accompanied
him, led Richard's horse by the bridle along the whole distance of the
marshy path, a business that could scarcely have been pleasant, as Osmond
wore his heavy hauberk, and his pointed, iron-guarded boots sunk deep at
every step into the bog. He spoke little, but seemed to be taking good
heed of every stump of willow or stepping-stone that might serve as a
note of remembrance of the path.
At the other end of the morass began a long tract of dreary-looking,
heathy waste, without a sign of life. The Baron took leave of the King,
only sending three men-at-arms, to show him the way to a monastery, which
was to be the next halting-place. He sent three, because it was not safe
for one, even fully armed, to ride alone, for fear of the attacks of the
followers of a certain marauding Baron, who was at deadly feud with him,
and made all that border a most perilous region. Richard might well
observe that he did not like the Vexin half as well as Normandy, and that
the people ought to learn Fru Astrida's story of the golden bracelets,
which, in his grandfather's time, had hung untouched for a year, in a
tree in a forest.
It was pretty much the same through the whole journey, waste lands,
marshes, and forests alternated. The Castles stood on high mounds
frowning on the country round, and villages were clustered round them,
where the people either fled away, driving off their cattle with them at
the first sight of an armed band, or else, if they remained, proved to be
thin, wretched-looking creatures, with wasted limbs, aguish faces, and
often iron collars round their necks. Wherever there was anything of
more prosperous appearance, such as a few cornfields, vineyards on the
slopes of the hills, fat cattle, and peasantry looking healthy and
secure, there was sure to be seen a range of long low stone buildings,
surmounted with crosses, with a short square Church tower rising in the
midst, and interspersed with gnarled hoary old apple-trees, or with
gardens of pot-herbs spreading before them to the meadows. If, instead
of two or three men-at-arms from a Castle, or of some trembling serf
pressed into the service, and beaten, threatened, and watched to prevent
treachery, the King asked for a guide at a Convent, some lay brother
would take his staff; or else mount an ass, and proceed in perfect
confidence and security as to his return homewards, sure that his poverty
and his sacred character would alike protect him from any outrage from
the most lawless marauder of the neighbourhood.
Thus they travelled until they reached the royal Castle of Laon, where
the Fleur-de-Lys standard on the battlements announced the presence of
Gerberge, Queen of France, and her two sons. The King rode first into
the court with his Nobles, and before Richard could follow him through
the narrow arched gateway, he had dismounted, entered the Castle, and was
out of sight. Osmond held the Duke's stirrup, and followed him up the
steps which led to the Castle Hall. It was full of people, but no one
made way, and Richard, holding his Squire's hand, looked up in his face,
inquiring and bewildered.
"Sir Seneschal," said Osmond, seeing a broad portly old man, with grey
hair and a golden chain, "this is the Duke of Normandy--I pray you
conduct him to the King's presence."
Richard had no longer any cause to complain of neglect, for the Seneschal
instantly made him a very low bow, and calling "Place--place for the high
and mighty Prince, my Lord Duke of Normandy!" ushered him up to the dais
or raised part of the floor, where the King and Queen stood together
talking. The Queen looked round, as Richard was announced, and he saw
her face, which was sallow, and with a sharp sour expression that did not
please him, and he backed and looked reluctant, while Osmond, with a
warning hand pressed on his shoulder, was trying to remind him that he
ought to go forward, kneel on one knee, and kiss her hand.
"There he is," said the King.
"One thing secure!" said the Queen; "but what makes that northern giant
keep close to his heels?"
Louis answered something in a low voice, and, in the meantime, Osmond
tried in a whisper to induce his young Lord to go forward and perform his
obeisance.
"I tell you I will not," said Richard. "She looks cross, and I do not
like her."
Luckily he spoke his own language; but his look and air expressed a good
deal of what he said, and Gerberge looked all the more unattractive.
"A thorough little Norwegian bear," said the King; "fierce and unruly as
the rest. Come, and perform your courtesy--do you forget where you are?"
he added, sternly.
Richard bowed, partly because Osmond forced down his shoulder; but he
thought of old Rollo and Charles the Simple, and his proud heart resolved
that he would never kiss the hand of that sour-looking Queen. It was a
determination made in pride and defiance, and he suffered for it
afterwards; but no more passed now, for the Queen only saw in his
behaviour that of an unmannerly young Northman: and though she disliked
and despised him, she did not care enough about his courtesy to insist on
its being paid. She sat down, and so did the King, and they went on
talking; the King probably telling her his adventures at Rouen, while
Richard stood on the step of the dais, swelling with sullen pride.
Nearly a quarter of an hour had passed in this manner when the servants
came to set the table for supper, and Richard, in spite of his indignant
looks, was forced to stand aside. He wondered that all this time he had
not seen the two Princes, thinking how strange he should have thought it,
to let his own dear father be in the house so long without coming to
welcome him. At last, just as the supper had been served up, a side door
opened, and the Seneschal called, "Place for the high and mighty Princes,
my Lord Lothaire and my Lord Carloman!" and in walked two boys, one about
the same age as Richard, the other rather less than a year younger. They
were both thin, pale, sharp-featured children, and Richard drew himself
up to his full height, with great satisfaction at being so much taller
than Lothaire.
They came up ceremoniously to their father and kissed his hand, while he
kissed their foreheads, and then said to them, "There is a new
play-fellow for you."
"Is that the little Northman?" said Carloman, turning to stare at Richard
with a look of curiosity, while Richard in his turn felt considerably
affronted that a boy so much less than himself should call him little.
"Yes," said the Queen; "your father has brought him home with him."
Carloman stepped forward, shyly holding out his hand to the stranger, but
his brother pushed him rudely aside. "I am the eldest; it is my business
to be first. So, young Northman, you are come here for us to play with."
Richard was too much amazed at being spoken to in this imperious way to
make any answer. He was completely taken by surprise, and only opened
his great blue eyes to their utmost extent.
"Ha! why don't you answer? Don't you hear? Can you speak only your own
heathen tongue?" continued Lothaire.
"The Norman is no heathen tongue!" said Richard, at once breaking silence
in a loud voice. "We are as good Christians as you are--ay, and better
too."
"Hush! hush! my Lord!" said Osmond.
"What now, Sir Duke," again interfered the King, in an angry tone, "are
you brawling already? Time, indeed, I should take you from your own
savage court. Sir Squire, look to it, that you keep your charge in
better rule, or I shall send him instantly to bed, supperless."
"My Lord, my Lord," whispered Osmond, "see you not that you are bringing
discredit on all of us?"
"I would be courteous enough, if they would be courteous to me," returned
Richard, gazing with eyes full of defiance at Lothaire, who, returning an
angry look, had nevertheless shrunk back to his mother. She meanwhile
was saying, "So strong, so rough, the young savage is, he will surely
harm our poor boys!"
"Never fear," said Louis; "he shall be watched. And," he added in a
lower tone, "for the present, at least, we must keep up appearances.
Hubert of Senlis, and Hugh of Paris, have their eyes on us, and were the
boy to be missed, the grim old Harcourt would have all the pirates of his
land on us in the twinkling of an eye. We have him, and there we must
rest content for the present. Now to supper."
At supper, Richard sat next little Carloman, who peeped at him every now
and then from under his eyelashes, as if he was afraid of him; and
presently, when there was a good deal of talking going on, so that his
voice could not be heard, half whispered, in a very grave tone, "Do you
like salt beef or fresh?"
"I like fresh," answered Richard, with equal gravity, "only we eat salt
all the winter."
There was another silence, and then Carloman, with the same solemnity,
asked, "How old are you?"
"I shall be nine on the eve of St. Boniface. How old are you?"
"Eight. I was eight at Martinmas, and Lothaire was nine three days
since."
Another silence; then, as Osmond waited on Richard, Carloman returned to
the charge, "Is that your Squire?"
"Yes, that is Osmond de Centeville."
"How tall he is!"
"We Normans are taller than you French."
"Don't say so to Lothaire, or you will make him angry."
"Why? it is true."
"Yes; but--" and Carloman sunk his voice--"there are some things which
Lothaire will not hear said. Do not make him cross, or he will make my
mother displeased with you. She caused Thierry de Lincourt to be
scourged, because his ball hit Lothaire's face."
"She cannot scourge me--I am a free Duke," said Richard. "But why? Did
he do it on purpose?"
"Oh, no!"
"And was Lothaire hurt?"
"Hush! you must say Prince Lothaire. No; it was quite a soft ball."
"Why?" again asked Richard--"why was he scourged?"
"I told you, because he hit Lothaire."
"Well, but did he not laugh, and say it was nothing? Alberic quite
knocked me down with a great snowball the other day, and Sir Eric
laughed, and said I must stand firmer."
"Do you make snowballs?"
"To be sure I do! Do not you?"
"Oh, no! the snow is so cold."
"Ah! you are but a little boy," said Richard, in a superior manner.
Carloman asked how it was done; and Richard gave an animated description
of the snowballing, a fortnight ago, at Rouen, when Osmond and some of
the other young men built a snow fortress, and defended it against
Richard, Alberic, and the other Squires. Carloman listened with delight,
and declared that next time it snowed, they would have a snow castle; and
thus, by the time supper was over, the two little boys were very good
friends.
Bedtime came not long after supper. Richard's was a smaller room than he
had been used to at Rouen; but it amazed him exceedingly when he first
went into it: he stood gazing in wonder, because, as he said, "It was as
if he had been in a church."
"Yes, truly!" said Osmond. "No wonder these poor creatures of French
cannot stand before a Norman lance, if they cannot sleep without glass to
their windows. Well! what would my father say to this?"
"And see! see, Osmond! they have put hangings up all round the walls,
just like our Lady's church on a great feast-day. They treat us just as
if we were the holy saints; and here are fresh rushes strewn about the
floor, too. This must be a mistake--it must be an oratory, instead of my
chamber."
"No, no, my Lord; here is our gear, which I bade Sybald and Henry see
bestowed in our chamber. Well, these Franks are come to a pass, indeed!
My grandmother will never believe what we shall have to tell her. Glass
windows and hangings to sleeping chambers! I do not like it I am sure we
shall never be able to sleep, closed up from the free air of heaven in
this way: I shall be always waking, and fancying I am in the chapel at
home, hearing Father Lucas chanting his matins. Besides, my father would
blame me for letting you be made as tender as a Frank. I'll have out
this precious window, if I can."
Luxurious as the young Norman thought the King, the glazing of Laon was
not permanent. It consisted of casements, which could be put up or
removed at pleasure; for, as the court possessed only one set of glass
windows, they were taken down, and carried from place to place, as often
as Louis removed from Rheims to Soissons, Laon, or any other of his royal
castles; so that Osmond did not find much difficulty in displacing them,
and letting in the sharp, cold, wintry breeze. The next thing he did was
to give his young Lord a lecture on his want of courtesy, telling him
that "no wonder the Franks thought he had no more culture than a Viking
(or pirate), fresh caught from Norway. A fine notion he was giving them
of the training he had at Centeville, if he could not even show common
civility to the Queen--a lady! Was that the way Alberic had behaved when
he came to Rouen?"
"Fru Astrida did not make sour faces at him, nor call him a young
savage," replied Richard.
"No, and he gave her no reason to do so; he knew that the first teaching
of a young Knight is to be courteous to ladies--never mind whether fair
and young, or old and foul of favour. Till you learn and note that, Lord
Richard, you will never be worthy of your golden spurs."
"And the King told me she would treat me as a mother," exclaimed Richard.
"Do you think the King speaks the truth, Osmond?"
"That we shall see by his deeds," said Osmond.
"He was very kind while we were in Normandy. I loved him so much better
than the Count de Harcourt; but now I think that the Count is best! I'll
tell you, Osmond, I will never call him grim old Bernard again."
"You had best not, sir, for you will never have a more true-hearted
vassal."
"Well, I wish we were back in Normandy, with Fru Astrida and Alberic. I
cannot bear that Lothaire. He is proud, and unknightly, and cruel. I am
sure he is, and I will never love him."
"Hush, my Lord!--beware of speaking so loud. You are not in your own
Castle."
"And Carloman is a chicken-heart," continued Richard, unheeding. "He
does not like to touch snow, and he cannot even slide on the ice, and he
is afraid to go near that great dog--that beautiful wolf-hound."
"He is very little," said Osmond.
"I am sure I was not as cowardly at his age, now was I, Osmond? Don't
you remember?"
"Come, Lord Richard, I cannot let you wait to remember everything; tell
your beads and pray that we may be brought safe back to Rouen; and that
you may not forget all the good that Father Lucas and holy Abbot Martin
have laboured to teach you."
So Richard told the beads of his rosary--black polished wood, with amber
at certain spaces--he repeated a prayer with every bead, and Osmond did
the same; then the little Duke put himself into a narrow crib of richly
carved walnut; while Osmond, having stuck his dagger so as to form an
additional bolt to secure the door, and examined the hangings that no
secret entrance might be concealed behind them, gathered a heap of rushes
together, and lay down on them, wrapped in his mantle, across the
doorway. The Duke was soon asleep; but the Squire lay long awake, musing
on the possible dangers that surrounded his charge, and on the best way
of guarding against them.