Montemar was too near the frontier to be a safe abode for the little
Duke, and his uncle, Count Hubert of Senlis, agreed with Bernard the Dane
that he would be more secure beyond the limits of his own duchy, which
was likely soon to be the scene of war; and, sorely against his will, he
was sent in secret, under a strong escort, first to the Castle of Coucy,
and afterwards to Senlis.
His consolation was, that he was not again separated from his friends;
Alberic, Sir Eric, and even Fru Astrida, accompanied him, as well as his
constant follower, Osmond. Indeed, the Baron would hardly bear that he
should be out of his sight; and he was still so carefully watched, that
it was almost like a captivity. Never, even in the summer days, was he
allowed to go beyond the Castle walls; and his guardians would fain have
had it supposed that the Castle did not contain any such guest.
Osmond did not give him so much of his company as usual, but was always
at work in the armourer's forge--a low, vaulted chamber, opening into the
Castle court. Richard and Alberic were very curious to know what he did
there; but he fastened the door with an iron bar, and they were forced to
content themselves with listening to the strokes of the hammer, keeping
time to the voice that sang out, loud and cheerily, the song of "Sigurd's
sword, and the maiden sleeping within the ring of flame." Fru Astrida
said Osmond was quite right--no good weapon-smith ever toiled with open
doors; and when the boys asked him questions as to his work, he only
smiled, and said that they would see what it was when the call to arms
should come.
They thought it near at hand, for tidings came that Louis had assembled
his army, and marched into Normandy to recover the person of the young
Duke, and to seize the country. No summons, however, arrived, but a
message came instead, that Rouen had been surrendered into the bands of
the King. Richard shed indignant tears. "My father's Castle! My own
city in the hands of the foe! Bernard is a traitor then! None shall
hinder me from so calling him. Why did we trust him?"
"Never fear, Lord Duke," said Osmond. "When you come to the years of
Knighthood, your own sword shall right you, in spite of all the false
Danes, and falser Franks, in the land."
"What! you too, son Osmond? I deemed you carried a cooler brain than to
miscall one who was true to Rollo's race before you or yon varlet were
born!" said the old Baron.
"He has yielded my dukedom! It is mis-calling to say he is aught but a
traitor!" cried Richard. "Vile, treacherous, favour-seeking--"
"Peace, peace, my Lord," said the Baron. "Bernard has more in that wary
head of his than your young wits, or my old ones, can unwind. What he is
doing I may not guess, but I gage my life his heart is right."
Richard was silent, remembering he had been once unjust, but he grieved
heartily when he thought of the French in Rollo's tower, and it was
further reported that the King was about to share Normandy among his
French vassals. A fresh outcry broke out in the little garrison of
Senlis, but Sir Eric still persisted in his trust in his friend Bernard,
even when he heard that Centeville was marked out as the prey of the fat
French Count who had served for a hostage at Rouen.
"What say you now, my Lord?" said he, after a conference with a messenger
at the gate. "The Black Raven has spread its wings. Fifty keels are in
the Seine, and Harald Blue-tooth's Long Serpent at the head of them."
"The King of Denmark! Come to my aid!"
"Ay, that he is! Come at Bernard's secret call, to right you, and put
you on your father's seat. Now call honest Harcourt a traitor, because
he gave not up your fair dukedom to the flame and sword!"
"No traitor to me," said Richard, pausing. "No, verily, but what more
would you say?"
"I think, when I come to my dukedom, I will not be so politic," said
Richard. "I will be an open friend or an open foe."
"The boy grows too sharp for us," said Sir Eric, smiling, "but it was
spoken like his father."
"He grows more like his blessed father each day," said Fru Astrida.
"But the Danes, father, the Danes!" said Osmond. "Blows will be passing
now. I may join the host and win my spurs?"
"With all my heart," returned the Baron, "so my Lord here gives you
leave: would that I could leave him and go with you. It would do my very
spirit good but to set foot in a Northern keel once more."
"I would fain see what these men of the North are," said Osmond.
"Oh! they are only Danes, not Norsemen, and there are no Vikings, such as
once were when Ragnar laid waste--"
"Son, son, what talk is this for the child's ears?" broke in Fru Astrida,
"are these words for a Christian Baron?"
"Your pardon, mother," said the grey warrior, in all humility, "but my
blood thrills to hear of a Northern fleet at hand, and to think of Osmond
drawing sword under a Sea-King."
The next morning, Osmond's steed was led to the door, and such
men-at-arms as could be spared from the garrison of Senlis were drawn up
in readiness to accompany him. The boys stood on the steps, wishing they
were old enough to be warriors, and wondering what had become of him,
until at length the sound of an opening door startled them, and there, in
the low archway of the smithy, the red furnace glowing behind him, stood
Osmond, clad in bright steel, the links of his hauberk reflecting the
light, and on his helmet a pair of golden wings, while the same device
adorned his long pointed kite-shaped shield.
"Your wings! our wings!" cried Richard, "the bearing of Centeville!"
"May they fly after the foe, not before him," said Sir Eric. "Speed thee
well, my son--let not our Danish cousins say we learn Frank graces
instead of Northern blows."
With such farewells, Osmond quitted Senlis, while the two boys hastened
to the battlements to watch him as long as he remained in view.
The highest tower became their principal resort, and their eyes were
constantly on the heath where he had disappeared; but days passed, and
they grew weary of the watch, and betook themselves to games in the
Castle court.
One day, Alberic, in the character of a Dragon, was lying on his back,
panting hard so as to be supposed to cast out volumes of flame and smoke
at Richard, the Knight, who with a stick for a lance, and a wooden sword,
was waging fierce war; when suddenly the Dragon paused, sat up, and
pointed towards the warder on the tower. His horn was at his lips, and
in another moment, the blast rang out through the Castle.
With a loud shout, both boys rushed headlong up the turret stairs, and
came to the top so breathless, that they could not even ask the warder
what he saw. He pointed, and the keen-eyed Alberic exclaimed, "I see!
Look, my Lord, a speck there on the heath!"
"I do not see! where, oh where?"
"He is behind the hillock now, but--oh, there again! How fast he comes!"
"It is like the flight of a bird," said Richard, "fast, fast--"
"If only it be not flight in earnest," said Alberic, a little anxiously,
looking into the warder's face, for he was a borderer, and tales of
terror of the inroad of the Vicomte du Contentin were rife on the marches
of the Epte.
"No, young Sir," said the warder, "no fear of that. I know how men ride
when they flee from the battle."
"No, indeed, there is no discomfiture in the pace of that steed," said
Sir Eric, who had by this time joined them.
"I see him clearer! I see the horse," cried Richard, dancing with
eagerness, so that Sir Eric caught hold of him, exclaiming, "You will be
over the battlements! hold still! better hear of a battle lost than
that!"
"He bears somewhat in his hand," said Alberic.
"A banner or pennon," said the warder; "methinks he rides like the young
Baron."
"He does! My brave boy! He has done good service," exclaimed Sir Eric,
as the figure became more developed. "The Danes have seen how we train
our young men."
"His wings bring good tidings," said Richard. "Let me go, Sir Eric, I
must tell Fru Astrida."
The drawbridge was lowered, the portcullis raised, and as all the
dwellers in the Castle stood gathered in the court, in rode the warrior
with the winged helm, bearing in his hand a drooping banner; lowering it
as he entered, it unfolded, and displayed, trailing on the ground at the
feet of the little Duke of Normandy, the golden lilies of France.
A shout of amazement arose, and all gathered round him, asking hurried
questions. "A great victory--the King a prisoner--Montreuil slain!"
Richard would not be denied holding his hand, and leading him to the
hall, and there, sitting around him, they heard his tidings. His
father's first question was, what he thought of their kinsmen, the Danes?
"Rude comrades, father, I must own," said Osmond, smiling, and shaking
his head. "I could not pledge them in a skull-goblet--set in gold though
it were."
"None the worse warriors," said Sir Eric. "Ay, ay, and you were dainty,
and brooked not the hearty old fashion of tearing the whole sheep to
pieces. You must needs cut your portion with the fine French knife at
your girdle."
Osmond could not see that a man was braver for being a savage, but he
held his peace; and Richard impatiently begged to hear how the battle had
gone, and where it had been fought.
"On the bank of the Dive," said Osmond. "Ah, father, you might well call
old Harcourt wary--his name might better have been Fox-heart than
Bear-heart! He had sent to the Franks a message of distress, that the
Danes were on him in full force, and to pray them to come to his aid."
"I trust there was no treachery. No foul dealing shall be wrought in my
name," exclaimed Richard, with such dignity of tone and manner, as made
all feel he was indeed their Duke, and forget his tender years.
"No, or should I tell the tale with joy like this?" said Osmond.
"Bernard's view was to bring the Kings together, and let Louis see you
had friends to maintain your right. He sought but to avoid bloodshed."
"And how chanced it?"
"The Danes were encamped on the Dive, and so soon as the French came in
sight, Blue-tooth sent a messenger to Louis, to summon him to quit
Neustria, and leave it to you, its lawful owner. Thereupon, Louis,
hoping to win him over with wily words, invited him to hold a personal
conference."
"Where were you, Osmond?"
"Where I had scarce patience to be. Bernard had gathered all of us
honest Normans together, and arranged us beneath that standard of the
King, as if to repel his Danish inroad. Oh, he was, in all seeming,
hand-and-glove with Louis, guiding him by his counsel, and, verily,
seeming his friend and best adviser! But in one thing he could not
prevail. That ungrateful recreant, Herluin of Montreuil, came with the
King, hoping, it seems, to get his share of our spoils; and when Bernard
advised the King to send him home, since no true Norman could bear the
sight of him, the hot-headed Franks vowed no Norman should hinder them
from bringing whom they chose. So a tent was set up by the riverside,
wherein the two Kings, with Bernard, Alan of Brittany, and Count Hugh,
held their meeting. We all stood without, and the two hosts began to
mingle together, we Normans making acquaintance with the Danes. There
was a red-haired, wild-looking fellow, who told me he had been with
Anlaff in England, and spoke much of the doings of Hako in Norway; when,
suddenly, he pointed to a Knight who was near, speaking to a Cotentinois,
and asked me his name. My blood boiled as I answered, for it was
Montreuil himself! 'The cause of your Duke's death!' said the Dane.
'Ha, ye Normans are fallen sons of Odin, to see him yet live!'"
"You said, I trust, my son, that we follow not the laws of Odin?" said
Fru Astrida.
"I had no space for a word, grandmother; the Danes took the vengeance on
themselves. In one moment they rushed on Herluin with their axes, and
the unhappy man was dead. All was tumult; every one struck without
knowing at whom, or for what. Some shouted, '_Thor Hulfe_!' some '_Dieu
aide_!' others '_Montjoie St. Denis_!' Northern blood against French,
that was all our guide. I found myself at the foot of this standard, and
had a hard combat for it; but I bore it away at last."
"And the Kings?"
"They hurried out of the tent, it seems, to rejoin their men. Louis
mounted, but you know of old, my Lord, he is but an indifferent horseman,
and the beast carried him into the midst of the Danes, where King Harald
caught his bridle, and delivered him to four Knights to keep. Whether he
dealt secretly with them, or whether they, as they declared, lost sight
of him whilst plundering his tent, I cannot say; but when Harald demanded
him of them, he was gone."
"Gone! is this what you call having the King prisoner?"
"You shall hear. He rode four leagues, and met one of the baser sort of
Rouennais, whom he bribed to hide him in the Isle of Willows. However,
Bernard made close inquiries, found the fellow had been seen in speech
with a French horseman, pounced on his wife and children, and threatened
they should die if he did not disclose the secret. So the King was
forced to come out of his hiding-place, and is now fast guarded in
Rollo's tower--a Dane, with a battle-axe on his shoulder, keeping guard
at every turn of the stairs."
"Ha! ha!" cried Richard. "I wonder how he likes it. I wonder if he
remembers holding me up to the window, and vowing that he meant me only
good!"
"When you believed him, my Lord," said Osmond, slyly.
"I was a little boy then," said Richard, proudly. "Why, the very walls
must remind him of his oath, and how Count Bernard said, as he dealt with
me, so might Heaven deal with him."
"Remember it, my child--beware of broken vows," said Father Lucas; "but
remember it not in triumph over a fallen foe. It were better that all
came at once to the chapel, to bestow their thanksgivings where alone
they are due."