As the Baron had said, there was more peace now that Lothaire had learnt
to know that he must submit, and that no one cared for his threats of his
father's or his mother's vengeance. He was very sulky and disagreeable,
and severely tried Richard's forbearance; but there were no fresh
outbursts, and, on the whole, from one week to another, there might be
said to be an improvement. He could not always hold aloof from one so
good-natured and good-humoured as the little Duke; and the fact of being
kept in order could not but have some beneficial effect on him, after
such spoiling as his had been at home.
Indeed, Osmond was once heard to say, it was a pity the boy was not to be
a hostage for life; to which Sir Eric replied, "So long as we have not
the training of him."
Little Carloman, meanwhile, recovered from his fears of all the inmates
of the Castle excepting Hardigras, at whose approach he always shrank and
trembled.
He renewed his friendship with Osmond, no longer started at the entrance
of Sir Eric, laughed at Alberic's merry ways, and liked to sit on Fru
Astrida's lap, and hear her sing, though he understood not one word; but
his especial love was still for his first friend, Duke Richard.
Hand-in-hand they went about together, Richard sometimes lifting him up
the steep steps, and, out of consideration for him, refraining from rough
play; and Richard led him to join with him in those lessons that Father
Lucas gave the children of the Castle, every Friday and Sunday evening in
the Chapel. The good Priest stood on the Altar steps, with the children
in a half circle round him--the son and daughter of the armourer, the
huntsman's little son, the young Baron de Montemar, the Duke of Normandy,
and the Prince of France, all were equal there--and together they learnt,
as he explained to them the things most needful to believe; and thus
Carloman left off wondering why Richard thought it right to be good to
his enemies; and though at first he had known less than even the little
leather-coated huntsman, he seemed to take the holy lessons in faster
than any of them--yes, and act on them, too. His feeble health seemed to
make him enter into their comfort and meaning more than even Richard; and
Alberic and Father Lucas soon told Fru Astrida that it was a
saintly-minded child.
Indeed, Carloman was more disposed to thoughtfulness, because he was
incapable of joining in the sports of the other boys. A race round the
court was beyond his strength, the fresh wind on the battlements made him
shiver and cower, and loud shouting play was dreadful to him. In old
times, he used to cry when Lothaire told him he must have his hair cut,
and be a priest; now, he only said quietly, he should like it very much,
if he could be good enough.
Fru Astrida sighed and shook her head, and feared the poor child would
never grow up to be anything on this earth. Great as had been the
difference at first between him and Richard, it was now far greater.
Richard was an unusually strong boy for ten years old, upright and
broad-chested, and growing very fast; while Carloman seemed to dwindle,
stooped forward from weakness, had thin pinched features, and sallow
cheeks, looking like a plant kept in the dark.
The old Baron said that hardy, healthy habits would restore the puny
children; and Lothaire improved in health, and therewith in temper; but
his little brother had not strength enough to bear the seasoning. He
pined and drooped more each day; and as the autumn came on, and the wind
was chilly, he grew worse, and was scarcely ever off the lap of the kind
Lady Astrida. It was not a settled sickness, but he grew weaker, and
wasted away. They made up a little couch for him by the fire, with the
high settle between it and the door, to keep off the draughts; and there
he used patiently to lie, hour after hour, speaking feebly, or smiling
and seeming pleased, when any one of those he loved approached. He liked
Father Lucas to come and say prayers with him; and he never failed to
have a glad look, when his dear little Duke came to talk to him, in his
cheerful voice, about his rides and his hunting and hawking adventures.
Richard's sick guest took up much of his thoughts, and he never willingly
spent many hours at a distance from him, softening his step and lowering
his voice, as he entered the hall, lest Carloman should be asleep.
"Richard, is it you?" said the little boy, as the young figure came round
the settle in the darkening twilight.
"Yes. How do you feel now, Carloman; are you better?"
"No better, thanks, dear Richard;" and the little wasted fingers were put
into his.
"Has the pain come again?"
"No; I have been lying still, musing; Richard, I shall never be better."
"Oh, do not say so! You will, indeed you will, when spring comes."
"I feel as if I should die," said the little boy; "I think I shall. But
do not grieve, Richard. I do not feel much afraid. You said it was
happier there than here, and I know it now."
"Where my blessed father is," said Richard, thoughtfully. "But oh,
Carloman, you are so young to die!"
"I do not want to live. This is a fighting, hard world, full of cruel
people; and it is peace there. You are strong and brave, and will make
them better; but I am weak and fearful--I could only sigh and grieve."
"Oh, Carloman! Carloman! I cannot spare you. I love you like my own
brother. You must not die--you must live to see your father and mother
again!"
"Commend me to them," said Carloman. "I am going to my Father in heaven.
I am glad I am here, Richard; I never was so happy before. I should have
been afraid indeed to die, if Father Lucas had not taught me how my sins
are pardoned. Now, I think the Saints and Angels are waiting for me."
He spoke feebly, and his last words faltered into sleep. He slept on;
and when supper was brought, and the lamps were lighted, Fru Astrida
thought the little face looked unusually pale and waxen; but he did not
awake. At night, they carried him to his bed, and he was roused into a
half conscious state, moaning at being disturbed. Fru Astrida would not
leave him, and Father Lucas shared her watch.
At midnight, all were wakened by the slow notes, falling one by one on
the ear, of the solemn passing-bell, calling them to waken, that their
prayers might speed a soul on its way. Richard and Lothaire were soon at
the bedside. Carloman lay still asleep, his hands folded on his breast,
but his breath came in long gasps. Father Lucas was praying over him,
and candles were placed on each side of the bed. All was still, the boys
not daring to speak or move. There came a longer breath--then they heard
no more. He was, indeed, gone to a happier home--a truer royalty than
ever had been his on earth.
Then the boys' grief burst out. Lothaire screamed for his mother, and
sobbed out that he should die too--he must go home. Richard stood by the
bed, large silent tears rolling down his cheeks, and his chest heaving
with suppressed sobs.
Fru Astrida led them from the room, back to their beds. Lothaire soon
cried himself to sleep. Richard lay awake, sorrowful, and in deep
thought; while that scene in St. Mary's, at Rouen, returned before his
eyes, and though it had passed nearly two years ago, its meaning and its
teaching had sunk deep into his mind, and now stood before him more
completely.
"Where shall I go, when I come to die, if I have not returned good for
evil?" And a resolution was taken in the mind of the little Duke.
Morning came, and brought back the sense that his gentle little companion
was gone from him; and Richard wept again, as if he could not be
consoled, as he beheld the screened couch where the patient smile would
never again greet him. He now knew that he had loved Carloman all the
more for his weakness and helplessness; but his grief was not like
Lothaire's, for with the Prince's was still joined a selfish fear: his
cry was still, that he should die too, if not set free, and violent
weeping really made him heavy and ill.
The little corpse, embalmed and lapped in lead, was to be sent back to
France, that it might rest with its forefathers in the city of Rheims;
and Lothaire seemed to feel this as an additional stroke of desertion.
He was almost beside himself with despair, imploring every one, in turn,
to send him home, though he well knew they were unable to do so.