AT LA BROYES
I have no doubt I entered the castle of La Broyes with a merrier
heart than any of the party whose prisoner I happened to be. I was
not likely to forget, and I did not forget, that I had formed one
of the dauntless army which had just won a marvellous victory; and,
albeit I was a captive, I felt--especially after having supped--more
than half-inclined to believe my own mishap a trifle when I thought
of the effect that would be produced in the cities and hamlets, and
castles and granges of England, when through the land ran tidings
that England's king had, without even putting on his helmet, put his
continental enemies under his feet.
I was still musing on this subject--so grateful to English pride--and
was on the point of stretching myself to rest on the floor of
the chamber to which I had been conducted, when John of Hainault
condescended to come and hold some conversation with me. I had not, of
course, any idea of the Hainaulter's motive, and more than suspected
that his object was to gain intelligence that might be turned to
account. However, I deemed that I was guilty of no indiscretion in
convincing him that I was not wholly without importance in the court
of that country to which, twenty years earlier, he had escorted Queen
Isabel the Fair when she came to dethrone her ill-starred husband, and
to which, somewhat later, he had conducted his niece as the bride of
King Edward, then on the point of throwing off the influence of his
mother and Roger de Mortimer, and entering upon that career of victory
which enabled him to take the highest place among the sovereigns of the
age.
I flattered myself that I had reason to be satisfied with the
impression I produced, and, indeed, soon found the advantage I had
gained by asserting my dignity as page to the Prince of Wales. In
fact, John of Hainault's countenance began gradually to relax, and he
expressed himself on the event of the day with a frankness hardly to
have been anticipated under the circumstances.
"Well, sir page," said he, laughing somewhat carelessly as he
prepared to go, "it rejoices me to perceive that you treat your
mishap with the indifference which a brave warrior--be he stripling
or grey-beard--should treat temporary captivity. And God wots you
have your consolation; for, certes, the King of England has won a
great victory, and the Prince of Wales has proved himself a wondrous
war-chief, considering his years."
"My lord," replied I with enthusiasm, "may the king ever so prevail
over his enemies, and may the prince ever prove himself the worthy son
of such a father!"
"The King of France," said John of Hainault, looking keenly at me as he
spoke, "is inclined to blame Sir Godemar du Fay for his defeat."
"In truth," remarked I, smiling, "it baffles me to discover in what way
the unfortunate knight could have prevented it."
"Nevertheless," continued he, "there are some about the king who are
loudly calling Sir Godemar a traitor; and the king, enraged at the idea
of having been betrayed, threatens to hang him."
I trembled for the safety of Gobin Agace, who had served us so well in
the hour of need, but I did not deem myself bound to speak.
"Thinkest thou that Sir Godemar could have played the traitor?" asked
he.
"My lord," I answered, "I am a humble page, and unable to judge of such
high matters of war and state."
"For my part," continued he slowly, "I entertain no doubt of Sir
Godemar's good faith; and I see not how he could have resisted the
English army."
"Verily," said I grimly, "it seems to me the reverse of surprising,
that Sir Godemar failed to do with a handful of men-at-arms and a
rabble of townsmen, what Philip, Count of Valois, failed to do with the
flower of the French nobility and half the princes of Europe at his
back."
"My friend," said John of Hainault drily, "I advise you to be more
respectful when you allude to the chief of the House of Valois, and
to speak of him as King of France; otherwise, assuredly they will have
little scruple in hanging you on the nearest tree."
"Well, my lord," replied I carelessly, "I am in their hands, and,
doubtless, they can do with me as they please. But, in that case, my
lord the Prince of Wales may make inconvenient inquiries after the fate
of his page; and King Edward has this day shown that he knows how to
avenge lawless executions."
"_Mort Dieu!_" exclaimed the Hainaulter in alarm; "I warn you, for your
own sake, not to allow your tongue to outrun your discretion, or you
will never more see the green fields and oaken forests of your native
land."
And wishing me "Good night," he took his departure, certainly not much
wiser than he had come.
I now stretched myself to rest, and slept the sound sleep of youth.
Next morning I rose refreshed, and with a feeling that I had little to
complain of, save that Fortune had been somewhat unkind in making me a
captive in the hour of victory. But I was not without my consolation,
and I was rather inclined to show contempt towards my gaolers as men
belonging to an inferior nation. But I had prudence enough to keep this
feeling in check, and so to insinuate myself into their good graces as
to learn something as to the movements of Philip of Valois and John of
Hainault.
It appeared, in fact, that Philip and the martial Hainaulter had only
made a brief halt at La Broyes. Indeed, Philip neither considered it
safe nor politic to remain long in the place. At midnight, after taking
some refreshment, he again mounted, and, under the direction of guides
familiar with the country, set out for Amiens. By daybreak he reached
that place, and, having halted for a while to rest from his fatigue, he
pursued his way to Paris, vowing to hang Sir Godemar du Fay, and vainly
hoping, perhaps, to discover some way of redeeming himself and his
fortunes from the disgrace and disaster of a terrible defeat.
I bore my imprisonment patiently, but could not do otherwise than blame
John of Hainault for having, in some degree, forfeited his promise, and
left me without hope of release. I was reflecting somewhat bitterly on
the circumstance one day, when the governor of La Broyes appeared, and
informed me that, on the morrow, I was to be removed from the fortress.
"And wherefore?" asked I.
"I know not," answered the governor, with a significant shake of the
head.
I felt some alarm, but refrained from exhibiting any feeling. However,
I made an effort to obtain information on another, and not an
unimportant, point.
"Mayhap," said I gravely, "you will not deem me impertinent, as affairs
stand, in asking to what place I am to be removed?"
"To Bernicles," was his reply.
My heart rather sank, for the name suggested to my imagination that
terrible instrument of torture used by the Saracens. In fact, the only
bernicles of which I had heard is an engine made of pieces of wood
pierced with holes, into which the legs of captives are thrust. They
are put at such a distance from each other as to cause intense pain;
and, the holes being at various distances, the legs of the victim are
forced to a greater or less extension according to the pain intended to
be inflicted. No wonder I started, and felt some sensation of horror,
as I turned to the governor, and said gravely--
"I mislike the name. However, when one of your monarchs--indeed, that
King of France since canonised and known as St. Louis--was a prisoner
of the Saracens, and threatened by them with the bernicles, he said, 'I
am your captive, and it is in your power to do with me as you please.'
So say I."
The governor left me; and I, having taken my evening meal, lay down
to sleep, and dreamed that I was on the point of being put in the
bernicles by Philip of Valois and the young Lord De Ov, and that I was
rescued from their hands by the ladies of Poix, whose champion I had
constituted myself when their father's castle was taken by the army of
invaders.
"Well," murmured I as I awoke, and convinced myself with some
difficulty that it was a dream, "no saying what all this may end in.
Assuredly my prospects are not inviting. Nevertheless, let me not
droop or despair. I have heard men say that fortune, in love and war,
often turns out more favourable than could have been expected. So let
me hope for the best, and trust in God and St. George."