A MYSTERIOUS VISIT
It was the evening of Saturday, the 16th of October, 1347--the day
preceding that which was the anniversary of the battle of Neville's
Cross--and Calais was about to be left to the keeping of Aymery de
Pavie and the garrison with which he had been furnished to guard the
town against any attempt to recover it by force or stratagem.
Next day the squires and pages of the Prince of Wales were to embark;
and I, by no means sorry to exchange the dulness of the conquered
town for Westminster and Windsor, was seated, in solitude, in one of
the chambers of the castle appropriated to the prince's household,
reflecting on the events of a twelvemonth which, assuredly, had been
somewhat eventful, and endeavouring, with juvenile enthusiasm, to
anticipate what the coming year would bring forth, when I was suddenly
aroused from my reverie by the sound of light footsteps, and, looking
up with a start, I found that a woman of tall and elegant form was
before me.
I rose mechanically, and, as in duty bound, bent my head with all the
respect which an apprentice of chivalry owes to the sex which he has
solemnly sworn to serve, and protect, and defend. But I did so with
very peculiar feelings. In truth, though my visitor was closely veiled,
I had an instinctive belief that the figure was not wholly unknown to
me, and that it was associated with memories the reverse of agreeable.
I had no time, however, to recall circumstances, or to speculate on
probabilities, for, without delay, she raised her veil, and looked me
full in the face; and, as she did so, I recognised, with astonishment,
the woman whom I had seen on the night of my mysterious adventure at
Caen.
I started again, and this time as if an adder had stung me; but I
rapidly remembered the resolutions I had formed as to that memorable
occasion; and, quickly recovering my serenity, I motioned her to a
seat, resumed mine, and spoke first.
"Methinks, madam," said I, in a significant tone, "we have met before."
"It is true," she replied, without evincing the slightest agitation.
"But it is not of our having met that I would speak. So far as that
meeting is concerned, let bygones be bygones, and let us speak of
something of more importance to you--mayhap, also, to me. It is meet
that you should know I have on my mind what deeply concerns you, and
therefore am I here."
"Gramercy for the interest you show in me, madam," exclaimed I calmly.
"I would fain hope, however, that what you have to say may be spoken
without my drinking to strengthen my heart against failing during the
narrative; for, on my faith, I cannot but deem that wine drunk in your
presence becomes wondrously intoxicating."
And I looked at my fair visitor with an air of superiority; for, in
truth, I felt, at the moment, that I could not twice be deluded by the
same person. Nevertheless, she was utterly unmoved, and, after a pause,
resumed.
"A truce to jesting, young sir," said she, "and listen to me with
attention, for know that I am in possession of that secret which, of
all others, you desire to gain possession of--I mean the secret of your
birth."
I felt my heart beat tumultuously, and my blood flow quicker through my
veins, as she spoke; but, still remembering Caen, and resolved not to
give way to excitement, I restrained myself, as I often in my day have
done a too-eager steed, and answered calmly.
"Mayhap," said I, "this secret is, after all, of small value; and to
me--as you may suppose--it every day has become, and will become, of
less value."
"And wherefore, young sir?"
"It is in obscurity," continued I, "that men ponder and most perplex
themselves with such points, and rear castles in imagination. Now, in
my case, life is all action and ambition. Boy as I am, I have placed
my foot firmly on the ladder of life, and I neither fear to climb nor
doubt my strength so to do; and what other inspiration does a man want
than the consciousness of brave deeds and duties faithfully performed?"
"It is bravely spoken," said she, without change of tone or
countenance; "and yet, could you guess all that my tongue could tell,
you would not speak of the consequence so lightly."
"Now, by all the saints!" exclaimed I, losing patience, and with it all
command of my temper, "wherefore, woman, tantalise me thus? If you know
aught that relates to my birth--be it good or bad--speak, and I will
listen; or, if you will not speak frankly, cease to tempt my curiosity
with vague hints, which ever elude the grasp of my comprehension, as
the rainbow eludes the grasp of the child."
"Be patient," said she, "and, in this far, I will explain. The
secret, as I tell you, is in my possession, but as yet it is not mine
to tell--it is another's. When my mother was on her death-bed, she
committed it to me with her latest breath; but, as it concerns one
greater than my mother, it cannot be told till Death has claimed that
personage as his prey. Nay, interrupt me not," she continued, as my
impatience was on the point of breaking forth in words; "when that
event happens--and ere long it must happen--I will seek you out and
find you, no matter whether you are in court, or camp, or even in
prison; for I also have an interest in the truth being known, and more
closely than you fancy are our fates linked together."
"You are mysterious," remarked I with a sneer, for I was greatly
disappointed at the result of the communication; and, albeit my
curiosity was sharpened, and my imagination excited, I recovered,
outwardly at least, my calm demeanour.
"Ha!" exclaimed she, in a tone which indicated that she was offended at
my sneer, "it seems that you are somewhat incredulous of my statement.
Peradventure, you will give more credit to my words when I give you a
token you cannot mistake. I tell you that a mark was set upon you in
the cradle, which you are likely to carry to the grave."
I raised my head in silent curiosity.
"Yes," she continued, "it appears on your right shoulder, and is the
form of a lion."
Now I could no longer doubt that this woman, whom I had met under
circumstances which were assuredly not calculated to give her a
favourable place in my opinion, really knew something, more or less, of
the tragedy connected with my birth, and, in some measure, had my fate
in her hands; and the idea that my future, as it were, should be in any
degree dependent on one who had conspired against my liberty, if not
my life, was not only perplexing, but overwhelming. In my agitation, I
rose and walked to the casement, hoping to calm my thoughts by looking
out upon the clear October night. In this position I rapidly regained
my equanimity, and that kind of mental energy which enables us to form
resolutions.
"By St. George and St. Cuthbert, under whose patronage I have fought
against my country's foes," I exclaimed, with a sudden gleam of hope,
"this woman cannot be without a heart. I will appeal to her humanity
to tell me as much, at least, of what relates to this secret as may
enable me to penetrate the rest. Nor do we now part till I have proved
whether or not prayers and intreaties will open her lips to satisfy me
in respect of the rank which my father held."
But in this attempt I was not to have the satisfaction of succeeding.
When I turned round, the woman stood facing me, with her veil still
raised, and an earnest expression on her countenance.
"Lady," said I imploringly, "I pray you to tell me frankly who you are,
and how you happen to know more of my affairs than I myself know."
"Ask not now," replied she, "who I am, or whence I come, or whither I
go. In good time you shall learn all. But," continued she, "hearken to
what I have to say, and, in whatever light you regard me, disregard not
the words I now speak. I am an Englishwoman, I have an English heart,
and I would fain impart by your agency a warning to England's king, to
whom I and mine have been beholden. Let King Edward, I say, beware! or
the prize on which he so highly prides himself will escape his grasp.
Already treachery is at work. Calais is sold for French gold; and if
the king looks not to its security, and that right early, Calais will,
ere long, be in the hands of his foes."
At this startling intelligence I bent my head, and mused for a few
moments as to its probability. When I again looked up, my visitor was
gone. I followed instantly, but still too late; she had disappeared. My
curiosity, however, was so highly excited that I rushed on, and meeting
Robert Salle--who was then attached as a squire to Aymery de Pavie, and
who, being one of the strongest and handsomest Englishmen of his day,
afterwards, though merely the son of a mason, acquired great renown for
his ability and courage, and took knighthood from King Edward's own
hand--arrested his steps.
"Sir squire," asked I hastily, "marked you any woman pass this way?"
"Assuredly," answered he, much marvelling at my excitement, "Eleanor de
Gubium did pass--she whom men call the fairest English-woman in Calais."
"And who," inquired I eagerly, "may this Eleanor de Gubium be when in
her own country?"
"Beshrew me if I can tell," replied the squire; "only this is certain,"
added he with a smile, "that she is one of whom my lord the governor is
so enamoured that men say she has bewitched him; and he commits to her
the innermost secrets of his heart."
"You mean Sir Aymery de Pavie?" said I, more agitated than ever.
"Surely none other," he replied curtly. "Who else than Sir Aymery de
Pavie should I mean? I trow there is but one Governor of Calais."