CALAIS IN PERIL
Much marvelling at the unexpected warning I had so strangely received,
and attaching the more importance to the communication the longer I
considered the matter, I felt, after long reflection, that I should not
be by any means justified in locking it up in my own breast and keeping
it to myself.
It was true, and I felt strongly, that I could not, under the
circumstances, tell a very satisfactory story; for Eleanor de Gubium
had been mysterious, and I somewhat dreaded the ridicule to which my
narrative of her visit might expose me, even if it did not involve me
in more unfortunate consequences. But from childhood my grandsire had
impressed on me the necessity of doing what I perceived to be my duty
at all hazards; and no sooner was I in England than I hastened to the
palace of Westminster, where the king was then holding his court, and,
seeking out the Prince of Wales, told plainly to him what had been told
to me.
I quickly perceived that my story made no impression on the mind of the
prince, and that he considered I had been fooled by a mad woman or by
an impostor. At first, indeed, he was inclined to laugh to scorn the
idea of Calais being in danger; but, on second thoughts, he intimated
his intention of communicating my statement to the king; and when,
without delay, he did so, the result was not what he seemed to expect.
Not so lightly did King Edward treat the matter as the prince had done.
Far from despising or neglecting the warning, he summoned me to his
presence, questioned me closely, though more courteously than was his
wont in such cases, as to the particulars of my story, and, by his
manner and words, indicated his conviction that there was treachery at
work which must be defeated.
"On my faith," said the king, bending his brow and shaking his head,
"this must be looked to, and that speedily; and, seeing that no man is
so likely as Aymery de Pavie to know what is passing in Calais, he must
be ordered to cross the seas and come hither without loss of time."
"Sire," said I, beginning to be alarmed at the serious aspect the
affair was assuming, "I crave pardon of your highness when I beg you to
bear in mind that I have cast suspicion on no man, but merely related
what was said to me."
"You have done what was your duty," replied the king somewhat sternly,
"and well will it be for others if they can prove that they have done
theirs."
And now not an hour was lost in despatching a messenger to Calais; and,
with all possible speed, Aymery de Pavie, in obedience to the king's
command, came to England, and made his appearance at the palace of
Westminster.
Not having the least idea, however, of the nature of the business on
which he had been summoned to England, and aware of the high favour
which he had hitherto enjoyed at the English court, the Lombard entered
the royal presence with perfect confidence, and, having bent his knee,
stood calmly awaiting the king's commands.
"Ha, Sir Aymery! Sir Aymery!" said the king, taking the Lombard aside,
"wot you what was the response of the oracle of Delphi, when consulted
by a king of the olden times, known as Philip of Macedon, on the best
way of carrying on war?"
"Sire, I know not," answered the Lombard, with a smile.
"Well, Sir Aymery," continued the king, "it was, if I remember aright,
to make gold his weapon, and he would conquer all. Moreover, the advice
proved most advantageous to his affairs, and he afterwards owned that
he had taken more towns with money than with arms; that he never forced
a gate till after having tried to open it with a golden key; and that
he did not deem any fortress impregnable into which a mule laden with
treasure could find entrance."
"Sire," said the Lombard, slightly colouring, and beginning to give way
to agitation, "of all this I was ignorant."
"I doubt it not, Sir Aymery," resumed the king--"I doubt it not; but I
imagine that such is not the case with Philip of Valois. In truth, it
seems to me that my adversary has bethought him, in his troubles, of
the response of the oracle, and determined to try the system pursued
with such success by his namesake of Macedon. What say you, Sir Aymery?"
The Lombard was silent with surprise and consternation, and appeared to
tremble and gasp for breath.
"Answer me, sir," said the king sternly. "Deem you my words but idle
air?"
"Sire," replied the Lombard, with a last desperate effort not to betray
himself, "I am in all things yours to command."
"By St. George and my grandsire's sword! and so, methinks, you ought,
if you knew more of gratitude than the name, Sir Aymery," exclaimed the
king angrily. "I brought you up from a child; I showed you much favour;
and I entrusted to you what I hold dearest in the world, save my wife
and children--I mean the town and castle of Calais; and, to requite all
my kindness, you have sold them to the French. Now for this, I say, you
deserve death."
At this stage the Lombard suddenly drew energy from the excess of
his despair, and, flinging himself on his knees, raised his hands in
supplication.
"Ah, gentle king," cried he, "for God's sake have mercy upon me! All
that you have said is very true. I confess that I have entered into a
treaty with the French to deliver up Calais for twenty thousand crowns;
but, as it was not to be fulfilled till December, and I have not
received a single penny, there is still time to break the bargain."
"Mayhap, Sir Aymery," said the king; "nevertheless, no punishment
could be too severe for your ingratitude and the treachery you have
meditated; and, were Philip of Valois in my place, he would send you
straight to the gallows. But do as I bid, and I promise that your life
shall be spared. Nay, speak not, but listen. It is my wish that you
continue this treaty; that you say nothing of my having discovered
your treason; and that you inform me of the day on which you engage to
deliver up Calais."
"Sire, I will obey you in all things," cried the Lombard, inspired with
feelings similar to those that animate the heart of a man suddenly
rescued from the danger of being swallowed up in the sea.
"Well, then," added the king, "on these conditions I promise you my
pardon, and, that you may earn it, your first duty is to return to your
post at Calais, to keep the nature of our interview secret, even from
the wild winds, and, on peril of your life, not again to be false to me
for a moment, even in your thoughts."
"Sire," said the Lombard earnestly, "I swear on my soul, to handle the
business so that it shall turn out wholly for your advantage."