OUR CAPTIVITY
It was not in the direction taken by the Scottish army that we were
conducted as prisoners by the Scottish men-at-arms, but to a castle
standing on the banks of a stream called the Leader, and hard by the
tower within the walls of which, in the thirteenth century, dwelt
Thomas of Ercildoun, a bard of mighty fame, who enjoyed the reputation
of being gifted with a prophetic faculty, and who is said, while
at supper in the castle of Dunbar, to have predicted the death of
Alexander, King of Scots, and who, on being asked when the war in
Scotland would come to an end, answered, "When the cultivated country
shall become forest; when wild beasts shall inhabit the abodes of men;
when the Scots shall not be able to escape the English, should they
crouch as hares in their form; and when they shall be drowned in their
flight for fault of ships."
As we approached Mount Moreville, which, in earlier days, was the
castle of Hugh de Moreville, a great Norman noble, who figured as
Constable of Scotland, and founded the abbey of Dryburgh, and as we
rode through the village that had risen under the protection of the
stronghold of the Morevilles, night had for some time fallen, and
darkness overshadowed the earth. But the rumour that Englishmen were
being led to captivity brought forth men and women, and even children,
who greeted us in harsh accents, with epithets of no complimentary
kind, and loudly chanted a song, which I learned had, forty years
earlier, been in fashion among the Scots, and which still retained much
of its popularity, albeit it was a song of triumph over potent foes
humiliated by a disaster which had been sternly and terribly avenged in
three foughten fields:--
"Maidens of England, sore may ye mourn
For your lovers ye have lost at Bannockburn,
With Heve a low!
What ho! weneth the King of England,
So soon to have all Scotland,
With a rumby low!"
Smiling, as one who had fought at Neville's Cross might well smile,
in scornful disdain at this barbarous dirge, I passed through the
barriers, Salle riding by my side in doleful mood at the thought of
being separated from freedom by stone walls and iron bars; and, having
passed the drawbridge and dismounted in the courtyard, we were led into
the hall of the castle.
While Salle, much downcast, and I, somewhat crestfallen, were kept
waiting in the great hall of the castle of Mount Moreville till
arrangements were made for lodging us securely in one of the strong
rooms of the tower, I gradually became aware that the inmates were not
all Scots. In fact, some of the French who had accompanied Eugène de
Garentière were quartered in the castle, and among them Lancelot de
Lorris, a young knight, who, young, handsome, expert in arms, and much
in love with a demoiselle of his own country, had come to win his spurs
in combat with the English, and had taken one of those romantic vows so
common at the period not to eat bread from a table-cloth, nor to sleep
in a bed, nor to look the lady of his love in the face, till he had
performed certain feats of chivalry against the garrison of Roxburgh.
As we entered the hall the Frenchmen, some seated, some standing by
the fire that burned on the hearth and blazed up the huge chimney, were
playing dice, and talking boastfully enough of their feats in love and
war. On seeing us, however, they, with one accord, moved to the middle
of the floor and stared at us, smiling and whispering to each other,
and displaying more curiosity than was agreeable to my comrade.
"Gallants!" growled Salle, patting the heads of two hounds that had
roused themselves and risen from their recumbent posture on our
entrance, "have you before never seen an English prisoner, that you
stare at us as if we were elephants or camels, or beasts of prey? By
good St. George, I err grievously if you would not be more shy of
approaching were we but mounted on our horses and armed with swords."
It seemed that the language in which Salle conveyed his question and
uttered his comment was not comprehended by the Frenchmen; for they
merely looked at each other and shook their heads. Suddenly, however,
the countenance of Lancelot de Lorris was lighted up with a smile of
surprise, and the young knight, who, I observed, bore a chain on his
arm to indicate that he was under thraldom to his chivalrous vow,
stepped forward.
"By our lady of Rybamont!" said he, addressing me, "it seems to me,
gentle squire, that we have met before."
"It may so have chanced, sir knight," replied I, speaking in his own
tongue, and with studied courtesy, for I wished to make amends for my
comrade's growl, "but, if so, my memory serves me not as to time and
place."
"Ah!" said Sir Lancelot, shaking his head gravely, "it was at a time
which no warrior of France can recall but with sadness, and at a place
which, credit me, I long again to behold as an exile the home whence he
had been banished--the castle of Corbie."
"I now remember me," replied I, and not without a flush of pride; for
on that day I had won some renown as the champion of imperilled ladies.
"And trust me," said Sir Lancelot cordially, and with a tear in his
eye--for it was one of the ladies of Poix to whom he pledged his
love, and in whose honour he was eager to do noble deeds--"there are
many, myself among the number, who remember how chivalrously you did
your devoir as an aspirant to chivalry, and, by our lady of Rybamont!
were you here free, and at liberty to do as you liked, instead of a
prisoner, naught would please me better than on the morrow to mark my
esteem for your valour by indulging you with an encounter outside the
barriers of this castle for death or life."
"Gramercy, sir knight," replied I, laughing heartily, "you
over-estimate my prowess when you deem me worthy of such a distinction:
and yet," added I, "should we chance to meet in time to come on some
field where French and English men struggle for renown and victory, in
no wise could I imagine good St. George favouring me more highly than
by placing me face to face and hand to hand with a warrior at once so
courteous and so brave."
Smiling, as if pleased with the answer, Sir Lancelot de Lorris showed
that, however readily he would, under other circumstances, have given
me a passport to another world, he was not indifferent to my comfort
in this. Leading myself and my comrade to the huge chimney, he did
everything to console us in our captivity, and his example was not lost
on his countrymen, who stood around breaking jests on the poverty of
the land and the badness of the fire.
"By my faith," said John de Helennes, a squire of France, "the night is
raw and cold; and my very bones seem to freeze."
"In truth," remarked another French squire, known as Eustace the
Strong--who prided himself on being like that King of France called
Pepin le Bref, whom he did resemble in this at least, that, though
his stature was small, his strength was enormous--"Scotland is not a
country to be in during winter. I never knew what hard living was till
now."
"But certes," said John de Helennes, "that is no reason why we should
have such a fire in such weather; for, being but now in the courtyard,
I saw several asses driven in, laden with billets of wood for the use
of the garrison."
"Holy Mary!" exclaimed Eustace with a look of indignation. "Do you tell
me that fuel in plenty is so near, and that warriors of France are left
to starve in the cold? Shame upon us if we right not ourselves in such
a case."
And, as the strong Frenchman spoke, he sallied forth to the courtyard,
seized one of the asses with panniers, carried it into the hall, and,
pushing towards the chimney, flung the ass and its load, with its feet
uppermost, on the dogs of the hearth, to the great delight of the
bystanders, who, with the exception of Sir Lancelot, overlooked the
cruelty of the action, and applauded the display of strength.
By this time our term of reprieve was at an end; and, arrangements
having meanwhile been made for lodging us securely, we, after taking
leave of Sir Lancelot, were conducted up a flight of stone stairs,
and into a dimly-lighted chamber, with huge doors and narrow windows,
the strong bolts and strong gratings of which seemed to forbid every
thought of escape.
"My malison on Dame Fortune for playing us this scurvy trick," said
my companion, as the gaoler departed, drawing bolt and bar carefully
behind him. "If there is anything I have ever dreaded more than I have
hated Scot and Frenchman, it has been the thought of captivity; and now
here we are, mewed in an enemy's stronghold, without hope of freedom,
and in the hands of men belonging to the nations I have ever detested."
"My friend," replied I soothingly, "be patient, I intreat you, and
speak not of being without hope; captivity is the hard fate of many a
brave warrior; and circumstances can open stronger doors than the one
which bars us from liberty."
But days and weeks passed over, and winter went, and spring came, and
the fields became green, and the leaves appeared on the trees, and we
learned that the King of England and his army had returned home, and
we were still prisoners, when, one day, an event occurred which lent
something like novelty to our existence, and stimulated me in some
efforts I had made to gratify our anxiety to escape.
I have said that Sir Lancelot de Lorris had vowed to perform certain
deeds of chivalry against the garrison of Roxburgh, and no sooner
had King Edward left the country than he began to make excursions
with the object of accomplishing his vow. Pushing up one day to the
stronghold, of which Sir John Copeland was governor, the French knight
adventured so far as to strike upon the gate of the fortress and defy
the garrison. On that day Copeland had left the castle to exercise his
functions of Sheriff of Northumberland, and no notice was taken of the
French knight's bravado. But when the Governor of Roxburgh returned,
and learned what had occurred, he lost no time in returning the visit.
It was a day in spring, and the sun was shining pleasantly on pool and
stream, when I, looking between the strong iron gratings that secured
the window of our prison, observed a knight, accompanied by a band
of horsemen, approach the castle, and hover on the lee outside the
barriers in an attitude of defiance. I had no difficulty in recognising
Copeland, and, entertaining little doubt as to the errand on which he
had come, I called the attention of Salle to his presence, and awaited
the result of his adventure with almost breathless interest.
Nor was Copeland long kept waiting. Elate with the anticipation of
encountering so hardy a knight, Sir Lancelot, on hearing that the
Governor of Roxburgh requested a tilt, immediately accepted the
challenge, and, arraying himself for combat, sallied out, attended by
Eustace the Strong and the other Frenchmen, all armed and mounted.
I have seldom beheld a more handsome cavalier than Sir Lancelot looked
on this occasion, as, with his pennon displayed, he rode through the
barriers with his target on his neck and a lance in his hand, full of
gaiety and joyous with the prospect of conflict.
Meanwhile, Copeland, having looked to his saddle-girths, laid his lance
in rest, and answered Sir Lancelot's cry of "Our lady of Rybamont!"
with a shout of "St. George for England!" Then trumpets sounded, and
the two champions rushed against each other. In this course, and in
the second which they ran, both charged gallantly, and neither could be
said to have any advantage over his antagonist; and, as their targets
rang with a clash as they met, their companions shouted applause at
their skill, and even I could not refrain from clapping my hands.
But when the English and French knights wheeled their coursers, and,
charging for a third time, met with a furious onset, the result was far
different. For a moment, so fierce was the shock that it was impossible
to perceive what had occurred. But soon all doubt was at an end.
Copeland had been so forcibly struck on his helmet that he bent back
and shook in his saddle; but his spear had been driven with terrible
effect; and Sir Lancelot, pierced through shield and armour, dropped
from his steed with a deep and mortal wound.
On seeing the young knight fall, the French, in sore displeasure,
raised a cry for revenge; and, headed by Eustace the Strong, they
spurred forward to encounter their adversaries. Undauntedly, however,
Copeland met them, sword in hand, smote Eustace to the earth, and,
literally felling down all before him, drove them, in spite of a
desperate resistance, within the barriers, and then, sheathing his
sword, prepared to be gone.
"Adieu, sirs," said he, waving his hand as he turned his horse's head
to regain his company. "Much it grieves me to have troubled you with my
presence. But it would ill have become me, as King Edward's captain, to
allow either Scot or Frenchman to strike upon the gate of a fortress
committed to my keeping, without hastening, with all speed, to mark my
sense of the chivalry that prompted such an adventure. Adieu! I thank
you."
Some hours later our evening meal was brought by the gaoler, and I
seized the opportunity to ascertain how fared those who had fallen
before Copeland's weapon.
"The squire is little the worse for the clout he got," replied the
gaoler. "As for the young knight, he will never see France more; he has
already departed for a fairer country."
"Gone to his long home," said I, with a pang of mournful regret. "I
grieve to hear it with all my heart."
"And, in good sooth, so do I," exclaimed Salle earnestly. "I sincerely
lament his fall; for, now that he is dead, I will say of him that, had
he been ten times a Frenchman, he was still a gallant young knight,
courteous in words, generous in thought, handsome to look at, and
expert with his lance; and may Christ have mercy on his soul!"
"Amen!" added I, crossing myself. "And in truth his death is the more
mournful that he seemed so much in love."
"Ay," said the gaoler, "it was woesome to see him when he lay on the
rushes in the hall, and felt that he was sinking fast; he took his
pennon, and giving it to John de Helennes, said, 'Take this, which
is dyed with my best blood, to the lady of my love, by whom it was
broidered, and tell her what has befallen me, and that, though I failed
to accomplish the vow that kept me from her presence, yet I died with
honour in the attempt.' And then," added the gaoler, "he laid his head
on the rushes, and died."