Malcolm understood it at last. In the great chamber where he was bidden
to wait within 'Nigel' till 'Sir James' came from a private conference
with 'Harry,' he had all explained to him, but within a curtness and
brevity that must not be imitated in the present narrative.
The squire Nigel was in fact Sir Nigel Baird, Baron of Bairdsbrae, the
gentleman to whom poor King Robert II. had committed the charge of his
young son James, when at fourteen he had been sent to France, nominally
for education, but in reality to secure him from the fate of his brother
Rothsay.
Captured by English vessels on the way, the heir of Scotland had been too
valuable a prize to be resigned by the politic Henry IV., who had lodged
him at Windsor Castle, together with Edmund Mortimer, earl of March, and
placed both under the nominal charge of the Prince of Wales, a youth of a
few years older. Unjust as was the detention, it had been far from
severe; the boys had as much liberty as their age and recreation
required, and received the choicest training both in the arts of war and
peace. They were bred up in close intercourse with the King's own four
sons, and were united with them by the warmest sympathy.
In fact, since usurpation had filled Henry of Lancaster's mind with
distrust and jealousy, his eldest son had been in no such enviable
position as to be beyond the capacity of fellow-feeling for the royal
prisoner.
Of a peculiarly frank, open, and affectionate nature, young Henry had so
warmly loved the gentle and fascinating Richard II., that his trust in
the father, of whom he had seen little in his boyhood, had received a
severe shock through Richard's fate. Under the influence of a new,
suspicious, and avaricious wife, the King kept his son as much at a
distance as possible, chiefly on the Welsh marches, learning the art of
war under Hotspur and Oldcastle; and when the father and son were brought
together again, the bold, free bearing and extraordinary ability of the
Prince filled the suspicious mind of the King with alarm and jealousy. To
keep him down, give him no money, and let him gain no influence, was the
narrow policy of the King; and Henry, chafing, dreaming, feeling the
injustice, and pining for occupation, shared his complaints within James,
and in many a day-dream restored him freely to his throne, and together
redressed the wrongs of the world. Meantime, James studied deep in
preparation, and recreated himself with poetry, inspired by the charms of
Joan Beaufort, the lovely daughter of the King's legitimatized brother,
the Earl of Somerset; while Henry persisted in a boy's passionate love to
King Richard's maiden widow, Isabel of France. Entirely unrequited as
his affection was, it had a beneficial effect. Next after his deep sense
of religion, it kept his life pure and chivalrous. He was for ever
faithful to his future wife, even when Isabel had been returned to
France, and his romantic passion had fixed itself on her younger sister
Catherine, whom he endowed in imagination with all he had seen or
supposed in her.
Credited with every excess by the tongue of his stepmother, too active-
minded not to indulge in freakish sports and experiments in life very
astounding to commonplace minds, sometimes when in dire distress even
helping himself to his unpaid allowance from his father's mails, and
always with buoyant high spirits and unfailing drollery that scandalized
the grave seniors of the Court, there is full proof that Prince Hal ever
kept free from the gross vices which a later age has fancied inseparably
connected with his frolics; and though always in disgrace, the vexation
of the Court, and a by-word for mirth, he was true to the grand ideal he
was waiting to accomplish, and never dimmed the purity and loftiness of
his aim. That little band of princely youths, who sported, studied,
laughed, sang, and schemed in the glades of Windsor, were strangely
brought together--the captive exiled King, the disinherited heir of the
realm, and the sons of the monarch who held the one in durance and
occupied the throne of the other; and yet their affection had all the
frank delight of youthful friendship. The younger lads were in more
favour with their father than was the elder. Thomas was sometimes
preferred to him in a mortifying manner, John's grave, quiet nature
prevented him from ever incurring displeasure, and Humfrey was the spoilt
pet of the family; but nothing could lessen Harry's large-minded love of
his brothers; and he was the idol and hero of the whole young party, who
implicitly believed in his mighty destinies as a renovator of the world,
the deliverer of Jerusalem, and restorer of the unity and purity of the
Church.
'Harry the Fifth was crowned,' and with the full intention of carrying
out his great dream. But his promise of releasing James became matter of
question. The House of Albany, who held the chief power in Scotland, had
bound Henry IV. over not to free their master; and it was plain that to
send him home before his welcome was ensured would be but tossing him on
their spears. In vain James pleaded that he was no boy, and was able to
protect himself; and vowed that when the faithful should rally round his
standard, he would be more than a match for his enemies; or that if not,
he would rather die free than live in bondage. Henry would not listen,
and insisted upon retaining him until he should himself be at leisure to
bring him home with a high hand, utterly disregarding his assurance that
this would only be rendering him in the eyes of his subjects another
despised and hated Balliol.
Deeming himself a divinely-appointed redresser of wrongs, Henry was
already beginning on his great work of purifying Europe in preparation
for his mighty Crusade; and having won that splendid victory which laid
distracted France at his feet, he only waited to complete the conquest as
thoroughly and rapidly as might be; and, lest his grand purpose should be
obstructed, this great practical visionary, though full of kindness and
generosity, kept in thraldom a whole troop of royal and noble captives.
He had, however, been so far moved by James's entreaties, as to consent
that when he himself offered his devotions at the shrine of St. John of
Beverley, the native saint who shared with the two cordwainers his
gratitude for the glories of 'Crispin Crispian's day,' his prisoner
should, unknown to any save the few who shared the pilgrimage, push on to
reconnoitre his own country, and judge for himself, having first sworn to
reveal himself to no one, and to avoid all who could recognize him. James
had visited Glenuskie within a special view to profiting by the wisdom of
Sir David Drummond, and had then been at Stirling, Edinburgh, and Perth.
On his way back, falling in with Malcolm in his distress, he had
conceived the project of taking him to England; and finding himself
already more than half recognized by Sir David, had obtained his most
grateful and joyous consent. In truth, James's heart had yearned to his
young cousin, his own situation had become much more lonely of late; for
Henry was no longer the comrade he had once been, since he had become a
keeper instead of a fellow-sufferer. It was true that he did his best to
forget this by lavishing indulgences on his captive, and insisting on
being treated on terms of brotherly familiarity; but though his
transcendent qualities commanded love, the intimacy could be but a
semblance of the once equal friendship. Moreover, that conspiracy which
cost the life of the Earl of Cambridge had taught James that cautious
reserve was needed in dealing with even his old friends the princes, so
easily might he be accused of plotting either with Henry's immediate heir
or with the Mortimers; and, in this guarded life, he had hailed with
delight the opportunity of taking to himself the young orphan cousin of
kindred blood, of congenial tastes, and home-like speech, whom he might
treat at once as a younger brother and friend, and mould by and by into a
trusty counsellor and assistant. That peculiar wistfulness and
gentleness of Malcolm's look and manner, together with the refinement and
intellect apparent to all who conversed with him without alarming him,
had won the King's heart, and made him long to keep the boy with him. As
to Malcolm's longing for the cloister, he deemed it the result of the
weakly health and refined nature which shrank from the barbarism of the
outer world, and he thought it would pass away under shelter from the
rude taunts of the fierce cousins, at a distance from the well-meaning
exhortations of the monks, and at the spectacle of brave and active men
who could also be pious, conscientious, and cultivated. In the renewed
sojourn at Windsor which James apprehended, the training of such a youth
as Malcolm of Glenuskie would be no small solace.
By the time Malcolm had learnt as much of all this as Sir Nigel Baird
knew, or chose to communicate, the King entered the room. He flung
himself on his knees, exclaiming, with warm gratitude, as he kissed the
King's hand, 'My liege, I little kenned--'
'I meant thee to ken little,' said James, smiling. 'Well, laddie, wilt
thou share the prisoner's cell?--Ay, Bairdsbrae, you were a true prophet.
Harry will do all himself, and will not hear of losing me to deal with my
own people at my own gate. No, no, he'll have me back with Southron bows
and bills, so soon as this small trifle of France lies quiet in his
grasp! I had nearly flung back my parole in his face, and told him that
no English sword should set me on the Bruce's throne; but there is
something in Harry of Monmouth that one _must_ love, and there are
moments when to see and hear him one would as soon doubt the commission
of an angel with a flaming sword.'
'A black angel!' growled Sir Nigel.
'Scoff and chafe, Baird, but look at his work. Look at Normandy, freed
from misrule and exaction, in peace and order. Look at this land. Was
ever king so loved? Or how durst he act as he did this day?'
'Nay, an it were so at home,' said Baird, 'I had as lief stay here as
where a man is not free to fight out his own feud. Even this sackless
callant thought it shame to see two honest men baulked.'
'Poor Scotland!' sighed James. 'Woe is the land where such thoughts come
readiest to gray-haired men and innocent boys. I tell you, cousin, this
precious right is the very cause that our poor country is so lawless and
bloody, that yon poor silly sparrow would fain be caged for fear of the
kites and carrion-crows.'
'Alack, my Lord, let me but have my way. I cannot fight! Let Patrick
Drummond have my sister and my lands, and your service will be far better
done,' said Malcolm.
'I know all that,' said the King, kindly. 'There is time enough for
settling that question; and meantime you will not be spoilt for monk or
priest by cheering me awhile in my captivity. I need you, laddie,' me
added, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder, with all the instinctive
fascination of a Stewart. 'I lack a comrade of my own blood, for I am
all alone!'
'Oh, Sir!' and Malcolm, looking into his face, saw it full of tenderness.
'Books and masters you shall have,' continued James, 'such as for church
or state, cathedral, cloister, or camp, shall render you the meeter
prince; and I pass you my royal word, that if at full age the cowl be
your choice, I will not gainsay you. Meantime, abide with me, and be the
young brother I have yearned for.'
The King threw his arms round Malcolm, who felt, and unconsciously
manifested, a strange bliss in that embrace, even while fixed in his
determination that nothing should make him swerve from his chosen path,
nor render him false to his promise to Patrick and Lilias. It was a
strange change, from being despised and down-trodden by fierce cousins,
or only fondled, pitied, and treated with consideration by his own
nearest and dearest friends, to be the chosen companion of a king, and
_such_ a king. Nor could it be a wile of Satan, thought Malcolm, since
James still promised him liberty of choice. He would ask counsel of a
priest next time he went to confession; and in the meantime, in the full
tide of gratitude, admiration, and affection, he gave himself up to the
enjoyment of his new situation, and of time King's kindness and
solicitude. This was indeed absolutely that of an elder brother; for,
observing that Malcolm's dress and equipments, the work of Glenuskie
looms, supplemented by a few Edinburgh purchases, was uncouth enough to
attract some scornful glances from the crowd who came out to welcome the
royal entrance into York the next day, he instantly sent Brewster in
search of the best tailor and lorimer in the city, and provided so
handsomely for the appearance of young Glenuskie, his horse, and his
attendants, that the whole floor of their quarters was strewn with
doublets, boots, chaperons, and gloves, saddles, bridles, and spurs, when
the Duke of Bedford loitered into the room, and began to banter James for
thus (as he supposed) pranking himself out to meet the lady of his love;
and then bemoaned the fripperies that had become the rage in their once
bachelor court, vowing, between sport and earnest, that Hal was so
enamoured of his fair bride, that anon the conquest of France would be
left to himself and his brother, Tom of Clarence; while James retorted by
thrusts at Bedford's own rusticity of garb, and by endeavouring to force
on him a pair of shoes with points like ram's horns, as a special
passport to the favour of Dame Jac--a lady who seemed to be the object of
Duke John's great distaste.
Suddenly a voice was heard in the gallery of the great old mansion where
they were lodged. 'John! John! Here!--Where is the Duke, I say?' It
was thick and husky, as with some terrible emotion; and the King and Duke
had already started in dismay before the door was thrown open, and King
Henry stood among them, his face of a burning red.
'See here, John!' he said, holding out a letter; and then, with an accent
of wrathful anguish, and a terrible frown, he turned on James,
exclaiming, 'I would send you to the Tower, Sir, did I think you had a
hand in this!'
Malcolm trembled, and sidled nearer his prince; while James, with an
equally fierce look, replied, 'Hold, Sir! Send me where you will, but
dare not dishonour my name!' Then changing, as he saw the exceeding
grief on Henry's brow, and heard John's smothered cry of dismay, 'For
Heaven's sake, Harry, what is it?'
'This!' said Henry, less loudly, less hotly, but still with an agony of
indignation: 'Thomas is dead--and by the hand of two of your traitor
Scots!'
'Murdered!' cried James, aghast.
'Murdered by all honest laws of war, but on the battlefield,' said Henry.
'Your cousin of Buchan and old Douglas fell on my brave fellows at
Beauge, when they were spent with travel to stop the robberies in Anjou.
They closed in with their pikes on my brave fellows, took Somerset
prisoner, and for Thomas, while he was dealing with a knight named
Swinton in front, the villain Buchan comes behind and cleaves his head in
twain; and that is what you Scots call fighting!'
'It was worthy of a son of Albany!' said James. 'Would that vengeance
were in my power!'
'Ay, you loved him!' said Henry, grasping James's hand, his passion
softened into a burst of tears, as he wrung his prisoner's hand. 'Nay,
who did not love him, my brave, free-hearted brother? And that I--I
should have dallied here and left him to bear the brunt, and be cut off
by you felon Scots!' And he hid his face, struggling within an agony of
heart-rending grief, which seemed to sway his whole tall, powerful frame
as he leant against the high back of a chair; while John, together with
James, was imploring him not to accuse himself, for his presence had been
needful at home; and, to turn the tenor of his thought, James inquired
whether there were any further disaster.
'Not as yet,' said Henry; 'there is not a man left in that
heaven-abandoned crew who knows how to profit by what they have got! but
I must back again ere the devil stir them up a man of wit!--And you, Sir,
can you take order with these heady Scots?'
'From Windsor? no,' said James; 'but set me in the saddle, let me learn
war under such a captain as yourself, and maybe they will not take the
field against me; or if they do, the slayer of Clarence shall rue it.'
'Be it so,' said Henry, wringing his hand. 'You shall with me to France,
Jamie, and see war. The Scots should flock to the Lion rampant, and
without them the French are mo better than deer, under the fool and
murderer they call Dauphin. Yet, alas! will any success give me back my
brother--my brother, the brave and true?' he added, weeping again within
time _abandon_ of an open nature and simple age. 'It was for my sins, my
forgetfulness of my great work, that this has come on me.--Ho, Marmion!
carry these tidings from me to the Dean; pray him that the knell be
tolled at the Minster, and a requiem sung for my brother and all who fell
with him. We will be there ourselves, and the mayor must hold us excused
from his banquet; these men are too loyal not to grieve for their King.'
And, with his arm round the neck of his brother John, Henry left the
room; and before another word could be said, Sir Nigel was there, having
only retired on the King's entrance. The news was of course all over the
house, and with an old attendant's freedom he exclaimed, 'So, Sir, the
English have found tough cummers at last!'
'Not too honourably,' said James, sadly.
'Hout, would not the puir loons be glad enow of any gate of coming by a
clout at the man's brother that keeps you captive!'
'They have taken away one of those I loved best!' said James.
'I'm no speaking ill of the lad Clarence himself,' said Nigel; 'he was a
braw youth, leal and bold, and he has died in his helm and spurs, as a
good knight should. I'd wish none of these princes a waur ending.
Moreover, could Swinton have had the wit to keep him living, he'd have
been a bonnie barter for you, my Lord; but ony way the fight was a
gallant one, and the very squire that brought the tidings cannot deny
that our Scots fought like lions.'
'Would Douglas but so fight in any good quarrel!' sighed the King. 'But
what are you longing to ask, Malcolm? Is it for your kinsman Patrick? I
fear me that there is little chance of your hearing by name of him.'
'I wot not,' said Sir Nigel; 'I did but ask for that hare-brained young
cousin of mine, Davie Baird, that must needs be off on this journey to
France; and the squire tells me he was no herald, to be answerable for
the rogues that fought on the other side.'
'We shall soon see for ourselves,' said James; 'I am to make this
campaign.'
'You! you, my liege! Against your own ally, and under the standard of
England! Woe's me, how could ye be so lost!'
James argued on his own conviction that the true France was with poor
Charles VI., and that it was doing the country no service to prolong the
resistance of the Armagnacs and the Dauphin, who then appeared mere
partisans instead of patriots. As to fighting under the English banner,
no subjection was involved in an adventurer king so doing: had not the
King of Bohemia thus fought at Crecy? and was not the King of Sicily with
the French army? Moreover, James himself felt the necessity of gaining
some experience in the art of war. Theoretically he had studied it with
all his might, from Caesar, Quintus Curtius, and that favourite modern
authority, the learned ecclesiastic, Jean Pave, who was the Vauban of the
fifteenth century; and he had likewise obtained greedily all the
information he could from Henry himself and his warriors; but all this
had convinced him that if war was to be more than a mere raid, conducted
by mere spirit and instinct, some actual apprenticeship was necessary.
Even for such a dash, Henry himself had told him that he would find his
book-knowledge an absolute impediment without some practice, and would
probably fail for that very reason when opposed to tough old seasoned
warriors. And, prudence apart, James, at five-and-twenty, absolutely
glowed with shame at the thought that every one of his companions had
borne arms for at least ten years past, while his arrows had no mark but
the target, his lances had all been broken in the tilt-yard. It was this
argument that above all served to pacify old Bairdsbrae; though he
confessed himself very uneasy as to the prejudice it would create in
Scotland, and so evidently loathed the expedition, that James urged on
him to return to Scotland, instead of continuing his attendance. There
was no fear but that his ransom would be accepted, and he had been absent
twelve years from his home.
'No, no, my Lord; I sware to your father that I'd never quit you till I
brought you safe home again, and, God willing, I'll keep my oath. But
what's this puir callant to do, that you were set upon rearing upon your
books at Windsor?'
'He shall choose,' said James. 'Either he shall study at the learned
university at Oxford or at Paris, or he shall ride with me, and see how
cities and battles are won. Speak not yet, cousin; it takes many months
to shake out the royal banner, and you shall look about you ere deciding.
Now give me yonder black cloak; they are assembling for the requiem.'
Malcolm, as he followed his king, was not a little amazed to see that
Henry, the magnificent victor, was wrapped in a plain black serge
garment, his short dark hair uncovered, his feet bare; and that on
arriving at the Minster he threw himself on his knees, almost on his
face, before the choir steps, there remaining while the _De profundis_
and the like solemn and mournful strains floated through the dark
vaultings above him, perhaps soothing while giving expression to the
agony of his affliction, and self-accusation, not for the devastation of
the turbulent country of an insane sovereign, but for his having relaxed
in the mighty work of renovation that he had imposed on himself.
Even when the service was ended, the King would not leave the Minster. He
lifted himself up to bid Bedford and his companions return; but for
himself, he intended to remain and confess, in preparation for being
'houselled' at the Mass for the dead early the next morning, before
hastening on the southern journey.
Was this, thought the bewildered Malcolm as he fell asleep, the godless
atmosphere he had been used to think all that was not Glenuskie or
Coldingham--England above all?
Indeed, in the frosty twilight of the spring morning, though Henry was
now clad in his usual garb, sleeplessness, sorrow, and fasting made him
as wan and haggard as any ascetic monk; his eyes were sunken, and his
closed lips bore a stern fixed expression, which scarcely softened even
when the sacrificial rite struck the notes of praise; and though a light
came into his eye, it was rather the devotion of one who had offered
himself, than the gleam of hopeful exultation. The horses stood saddled
at the west door, for Henry was feverishly eager to reach Pontefract,
where he had left his queen, and wished to avoid the delay of breaking
his fast at York, but only to snatch a meal at some country hostel on his
way.
Round the horses, however, a crowd of the citizens were collected to
gaze; and two or three women with children in their arms made piteous
entreaties for the King's healing touch for their little ones. The kind
Henry waited, ungloved his hand, asked his treasurer for the gold pieces
that were a much-esteemed part of the cure, and signed to his attendant
chaplain to say the Collect appointed for the rite.
Fervent blessings were meantime murmured through the crowd, which broke
out into loud shouts of 'God save King Harry!' as he at length leapt into
the saddle; but at that moment, a feeble, withered old man, leaning on a
staff, and wearing a bedesman's gown, peered up, and muttered to a
comrade--
'Fair-faced, quotha--fair, maybe, but not long for this world! One is
gone already, and the rest will not be long after; the holy man's words
will have their way--the death mark is on him.'
The words caught James's ear, and he angrily turned round: 'Foul-mouthed
raven, peace with thy traitor croak!' but Bedford caught his arm, crying--
'Hush! 'tis a mere bedesman;' and bending forward to pour a handful of
silver into the beggar's cap, he said, 'Pray, Gaffer, pray--pray for the
dead and living, both.'
'So,' said James, as both mounted, 'there's a fee for a boding traitor.'
'I knew his face,' said Bedford, with a shudder; 'he belonged to
Archbishop Scrope.'
'A traitor, too,' said James.
'Nay, there was too much cause for his words. Never shall I forget the
day when Scrope was put to death on this very moor on which we are
entering. There sat my father on his horse, with us four boys around
him, when the old man passed in front of us, and looked at him with a
face pitiful and terrible. "Harry of Bolingbroke," he said, "because
thou hast done these things, therefore shall thy foes be of thine own
household; the sword shall never depart therefrom, but all the increase
of thy house shall die in the flower of their age, and in the fourth
generation shall their name be clean cut off." The commons will have it
that at that moment my father was struck with leprosy; and struck to the
heart assuredly he was, nor was he ever the same man again. I always
believed that those words made him harder upon every prank of poor Hal's,
till any son save Hal would have become his foe! And see now, the old
bedesman may be in the right; poor pretty Blanche has long been in her
grave, Thomas is with her now, and Jamie,'--he lowered his voice,--'when
men say that Harry hath more of Alexander in him than there is in other
men, it strikes to my heart to think of the ring lying on the empty
throne.'
'Now,' said James, 'what strikes _me_ is, what doleful bodings can come
into a brave man's head on a chill morning before he has broken his fast.
A tankard of hot ale will chase away omens, whether of bishop or
bedesman.'
'It may chase them from the mind, but will not make away with them,' said
John. 'But I might have known better than to speak to you of such
things--you who are well-nigh a Lollard in disbelief of all beyond
nature.'
'No Lollard am I,' said James. 'What Holy Church tells me, I believe
devoutly; but not in that which she bids me loathe as either craft of
devils or of men.'
'Ay, of which? There lies the question,' said John.
'Of men,' said the Scottish king; 'of men who have wit enough to lay hold
of the weaker side even of a sober youth such as Lord John of Lancaster!
Your proneness to believe in sayings and prophecies, in sorceries and
magic, is the weakest point of all of you.'
'And it is the weakest point in you, James, that you will not credit upon
proof, such proof as was the fulfilment of the prophecy of the place of
my father's death.'
'One such saying as that, fulfilled to the ear, though not in truth, is
made the plea for all this heart-sinking--ay, and what is worse, for the
durance of your father's widow as a witch, and of her brave young son,
because forsooth his name is Arthur of Richemont, and some old Welsh
rhymester hath whispered to Harry that Richmond shall come out of
Brittany, and be king of England.'
'Arthur is no worse off than any other captive of Agincourt,' said
Bedford; 'and I tell you, James, the day may come when you will rue your
want of heed to timely warnings.'
'Better rue once than pine under them all my life, and far better than
let them betray me into deeming some grewsome crime an act of justice, as
you may yet let them do,' said James.
Such converse passed between the two princes, while King Henry rode in
advance, for the most part silent, and only desirous of reaching
Pontefract Castle, where he had left the young wife whose presence he
longed for the more in his trouble. The afternoon set in with heavy
rain, but he would not halt, although he gave free permission to any of
his suite to do so; and James recommended Malcolm to remain, and come on
the next day with Brewster. The boy, however, disclaimed all weariness,
partly because bashfulness made him unwilling to venture from under his
royal kinsman's wing, and partly because he could not bear to let the
English suppose that a Scotsman and a Stewart could be afraid of weather.
As the rain became harder with the evening twilight, silence sank upon
the whole troop, and they went splashing on through the deep lanes, in
mud and mire, until the lights of Pontefract Castle shimmered on high
from its hill. The gates were opened, the horses clattered in, torches
came forth, flickering and hissing in the darkness. The travellers went
through what seemed to Malcolm an interminable number of courts and
gateways, and at length flung themselves off their horses, when Henry,
striding on, mounted the steps, entered the building, and, turning the
corner of a great carved screen, he and his brother, with James and
Malcolm, found themselves in the midst of a blaze of cressets and tapers,
which lighted up the wainscoted part of the hall.
The whole scene was dazzling to eyes coming in from the dark, and only
after a moment or two could Malcolm perceive that, close to the great
fire, sat a party of four, playing at what he supposed to be that French
game with painted cards of which Patrick Drummond had told him, and that
the rest seemed to be in attendance upon them.
Dark eyed and haired, with a creamy ivory skin, and faultless form and
feature, the fair Catherine would have been unmistakable, save that as
Henry hurried forward, the lights glancing on his jaded face, matted
hair, and soaked dress, the first to spring forward to meet him was a
handsome young man, who wrung his hand, crying, 'Ah, Harry, Harry, then
'tis too true!' while the lady made scarcely a step forwards: no shade of
colour tinged her delicate cheek; and though she did not resist his
fervent embrace, it was with a sort of recoil, and all she was heard to
say was, '_Eh, Messire, vos bottes sont crottees_!'
'You know all, Kate?' he asked, still holding her hand, and looking
afraid of inflicting a blow.
'The battle? Is it then so great a disaster?' and, seeing his amazed
glance, 'The poor Messire de Clarence! it was pity of him; he was a
handsome prince.'
'Ah, sweet, he held thee dear,' said Henry, catching at the crumb of
sympathy.
'But yes,' said Catherine, evidently perplexed by the strength of his
feeling, and repeating, 'He was a _beau sieur courtois_. But surely it
will not give the Armagnacs the advantage?'
'With Heaven's aid, no! But how fares it with poor Madge--his wife, I
mean?'
'She is away to her estates. She went this morn, and wished to have
taken with her the Demoiselle de Beaufort; but I forbade that--I could
not be left without one lady of the blood.'
'Alack, Joan--' and Henry was turning, but Catherine interrupted him.
'You have not spoken to Madame of Hainault, nor to the Duke of Orleans.
Nay, you are in no guise to speak to any one,' she added, looking with
repugnance at the splashes of mud that reached even to his waist.
'I will don a fresh doublet, sweetheart,' said Henry, more rebuked than
seemed fitting, 'and be ready to sup anon.'
'Supper! We supped long ago.'
'That may be; but we have ridden long since we snatched our meal, that I
might be with thee the sooner, my Kate.'
'That was not well in you, my Lord, to come in thus dishevelled, steaming
with wet--not like a king. You will be sick, my Lord.'
The little word of solicitude recalled his sweet tender smile of
gratitude. No fear, _ma belle_; sickness dares not touch me.'
'Then,' said the Queen, 'you will be served in your chamber, and we will
finish our game.'
Henry turned submissively away; but Bedford tarried an instant to say,
'Fair sister, he is sore distressed. It would comfort him to have you
with him. He has longed for you.'
Catherine opened her beautiful brown eyes in a stare of surprise and
reproof at the infraction of the rules of ceremony which she had brought
with her. John of Bedford had never seemed to her either _beau_ or
_courtois_, and she looked unutterable things, to which he replied by an
elevation of his marked eyebrows.
She sat down to her game, utterly ignoring the other princes in their
weather-beaten condition; and they were forced to follow the King, and
make their way to their several chambers, for Queen Catherine's will was
law in matters of etiquette.
'The proud peat! She is jealous of every word Harry speaks--even to his
cousin,' muttered James, as he reached his own room. 'You saw her,
though,--you saw her!' he added, smiling, as he laid his hand on
Malcolm's shoulder.
The boy coloured like a poppy, and answered awkwardly enough, 'The Lady
Joan, Sir?'
'Who but the Lady Joan, thou silly lad? How say'st thou? Will not
Scotland forget in the sight of that fair face all those fule
phantasies--the only folly I heard at Glenuskie?'
'Methinks,' said Malcolm, looking down in sheer awkwardness, 'it were
easier to bow to her than to King Harry's dame. She hath more of
stateliness.'
'Humph!' said James, 'dost so serve thy courtly 'prenticeship? Nay, but
in a sort I see thy meaning. The royal blood of England shows itself to
one who hath an eye for princeliness of nature.'
'Nay,' said Malcolm, gratified, 'those dark eyes and swart locks--'
'Dark eyes--swart locks!' interrupted the King. 'His wits have gone wool-
gathering.'
'Indeed, Sir!' exclaimed Malcolm, 'I thought you meant the lady who stood
by the Queen's table, with the grand turn of the neck and the white
wimple and veil.'
'Pshaw!' said James; 'the foolish callant! he hath taken that great brown
Luxemburg nun of Dame Jac's for the Rose of Somerset.'
However, James, seeing how confounded the boy was by this momentary
displeasure, explained to him who the other persons he had seen
were--Jaqueline, the runaway Countess of Hainault in her own right, and
Duchess of Brabant by marriage; Humfrey, duke of Gloucester, the King's
young, brilliant brother; the grave, melancholy Duke of Orleans, who had
been taken captive at Agincourt, and was at present quartered at
Pontefract; the handsome, but stout and heavy-looking Earl of March;
brave Lord Warwick; Sir Lewis Robsart, the old knight to whose charge the
Queen had been specially committed from the moment of her betrothal; and
a young, bold, gay-looking lad, of Malcolm's own age, but far taller and
stouter, and with a merry, half-defiant, half-insouciant air, who had
greatly taken his fancy, was, he was told, Ralf Percy, the second son of
Sir Harry Percy.
'Of him they called Hotspur?--who was taken captive at Otterburn, who
died a rebel!' exclaimed Malcolm.
'Ay,' said James; 'but King Harry had learnt the art of war as a boy,
first under Hotspur, in Wales; nor doth he love that northern fashion of
ours of keeping up feud from generation to generation. So hath he
restored the eldest son to his barony, and set him to watch our Borders;
and the younger, Ralf, he is training in his own school of chivalry.'
More wonders for Malcolm Stewart, who had learnt to believe it mere
dishonour and tameness to forgive the son for his father's deeds. A
cloistered priest could hardly do so: pardon to a hostile family came
only with the last mortal throe; and here was this warlike king forgiving
as a mere matter of course!
'But,' added James, 'you had best not speak of your bent conventwards in
the Court here. I should not like to have you called the monkling!'
Malcolm crimsoned, with the resolution never to betray himself.