"Nephew John, I have brought thee a companion to share thy winter's
solitude."
John de Brocas, who was in his old and favourite retreat -- his
Rector-uncle's great library -- rose to his feet with a start at hearing
the familiar voice of Master Bernard (whom he believed to be far away in
France), and found himself face to face not with his cheery uncle alone,
but with a tall, white, hollow-eyed youth, upon whose weary face a smile
of delighted recognition was shining, whilst a thin hand was eagerly
advanced in welcome.
"Raymond!" exclaimed John, with a look that spoke volumes of welcome.
"Good mine uncle, welcome at all times, thou art doubly welcome in such
company as this. But I had not looked to see you in merry England again
for long. Men say that Calais is closely besieged by the King, and
methought he had need of thee and my father likewise whilst the campaign
across the water lasted."
"True, lad, the King has need of those he graciously dubs his trusty
counsellors; and I have but come hither for a short while. The King is
full of anxiety about this outbreak of the hardy Scots, which has been
so gallantly frustrated at Neville's Cross by our gracious Queen, worthy
to be the mate of the world's greatest warrior. I am come hither charged
with much business in this matter, and so soon as all is accomplished I
am desired to bring the Queen to join her royal spouse before the walls
of Calais. It is not long that I may linger here. I have but a few short
hours to set mine own affairs in order. But thinking I should be like to
find thee here, Nephew John, as the autumn weather in low-lying Windsor
generally drives thee forth from thence, I hastened hither to bring to
thee a companion for thy winter's loneliness. Methinks thou hast known
and loved him before. Treat him as a cousin and a friend. He will tell
thee all his story at his leisure."
The slight stress laid upon the word "cousin" by the prelate caused John
to glance quickly and curiously at Raymond, who answered by a slight
smile. Just at that moment there was no time for explanations. Master
Bernard engrossed the whole of John's time and attention, being eager to
learn from that young man every detail of the campaign in the north
which had reached his ears. And John, who took a wide and intelligent
interest in all the passing affairs of the day, and from his position
was able to learn much of what went on in the world, sat beside his
uncle at the hastily-spread board, and told all the leading facts of the
brief and triumphant campaign in terse and soldier-like fashion.
Meantime Raymond sat at ease in the corner of a deep settle beside the
fire, leaning back against the soft fur rug which draped it, unable to
eat through very weariness, but eagerly interested in all the news his
uncle was hearing from John.
Master Bernard had to push on to London that night. He and his companion
had landed at Southampton the previous day, and had taken Guildford upon
their way to the capital. There Raymond was to remain under the kindly
care of John; and as soon as the Rector had set off with fresh horses
and his own retinue of servants, his nephew turned eagerly back to the
hall, where his cousin was still resting, and taking him warmly by the
hands, gazed into his face with a glance of the most friendly and
affectionate solicitude.
"Good my cousin, I have scarce had time to bid thee welcome yet, but I
do so now with all my heart. It is as a cousin I am to receive and treat
thee? What meant my good uncle by that? Hast thou told him what I myself
know? Methought he spoke like one with a purpose."
"Yes, it is true that he knows," answered Raymond; "but he counsels us
to keep our secret awhile longer. He thinks, as does Gaston, that we
were wiser first to win our way to greater fame and fortune than mere
boys can hope to do, and then to stand revealed as those sprung from a
noble line. How came he to know? That I will tell thee when I am
something rested. But I am so weary with our journey that I scarce know
how to frame my thoughts in fitting words. Yet I am glad to see thy face
again, good John. I have been wearying long for a sight of thee."
"Thou art indeed sadly changed thyself, my cousin," said John. "In
truth, men who go to these wars go with their lives in their hands. Was
it on the glorious field of Crecy that thou receivedst some hurt? Sure
thou hast been sore wounded. But thou shalt tell me all thy tale anon,
when thou art something rested and refreshed."
The tale was told that same evening, when, after Raymond had slept for a
few hours and had been able then to partake of some food, he felt, in
part at least, recovered from the fatigues of the long ride from the
coast, and could recline at ease beside the glowing fire, and talk to
John of all that had befallen him since they had parted two and a half
years before.
The account of the victory at Crecy was eagerly listened to, and also
that of the subsequent march upon Calais, when the King of France,
choosing to consider the campaign at an end, had disbanded both his
armies, leaving the victorious King of England to build unmolested a new
town about Calais, in which his soldiers could live through the winter
in ease and plenty, and complete the blockade both by sea and land
undisturbed by hostile demonstrations.
"It seems to me," said Raymond, "that did our great Edward wish to make
good his claim on the crown of France, he has only to march straight
upon Paris and demand coronation there. When after the victory at Crecy
and the subsequent triumphs I have told you of, over band after band of
troops all going to the support of Philip, we could have marched
unopposed through the length and breadth of the land, none daring to
oppose us, the soldiers all thought that Paris, not Calais, would be the
next halting place.
"What thinkest thou, good John? Thou knowest much of the true mind of
the King. Why, after so glorious a victory, does he not make himself
master of all France?"
John smiled his thoughtful smile.
"Verily because our King is statesman as well as soldier; and though he
boldly advances a claim on the crown of France, to give the better
colour to his feats of arms against its King, he knows that he could not
rule so vast an empire as that of France and England together would be,
and that his trusty subjects at home would soon grow jealous and
discontented were they to find themselves relegated to the second place,
whilst their mighty Edward took up his abode in his larger and more
turbulent kingdom of France. England rejoices in snatching portions of
territory from the French monarch, in holding off his grasping hand from
those portions of France that lawfully belong to our great King. She
will support him joyfully through a series of victories that bring spoil
and glory to her soldiers; but jealousy would soon arise did she think
that her King was like to regard France as his home rather than England,
that England was to be drained of her gold and her best men to keep
under control the unwieldy possession she had won but could never
peacefully hold. Methinks the King and his best counsellors know this
well, and content themselves with their glorious feats of arms which
stir the blood and gratify the pride of all loyal subjects.
"But now, I pray thee, tell me of thyself; for thou hast sadly altered
since we parted last. What has befallen thee in these wars? and where is
thy brother Gaston, whom thou wentest forth to seek? and where the
faithful Roger, whose name thou hast spoken many times before?"
"I have left them together in the camp before Calais," answered Raymond.
"Roger would fain have come with me, but I thought it not well that he
should place himself so near his ancient foes and masters, even though I
trow the spell has been snapped once and for ever. He loves Gaston only
second to me, and was persuaded at length to stay with him. I, too,
would have stayed likewise, but they said the winter's cold would kill
me, and I could no longer bear arms or serve in the ranks. So I was fain
to leave them and come to England with our uncle. And the thought of
spending the winter months with thee and with the books made amends for
all I left behind beneath the walls of Calais."
"What ails thee then, Raymond? Is it some unhealed wound?"
The youth shook his head.
"Nay, I have no wound. It was some hurt I got in that last melee on the
field of Crecy, when the Prince nearly lost his life just as the day was
won. I was hurled to the ground and trampled upon. Methought for many
long minutes that I should never rise again. But for days afterwards I
knew not that the hurt was aught to think about or care for. It pained
me to move or breathe, but I thought the pain would pass, and heeded it
but little. We rode gaily enough to the walls of Calais, and we set
about building a second city without its walls (when the governor
refused to surrender it into our hands), which the King has been pleased
to call Newtown the Bold. I strove to work with the rest, thinking that
the pain I suffered would abate by active toil, and liking not to speak
of it when many who had received grievous wounds were to be seen lending
willing service in the task set us. But there came a day when I could no
more. I could scarce creep to the tent which Gaston, Roger, and I shared
together; and then I can remember naught but the agony of a terrible
pain that never left me night or day, and I only longed that I might die
and so find rest."
"Ah, poor lad, I too have known that wish," said John. "Doubtless it was
some grave inflammation of the hidden tissues of the body from the which
you so grievously suffered. And how came it that our uncle found you
out? He is a notable leech, as many men have found ere now. Was it as
such that he then came to thee?"
"Yes, truly; and our generous and kindly Prince sent him. He heard
through Gaston of the strait I was in, and forthwith begged our uncle to
come and visit me. John, dost thou know that Gaston and I each wear
about our neck the halves of a charm our mother hung there in our
infancy? It is a ring of gold, each complete in itself, yet which may be
so joined together as to form one circlet with the two halves of the
medallion joined in one;" and Raymond pulled forth from within his
doublet a small circlet of gold curiously chased, with a half medallion
bearing certain characters inscribed upon it.
John examined it curiously, and said it was of Eastern workmanship.
"I know not how that may be. I know not its history," answered Raymond;
"but Gaston tells me that when our uncle saw the ring about my neck he
seemed greatly moved, and asked quickly how it came there. Gaston told
him it was hung there by our mother, and showed his own half, and how
they fitted together. At that our uncle seemed yet more moved; and after
he had done what he could to ease my pain, he left me with Roger, and
bid Gaston follow him to his own tent. There he told him the history of
that ring, and how for many generations it had been in the De Brocas
family, its last owner having been the Arnald de Brocas who had
quarrelled with his kindred, and had died ere the dispute had been
righted. Seeing that it was useless to hide the matter longer, Gaston
told our uncle all; and he listened kindly and with sympathy to the
tale. At the first he seemed as if he would have told your father all
the story likewise, and have had us owned before the world. But either
Gaston's reluctance to proclaim ourselves before we had won our way to
fortune, or else his own uncertainty as to how your father would take
the news, held him silent; and he said we were perchance right and wise
to keep our secret. He added that to reveal ourselves, though it might
gain us friends, would also raise up many bitter and powerful enemies.
The Sieur de Navailles in the south, who by joining the French King's
standard had already made himself a mark for Edward's just displeasure
when the time should come for revenging himself upon those treacherous
subjects in Gascony, would be certain to hold in especial abhorrence any
De Brocas who would be like to cast longing eyes upon the domain he had
so long ruled over; whilst in England the fierce and revengeful
Sanghursts would have small scruple in seeking the destruction of any
persons who would rise to dispute their hold on Basildene. The King's
time and thought were too much engrossed in great matters of the state
to give him leisure to concern himself with private affairs. Let the
youths then remain as they were for the present, serving under his
banner, high in favour with the youthful Prince, and like to win fame
and honour and wealth through the victorious war about to be waged in
France. When that war had triumphantly ended, and the King was rewarding
those whose faithful service had gained him the day, then might the time
come for the brothers of Basildene to make themselves known, and plead
for their own again."
"I trow he is in the right," said John, "and I am glad that he knows all
himself. So would he take the more interest in you, good Raymond; and
thus it was, I take it, that he brought you to England himself when he
came hither."
"Ay, truly his kindness was great; and after he knew all, I was moved to
better quarters, and a prince could not have been better treated. But it
was long before I could stand upon my own feet, and save for the hope of
seeing you once again, I would gladly have been spared the journey to
England. But the sea passage was favourable, and gave me strength,
though the wind from the east blew so strong that we could not make the
harbour of Dover, and were forced to beat westward along the coast till
we reached the friendly port of Southampton. Then we took horse and rode
hither, and glad am I to be at the journey's end. But our uncle tells me
that in a few short weeks I shall be sound and whole again, and before
the winter ends I may hope to join my brother beneath the King's banner."
"I hope it will be so," answered John; "and if rest is what thou needest
for thy recovery, it will not be lacking to thee here. It is well that
the sword is not the only weapon thou lovest, but that the quill and the
lore of the wise of the earth have attractions for thee likewise."
It quickly seemed to Raymond as if the incidents of that stirring
campaign had been but part and parcel of a fevered dream. He was
disposed to believe that he had never quitted the retreat of his uncle's
roof, and took up his old studies with John with the greatest zest. John
found him marvellously advanced since the days they had studied together
before. His two years with Father Paul in the Brotherhood had
wonderfully enlarged his mind and extended his field of vision. It was a
delight to both cousins to exchange ideas, and learn from one another;
and the time fled by only too fast, each day marked by a steady though
imperceptible improvement in Raymond's state of health, as his fine
constitution triumphed over the serious nature of the injury received.
Although he often thought of Basildene, he made no attempt to see the
place. The winter cold had set in with severity; John had little
disposition to face it, and quiet and rest were far more congenial to
him than any form of activity or amusement. John believed that the
Sanghursts were still there, engaged in their mysterious experiments
that savoured so strongly of magic. But after hearing of Raymond's bold
defiance of the implacable Peter in the forest near to the Brotherhood,
John was by no means desirous that the fact of Raymond's residence at
the Rectory of St. Nicholas should become known at Basildene. Without
sharing to the full the fears of the country people with regard to the
occult powers of the father and son in that lonely house, John believed
them to be as cruel and unscrupulous a pair as ever lived, even in those
half-civilized times. He therefore charged his servants to say nothing
of Raymond's visit, and hoped that it would not reach the ears of the
Sanghursts.
But there was another person towards whom Raymond's fancy had sometime
strayed during the years of his absence from Guildford, and this person
he was unaccountably shy of naming even to John, though he would have
been quite unable to allege a reason for his reticence.
But fortune favoured him in this as in other matters, for on entering
the library one day after a short stroll around the Rector's garden, he
found himself face to face with a radiant young creature dressed in the
picturesque riding gear of the day, who turned to him with a beaming
smile as she cried:
"Ah! I have been hearing of thee and of thy prowess, my fair young sir.
My good brother Alexander, who has followed the King's banner, would
gladly have been in thy place on the day of Crecy. Thou and thy brother
were amongst that gallant little band who fought around the Prince and
bore him off the field unhurt. Did not I say of thee that thou wouldst
quickly win thy knighthood's spurs? And thou mightest already have been
a belted knight if thy prudence and thy modesty had not been greater
than thine ambition. Is it not so?"
Raymond's face glowed like a child's beneath the praises of Mistress
Joan Vavasour, and the light of her bright eyes seemed fairly to dazzle
him. John came to the rescue by telling Raymond's own version of the
story; and then he eagerly asked Joan of herself and what had become of
her these past years, for he had seldom seen her, and knew not where she
was living nor what she was doing -- knew not even if she were wedded,
nor if Peter Sanghurst's suit were at an end or had been crowned by success.
At the sound of that name the girl's face darkened quickly, and a spark
of fire gleamed in her eyes.
"Talk not of him," she said; "I would that he were dead! Have I not said
that I would never wed him, that I would die first? Fair fortune hath
befriended me in this thing. Thou knowest perchance that my father and
brother have been following the King's banner of late, first in Flanders
and then in France. My mother and I meantime have not been residing at
Woodcrych, but in London, whither all news of the war is first known,
and where travellers from the spot are like to come. We are here but for
a short space, to spend the merry Yuletide season with my mother's
brother, who lives, as thou knowest, within the town of Guildford. After
that we return once more to London, there to await the return of my
father and brother. Alexander, in truth, has once visited us, but has
returned to the siege of Calais, hoping to be amongst those who will
reap plenteous spoil when the city is given over to plunder, as Caen was
given. Of the Sanghursts, I thank my kindly saints, I have heard naught
all this while. My mother loved them not, albeit she was always
entreating me in nowise to thwart or gainsay my father. I cannot but
hope that these long months of absence will have gone far to break the
spell that those evil men seemed to cast about him. Be that as it may, I
myself have grown from a child to a woman, and I say now, as I said
then, that no power in the world shall induce me to give my hand in
marriage to Peter Sanghurst. I will die first!"
The girl threw back her handsome head, and her great eyes glowed and
flashed. Raymond looked at her with a beating heart, feeling once more
that mysterious kindling of the soul which he could not understand, and
yet of which he had been before in the presence of Joan so keenly
conscious. She appeared to him to be far older than himself, though in
reality he was a few months the senior; for at eighteen a girl is always
older in mind than a boy, and Joan's superb physique helped to give to
her the appearance of a more advanced age than was really hers. Just
then, too, Raymond, though grown to his full height, which was stately
enough, was white and thin and enfeebled. He felt like a mere stripling,
and it never occurred to him that the many glances bent upon him by the
flashing eyes of the queenly maiden were glances of admiration,
interest, and romantic approval. To her the pale, silent youth, with the
saint-like face and the steadfast, luminous eyes, was in truth a very
/preux chevalier/ amongst men. She had seen something too much of those
knights of flesh and blood and nothing else, who could fight gallantly
and well, but who knew nothing of the deeper and truer chivalry of the
days of mythical romance in which her own ardent fancies loved to stray.
Feats of arms she delighted in truly with the bold spirit of her soldier
race; but she wanted something more than mere bravery in the field. It
was not physical courage alone that made Sir Galahad her favourite of
all King Arthur's knights. Ah no! There was another quest than that of
personal glory which every true knight was bound to seek. Yet how many
of them felt this and understood the truer, deeper meaning of chivalry?
She knew, she felt, that Raymond did; and as she turned her palfrey's
steps homeward when the twilight began to fall that cold December day,
it was with her favourite Sir Galahad that her mind was engrossed, and
to him she gave a pale, thin face, with firm, sweet lines and deep-set
dreamy eyes -- eyes that looked as though they had never quailed before
the face of foe, and which yet saw far into the unseen mysteries of
life, and which would keep their sweet steadfastness even to the end.
As for Raymond, an unwonted restlessness came over him at this time. He
was growing stronger and better. Moderate exercise was recommended as
beneficial, and almost every day during the bright hours of the forenoon
his steps were turned towards the town of Guildford, lying hard by his
uncle's Rectory house. Scarce a day passed but what he was rewarded by a
chance encounter with Mistress Joan -- either a glimpse of her at a
window, or a smile from her bright eyes as she passed him upon her
snow-white palfrey; or sometimes he would have the good hap to meet her
upon foot, attended by her nurse, or some couple of stout retainers, if
her walk had been in any wise extended; and then she would pause and
bring him to her side by a look, and inquire after his own health and
that of John, who seldom stirred out in the bitter cold of winter. Then
he would ask and obtain her permission to accompany her as far as the
gate of her own home -- the place where she was staying; and though he
never advanced beyond the gate -- for she knew not what her relatives
might say to these encounters with a gallant without money and without
lands -- they were red-letter days in the calendar of two young lives,
and were strong factors moulding their future lives, little as either
knew it at the time.
Had either the radiant maiden or the knightly youth had eyes for any but
the other, they might have observed that these encounters, now of almost
daily occurrence, were not unheeded by at least one evil-faced watcher.
The servants who attended Mistress Joan were all devoted to her, and
kept their own counsel, whatever they might think, and Raymond's fame as
one of the heroes of Crecy had already gone far and wide, and won him
great regard in and about the walls of his uncle's home; but there was
another watcher of Mistress Joan's movements who took a vastly different
view of the little idyll playing itself out between the youth and the
maiden, and this watcher was none other than the evil and vengeful Peter
Sanghurst the younger.
Once as Raymond turned away, after watching Joan's graceful, stately
figure vanish up the avenue which led to her uncle's house, he suddenly
encountered the intensely malevolent glance of a pair of coal-black
eyes, and found himself most unexpectedly face to face with the same man
who had once confronted him in the forest and had demanded the
restitution of the boy Roger.
"You again!" hissed out between his teeth the dark-browed man. "You
again daring to stand in my path to thwart me! Have a care how you
provoke me too far. My day is coming! Think you that I threaten in vain?
Go on then in your blind folly and hardihood! But remember that I can
read the future. I can see the day when you, a miserable crushed worm,
will be wholly and solely in my power; when you will be mine mine to do
with what I will, none hindering or gainsaying me. Take heed then how
you provoke me to vengeance; for the vengeance of the Sanghurst can be
what thou dreamest not of now. Thwart me, defy me, and the hour will
come when for every pang of rage and jealousy I have known thou shalt
suffer things of which thou hast no conception now, and none shall be
able to rescue thee from my hand. Yon maiden is mine -- mine -- mine!
Her will I wed, and none other. Strive as thou wilt, thou wilt never
pluck her from my hand. Thou wilt but draw down upon thine own head a
fearful fate, and she too shall suffer bitterly if thou failest to heed
my words."
And with a look of hatred and fury that seemed indeed to have something
positively devilish in it, Sanghurst turned and strode away, leaving
Raymond to make what he could of the vindictive threats launched at him.
Had this man, in truth, some occult power of which none else had the
secret; or was it but an idle boast, uttered with the view of terrifying
one who was but a boy in years?
Raymond knew not, could not form a guess; but his was a nature not prone
to coward fears. He resolved to go home and take counsel with his good
cousin John.