"Is that the only answer you have for me, sweet lady?"
"The only one, Sir; and you will never have another. Strive as you will,
keep me imprisoned as long as you will, I will never yield. I will never
be yours; I belong to another --"
A fierce gleam was in Sanghurst's eyes, though he retained the suave
softness of speech that he had assumed all along.
"He is dead, fair mistress."
"Living or dead, I am yet his," answered Joan unfalteringly; "and were I
as free as air -- had I never pledged my faith to him -- I should yet
have none other answer for you. Think you that your evil deeds have not
been whispered in mine ear? Think you that this imprisonment in which
you think fit to keep me is like to win my heart?"
"Nay, sweetest lady, call it not by that harsh name. Could a princess
have been better served or tended than you have been ever since you came
beneath my humble roof? It is no imprisonment; it is but the watchful
care of one who loves you, and would fain save you from the peril into
which you had recklessly plunged. Lady, had you known the dangers of
travel in these wild and lawless days, you never would have left the
shelter of your father's house with but one attendant to protect you.
Think you that those peerless charms could ever have been hidden beneath
the dress of a peasant lad? Well was it for you, lady, that your true
love was first to follow and find you, ere some rude fellow had betrayed
the secret to his fellows, and striven to turn it to their advantage.
Here you are safe; and I have sent to your father to tell him you are
found and are secure. He, too, is searching for you; but soon he will
receive my message, and will come hastening hither. Then will our
marriage be solemnized with all due rites. Your obstinate resistance
will avail nothing to hinder our purpose. But I would fain win this
lovely hand by gentle means; and it will be better for thee, Joan
Vavasour, to lay down thine arms and surrender while there is yet time."
There was a distinct accent of menace in the last words, and the
underlying expression upon that smiling face was evil and threatening in
the extreme. But Joan's eyes did not falter beneath the searching gaze
of her would-be husband. Her face was set in lines of fearless
resolution. She still wore the rough blue homespun tunic of a peasant
lad, and her chestnut locks hung in heavy natural curls about her
shoulders. The distinction in dress between the sexes was much less
marked in those days than it has since become. Men of high degree
clothed themselves in flowing robes, and women of humble walk in life in
short kirtles; whilst the tunic was worn by boys and girls alike, though
there was a difference in the manner of the wearing, and it was
discarded by the girl in favour of a longer robe or sweeping supertunic
with the approach of womanhood. In the lower ranks of life, however, the
difference in dress between boy and girl was nothing very distinctive;
and the disguise had been readily effected by Joan, who had only to cut
somewhat shorter her flowing locks, clothe herself in the homespun tunic
and leather gaiters of a peasant boy, and place a cloth cap jauntily on
her flowing curls before she was transformed into as pretty a lad as one
could wish to see.
With the old henchman Nat to play the part of father, she had journeyed
fearlessly forth, and had made for the coast, which she would probably
have reached in safety had it not been for the acuteness of Peter
Sanghurst, who had guessed her purpose, had dogged her steps with the
patient sagacity of a bloodhound, and had succeeded in the end in
capturing his prize, and in bringing her back in triumph to Basildene.
He had not treated her badly. He had not parted her from the old servant
under whose escort she had travelled. Perhaps he felt he would have
other opportunities of avenging this insult to himself; perhaps there
was something in the light in Joan's eyes and in the way in which she
sometimes placed her hand upon the hilt of the dagger in her belt which
warned him not to try her too far. Joan was something of an enigma to
him still. She was like no other woman with whom he had ever come in
contact. He did not feel certain what she might say or do. It was rather
like treading upon the crust of some volcanic crater to have dealings
with her. At any moment something quite unforeseen might take place, and
cause a complete upheaval of all his plans. From policy, as well as from
his professed love, he had shown himself very guarded during the days of
their journey and her subsequent residence beneath the roof of
Basildene; but neither this show of submission and tenderness, nor
thinly-veiled threats and menaces, had sufficed to bend her will to his.
It had now come to this -- marry him of her own free will she would not.
Therefore the father must be summoned, and with him the priest, and the
ceremony should be gone through with or without the consent of the lady.
Such marriages were not so very unusual in days when daughters were
looked upon as mere chattels to be disposed of as their parents or
guardians desired. It was usual, indeed, to marry them off at an earlier
age, when reluctance had not developed into actual resistance; but still
it could be done easily enough whatever the lady might say or do.
Peter Sanghurst, confident that the game was now entirely in his own
hands, could even afford to be indulgent and patient. In days to come he
would be amply avenged for all the slights now inflicted upon him. He
often pictured the moment when he should tell to Joan the true story of
his possession of the love token she had bestowed upon Raymond. He
thought that she would suffer even more in the hearing of it than he had
done upon the rack; and his wife could not escape him as his other
victim had. He could wring her heartstrings as he had hoped to wring the
nerves of Raymond's sensitive frame, and none could deliver her out of
his hand.
But now he was still playing the farce of the suppliant lover, guessing
all the while that she knew as well as he what a farce the part was. He
strove to make her surrender, but was met by an invincible firmness.
"Do what you will, Peter Sanghurst," she said: "summon my father, call
the priest, do what you will, your wife I will never be. I have told you
so before; I tell it you again."
He smiled a smile more terrible than his frown.
"We shall see about that," was his reply, as he turned on his heel and
strode from the room.
When he was gone Joan turned suddenly towards the old man, who was all
this while standing with folded arms in a distant window, listening in
perfect silence to the dialogue. She made a few swift paces towards him
and looked into his troubled face.
"Nat," she said, in a low voice, "thou hast not forgotten thy promise
made to me?"
"My mistress, I have not forgotten."
"And thou wilt keep thy word?"
"I will keep it."
He spoke with manifest effort; but Joan heaved a sigh of relief. She
came one step nearer, and laid her soft hand upon the old servant's
shoulder, looking into his face with affectionate solicitude.
"I know not if I should ask it of thee; it may cost thee thy life."
"My life is naught, if I can but save thee from that monster, sweet
mistress; but oh, if it might be by another way!"
"Nay, say not so; methinks now this is the best, the sweetest way. I
shall the sooner find him, who will surely be waiting for me upon the
farther shore. One blow, and I shall be free for ever. O Nat, this world
is a sore place for helpless women to dwell in. Since he has gone, what
is there for me to live for? I almost long for the hour which shall set
my spirit free. They will let me see the Holy Father, who comes to wed
us. I shall receive the Absolution and the Blessing; and methinks I am
not unprepared. Death has no terrors for me: I have seen him come so oft
in the guise of a friend. Nay, weep not, good Nat; the day will come
when we all must die. Thou wouldst rather see me lying dead at thy feet
than the helpless captive of the Sanghurst, as else I must surely be?"
"Ay, lady," answered the old man, between his shut teeth, "ten thousand
times rather, else would not this fond hand strike the blow that will
lay thy fair young head in the dust. But sooner than know thee the wife
of yon vile miscreant, I would slay thee ten times over. Death is soon
past -- death comes but once; but a life of helpless misery and agony,
that I could not bear for thee. Let them do what they will to me, I will
set thee free first."
Joan raised the strong, wrinkled hand to her lips and kissed it, before
the old retainer well knew what she was doing. He withdrew it in some
confusion.
"Good Nat, I know not how to thank thee; but what I can do to save thee
I will. I do not think my father will suffer thee to be harmed if when I
am dead thou wilt give him this packet I now give to thee. In it I have
told him many things he would not listen to whilst I lived, but he will
read the words that have been penned by a hand that is cold and stiff in
death. To his old love for me I have appealed to stand thy friend,
telling him how and why the deed has been done, and thy hand raised
against me. I think he will protect and pardon thee -- I think it truly.
"How now, Nat? What seest thou? What hearest thou? Thy thoughts are not
with me and with my words. What is it? Why gazest thou thus from the
casement? What is there to see?"
"Armed men, my mistress -- armed men riding towards Basildene!" answered
the old man, in visible excitement. "I have seen the sunlight glinting
on their headpieces. I am certain sure there be soldiers riding to this
very door. What is their business? How have they come? Ah, lady, my
sweet mistress, pray Heaven they have come to set thee free! Pray Heaven
they have come as our deliverers!"
Joan started and ran to the casement. She was just in time to see the
flash of the November sunlight upon the steel caps of the last of the
band of horsemen whose approach had been observed by Nat. Only a very
small portion of the avenue leading to Basildene could be seen from
these upper casements, and the riders must have been close to the house
before their approach was marked by the old man.
Now Joan flung open the casement in great excitement, and leaned far out.
"Hark!" she exclaimed, in great excitement, "I hear the sound of heavy
blows, and of voices raised in stern command."
"Open in the King's name; open to the Prince of Wales!"
These words were distinctly borne to Joan's listening ears as she stood
with her head thrust through the lattice, every faculty absorbed in the
strain of eager desire to hear.
"The King! the Prince!" she cried, her breath coming thick and fast,
whilst her heart beat almost to suffocation. "O Nat, good Nat! what can
it mean? The Prince! what can have brought him hither?"
"Doubtless he comes to save thee, sweet lady," cried the old retainer,
to whom it seemed but natural that the heir of England should come forth
to save his fair young mistress from her fate.
But Joan shook her head, perplexed beyond measure, yet not able to
restrain the wildest hopes.
The Prince -- that noble youth so devoted to chivalry, so generous and
fearless, and the friend of the twin brothers, one of whom was her lost
Raymond! Oh, could it be that some rumour had reached his ears? Could it
be that he had come to set her free? It seemed scarce possible, and yet
what besides could have brought him hither? And at least with help so
near she could surely make her woeful case known to him!
For the first time for many days hope shot up in Joan's heart -- hope of
release from her hated lover by some other means than that of death; and
with that hope came surging up the love of life so deeply implanted in
human nature, the wild hope that her lover might yet live, that she had
been tricked and deceived by the false Sanghurst --all manner of vague
and unformed hopes, to which there was no time to give definite form
even in her thoughts. She was only conscious that a ray of golden
sunshine had fallen athwart her path, and that the darkness in which she
had been enwrapped was changing -- changing to what?
There were strange sounds in the house -- a tumult of men's voices, the
clash of arms, cries and shouts, and the tread of many feet upon the stairs.
Joan's colour came and went as she listened. Yes, surely she heard a
voice -- a voice that sent thrills all through her -- and yet it was not
Raymond's voice; it was deeper, louder, more authoritative. But the
footsteps were approaching, were mounting the turret stair, and Joan,
with a hasty movement, flung over her shoulders a sweeping supertunic
lined with fur, which Peter Sanghurst had placed in the room for her
use, but which she had not hitherto deigned to wear. She had but just
secured the buckle and girdle, and concealed her boy's garb by the means
of these rich folds of velvet, before a hand was upon the latch of the
door, and the same thrilling voice was speaking through the panels in
urgent accents.
"Lady -- Mistress Joan -- art thou there?"
"I am within this turret -- I am here, fair sir," answered Joan, as
calmly as her beating heart would allow. "But I cannot open to thee, for
I am but a captive here -- the captive of Peter Sanghurst."
"Now a prisoner bound, and answering for his sins before the Prince and
some of the highest nobles of the land. Lady, I and my men have come to
set thee free. I come to thee the bearer of a message from my brother --
from Raymond de Brocas. Give my stout fellows but a moment's grace to
batter down this strong door, and we will set thee free, and take thee
to the Prince, to bear witness against the false traitor, who stands in
craven terror before him below!"
But these last words were quite lost upon Joan. She had sunk, trembling
and white, upon a couch, overcome by the excess of joy with which she
had heard her lover's name pronounced. She heard heavy blows dealt upon
the oaken panels of the door. She knew that her deliverance was at hand;
but a mist was before her eyes, and she could think of nothing but those
wonderful words just spoken, until the woodwork fell inwards with a loud
crash, and Gaston, springing across the threshold, knelt at her feet.
"Lady, it is many years since we met, and then we met but seldom; but I
come from him whom thou lovest and therefore I know myself welcome. Fair
mistress, my brother has been sorely sick -- sick unto death -- or he
would be here himself to claim this fair hand. He has been sick in body
and sick in mind -- sick with fear lest that traitor and villain who
robbed him of your token should make foul use of it by deceiving thee
with tales of his death or falsity.
"Lady, he was robbed by Peter Sanghurst of that token. Sanghurst and our
ancient foe of Navailles leagued themselves together and carried off my
brother by treachery. He was their prisoner in the gloomy Tower of Saut.
They would have done him to death in cruel fashion had not we found a
way to save and rescue him from their hands. They had done him some hurt
even then, and they had robbed him of what had become almost dearer to
him than life itself; but he was saved from their malice. It was long
ere he could tell us of his loss, tell us of thee; for he lay sick of a
wasting fever for many a long month, and we knew not what the trouble
was that lay so sore upon him. But no sooner had he recovered so as to
speak more plainly than we learned all, and I have been seeking news of
thee ever since. I should have been here long ago but for the contrary
winds which kept us weeks at sea, unable to make the haven we sought.
But I trow I have not come too late. I find thee here at Basildene; but
sure thou art not the wife of him who calls himself its lord?"
"Wife! no -- ten thousand times no!" answered Joan, springing to her
feet, and looking superb in her stately beauty, the light of love and
happiness in her eyes, the flush of glad triumph on her cheek. "Sir
Knight, thou art Raymond's brother, thou art my saviour, and I will tell
thee all. I was fleeing from Sanghurst -- fleeing to France, to learn
for myself if the tale he told of Raymond's death were true; for sorely
did I misdoubt me if those false lips could speak truth. He guessed my
purpose, followed and brought me back hither a captive. To force me to
wed him has long been his resolve, and he has won my father to take his
side. He was about to summon my father and a priest and make me his
wife, here in this very place, and never let me stir thence till the
chain was bound about me. But I had a way of escape. Yon faithful
servant, who shared my perils and my wanderings, had given me his word
to strike me dead ere he would see me wedded to Sanghurst. No false vow
should ever have passed my lips; no mockery of marriage should ever have
been consummated. I have no fear of death. I only longed to die that I
might go to my Raymond, and be with him for ever."
"But now thou needest not die to be with him!" cried Gaston, enchanted
at once by her beauty, her fearless spirit, and her loyalty and devotion
to Raymond. "My brother lives! He lives for thee alone! I have come to
lead thee to him, if thou wilt go. But first, sweet mistress, let me
take thee to our Prince. It is our noble Prince who has come to see into
this matter his own royal self. I had scarce hoped for so much honour,
and yet I ever knew him for the soul of generosity and chivalry. Let me
lead thee to him. Tell him all thy tale. We have the craven foe in our
hands now, and this time he shall not escape us!"
Gaston ground his teeth, and his eyes flashed fire, as he thought of all
the wickedness of Peter Sanghurst. He was within the walls of Basildene,
his brother's rightful inheritance; the memory of the cruelty and the
treachery of this man was fresh in his mind. The Prince was hearing all
the tale; the Prince would judge and condemn. Gaston knew well what the
fate of the tyrant would be, and there was no room for aught in his
heart beside a great exultant triumph.
Giving his arm to Joan, who was looking absolutely radiant in her
stately beauty, he led her down into the hall below, where the Prince
was seated with some knights and nobles round him -- Master Bernard de
Brocas occupying a seat upon his right hand -- examining witnesses and
looking at the papers respecting the ownership of Basildene which were
now laid before him. At the lower end of the hall, his hands bound
behind him, and his person guarded by two strong troopers, stood Peter
Sanghurst, his face a chalky-white colour, his eyes almost starting from
his head with terror, all his old ease and assumption gone, the innate
cowardice of his nature showing itself in every look and every gesture.
A thoroughly cruel man is always at heart a coward, and Peter Sanghurst,
who had taken the liveliest delight in inflicting pain of every kind
upon those in his power, now stood shivering and almost fainting with
apprehension at the fate in store for himself. As plentiful evidence had
been given of his many acts of barbarity and tyranny, there had been
fierce threats passed from mouth to mouth that hanging was too good for
him -- that he ought to taste what he had inflicted on others; and the
wretched man stood there in an agony of apprehension, every particle of
his swaggering boldness gone, and without a vestige of real courage to
uphold him in the hour of his humiliation.
As the Prince saw the approach of Joan, he sprang to his feet, and all
the assembled nobles did the same. With that chivalrous courtesy for
which he became famous in history, the Prince bent the knee before the
lady, and taking her by the hand, led her to a seat of honour beside
himself, asking her of herself and her story, and listening with
respectful attention to every word she spoke.
Gaston then stood forward and told again his tale of Raymond's capture,
and deep murmurs of indignation ran through the hall as he did so. The
veins swelled upon the Prince's forehead as he heard the tale, and his
eyes emitted sparks of fierce light as they flashed from time to time
upon the trembling prisoner.
"Methinks we have heard enough, gentlemen," said he at length, as
Gaston's narrative drew to a close.
"Marshal, bring hither your prisoner.
"This man, gentlemen, is the hero of these brave deeds of valour of
which we have been hearing. This is the man who dares to waylay and
torture English subjects to wring from them treasure and gold; the man
who dares to bring this vilely-won wealth to purchase with it the favour
of England's King; the man who wages war on foreign soil with the
friends of England, and treacherously sells them into the hand of
England's foe; who deals with them as we have heard he dealt and would
have dealt with Raymond de Brocas had not Providence worked almost a
miracle in his defence. This is the man who, together with his father,
drove from this very house the lawful owner, because that she was a
gentle, tender woman, and was at that moment alone and unable to defend
herself from them. This is the man who is not ashamed to call himself
the master of Basildene, and who has striven to compass by the foulest
ends the death of the true owner of the property -- though Raymond de
Brocas braved the terrors of the Black Death to tend and soothe the last
dying agonies of that man's father. This is the man who would wed by
force this fair maiden, and strove to deceive her by the foulest tricks
and jugglery. Say, gentlemen, what is the desert of this miscreant? What
doom shall we award him as the recompense of his past life?"
A score of hideous suggestions were raised at once, and the miserable
Peter Sanghurst shook in his shoes as he saw the fierce, relentless
faces of the soldiers making a ring round him. Those were cruel days,
despite the softening influence of their vaunted chivalry, and the face
of the Prince was stern and black. It was plain that he had been deeply
roused by the story he had heard.
But Joan was there, and she was a woman; and vile as had been this man's
life, and deeply as he had injured her and him she loved tenfold more
than her own life, he was still a human creature, and a creature without
a hope either in this world or the world to come. She could not but pity
him as he stood there cowering and shuddering, and she turned swiftly
towards the Prince and spoke to him in a rapid undertone.
Young Edward listened, and the dark cloud passed from his brow. He was
keenly susceptible to the nobler emotions, and an appeal to his
generosity was not unheeded. Raising his hand in token that he demanded
silence, he turned towards the quaking criminal, and thus addressed him:
"Peter Sanghurst, you stand convicted of many and hideous crimes --
witchcraft, sorcery, treachery to your King, vile cruelty to his
subjects -- crimes for which death alone is scarce punishment enough.
You well merit a worse fate than the gallows. You well merit some of
those lingering agonies that you have inflicted upon your wretched
victims, and have rejoiced to witness. But we in England do not torture
our prisoners, and it is England's pride that this is so. This fair
lady, who owes you naught but grievous wrong, has spoken for you; she
says that were Raymond de Brocas here, he would join with her in praying
that your fate might be swift and merciful. Therefore I decree that you
are led forth without the gates of Basildene, and hanged upon the first
tree out of sight of its walls.
"See to it, marshal. Let there be no delay. It is not fit that such a
wretch should longer cumber the earth. Away with him, I say!"
The soldiers closed around the condemned man and bore him forth, one of
the marshals following to see the deed done. Joan had for a moment
covered her face with her hand, for even so it was rather terrible to
see this tyrant and oppressor led forth from his own house to an
ignominious death, and she was unused to such stern scenes. But those
around the table were already turning their attention to other matters,
and the Prince was addressing himself to certain men who had come into
the hall covered with cobweb and green mould.
"Has the treasure been found?" he asked.
"Yes, Sire," answered the leader of this strange-looking band. "It was
cleverly hidden, in all truth, in the cellars of the house, and we
should scarce have lighted on it but for the help of some of the people
here, who, so soon as they heard that their master was doomed to certain
death, were as eager to help us as they had been fearful before. It has
all been brought up for you to see; and a monstrous hoard it is. It must
almost be true, I trow, that the old man had the golden secret. So much
gold I have never seen in one place."
"It is ill-gotten gold," said the Prince, sternly, as he rose, and,
followed by the nobles and Master Bernard de Brocas, went to look at the
coffers containing the treasure hoarded up and amassed by the Sanghursts
during a long period of years. "But I trow since the Black Death has so
ravaged these parts, it would be idle to strive to seek out the owners,
and it would but raise a host of false claims that no man might sift.
"Master Bernard de Brocas, I award this treasure to Raymond de Brocas,
the true lord of Basildene, to whom and to whose heirs shall be secured
this house and all that belongs to it. Into your hands I now intrust the
gold and the lands, to be kept by you until the rightful owner appears
to lay claim to them. Let a part of this gold be spent upon making fit
this house for the reception of its master and this fair maiden, who
will one day be the mistress here with him. Let it be thy part, good
Master Bernard, to remove from these walls the curse which has been
brought upon them by the vile sorceries and cruelties of this wicked
father and more wicked son. Let Holy Church do her part to cleanse and
purify the place, and then let it be made meet for the reception of its
lord and lady when they shall return hither to receive their own."
The good Bernard's face glowed with satisfaction at this charge. It was
just such a one as pleased him best, and such as he was well able to
fulfil. Nobody more capable could well have been found for the
guardianship and restoration of Basildene; and with this hoard to draw
upon, the old house might well grow to a beauty and grandeur it had
never known before.
"Gracious Prince, I give you thanks on behalf of my nephew, and I will
gladly do all that I may to carry out your behest. The day will come
when Raymond de Brocas shall come in person to thank you for your
princely liberality and generosity."
"Tush, man, the gold is not mine; and some of it may have been come by
honestly, and belong fairly enough to the Sanghurst family. You say the
mother of these bold Gascon youths was a Sanghurst: it follows, then,
that Basildene and all pertaining to it should be theirs. Raymond de
Brocas has suffered much from the Sanghursts. By every law of right and
justice, it is he who should reap the reward, and find Basildene
restored to its former beauty before he comes to dwell within it."
"And he shall so find it if I have means to compass it," answered the
uncle, with glad pride.
His eye was then drawn to another part of the hall; for Sir Hugh
Vavasour had just come galloping up to the door in hot haste, having
heard all manner of strange rumours: the first being that his daughter
had been found, and was in hiding at Basildene; the second, which had
only just reached his ears, that Peter Sanghurst was dead -- hanged by
order of the Prince, and that Basildene had been formally granted as the
perpetual right of Raymond de Brocas and his heirs.
"And Raymond de Brocas is the plighted husband of thy daughter, good Sir
Hugh," said Master Bernard, coming up to help his old friend out of his
bewilderment -- "plighted, that is, by themselves, by the right of a
true and loyal love. Thy daughter will still be the Lady of Basildene,
and I think that thou wilt rather welcome my nephew as her lord than yon
miscreant, whose body is swinging on some tree not far away. Thou wert
something too willing, my friend, to sell thy daughter for wealth; but
fortune has been kind to her as well as to thee, and thou hast gained
for her the wealth, and yet hast not sacrificed her brave young heart.
Go to her now, and give her thy blessing, and tell her she may wed young
Raymond de Brocas so soon as he comes to claim her hand."