THE ESCAPE.
In the court of France, the royal princesses received constant
intelligence of the progress of the struggle between the English barons
and the king, or rather, between Simon de Montfort and Prince Edward, who
headed the opposite factions. Their hopes were raised by accounts of the
gallant conduct of the young prince, and by the disaffection that arose
between the confederate barons, but sudden misery overwhelmed them, when,
after several years of torturing suspense, Wm. de Valence arrived at
Paris, bringing news of the death of Guy de Lusignan, in the disastrous
action at Lewes, and the captivity of King Henry and his gallant son.
Queen Eleanor immediately determined to proceed to England, and her
daughter-in-law Eleanora insisted upon accompanying her. Young de
Courtenay, who had recently received the honors of knighthood, from his
royal master, and Sir Francis, who had enlisted as his rival for the
smiles of Eva, now a beautiful girl of fifteen, begged permission to join
the escort, with a band of armed retainers. They landed at Plymouth, and
lay concealed for some time in the wilds of Devonshire, while the gallant
knights, Sir Henry and Sir Francis, scoured the country in all directions,
for information concerning the captive princes. They learned that the
royal army had retreated to Bristol castle, under the command of seven
knights, who had reared seven banners on the walls, and with determined
valor held out against Leicester, and that the princes were confined in
Kenilworth castle. The difficulty of communicating with the prisoners
exercised the ingenuity of the little council for many days, but every
plan involved danger, both to themselves and to the royal cause.
Eleanora, whose clear sense and unwavering reliance on a higher power,
led her to a practical demonstration of the sentiment, "To hope the best
is pious, brave, and wise," was the life and soul of every arrangement,
and the soother of those fainter spirits, who were ready to yield, to
despair at every sign of failure. Their residence was in a little hamlet
of the better class of peasants, faithful to the interests of the king. A
deep forest extended on the west to a great distance, and in those wilds,
spite of all caution, Eva delighted to ramble. One day she had been so
long absent that even Eleanora, becoming alarmed, despatched her attendant
in quest of her, and herself joined the search. As she passed along
through the glades of the deep wood, her attention was arrested by the
sight of a pretty boy, lying asleep beneath the shade of a spreading oak,
whose dress from his embroidered shoes, to the ruby that fastened the
plume in his velvet cap, was of the most exquisite beauty, and taste. The
page was clad in a hunting suit of "Lincoln green," slashed with cloth of
gold, that gleamed from the mossy bank upon which he rested, as though the
sunshine had fallen and lingered there. A crimson baldric curiously
wrought with strange devices, lay across his breast, a sword with
burnished sheath, was suspended from his belt. As Eleanora approached, and
gazed upon the sleeping boy, she thought she had never beheld so lovely a
youth, and an instinctive desire rose up in her heart, to enroll him in
her service.
"Wake, pretty one," said she, softly touching his cheek, "wake, and go
with me." The youth started and gazed upon her, and a flush of surprise
and pleasure suffused his countenance. "Whose page art thou?" said
Eleanora, "and how hast thou wandered into this wild?"
"Noble lady," returned the boy, casting down his eyes with modest
hesitation, "my hawk hath gone astray, and I sought him till aweary, I
fell asleep."
"Thy friends have left thee in the greenwood," returned the princess, "and
thou may'st not find them. Wilt go with me, and I will give thee gold and
benison, and if thou art loyal, an errand worthy thy knightly ambition."
"Nay, treason may be loyal, or loyalty treason, in these troublous times,"
said the boy. "One says follow my lord of Leicester, another, draw thy
sword for the good Prince Edward."
"And if I say, draw thy sword for the good Prince Edward, wilt follow me?"
The youth replied evasively, "I love my lady, and I may not engage in
other service, till I bring her proud bird back to the perch."
Something in his earnest tone arrested the attention of the princess, and
scanning the countenance of the youth with more curious scrutiny, she
marked the rosy hue in his cheek, and the tear trembling in his blue eye,
and exclaimed,
"Eva! Eva!! How is this?"
"Nay, an thou knowest me, I will e'en venture on thy knightly errand,"
said the blushing girl, falling on her knees, and repeating the oath of
fealty, rapidly as possible to hide her emotions.
"Rise," said the princess, with all the sternness she could command, "and
tell me whence this disguise."
"I know not, lady, more than thou, save this. Scarce a week since, I met
in this wood the tall knight who hath so nobly defended us, and
yesternight I braved the fear of thy frown, and came to this
trysting-place. He hath concerted a plan for the liberation of my royal
master, and brought me this disguise, which must be sufficient, since it
so long baffled thy quick discernment. Accident has betrayed me, else it
had not rested with my lady, whether Eva should trust the stranger, and
aid in restoring the proud bird of England to his royal perch." Eleanora
paused one moment, while her mind, ever clearest and most active in
emergency, poised between the possibility of danger to her favorite, and
rescue to her lord.
"The knight has twice preserved our lives, he must be bold and true, and
heaven hath raised him up for our deliverance, since God conceals us from
our enemies, and reveals our lurking-place to him. It were treason to
doubt this divine Providence, since it would imply neither trust in man,
nor faith in God. Go, Eva," said the princess, her eyes filling with
tears, as she pressed her to her bosom, and imprinted a warm kiss upon her
cheek. "Heaven will protect and prosper thee, and my noble Edward know how
to reward thy devotion." She stood gazing fondly on her in silence, while
Eva's color went and came as though she essayed, what yet she feared, to
utter. At length she stammered forth, "My lady will send Sir Francis with
his band to guard the fords of the Exe till my return."
"Sir Francis," reiterated the queen, in a tone of surprise; "methought Sir
Henry were more agreeable escort."
Eva tried to hide her crimson blushes beneath her delicate fingers, as she
whispered, "If my mistress please, I would that Sir Henry should be
ignorant of this unmaidenly disguise."
"Thou lovest Sir Henry, then?" said Eleanora.
"Nay, lady, I know not that," replied Eva; "but there is something in him
that commands my regard despite my will, and I would not needlessly
forfeit his esteem."
"I will answer for thee, sweet," replied the princess. "Sir Francis shall
go according to thy wish. But must I leave thee here alone and
unprotected?"
"The monarch of the forest spreads his broad arm for my protection, and
thou shalt envy my repose, in my sylvan eyrie," replied Eva, lightly
springing into a fantastic seat, formed by the twisted branches of a
gnarled oak, and completely concealed by the foliage. Firmly ensconced in
her rustic lodge, she leaned forward and whispered a gentle farewell, as
the princess, bearing in her mind a vision of a bright face, peeping out
from among the green leaves, turned and rapidly retraced her steps to the
hamlet.
That night Sir Francis set out with his train, and as two maidens
accompanied the band, one wearing the dress of Eva, her absence excited no
suspicion.
Meanwhile the sprite remained in her place of concealment, till the
gathering shadows of the trees stretched stealthily across the glade the
appointed signal for the gathering of the outlawed bands. The tall knight
soon appeared, and, lifting her gently from the tree, placed her on a
beautiful Spanish jennet, and smilingly handing her an ivory whistle,
terminating in a silver cross, bade her summon her satyrs. She placed it
to her lips, and blew a shrill call, and forthwith from the leafy bosom of
every bush and shrub there issued a huntsman, clad in forest green, and
carrying only such weapons as were used in the chase. The knight gave them
hasty directions for the different points of rendezvous, at which they
were to watch the safety of the young squire, warned them against those
places where they would be most likely to encounter the malcontents, and
then mounting the noble steed that stood pawing the turf in impatience by
his side, and laying his hand upon the rein, recalled Eva to herself, by
saying, with emphasis, "Sir Launfal, we must away, or morning will dawn
ere we cross the fords of Exe."
They rode at a brisk pace for some time in silence, the mind of each being
too much occupied for words.
The knight at length spoke abruptly. "Thou hast a turn for adventure,
pretty page, and I'll warrant me, ready tongue, but how dost thou think to
gain speech with Prince Edward?"
"Nay, that I leave with thee," returned Eva, "since I know neither the
place to which I am bound, nor the duty I am to perform."
"And that I scarce know myself," replied the knight. "The lady Maud
Mortimer has the swiftest courser in all England, a coal-black Arabian,
brought by Richard of Cornwall as a gift to her ladyship, on his return
from the Holy Land. My Lord Mortimer is a partisan of Leicester, but is
somewhat cooled in his devotion to the proud earl, from an affront
received since the battle of Lewes. The lady, therefore, to be revenged,
has volunteered her steed for the escape of Edward. There riseth, however,
another difficulty. The prince is constantly surrounded with guards, so
that no stranger may accost him. My merry men have beset the castle in
every kind of disguise, but to no purpose. Of late, the prince rides forth
of a morning, closely attended, and I have brought thee, hoping that thy
woman's wit may effect more than all our dull brains have yet
accomplished."
As the captive prince, sick with hope deferred, languidly mounted his
horse and rode forth upon his monotonous round, he was surprised by the
appearance of a saucy-looking page, who mingled carelessly among the
attendants, and challenged the younger squires to test the speed of their
horses.
"And who art thou, pert boy?" inquired the captain of the guard.
"Who but the squire to my Lord de Mortimer? Thou must be learned in
heraldry an thou knowest not the device of the noble earl," replied the
page, with an air of nonchalance that easily satisfied his interrogator,
and eager of sport the whole party joined in the race. They were thus led
far beyond their usual limits. But the prince, whose heart was sad,
evinced little interest in the animated scene till the page, loudly
entreating him to put his steed to the mettle, found opportunity at
intervals to whisper, "To-morrow when the horses of the guards are blown,
seek the copse by the Hazel Glen." As if disgusted with the familiarity of
the page, the prince slowly turned away, but not till he had exchanged a
glance of intelligence with his new friend.
The following morning the gallant Sir Launfal stood in the copse holding
the reins of his own palfrey, and the steed of Lady Mortimer, till he was
faint and weary. The expected hour for Edward's arrival had long passed,
and notwithstanding his effort to appear the brave squire he personated,
it must be confessed he felt very like a timid girl, whose active
imagination peopled the wood with a thousand unknown dangers. He turned
the whistle nervously in his fingers, and almost essayed to try its magic
powers in summoning around him the brave outlaws who waited his bidding,
when the welcome sound of advancing hoofs reassured him, and a moment
after the prince dashed into the thicket.
"Keep to the highway till we meet at the cross-roads," said the page,
resigning the rein into his hand.
The shouts of the pursuers were already on the air, as the prince vaulted
into the saddle and took the direction indicated. Striking into a bridle
path, Sir Launfal reached the cross-roads just as the prince appeared, and
together they rode gaily on towards Bristol. The pursuers soon after
gained the same point, where they encountered a woodman, jogging on slowly
after two loaded mules, of whom they inquired concerning the fugitive.
"He be's gone yonder," replied the boor, pointing in the direction
opposite to the one which the prince had taken, where upon an eminence
appeared an armed force. The baffled guards, fearing that the conspiracy
might have been more extensive than they had anticipated, made the best of
their way back to Kenilworth.
"And who art thou, my pretty page?" inquired Edward, "that hast so
dexterously redeemed thy prince, and whither dost thou conduct me?"
"I wear the badge of Mortimer," replied Sir Launfal. "The Lady Maude is
the constant friend of thy royal mother."
"Canst tell me aught of the movements of the rebel barons, or the fate of
my brave knights?"
"Nay, my giddy brain recks little of politics or war," returned the boy,
"but there are can give thee tidings."
A moment after they turned an angle in the road, and the boy putting the
whistle to his mouth sounded a sharp note, and a party of huntsmen,
apparently in quest of game, darted across the path, while one shouted, as
if to his companions, "To the right, the game lies by the Hermit's Cross."
The page immediately turned his palfrey, motioning to silence, and led off
into the path through the wood, and after several hours' hard riding
arrived at the appointed place of rendezvous.
At the foot of a large wooden cross, weather-stained and somewhat decayed,
sat a monk, closely robed in gown and cowl, who rose at their approach,
saying in a low voice, "The benison of our Lady of Walsingham rest upon
you;" and with great strides conducted them deeper and deeper into the
wood, till they came to a hunter's lodge, which, though much in ruins,
gave signs of having been recently repaired, with some view to the rank
and comfort of those who were to occupy it.
The prince made light of the trifling inconveniences to which they were
subjected, remarking, "A soldier has little choice of resting-place." But
poor Eva, wearied almost to death from the unaccustomed fatigues of the
day, now that the stimulus of excitement was over, had leisure to think of
her own situation; and scarcely able to restrain her tears, crept silently
to her couch of fern, and beneath the russet covering, soon slept from
very exhaustion. The prince and the monk meanwhile conferred apart in low
tones, concerting measures for present and future security.
"Gloucester is with us," said the priest, "and Sir Roger de Mortimer has a
party of picked men on the road to Evesham. My band have charge of every
ford and pass between this and Hereford. The scouts report that
Leicester's men are much wasted by their long residence on the Welsh
frontier, and my jolly fellows are this night engaged in breaking down the
bridges across the Severn. For we churchmen have a fancy, that baptism is
necessary to wash away the sins of rebels."
"I fear not all the rites of the Church can absolve the black-hearted
traitor," returned Edward, with great asperity. "But proceed with thy
news."
"The country is beset with Leicester's spies," continued the monk, "else
had I been less guarded in my communications with thee. Bands of men are
daily mustering in every direction, making the high-roads unsafe for
honest travellers like myself."
"Thou wilt join our forces with the brethren of thy chapter," suggested
the prince.
"Our chapter are somewhat too much tinctured with heresy to hail the
ascendency of the odious De Montforts," replied the monk; "thou mayst,
therefore, depend upon their most earnest intercessions in thy behalf.
But for me, I must restore pretty one," nodding his head significantly
towards the spot where Eva lay asleep, "to his mistress. It is a matter,
not of selfish interest alone, that the loyal page be restored unharmed."
"Thou art right," returned Edward. "I would not that the charming boy
should lose one raven curl for me, though he hath risked his freedom and,
perhaps, his life to save me."