THE RESULT.
"Perhaps I have been too harsh," thought Richard of Woodville, when
the man Dyram was gone, and he sat alone in his chamber. "Surely that
knave's conscience must be punishment enough. What must it be to think
that we have betrayed a friend, violated a trust, injured one who has
confided in us! Can Hell itself afford an infliction more terrible
than such a memory? Methinks it were torment enough for the worst of
men, to render remembrance eternal!"
And he was right--surely he was right. In this world we weave the
fabric of our punishment with our sins.
As the young knight proceeded to reflect, however, his mind turned
from Dyram to Sir Simeon of Roydon; and suddenly a light broke in upon
him.--"It must be so!" he cried: "'tis this man has poisoned the mind
of Sir John Grey against me. But that will be easily remedied."
The next instant he suddenly recollected the half-made appointment
with Mary's father, which in all the bustle and excitement of the
scenes he had lately gone through, had escaped his memory till
that moment; and he started up, exclaiming, "This is unfortunate,
indeed!--There may yet be time--I will go!" But as he turned towards
the door, the clock of the castle struck. Nearly an hour had elapsed
since the appointed period, for the stealthy foot of Time ever runs
fastest when we could wish his stay. Nevertheless, Richard of
Woodville went forth, received the password of the guard, and hurried
to the inn to inquire whether or not the old knight had come during
his absence. He was in some hope that such might not be the case; for
Mary's father had ridden away abruptly without saying whether he
accepted the appointment or not. But when Woodville reached the hostel
he found, to his mortification, that Sir John Grey had not only been
there, but had waited some time for his return, and had gone away, the
host informed him, with a gloomy brow.
Sad and desponding, with all the bright hopes which had accompanied
him into Ghent darkened, he strode back to the Graevensteen, and
passed through the court to his apartments, remarking that there
seemed a number of persons waiting, and a good deal of confusion,
unusual at so late an hour; but his thoughts were busy with his own
situation; and he walked on in the darkness to his chamber, without
inquiry. There, leaning his head upon his hand beneath the light of
the lamp, he gave himself up to bitter reflections, thinking how sad
it is, that a man's happiness, his name, fame, purposes, abilities,
virtues, should be so completely in the power of circumstances--the
stones with which fate builds up the prison walls of many a lofty
spirit.
While he was thus meditating, there was a knock at his chamber door,
and bidding the applicant come in, the next moment he saw the young
Lord of Lens enter. The youth's countenance betokened haste and
agitation, and, closing the door carefully, he said, "The Count has
just whispered me, to come and warn you, good knight, not to quit your
apartments till he comes to you."
"How so?" asked Woodville, partly divining the cause of this
injunction. "Do you mean, my young friend, that I am a prisoner?"
"Oh no!" answered the other, "'tis for your own safety. There are
enemies of yours in the castle; and perhaps if they were to see you,
they might seize you even here. You know not the daring of these men
of Ghent, and how, when passion moves them, they set at nought all
authority. They would arrest you in the very presence of the Prince,
if they thought fit; and they are even now pouring their complaints
into the Count's ear. Luckily, however, they know not that you are in
the Graevensteen; and, with a show of loyal obedience, of which they
have very little in their hearts, they are affecting to ask
permission, as you are one of his knights, to have you sought for in
the town to-morrow and apprehended, for something rather rash that you
have done this evening."
"I have done nothing rash, my friend," replied Woodville, gravely,
"but only what I would do again to-morrow, if the case required
it--only, in fact, what my knightly oath required: I have but rescued
a defenceless woman from wrong and oppression. I can justify myself
easily to the Count or any other gentleman of honour."
"Well, wait till he comes," answered the young nobleman; "for though
you might be able to set yourself right at last, yet you would ill
brook imprisonment, I wot; and perhaps even the Count might not be
able to save you from these people's hands, if you were found just
now. They are a furious and unruly set; and the priests have got
syndics and magistrates of all kinds on their side."
"I have heard tales of their doings," replied Richard of Woodville;
"but I cannot bring myself to fear them. However, I will, of course,
obey the Count's commands, and wait here till he is pleased to send
for me."
"I will bear you company," replied the young Lord of Lens, "for I love
not the presence of these foul citizens; and heaven knows how long
they may stay with their orations, as lengthy and as flat as one of
their own pieces of cloth."
To say the truth, Richard of Woodville would have preferred to be
alone; but he did not choose to mortify the good-humoured young lord
by suffering him to perceive that his presence was a restraint; and,
sometimes in grave conversation, sometimes in light, they passed
nearly an hour; till at length numerous sounds from the court-yard
gave notice that the deputation of the good citizens was taking its
departure. For half an hour more they waited, in the expectation of
soon receiving some messenger from the Count de Charolois, but none
appeared; and at length Richard of Woodville besought his companion to
seek some intelligence. The young nobleman readily undertook the task,
and opened the door to go out; but, on the very threshold, was met by
the Count himself, followed by the Lord of Croy. The expression of the
Prince's countenance was grave and troubled; and, seating himself, he
made a sign to the rest to do so likewise; and then, looking at
Woodville with an anxious and careful smile, he said, "This is an
awkward business, my friend."
"If told truly, it is a very simple one, my lord the Count," replied
the knight.
"It may be simple, yet have very dangerous results," said the young
Prince, gravely. "These men of Ghent are not to be meddled with
lightly; and, though their insolence must some day be checked--and
shall--yet this is not the time to do it. It seems, by their account,
that you brought a pretty light-o'-love maiden with you hither from
England; and that she having been found, with a number of other
heretics, worshipping, they assert, the devil himself, who was seen in
proper form amongst them" (Woodville smiled); "you delivered her with
the strong hand from the people sent to seize the whole party. What
makes you laugh, Sir Richard?"
"Because, my good lord," replied the young knight, "you, here in
Flanders, do not seem to understand monks and priests so well as we do
in England. They have made a fair story of it, which is almost all
false. I am as good a catholic as any of them, though I have not had
my head shaved. I believe all that the Church tells me, for I doubt
not that the Church knows best; but I can't help seeing that she has
got a great number of knaves amongst her ministers."
"But what is the truth of the story, sir knight?" said the Lord of
Croy. "I told the Count that I was sure they had made a mountain of a
molehill."
"Thanks, my good lord," answered Woodville. "The truth is simply this:
the poor girl is a good and sincere catholic, and has been bitterly
tried; for many of her relations are what we call Lollards, a sort of
heretics like your Hussites, and she has steadfastly resisted all
their false notions. She was persecuted and ill-treated in England, by
a base and unworthy man--a knight, heaven save the mark!--one Sir
Simeon of Roydon, now banished from the English court for his
ill-treatment of her. She, having relations in this land--amongst
others Nicholas Brune, your goldsmith, sir--quitted London to join
them. I found her in the same ship which brought me over; and, in
Christian charity and common courtesy, gave her protection on the way.
She is no light-o'-love, my lord, but a good and honest maiden; and I
would be the last to sully her purity by word or deed. As soon as I
reached Ghent, and found out where her cousin dwelt, I placed her
safely under his roof, and thought of her no more, accompanying you to
Lille. A servant, however, whom I left with my baggage and some spare
horses here in Ghent--a clever knave, but a great rogue--was smitten,
it seems, by her beauty on the way, and went often to see her. On my
return, while I was speaking with Sir John Grey in the street, this
man came up importunately, and told me, if I did not save her, she was
lost. Hurrying along with him to gather my men together, I found that
a certain monk or friar, named Brother Paul, had combined with others,
of whom I have since discovered this Simeon of Roydon was one, to
seize upon the poor girl, with the whole party of her friends, at a
heretic meeting in the old Linen-weavers' Hall. On their promise to
give her up to him, this scoundrel servant of mine, Dyram, had
betrayed to the cunning monks at what hour the assembly was to be
held; but, when he asked for the securities they had promised, that
she should be placed in his hands, they laughed him to scorn. He is a
persevering knave, however, and, by one means or another, gained a
knowledge of all their proceedings and intentions, and found that they
had dressed up one of their varlets as the arch-enemy, covering him
with the skin of a black cow, and setting the horns upon his head.
This mummer was to be placed under the table in the hall--as doubtless
he was, for I saw something of the figure when I went in--and as soon
as it grew dusk, he was to rise up amongst the heretics, giving a sign
for the others to rush in. Knowing the girl to be a catholic, as I
have said, and free from all taint of this heresy--"
"Then why went she thither?" demanded the Count de Charolois.
"She told me afterwards, my lord," replied the young Englishman, "that
her cousin Nicholas and his wife had deceived her, and, anxious to
convert or pervert her to their own notions, had taken her to this
place, without letting her know whither she was going. She says they
will acknowledge it themselves, if they are questioned, and also that
she strove to go away when she found where she was, but was prevented
by them. However, knowing her to be a good catholic, and certain that
the whole matter was contrived out of some malice towards her, I had
no hesitation in hastening to her deliverance. I used no farther
violence than was needful to set her free, took no part in delivering
the others, of whose religious notions I knew nothing, and--"
"The greater part of them escaped, it seems," said the Lord of Croy.
"With that I had nothing to do," replied Richard of Woodville. "I
contented myself with cutting the cords they had tied round the poor
girl's wrists; and making my way with her out of the hall, leaving the
monks and their menee to settle the matter with the others as they
thought fit."
"And where is the maiden now, my friend?" asked the Count de
Charolois.
"I instantly sent her out of the town with three of my men," replied
Richard of Woodville. "I thought it the surest course."
The Count looked at the Lord of Croy, as if for him to speak; and the
young English knight, somewhat hastily concluding that they
entertained doubts of his word, exclaimed, after a moment's pause, "I
trust that you do not disbelieve me, sir? You cannot suppose that an
English gentleman, of no ill repute, would tell you a falsehood in a
matter such as this?"
"No, no, my friend, no, no," replied the Count, "I do not doubt you
for a moment. I only look to our good comrade here, to speak what is
very unpleasant for me to say. Indeed, I do not know how to explain it
to you; for you will naturally think that my father's power ought to
be sufficient to protect one of his own knights against his own
people."
"The truth is, Sir Richard," said the Lord of Croy, "that the citizens
of Ghent are an unruly race; and if they once get you in their hands,
they may treat you ill. If my lord the Count were to resist them,
there is no knowing what they might do. I would not answer for it, in
such a case, that we should not see them in arms before the castle
gate, ere noon to-morrow."
"That shall never be on my account, noble prince," replied the knight,
turning to the Count; "but, under these circumstances, it were wise in
me to quit the town of Ghent."
"That is exactly what I wish to say," answered the Prince; "but, in
truth, it seems most ungrateful of me to propose such a thing to you,
my friend. Undoubtedly, if you are not pleased to go, I will defend
you here to the best of my power; and my father would soon give us
aid, in case of necessity; but I need not tell you, that to have Ghent
again in revolt, just on the eve of a new war with the Armagnacs in
France, might be ruinous to all his schemes, and fatal to his policy.
Moreover, if they were to accuse him of countenancing heresy here, it
would do him a bitter injury; for the people in Paris have just
pronounced that the sermon preached by one of his doctors, Jean Petit,
is heretical."
"Well," answered Richard of Woodville, "I can go to Bruges, my lord,
where you said I should find good archers, and can be carrying on my
levies there."
The Count shook his head, saying, "That will be no place of safety.
These good folks of Ghent, and those of Bruges, so often at deadliest
enmity, are now sworn friends; and the Brugeois would give you up
without a thought. No, what I have to propose is this, that you should
go an hour or two before daylight to my cousin Waleran de St. Paul,
who is now raising troops upon the Meuse. I shall have to pass thither
also; for my father sends me into Burgundy, and I cannot go through
France. If you will wait for me between Chimay and Dinant, I will join
you within ten days, and we will go on to the west, and raise what men
we can at Besancon."
"So be it, my noble lord," replied Richard of Woodville; "but where
shall I find the Count?"
"You will find him at Chimay," replied the young prince. "He has a
castle two leagues thence, on the road to Dinant. From me you shall
hear before I come. I will meet you somewhere in the Ardennes. Make
all your preparations quickly; and, in the meanwhile, I will write
letters to my uncles of Brabant and Liege, that you may have favour
and protection as you pass."
Richard of Woodville thanked him for his kindness in due terms, and,
as soon as the young Count, with the Lords of Croy and Lens, had left
him, called his servants, and gave orders to prepare once more for
their immediate departure. Fortunately, it so happened that he had
ordered all his baggage to be brought from the inn, so that no great
time was lost; and in about an hour all was ready to set out. The
letters of the young Count, however, had not arrived, and Richard of
Woodville waited, pondering somewhat anxiously upon the only
difficulty which presented itself to his mind, namely, how he was to
recal the men whom he had sent with Ella Brune upon the side of
Bruges, without depriving her of aid and protection at the moment when
she most needed it. It was true, he thought, she had no actual claim
upon him; it was true that he had done more for her already than might
have been expected at his hands, without any motive but that of
compassion; but yet he felt that it would be cruel, most cruel, to
leave her in an hour of peril, undefended and alone. "We take a
withering stick and plant it in the ground," says Sterne; "and then we
water it, because we have planted it;" and Richard of Woodville was
one who felt that the kindness he had shown did give her a title to
expect more.
At first he thought of bidding the men rejoin him, and bring her with
them; but then the glance which Sir John Grey had cast upon him as her
name was mentioned, came back to his mind, and he said, "No, that must
not be. For her sake and my own, she must go no farther with me. Men
might well think, if she did, that there were other ties between us
than there are. I will bid them take her to England, or place her
anywhere in safety, and then come. To Sir John Grey I must write--and
to my sweet Mary also. I may well trust her, I hope, to plead my
cause, and repel the charges which this base villain has brought. Yet,
'tis most unfortunate that this event should have occurred at such a
moment."
He was still thinking deeply over these matters, when the door opened,
and the young Count of Charolois appeared alone. "Here are the
letters, my friend," he said. "I have ordered some of my people to go
with you for a mile or two beyond the gates, in order to secure you a
safe passage. Is there aught I can do for you while you are absent?"
"One thing, my noble lord," replied the young knight, a sudden thought
striking him--"if you will kindly undertake to be my advocate with one
whose good opinion is to me a matter of no light moment. You must know
that Sir John Grey--so long an exile in your father's dominions, but
now empowered by King Henry to treat, in conjunction with Sir Philip
de Morgan, at the Court of Burgundy--has one daughter, plighted to me
by long love, by her own promises, and by her father's also; but some
scoundrel--the same, I do verily believe, who has made all this
mischief--I mean Sir Simeon of Roydon--has brought charges against me
to that good knight, which have altered his countenance towards me.
Called suddenly away, I have no means of explanation; and I leave my
name blighted in his opinion. The accusation, I believe, refers to
this poor girl, Ella Brune; but you may tell Sir John, and I pledge
you my knightly word you will tell him true, that there is nought
between her and me but kindness rendered on my part to a woman in
distress, and gratitude on hers to one who has protected her."
"I will not fail," replied the young prince, giving him his hand, "nor
will I lose any time before I explain all as far as I know it." Thus
saying, he walked out with Woodville into the court, where the horses
stood prepared; and, in a few minutes, the young wanderer was once
more upon his way.