THE DISASTER.
In the square of the pretty town of Montl'herry, nearly opposite the
church, and under the domineering walls of the chateau, were two
hostels, or inns, the one called the Wheatsheaf, and the other the
Bunch of Grapes; for, in those days, as in the present time, the
houses of public reception were not only more numerous in France than
in any country in the world, but were ornamented with signs taken from
almost every object under the sun, and from a great many that the sun
never shone upon. As every one knows, the little town of Montl'herry
is situated on a high isolated and picturesque hill; and down one of
the streets running from the _Place_ or square, could at that time be
seen the rich plain stretching out by Longpont to Plessis-Saint Pere,
with the numerous roads which cross it in different directions towards
Epinay, Ville-aux-bois, and other small towns, as well as the highway
towards Paris.
Before these two inns on the morning of a cold but clear day, towards
the end of February, were collected some twenty men-at-arms, who had
been lodging there from the night before, and who seemed now preparing
to ride away upon their farther journey, after the morning meal, then
called dinner, should have been discussed. In the meantime, they were
undergoing a sort of inspection from their leader, a young man of a
tall and powerful frame, and a handsome and engaging countenance,
bronzed with the sun and marked with a scar upon his brow. Though he
moved easily and gracefully under the weight, he was covered with
complete armour from the neck to the heels, which displayed the spurs
of knighthood. His casque lay upon the bench at the door of the
Wheatsheaf, and leaning negligently against the wall of the inn
appeared the lances of the men-at-arms, who each stood beside his
horse, while the knight passed from one to another, making some
observation to each, sometimes in a tone of reproof, sometimes in
words of praise. The host of one of the inns stood before his door
observing their proceedings, and some half-a-dozen little boys were
spending their idleness in gazing at the glittering soldiery.
Towering above appeared the ancient castle held by the partizans of
the Orleans or Armagnac faction; and when it is remembered that these
below were soldiers of the House of Burgundy, and that the young
knight at their head was Richard of Woodville, it must be acknowledged
that this was a somewhat bold stratagem thus to parade a body of
hostile troops in the midst of an enemy's town. The young leader,
however, well knew that nothing but the assumption of perfect ease and
security could escape suspicion, and confirm the tale which had been
told of his band being a party of the men of Orleans.
The gate of the castle he could not see; but from time to time as he
passed from one man to another, he looked round to the door of the
church, and presently, as the clock struck, he held up his fingers,
saying, "What hour is that?" and then as he counted, he turned
somewhat sharply to the host, exclaiming, "By the Lord, you have kept
us so late for our dinner, that we shall have time to take none. Bring
the men out some wine. Quick, my men, quick. On with your bacinets!"
The host assured him that the meal would be served in a minute; but
the knight replied, "A minute! Did you not tell me so half an hour
ago? Quick, bring out the wine, or we shall be obliged to go without
that. What do you think our lord will say, if we wait for your
minutes?" and while the host retired to bring the wine, the men
assumed their casques, and Richard of Woodville whispered to one who
seemed superior to the rest--"He is in the church. I saw him go in
with the priest."
"So did I," replied the other; "but he has got a guard with him."
"We must not mind that," replied Woodville; "we shall have some start
of them; for they will all be at dinner in the castle--no horses
saddled, no armour buckled on. Mount, my men, mount. You can drink in
the stirrups. Now, boy, give me my casque."
The page ran and brought the bacinet; the host returned with the wine;
and each man drank a deep draught and handed the cup and tankard to
his neighbour. Richard of Woodville then sprang into his saddle, his
page mounted, and taking the bridle of a spare horse, which was then
very generally led after the commander of a party, followed his lord,
as, with his lance in his hand, he headed his little troop, and took
his way across the Place, saying aloud, as he rode slowly forward,
"One prayer to our Lady, and I am with you."
The host gazed after them to the door of the church, but thought it
nothing extraordinary that a young knight should follow so common and
laudable a custom as beginning a journey with a petition for
protection. When, therefore, Richard of Woodville dismounted with two
of his men, and entered the sacred building, he turned himself into
his own house again, and applied himself to other affairs. In the
meanwhile, the knight strode up the nave, looking around him as he
went, while his two companions followed close behind.
Some half dozen women, principally of the lower orders, were the only
persons at first visible; but in one of the small chapels, from which
the sound of a voice singing mass was heard, they soon after perceived
a young gentleman, habited in the garb of peace, kneeling at a little
distance from the altar, before which stood a priest in robes,
performing the functions of his office.
"That is he," whispered one of the Burgundians to Richard of
Woodville, and advancing straight to the young Lord of Croy, the
knight took him by the arm, saying, in a low tone, "You are wanted,
John of Croy. Where is the guard who was with you?"
"Somewhere in the church, speaking with a woman who was to meet him
here," said the young lord, rising. "Perhaps we may get out without
his seeing us."
"Never mind if he do," said Richard of Woodville; "we shall be far on
the way before they are in the saddle;" and hurrying on with the young
Lord of Croy, he reached the door of the church without interruption.
The priest could not but see the whole of their proceedings, but he
took no notice, going on with the service devoutly.
The clang of the step of armed men, however, had caught another ear;
and just as the young Lord of Croy was passing out, a voice was heard
exclaiming, "Whither are you going, young sir?"
Richard of Woodville turned his head and replied, "Home!" and then
issuing forth, closed the door, and thrust his dagger through the
staple that confined the large heavy latch. The horse led by the page
was close at hand; and John of Croy, with his deliverers, sprang into
the saddle, and rode out of Montl'herry at full speed.[11]
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[Footnote 11: It is a strange omission on the part of the historians
of the day, that in relating the escape of John of Croy, they have not
mentioned the name of Richard of Woodville.]
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The precaution of the English knight in fastening the door proved less
serviceable than he had hoped, however; for as they passed down the
street, he turned and saw the man who had been sent to guard the
prisoner--having found exit by some other means--running as fast as he
could go towards the castle; and when they reached the foot of the
hill, the sound of a trumpet came, borne upon the breeze from above.
On, on, the little party hurried, however; and they had already gained
so much ground, that every prospect of escape seemed before them. But
unfortunately, no one was well acquainted with the road: Richard of
Woodville and his company had found their way thither as best they
could; and the young Lord of Croy, who was at the head of the band,
while Woodville brought up the rear, turned into a wrong path in the
wood near Longpont, so that some time was lost ere they got right
again. They were just issuing forth on a road which leads to the left
of Lonjumeau, when the sound of pursuit caught the ear; and at the
same moment the horse of the page stumbled and fell.
"Up, up, boy!" cried Richard of Woodville, drawing in his rein, as he
had nearly trodden the poor youth under his horse's feet; and then
adding to those before, "Ride on! ride on!" he stooped and held out
his hand to the lad, who staggered up, confused and half stunned with
the fall. Before the horse could be raised, and the youth mount,
coming round the angle of the wood, by a shorter cut, appeared the
pursuers from Montl'herry. The Burgundians had followed the order to
ride on, which, had they been the young knight's own band, they might,
under the circumstances, have perchance disobeyed. Woodville gazed
after them, turned his eyes towards the enemy--the foremost of whom
was not more than a hundred yards distant--took one moment for
consideration; and then, setting his lance in the rest, he spurred on
towards the enemy. The man met him in full career; but, not prepared
for such a sudden encounter, was unhorsed in a moment, and the two or
three who followed, pulled in the rein. The young knight's object was
gained; their pursuit was checked; and the advantage of even a few
minutes was everything for the young Lord of Croy.
"Surrender, knight, surrender!" cried the voice of one of the opposite
party; but Woodville, though he well knew that such must be the result
at last, resolved to struggle for a farther delay; and exclaiming,
"What! to half-a-dozen squires? Never! never!" he reined back his
horse, as if to take ground for a fresh career, and again charged his
lance which had remained unsplintered, while his page rode up behind,
asking, "May I fight too, noble sir?"
"No, boy, no! Keep back!" cried the knight; and at the same moment a
more numerous party appeared to the support of the Armagnacs, led by a
baron's banner. They bore down straight towards him, some one still
calling upon him to surrender; and, seeing that farther resistance was
vain, Woodville raised his lance and took off his gauntlet as a sign
that he yielded.
"After them, like lightning!" cried the voice of a gentleman in a suit
of richly ornamented steel. "A knight is a good exchange for a squire;
but we must not let the other escape.--Now, fair sir, do you yield,
rescue or no rescue?"
"I do," answered the young knight; "there is my glove, and I give you
my faith."
"Pray let us see your face," continued the nobleman, raising his own
vizor, while the greater part of his troop rode on after the young
Lord of Croy. Richard of Woodville followed his example; but neither
was known to the other, though as it afterwards proved they had once
met before.
"May I ask your name, fair sir?" demanded the captor, in the courteous
tone then used between adversaries.
"Richard of Woodville," replied the young knight; and a smile
instantly came upon the countenance of the other, who replied, "A
follower of Burgundy, or I mistake. I regret I was not up sooner, good
knight; for if the heralds gave me the name truly, I owe you a fall.
When last we met, I was neither horsed nor armed for combat properly.
The chance might have been different this time."
"Perhaps it might, my Lord the Count," answered Woodville; "fortune is
one man's to-day, another's to-morrow. Mine is the turn of ill luck,
else had I not been here a prisoner."
"I bear no malice, sir," rejoined the Lord of Vaudemont; "but if you
please, we will ride back to Montl'herry;" and following the
invitation, which was now a command, the young knight accompanied his
captor, saying to himself, "I felt that this enterprise would end ill,
for me at least."
He knew not how far the evil was to extend.