THE FLIGHT.
A month had passed, and Richard of Woodville sat alone in his solitary
chamber, on a dark and stormy night, towards the end of September,
reading by the glimmering lamp-light, a book which had been procured
for him in the town by his page. The rain blew, the wind whistled, the
small panes of glass in the casement rattled and shook, and the
howling of the breeze, as it swept round the old tower, seemed full of
melancholy thoughts. His own imaginations were heavy and desponding
enough--and he eagerly strove to withdraw his attention, both from the
voice of the storm without, and from the dark images that rose up in
his own heart. But he could not govern his mind as he desired; and
still from the pages of the book, he would lift his eyes, and gazing
into vacancy revolve every point in his fate, gaining, alas! nothing
but fresh matter for sad reflection. He had seen no more of the Count
de Vaudemont, the Duke of Orleans, or the Count of Armagnac, and had
learned that they had quitted Montl'herry early on the day following
that during which he had received their visit. He little heeded their
departure, indeed, or desired to see them; for he felt convinced that
their only object had been to make a tool of him for secret purposes
of their own; and that, disappointed therein, they were in no degree
disposed to show him favour, or even to listen to just remonstrance.
What grieved and depressed him more, was the unaccountable
disappearance of the young clerk who had brought him the letters from
Sir John Grey, but who had been no more seen by the page, after the
arrival of the Count de Vaudemont in the town. The boy inquired at the
widow's where the clerk had lodged, and was told he had left the
place: and no farther trace could be discovered of the course he had
pursued, or whither he had turned his steps. The distracted state of
the country, indeed, the young knight thought, might have scared the
novice away; for the page brought him daily reports of strange events
taking place around, of factions, strife, and bloodshed, in almost
every province of France, and of rumours that daily grew in strength
and consistency, of foreign wars being speedily added to the miseries
of the land. Large bodies of armed men passed through the town at
different times; the garrison of the castle was diminished to swell
the forces preparing for some unexplained enterprise; and the
Chatelain himself was called to lead them to the field.
But a stricter guard was kept upon the prisoner than ever. Of the
scanty band that remained in the castle, one always remained in arms
at his door; and another was stationed at the foot of the stairs.
Night and day he was closely watched; and the page himself was not
permitted to go in and out, except at certain hours. All chance of
escape seemed removed; and bitterly did Richard of Woodville ponder
upon the prospect of long captivity, at the very time when, under
other circumstances, opportunity must have occurred for the exertion
of all those energies by which he had fondly hoped to win glory,
station, and renown.
He struggled hard against such thoughts, and all the bitterness they
brought with them; and, after indulging them for a few minutes, turned
ever to the page of the book he was reading, and laboured through the
crabbed lines of the ill-written manuscript; finding perhaps as much
interest in making out the words as in their sense. It was after one
of the fits of meditation we have spoken of, that he thus again
applied himself to read, and turned over several pages carelessly, to
see what would come next in the dull old romaunt, when, suddenly he
saw a fresher page than any of the others, and found upon it, written
in English, and in a different hand from the rest, but in lines of
equal length, so as to deceive a careless eye, and lead to a belief
that the words were but a continuation of the poem, the following
warning and intelligence:
"Be prepared. Lie not down to rest. Take not off your clothes. King
Henry is in France. The Earl of Cambridge, the Lord Scrope, and Sir
Thomas Grey, have been executed for treason. Harfleur has been taken;
and the King is marching on through the land."
There ended the lines, and the young knight, closing the book, started
up and clasped his hands with agitation and surprise. "Harfleur taken,
and I not there!" he cried. "This is bitter, indeed! I shall go mad if
they do not free me soon--Sir Thomas Grey! surely it cannot be written
by mistake. I remember one Sir Thomas Grey, a powerful knight of
Northumberland. The Lord Scrope, too; why, he was the King's
chamberlain! What can all this mean? Prepared--I will be prepared,
indeed. Hark, they are changing the guard at the door. I must not let
them see me thus agitated, if they look in;" and seating himself
again, he opened the book and seemed to read.
No one came near, however, for another hour, and Richard of Woodville
gathered together all that might be needful in case his escape should
be more near than he ventured to hope--the little stock of money that
remained, a few jewels, and trinkets of gold and silver, and a dagger
which he had kept concealed since his capture; for the rest of his
arms and his armour had been taken from him as fair spoil. After this
was done, he sat and watched; but all was silent in the chateau,
except when the guard at his door rose and paced up and down the
passage, or hummed a verse or two of some idle song to while away the
hours.
At length, however, after a long, dead pause, he heard a whisper; and
then the bolt of the door was undrawn without, and rising quietly, he
gazed towards it as it opened. The only figure that presented itself
was that of the guard, whom he had often seen before, and noticed as
apparently a gay, good-humoured man, who treated him civilly, and
asked after health in a kindly tone whenever he had occasion to visit
him. The man's face was now grave, and Woodville thought a little
anxious, and besides his own arms, he bore in his hand a sheathed
sword with its baldric, and a large coil of rope upon his arm. Without
uttering a word, he crossed the chamber, came close up to the young
knight, and put the sword in his hands. Then advancing to the window,
he opened it, fastened one end of the rope tight to the iron bar which
ran up the centre of the casement, and suffered the other to drop
gently down on the outside. Richard of Woodville gazed with some
interest at this proceeding, as may be supposed. In the state of his
mind at that moment, no means of escape could seem too desperate for
him to adopt; and although he doubted that the rope, though strong,
would bear his weight, he resolved to make the attempt,
notwithstanding the tremendous height of the window from the ground.
Approaching the man, he whispered, "Would it not be better for you to
turn the rope round the bar and let me down? My hands have been so
long in prison, that I doubt their holding their grasp very tightly."
The man merely waved his finger and shook his head, without reply,
finished what he was about, and, taking from the table one of the
gloves which the young knight had worn under his gauntlets, much to
the spectator's surprise, dropped it out of the window.
"Now come with me," he whispered; "it is needful for us who stay
behind, to have it thought for a day or two that you have made your
escape without help. The demoiselle has paid us half the money, as she
promised; and we will keep our word with her. There shall no danger
attend you. We have better means of getting you out than breaking your
neck by a fall from the casement."
"But you were to give me a word," said Richard of Woodville.
"Ay," answered the man, "I recollect: it was Mary Markham--Follow me."
Without hesitation, the prisoner accompanied him; but paused for an
instant in some surprise on finding two armed men at the back of the
door, one holding a lamp in his hand. The guard who was with him,
however, took no notice; but, receiving the lamp from the other, led
the way in a different direction from the staircase up which Woodville
had been brought, when first he was conducted to his chamber of
captivity. Then opening a door on the right, he entered a room, in the
wall of which appeared a low archway, exposing to the eye, as the
light flashed forward, the top of a steep, small staircase.
"I will go down first with the lamp," whispered the man, "that you may
see where you are going. Give a heed to your footing, too, for it is
mighty slippery, especially on such a damp night as this."
Thus saying, he led the way; and Richard of Woodville followed down
the winding steps, cut apparently in the thickness of the wall. Green
mould and clammy slime hung upon all the stones as they descended,
except where, every here and there, a loophole admitted the free air
of heaven and chased the damp away. The steps seemed interminable, one
after another, one after another, till Woodville became sure that they
were descending to a greater depth than the mere base of the castle;
and, looking round, as the lamplight gleamed upon the walls, he beheld
no more the hewn stone work which had appeared above, but the rough
excavation of the solid rock. At length the steps ceased, as passing
along a vault of masonry, perhaps forty or fifty feet long, the man
unbolted and unbarred a small but solid door covered with iron plates;
and in a moment the lamp was extinguished by the blast from without.
All seemed dark and impenetrable to the eye; the wind roared through
the vault; the rain dashed in the faces of Woodville and his
companion; but, giving the lamp an oath, as if it had been to blame
for what the storm had done, the man set it down behind the door, and
then walked on, saying, "Keep close to me, for it is steep here."
Following down a little path as the man led, the young knight's eyes
became more accustomed to the gloom, and he thought he descried, at a
short distance, a group of men and horses standing under a light
feathery tree. Hurrying on, with eager hope, he demanded of his guide
who the persons were whom he saw before him.
"Your saucy page is one," said the guard; "but who the others are I do
not know. The young clerk, I suppose, is one, and his servant the
other; for I dare say the demoiselle would not come out on such a
night as this, and faith, I cannot well see whether they be men or
women in this light;" and he shaded his eyes with his hands, with very
needless precaution, where scarcely a ray pierced the welkin.
At that moment, however, one of the figures moved towards him, asking,
"Is all right?"
"All, all," answered the guard; "have you brought the rest of the
money, master clerk? Here stands the prisoner free; so my part of the
bargain is done."
"And there is the rest of the gold, good fellow," replied the other
speaker; "all right money, and well counted."
"Ay, I must take it on your word," said the man who had brought
Woodville thither, "my lamp has been blown out; but I may well trust
you; for the other half was full tale and a piece over."
"That was for chaffage," replied the youth; "and if this noble knight
gets safe to the King's camp, you shall have a hundred pieces more; so
go, and keep his escape, and the way he has taken, as secret as
possible."
"That I will, for mine own sake," answered the soldier; "or I should
soon know gibbet and cord. Good night, good night!" and waving his
hand, he turned away, while the young clerk addressed Woodville,
saying, "You must put yourself under my guidance, noble sir, for a few
hours, and then we shall be safe."
"I have much to thank you for, young gentleman," answered Woodville,
following, as the other hurried on to the horses; and in a few minutes
the knight, his page, the clerk, and the clerk's servant were on
their way. But to Woodville's surprise, instead of taking any of the
by-roads that led on through the country to remote villages and
hamlets, they followed the direct high road towards Paris, which he
had gazed upon for many a day from his solitary chamber in the tower.
After proceeding some way in silence, without hearing any sounds which
could lead them to believe that the knight's escape had been
discovered, and that they were pursued, Woodville endeavoured to gain
some information from the clerk of Sir John Grey, as to the means
which had been taken to effect his liberation, and more particularly,
as to the lady who had been mentioned by the guard.
On the latter point the youth replied not; and on the former he merely
said, "The means were very simple, noble knight, and you yourself saw
some of them employed. Money, which unlocks all doors, was the key of
your prison. The man who refuses ransom to a captive, had better see
that he guard him sure; for that which is a small sum to him, may be a
great one to a gaoler, and one quarter of the amount offered for your
redemption, served to set you free. But I think, sir," he added, "we
had better speak as little as possible upon any head, till we have
passed the capital, for the tongue of an escaped prisoner, like the
track of gore to the bloodhound, often brings him within the fangs of
his pursuers."
Richard of Woodville judged the caution too wise not to be followed;
and on they rode in silence at a brisk pace, with the wind blowing,
and the rain dashing against them, through the darkness of the night,
for somewhat more than two hours, following the broad and open road
all the way, till the young knight thought they must be approaching
Paris. More than once, indeed, he fancied that he caught a glimpse of
some large dark mass before him; and imagination shaped towers and
pinnacles in the black obscurity of night; but at length the clerk's
man, who seemed to act as guide, pronounced the words, "To the left!"
and striking into a narrower, though still well beaten path, they soon
came upon a river, flowing on dull and heavy, but with a glistening
light, in the midst of its dark banks, which they followed for some
way, till a bridge presented itself, which they crossed, and then,
turning a little to the right again, continued their course without
drawing a rein, till the faint grey streaks of morning began to appear
in the east.
Shortly after, a bell was heard ringing slowly, apparently at no great
distance; and the young clerk said aloud, with a sigh of relief,
"Thank God!"
"You are fatigued, young gentleman, with this long stormy ride, I
fear?" said Richard of Woodville.
"A little," was the only reply; and in a few minutes they stopped at
the gate of a small walled building, bearing the aspect of some
inferior priory of a religious house. The bell was still ringing when
they approached; but the door was closed; and the clerk and his
attendant dismounted and knocked for admission. A board was almost
immediately withdrawn from behind a grating of iron, about a palm in
breadth and twice as much in length, and a voice demanded, "Who are
you?"
"Bourgogne," replied the clerk; and instantly the door was opened
without further inquiry. The arrival of the party seemed to have been
expected; for two men, not dressed in monastic habits, took the horses
without further inquiry; a monk addressed himself to Woodville, and
bade him follow; and, before he could ask any questions, he and his
companions were led in different directions, the one to one part of
the building, and the others to another.
With the same celerity and taciturnity, his guide introduced him to a
small but comfortable chamber, provided him with all that he could
require, and bidding him strip off his wet clothes, and lie down to
rest in peace, returned with a cup of warm spiced wine, "to chase the
damp out of his marrow," as he termed it. The young knight drained it
willingly, and then would fain have asked the old man some questions;
but the only information he could gain imported, that he was at Triel,
the old man always replying, "To bed, to bed, and sleep. You can talk
when you have had rest."
Woodville finding he could obtain no other answer, followed his
counsel: and, wearied with such a journey after a long period of
inactivity, but with a heart lightened by the feeling that he was
free, he had hardly laid his limbs on the pallet before he was asleep.