THE FOX IN THE SNARE.
Spread out in a long line over the face of the country, the English
army occupied a number of villages, keeping a good watch lest the
enemy, large bodies of whom had been apparent during the morning,
should take them by surprise and overwhelm them by numbers. Small
parties of the freshest men were lodged in tents between the different
villages, so that a constant communication might be kept up, and
support be ready for any point attacked; and, throughout the whole
host, reigned that stern and resolute spirit, the peculiar
characteristic of the English soldiery, and which has assured them the
victory in so many fields, against more impetuous, but less
determined, adversaries. Yet none, however resolute and brave in
Henry's army, could help feeling that a great and perilous day was
before them, when it was known, that at least a hundred and
twenty-five thousand men, comprising the most renowned chivalry of
Europe, were collected to oppose a force of less than twenty-five
thousand, worn with a long and difficult march, and weakened by
sickness and want of provisions.
Nevertheless, during the whole night of Thursday, the 24th of October,
from hamlet and village, from priory and castle, from tent and field,
wherever the English were quartered, rose up wild bursts of martial
music floating on the air to the French camp, as, round the
innumerable watch-fires which lighted the whole sky with their lurid
glare, sat the myriads the enemy in their wide extended position at
Roussauville and Agincourt.
In one of the small villages near the head-quarters of the King, was
stationed Sir John Grey, who now having recovered all the great
possessions of his family, appeared in the field at the head of a
large body of men, whose services under his banner procured for him,
at an after period, as the reader is probably aware, the earldom of
Tankerville. The house which he inhabited during that night, was the
dwelling of a farmer; and in one of the small rooms thereof sat
Richard of Woodville, at about eleven o'clock at night, conversing
with Mary's father, with a somewhat gloomy and anxious air.
"I have seen it myself, Richard," said Sir John Grey; "the
superscription is clear and distinct--'To Sir Thomas Grey,
Knight,'--and not one word is mentioned therein of anything like
ransom."
"Then it has been falsified!" cried Richard of Woodville; "for my
letter was to you. Why should I write to Sir Thomas Grey, a man I know
nought of? I never saw him--hardly ever heard of him. Even now I am
scarcely aware of who he was, or what he did."
"He was an arch villain, Richard," replied the knight. "The only one,
of all the three, who took the gold of France. Cambridge and Scroop
has other views, which they nobly hid within their own bosoms, lest
they should injure others; but this man was a traitor indeed, and he,
ere his death, gave this letter, it seems, into the King's own hands,
as that which began his communication with the enemy. He even laid
his death at your door, for having written to him by the French
suborner.--But here is Sir Henry Dacre.--What is it you seek, good
knight? You seem eager about something."
"There are people without requiring to speak with you, Sir John,"
answered Woodville's friend. "They have got a man in their hands, who,
they say, is a knave, sent to you by one you know."
"I want no knaves," replied Sir John Grey; "but I will see who it is;"
and he went out.
"Now, what speed, my friend?" continued Dacre, grasping Woodville's
hand; "what says Sir John?"
"That it must not be," said Richard of Woodville. "That his duty to
the King would not suffer it, even were I his son."
"Then we must try other means," answered Dacre hastily. "You shall
fight to-morrow, Woodville. God forbid that you should lose a field
like this. You shall take my armour, and I will ride in a different
suit. Only be ready, at a moment's notice," he added; "for as soon as
Sir John is in the field, I will bear you off from the men he leaves
on guard."
Woodville smiled gladly; for certain of his own honour and of his own
conduct, he scrupled not to take advantage of any means to free
himself from the restraint under which he was held. He had no
opportunity, however, of communicating farther with his friend; for
the next moment Sir John Grey returned, followed by several
men-at-arms and archers, with a slight, but long-armed man in their
hands, habited in a suit of demi-armour, such as was worn by the
inferior soldiery, but with a vizored casque, which concealed his
face.
"Take off his bacinet," said Sir John Grey; and the helmet being
removed, displayed to the eyes of Richard of Woodville the countenance
of his former servant Dyram. The man gazed sullenly upon the ground;
and Sir John Grey, after eyeing him for a moment, seated himself by
Woodville, saying, "I have seen this man before, methinks."
"And so have I, too often," rejoined the young knight; "he was once a
servant of mine, and shamefully betrayed his trust. Keep him safe, Sir
John, I beseech you; for on him may greatly depend my exculpation with
the King."
The man turned round suddenly towards him, and exclaimed, "Ay, and so
it does. On me, and me alone, depends your exculpation. Your fate is
in my hands."
"Less than you think, perchance, knave!" answered Sir John Grey; "for
I hold here strange lights to clear up some dark mysteries. Yet speak,
if you be so inclined; you may merit mercy by a frank avowal."
"Send these men hence," said Dyram, looking to the soldiers; "I will
say nought before them."
"Go, Edmond," replied the elder knight, speaking to the chief of those
who had brought the prisoner in; "yet, first tell me where you found
him, and how?"
"Guided by Jim of Retford," said the soldier, "we caught him about a
mile on this side of a place called Acheux, I think, some twenty miles
hence or more. We found that letter upon him, noble sir, and that," he
continued, laying down on the table two pieces of paper. "We might not
have searched him, indeed, but he tried to eat that last one. You may
see the marks of his teeth in it; and Jim of Retford forced his mouth
open with his anelace to take it out. He says 'tis treason; but I know
not, for I am no clerk."
Sir John Grey held the paper to the light and read. "Treason it
certainly is," he said, when he had done. "One fourth of the booty
secured to Edward Dyram, if the scheme succeeds!--Ay, who are
these?--Isambert of Agincourt, Robinet de Bournonville, and S. R.? Who
may he be, fellow?"
But Dyram was silent; and Sir Harry Dacre cried eagerly, "Let me see
it, sir; let me see it!--Ay, I know it well.--Woodville your
suspicions are true."
"Go, Edmond, and guard the passage," said Sir John Grey; "I will call
when you are wanted.--Now, sir, will you speak?"
"Ay," answered Dyram, as he saw the man depart, and the door close; "I
will, sir knight. First, I will speak to you, Richard of Woodville,
and will tell you that I have the power to sweep away every cloud that
has fallen upon you, or to make them darker still.--I know all: you
need tell me nothing;--how you refused to serve your own monarch, they
say; how you wrote to aid in bribing Sir Thomas Grey; how you have
followed the English camp like a raven smelling the carrion of
war--all, all--I know all!"
"Then clear up all!" answered Woodville; "and you shall have pardon."
"Pardon!" cried Dyram, with a mocking laugh; and then suddenly turning
to Sir Harry Dacre, he went on. "Next, to you I will speak, sir
doleful knight, and tell you, that from your fair fame, too, I can
clear away the stain that hangs upon it--black and indelible as you
think it. I can take out the mark of Cain, and give you back to peace
and happiness."
Sir Harry Dacre gazed upon him for a moment in stern silence, and then
replied, "I doubt it."
"Doubt not," replied Ned Dyram. "I can do it, I will; but upon my own
conditions."
"What may they be?" asked Sir John Grey. "If they be reasonable, such
information as you may proffer may be worth its price. But, remember,
before you speak, that your neck is in a halter, and that this paper
conveys you to the provost, and the provost to the next tree, if your
demands be insolent."
"I am not sure of that," replied Ned Dyram, boldly. "Sir John Grey is
not King in the camp. What say you, Sir Richard of Woodville, will you
grant my conditions, provided that I save you from your peril, and
give you the means of proving your innocence within an hour?"
"I must hear them first, knave," replied the young knight; "I will
bind myself to nothing, till they are spoken."
"Oh, they are easily said," answered Ned Dyram. "First, I will have
twenty miles free space between me and the camp--So much for security.
Then I will have your knightly word, that a fair maiden whom you know,
named Ella Brune, shall be mine."
"Where is she?" demanded Richard of Woodville. "I know not where she
is; I have not seen her for months, nay years."
"Oh, she is not far off when Richard of Woodville is here," said the
man, with a sneer. "I know all about it;--ay, Sir John Grey, the
smooth-faced clerk, the corrupter of the men of Montl'herry. Can you
not produce her?"
"Perhaps I can ere long," replied Sir John Grey. "But what if I do?"
"Why, then," answered Dyram, in the same saucy tone, "before I speak a
word, I will have her promise to be mine. She will soon give it, when
she knows that on it hangs Richard of Woodville's life. She has taught
me herself, how to wring her hard heart."
"She shall give no such promise for me," replied Woodville, sternly.
"I tell thee, pitiful scoundrel, that I would rather, with my bosom
free of aught like guilt, lay my head upon the block, than force a
grateful and high-hearted girl to wed herself to such a vile slave as
thou art. If your insinuations should be true, and she has done for me
all that you say, full well and generously has she repaid the little I
ever did to serve her. She shall do no more, and least of all make her
own misery to save my life."
"Then die, sir knight," rejoined Ned Dyram; "for you will find, with
all your wit, you cannot struggle through the toils in which you are
caught."
"It may be so," said Sir John Grey; "but by my life, bold villain, you
shall die too."
"Perhaps so," answered Dyram, with sneering indifference; "but I can
die in silence like a wolf."
"As you have lived," added Richard of Woodville; "so be it."
"Stay," said Sir Harry Dacre; "are these the only conditions you have
to propose? Will nought else serve your purpose as well? Gold as much
as you will."
"Nought, nought," replied Dyram. "You know the terms, and can take or
reject them as you think fit. If you like them well, sir knight, and
would have your innocence of the crime laid to you proved beyond all
doubt--if you would save your friend too, you have nought to do but
seek out this fair maiden. She is not far, I am right sure--and if you
but bring her in your hand to me, I will condescend to accept her as
my wife, and set you free of all calumny. You struck me once, Richard
of Woodville. You cannot expect that I should forget that bitter jest,
without a bitter atonement."
"Send him away, Sir John, I do beseech you," cried Woodville, warmly.
"My temper will not long hold out; and I shall strike him again."
"Ho, without there!" cried Sir John Grey. "Take this man away, Edmond,
and put gyves upon him. Have him watched night and day; for I now know
who he is; and a more dangerous knave there does not live. He will
escape if Satan's own cunning can effect it."
"Well, you know the terms," said Ned Dyram, turning his head as two of
the soldiers drew him away by the arms. "Think better of it, noble
knights. Ha, ha, ha! What a story to tell, that the fair fame of Sir
Harry Dacre, and the life of Sir Richard of Woodville, both mighty men
of war, should depend upon one word of poor Ned Dyram!" and with this
scoff he was led away.
Dacre paused in silence, leaning his brow thoughtfully upon his hand;
and Richard of Woodville for several moments conversed with Sir John
Grey in a low tone.
"Ay, you may well think it strange, Richard," said the elder knight
aloud, "that I, who at one time was taught to fancy this girl your
paramour, should suddenly place such trust in her, as to let her
follow her will in all things, and put means at her disposal to effect
whatever she thought fit. But do you see that ring?" and he pointed to
a circle of gold set with a large sapphire on his finger; "it is a
record, Richard, of a quality, which in her race, though it be a
humble one, is hereditary. I mean gratitude. I once rescued from
injury the wife of a good soldier, named Brune, the son of one of
Northumberland's minstrels. 'Twas but a trifling service which any
knight would have rendered to a woman in distress; but that good man,
her husband, in gratitude for this simple act, sacrificed his own life
to save mine. It was on Shrewsbury field twelve long years ago; and
when I left him with the enemy on every side, I gave him that ring, in
the hope that he might still escape; but he was already sorely wounded
in defending me; and ere he died he sent it as a last gift to his
daughter. When I saw it by mere accident, and heard that daughter tell
her feelings towards you, I recognised the spirit of her race; and had
it cost me half the lands I had just recovered, she should not have
wanted means to carry out her plan for serving you. What now?" he
continued, turning to one of his attendants, who entered.
"The King, sir knight, desires your presence instantly, to consult
with Sir Thomas of Erpingham for the ordering of tomorrow's battle."
"I come," replied Sir John Grey; and then turning to Richard of
Woodville, he added, "This is fortunate; perchance what I have to tell
him this night, may make him somewhat soften the strictness of his
orders." Thus speaking, he withdrew, leaving Richard of Woodville
alone with Sir Harry Dacre.