CHAPTER XL
TOO LATE
My imagination, such as it was, completely got the better of what reasoning faculty I possessed as Copeland concluded, and, having accompanied him to Westminster with a brain on fire, I never slept that night. I persuaded myself, in the absence of all evidence, that I was the victim of a monstrous piece of injustice; I walked about my chamber like an enraged lion pacing its cage, and I grew feverish with impatience for the break of day. Early next morning, while the palace was still hushed in repose, I was on horseback, and on the way to my grandsire's homestead.
As I rode along I strove to collect my thoughts and to prepare myself for the anticipated interview with those whose faces I had of late so often and so earnestly longed to behold. But my efforts to recover calmness were in vain. Within twelve short hours my whole ideas had undergone a change. Copeland's Northern voice still rang in my ears; his tragic story occupied my mind; my imagination ever and anon conjured up the probability of its being a matter in which I had both part and lot, and rapidly converted probability into certainty; and all sentiments of tenderness for home and kindred gave way before my intense desire to penetrate the mystery which I fancied was now illumined by a ray of light.
"Ere sunset," I exclaimed to myself in a tone of exultation, "I shall learn all that concerns me, or know the reason why."
A long journey, as I must have felt, lay before me. But no consideration of the kind influenced me even so far as to make me spare the good steed I bestrode. On I spurred, as if the Furies had been behind, and Paradise before. But, fast as went my steed, faster still flew my thoughts, and faster than either rushed the warm blood through my veins. I scarce noted anything by the way; and the herdsman driving out his cattle, the waggoner with his team of oxen, the charcoal-burner with his cart, the chapman with his pack-horses, the pilgrim leaning on his staff, and carrying the palm branch to deposit on the altar of his church, made way for me, and stared in silent amaze as I passed, probably fancying me one of those spectre huntsmen of whom legends tell.
As I sped on my way, and entered the great forest of Windsor, a hare crossed my path. Of evil omen such a circumstance is generally regarded, and at another time I might have felt some slight alarm. Now, however, one idea possessed my whole heart and mind; I was in a mood to laugh at omens; and, spurring on and on with hot speed, rousing the deer and the wild cattle, I pursued my way, indifferent to the belling of deer and the bellowing of cattle. At length as the day was speeding on towards noon, I reined up my jaded and exhausted horse as I approached the home of my childhood.
But now, for the first time, my heart misgave me. No longer did the homestead seem to present to my eye the same cheerful aspect as of old – all was silent and melancholy. An instinctive feeling that something was wrong flashed through me, and filled me with sudden fear. I sprang from my steed and rushed to the door, shouting loudly, and, as I did so, Thomelin of Winchester appeared with a face which confirmed all my fears.
"Alas!" said he, shaking his head, "you have come too late."
I had already guessed all, and was at no loss to interpret his words. The Great Destroyer had visited the homestead, as he was ere long to visit almost every house in the kingdom, and demanded his prey, and both the grey-haired warrior and the melancholy widow had fallen victims to his rapacity.
"What mean you, Thomelin?" asked I wildly, for I scarce knew what I said. "Can it be that my grandsire and my mother are no more?"
"Both," replied Thomelin solemnly. "Both have gone to their long home. May God have mercy on their souls!"
I said "Amen" and crossed myself devoutly as Thomelin spoke; but even at that moment, which was sad and bitter, the idea uppermost in my thoughts was that which for hours had been presenting itself in such a variety of forms.
"And the secret of my birth, good Thomelin," said I, taking his hand, "know you anything certain as to that?"
"Nothing certain, as I live," answered he earnestly. "Only of this I am, and have ever been, well assured, that Adam of Greenmead was not your grandsire, nor was your mother kinswoman of mine."
"And who, then, was my mother?" I demanded.
"Nay, that is more than I could tell, if both our lives depended on my so doing," he replied. "Whatever the secret, it has perished with those who kept it so faithfully."
I uttered a groan, and well-nigh sank under my mortification.
"In truth, Thomelin," murmured I, "you were right in saying that I had come too late. But God's will be done!"
CHAPTER XLI
HOW CALAIS WAS SAVED
At the time when Aymery de Pavie unworthily figured as governor of the town and castle of Calais, Geoffrey de Chargny, a French knight of high distinction, was stationed at St. Omer by Philip of Valois to defend the frontier against the English.
Now, it occurred, not altogether unnaturally, to Geoffrey de Chargny, that, as the Lombards are by nature avaricious, Aymery de Pavie might, with a little art, be bribed to surrender Calais; and when, albeit it was a time of truce, he, without scruple, made the experiment, he succeeded so well in his negociations that the Lombard executed a secret treaty, whereby, proving false to the King of England, he covenanted to deliver the stronghold into the French knight's hands, on condition of receiving, as a reward for his perfidy, the sum of twenty thousand crowns.
So far the project seemed to prosper; and, even after Aymery de Pavie returned from England, all went so smoothly that De Chargny considered that he had reason to congratulate himself on his skill, and to entertain no doubt of final success. In fact, the Lombard appeared all anxiety to bring the business to a successful issue, and appointed the last day of the year for fulfilling the treaty.
Everything having been thus arranged, at the close of December, Geoffrey de Chargny, dreaming sanguinely of the elevation to which he believed his exploit was to raise him in the eyes of his countrymen and his country's foes, left St. Omer at the head of a formidable force, and, accompanied by Sir Odoart de Renty, Sir Eustace de Ribeaumont, and many other knights of fame, marched towards Calais, and, halting near the bridge of Nieullet just as the old year was expiring, sent forward two squires, on whose sagacity he relied, to confer with the Lombard, and ascertain how matters stood.
"Is it time for Sir Geoffrey to advance?" asked the squires.
"It is," was the answer; and, after this brief conference, the squires hastened back to intimate to their leader that the hour for his grand achievement was come.
On hearing what was the answer of the Lombard, De Chargny lost no time. At once he gave orders to advance; and, leaving a strong force of horse and foot to keep the bridge of Nieullet, and posting the crossbowmen whom he had brought from St. Omer and Aire in the plain between the bridge and the town, he sent forward Odoart de Renty, with a hundred men-at-arms, and a bag containing the twenty thousand crowns, to take possession of the castle, and marched forward cautiously, with his banner displayed, to the gate that leads from Calais to Boulogne.
Meanwhile, onward hastened Odoart de Renty; and no sooner did he and his men-at-arms reach the castle than Aymery de Pavie let down the drawbridge, and opened one of the gates to admit them. Without hesitation they entered, and Odoart handed over the bag containing the crowns.
"I suppose they are all here?" said the Lombard, flinging the bag into a room which he locked; "but to count them I have not now time. We must not lose a moment, for presently it will be day. To make matters safe, I will conduct you at once to the great tower, so that you may make yourself master of the castle."
While speaking, Aymery de Pavie advanced in the direction of the great tower of the castle; and, as he pushed back the bolt, the door flew open; but, as Sir Odoart and his comrades found to their horror, it was not to admit them. In fact, the shout that arose from hundreds of voices immediately convinced the French that the business was not to terminate so satisfactorily as they had anticipated, and they began to comprehend that there was a lion in the way.
Nor is it difficult to account for such having been the case. From the day of his return to Calais, Aymery de Pavie, as if to atone for his perfidy, had maintained the promise he had given to the King of England; and Edward was no sooner informed of the night on which, according to the secret treaty, Calais was to be surrendered to the French, than he prepared to go thither. Taking with him three hundred men-at-arms and six hundred archers, he embarked at Dover with the Prince of Wales and Sir Walter Manny; and, having landed at Calais so privately that hardly a being in the town knew of his arrival, he placed his men in ambuscade in the rooms and towers of the castle.
"Walter," said the king, addressing the brave Manny, "it is my pleasure that you act as the chief of this enterprise, and I and my son will fight, as simple knights, under your banner."
Now the King of England, attended by his son and Sir Walter Manny, posted himself, with two hundred lances, in the great tower to which the Lombard led the French, and no sooner was the door thrown open than they raised the shout of "Manny! Manny to the rescue!" and rushed upon the intruders. Resistance being quite vain, Sir Odoart and his companions yielded themselves prisoners, while the king turned to his son —
"What!" said he scornfully, "do the French dream of conquering Calais with such a handful of men? Now let us mount our horses, form in order of battle, and complete our work."
It was scarcely yet daybreak; and the morning of the 1st of January was intensely cold, as Geoffrey de Chargny, seated on horseback, with his banner displayed and his friends around him, waited patiently at the Boulogne gate to enter and seize Calais.
"By my faith, gentlemen!" said he angrily, "if this Lombard delays much longer opening the gate, we shall all die of cold."
"True," said another knight; "but, in God's name, let us be patient. These Lombards are a suspicious sort of people, and perhaps he is examining your florins to see if there are any bad ones, and to satisfy himself that they are right in number."
At this moment an unexpected spectacle presented itself. The gate suddenly opened, trumpets loudly sounded, and from the town sallied horseman after horseman, armed with sword and battle-axe, and shouting loudly, "St. George for England!" and "Manny to the onslaught!"
"By Heavens!" cried the French in amazement, as many turned to beat a retreat, "we are betrayed!"
"Gentlemen," cried De Chargny, "do not fly; if we fly we lose all."
"By St. George!" shouted the English, who were now close enough to hear, "you speak truth. Evil befall him who thinks of flying!"
"You hear, gentlemen?" said De Chargny. "It will be more advantageous to us to fight valiantly, and the day may be ours."
And as he spoke, the French, at his orders, retreating a little, and dismounting, drove their horses away from them that they might not be trampled on, and formed in close order, with their pikes shortened and planted before them.
On seeing this movement on the part of the French, King Edward halted the banner under which he was, and dismounting, as did the prince, prepared to attack on foot.
"I would have our men drawn up here in order of battle," said he to Sir Walter Manny, "and let a good detachment be sent towards the bridge of Nieullet; for I believe a large body of French to be posted there."
And, the king's orders being passed on without delay, six banners and three hundred archers left the force and made for the bridge.
And now came the tug of war. Advancing with his men on foot, and his son by his side, the king assaulted his foes battle-axe in hand; and sharp and fierce was the encounter as English and French mingled hand to hand and steel to steel. Many were the brave deeds performed in the grey morning, and on both sides the warriors fought with high courage. But, of all the combatants, none displayed more valour and dexterity than the king himself. Fighting incognito under the banner of Manny, and singling out Eustace de Ribeaumont, he maintained with that strong and hardy knight a desperate conflict. Long they fought, the English king with his battle-axe, the French champion with his mighty sword. Twice the king was beaten to his knee, and twice he sprang to his feet to renew the combat. Even after having been separated in the confusion of the battle, they contrived again to meet, and again to close in a fierce and resolute conflict.
But, meanwhile, fortune had gone so decidedly against the French that all their hopes vanished. Many were slain. Geoffrey de Chargny and others were taken prisoners; and, when Sir Eustace paused for an instant to look round, he perceived that he stood almost alone amid a host of foes.
"Yield!" said the king. "You are vanquished, and have done all that a brave man could."
"It is true, sir knight," said Sir Eustace, surrendering his sword. "I see that the honour of the day belongs to the English, and I yield myself your prisoner."
While this struggle was taking place at the Boulogne gate, a fierce fight went on at the bridge of Nieullet. In fact, the party of English detached by the king having first attacked the crossbowmen, drove them from the ground with such force that many of them were drowned in the river, and then rushed on the defenders of the bridge. But the knights of Picardy, who kept the bridge, were less easily dealt with than the crossbowmen; and, for a time, they maintained their post with determination, and performed so many gallant actions as to move the envy of their assailants. Their courage, however, was vain; and at length, hard pressed by the English, they mounted their horses, and, pursued by their foes, fled fast away.
It was now broad day, and King Edward, still maintaining his incognito, returned to the castle of Calais, and gave orders that the prisoners taken in the battle should be brought into his presence. Much marvelled the French knights to find that the King of England was among them in person, and much diverted were the English at the amazement expressed by their vanquished adversaries.
"Gentlemen," said the king, raising his hand for silence, "this being New Year's Day, I purpose in the evening to entertain you all at supper, and I hope you will all do honour to the occasion, and make good cheer."
"Sire," said the French knights, bowing low, "you are a noble prince, who know how to honour your enemies as well as your friends."
Accordingly, when the hour for supper arrived, the tables were spread in the castle hall; and the king, bareheaded, but wearing, by way of ornament, a rich chaplet of pearls, seated himself at table, and gathered the captive Frenchmen around him; while the Prince of Wales and the knights of England served up the first course, and waited on the guests.
But this was not all. When supper was over, and when the tables were drawn, the king remained in the hall, and conversed with the prisoners, each in turn, and, while marking his sense of the unfair conduct of Geoffrey de Chargny, he took care to mark, in a manner not to be mistaken, his appreciation of the valour and prowess of Eustace de Ribeaumont.
"Sir Geoffrey," said the king, looking askance at the baffled knight, "I have little reason to love you, as you must know. You wished to seize from me, last night, by stealth, and in the time of truce, what had given me so much trouble to acquire, and cost me such sums of money. But, with God's assistance, we have disappointed you, and I am rejoiced to have caught you thus in your attempt. As for you, Sir Eustace," continued Edward, turning to his vanquished antagonist with a smile on his countenance, "of all the knights in Christendom whom I have ever seen defend himself, or attack an enemy, you are the most valiant. I never yet met in battle any one who, body to body, gave me so much trouble as you have done this day. And," added he, taking off his chaplet, and placing it on the knight's head, "I present you with this chaplet as being the best combatant of the day, either within or without the walls; and I beg you to wear it this year for love of me. I know that you are lively, and that you love the company of ladies and damsels; therefore, wherever you go, say that I gave it to you. I also grant you your liberty free of ransom, and you may set out to-morrow, if you please, and go whither you will."
Such was the result of Geoffrey de Chargny's project for gratifying Philip of Valois by gaining possession of Calais.
CHAPTER XLII
A PRINCESS IN PERIL
My excitement, which for many hours before I reached the homestead, where I came just in time to hear that I was too late, had been intense, gradually subsided; and such was the reaction which took place that, for days and weeks, my depression was well-nigh intolerable. I had no heart to return to Westminster; and having, on the plea of recruiting my health and spirits in the air I had breathed during childhood, obtained from Sir Thomas Norwich leave to absent myself from my duties as page, I walked and rode about the forest of Windsor, indulging in melancholy musing over the past, and as indifferent to the future as I had previously been enthusiastic and sanguine. In vain I essayed to rouse myself from lethargy. I felt as if nothing could ever again revive my hope, and restore me to that energy which is hope in action. I had already passed weeks in this frame of mind, when fortune threw me in the way of a terrible adventure, in which I won some honour, and nearly lost my life.
It was autumn; and albeit the harvest was gathered in, and the leaves were falling from the trees, the sun shone with sufficient brightness to gladden the heart of man, and to impart to the landscape a cheerful aspect; when, having occasion one day to visit the little town of Windsor, I mounted my black steed and rode through the forest. When, absorbed in reflection, I was wending my way up one of the glades, my horse, while pacing proudly along the grassy path, suddenly shied; and, looking round, I perceived that he had been startled by the green dress and white bow of an archer, who emerged from the wood, closely attended by a black mastiff of prodigious strength, and capable of being a powerful friend or a terrible foe.
I observed that the archer eyed me with a glance of recognition; and, drawing up, I, with a consciousness of having seen him before, gave him "Good day," and, with a slight effort of memory, I called to mind that he was one of the Englishmen who, stationed in the prince's division, had drawn their bows at Cressy; that I had often observed and praised his dexterity during the expedition into France; and, moreover, that he was one of those who had been since taken into the king's service, by way of rewarding them for their marvellous achievements during the war with Philip of Valois. Remembering such to have been the case, I entered into conversation with him, and while I rode slowly, and he walked at my stirrup, with his mastiff at his heels, through the forest, in the direction of Windsor, he talked of the battles and sieges in which he had taken part.
Now this archer, whose name was Liulph, was of yeoman extraction and Saxon descent; and I have no doubt that, if he had lived in earlier centuries, when a bitter sense of the distinction between the victor and vanquished races kept the kingdom in hot water, he would have figured as an outlaw of Sherwood, and possibly rivalled the exploits which have made the names of Robin Hood and his merry men so famous. But England was no longer what it had been in the days of Robin Hood and his merry men; for the first Edward had succeeded in teaching English archers to draw their bows only against the enemies of their country, and they had not forgotten the lessons of that great king.
It happened, however, that Liulph was not only a stout and handsome young man, but intelligent for a person of his rank, and of an inquiring turn of mind; and being on this occasion anxious to learn something of St. George, under whose patronage he had fought the French, he put several questions, which, I fear, would sadly have perplexed many who shouted the name most loudly in the hour of conflict. Fortunately, however, I was in a position to return satisfactory answers, and related that St. George was a Christian and a native of Cappadocia; that, making an expedition into Libya in quest of adventure, he arrived just in time to save the king's daughter from a terrible dragon which had devoured many of the inhabitants; and that, becoming famous throughout Christendom as a warrior-saint, he was, as time rolled on, acknowledged as patron of the old Dukes of Guienne, from whom, in the female line, the Plantagenets derive their descent; and that, therefore, King Edward, when instituting the Order of the Garter, and placing it under the protection of the Trinity and certain saints, recognised St. George as the chief, and in his honour founded, at Windsor, the chapel that bears his name.
As I brought my narrative to a termination, we were approaching the castle of Windsor, and were, indeed, so close that I could see the stronghold through the trees. At the same time I descried, at no great distance from the place we had reached, a party of ladies; and, aware that Queen Philippa and her daughters were residing at the castle, I had no difficulty in recognising the Lady Isabel, who in the previous year had been betrothed to, and then deserted by, the young Count of Flanders. On seeing the princess and her ladies I reined back my steed, and, not wishing to intrude on their privacy, was turning to make for the town by another direction, when an exclamation, expressive of alarm, which broke from Liulph, directed my attention to a circumstance which made my blood run cold, and all but froze every vein in my heart.
I have already alluded to the wild cattle which, jointly with the deer, tenanted the forest, and I may say that, so familiarised were people with their presence, they caused no fear. Generally, indeed, when not wantonly disturbed, they grazed quietly without showing the least inclination to mischief, and so seldom did they exhibit anything resembling mortal antipathy to human beings, that even the weak and timid felt no apprehension from being in their neighbourhood.
But to every rule there are exceptions, and, at times when there was the least likelihood, the ferocious nature of the wild cattle showed itself – and this was especially the case with such of them as were known to, and somewhat dreaded by, the foresters as "banished bulls." In fact, these animals having, as they advanced in years, rendered themselves odious to their comrades by their bad temper, and been in consequence expelled from the herd, became savage while grazing in solitude, and easily excited to sudden frenzy.
Now it happened, on the autumn day of which I write, that when the king's daughter and her ladies were walking in the forest, and so near the castle that they deemed themselves as safe as if they had been on the ramparts, a "banished bull," having ventured closer to the town than was the wont of his kind, was grazing all alone among the trees. White as a swan was this bull, with short legs and thick hams, and a shaggy mane that curled like the sea billows, and a massy neck like the trunk of some old knotted tree; but his hoofs were black, and jet black were the horns that, like two daggers, stood out from his broad and wrinkled front.
And suddenly this bull, disturbed by the sound of voices, raised his head; and, as he caught sight of the scarlet cloak worn by the princess, he gave signs, not to be misunderstood, of being bent on mischief.
Rearing his head, while his eye, a moment earlier dark, glared red as the mantle which arrested his attention and excited his ire, he stretched out his neck, and with a loud bellow moved slowly forward, pawing the sod with his hoof and gradually quickening his pace, till, having lashed himself into a fury, his movement became a violent rush, and, like sheep at the approach of a wolf, the ladies dispersed, screaming with terror and affright. But the princess did not move. Facing the ferocious brute, she folded her arms, and with her eyes raised to Heaven, as if uttering a last prayer, she stood in expectation of immediate destruction. It seemed, indeed, that there was no chance of any obstacle intervening between her and death.
But, meanwhile, neither the archer nor I was an idle spectator of her peril. Quick as thought Liulph's bow was strung, and an arrow in his hand; not less quickly my sword left its sheath and the spur pressed my horse's flank. Almost as I dashed to the rescue, an arrow, aimed at the bull's vital part, just at the junction of the skull and the spine, whistled through the air. But, dexterous as the archer was, his shaft failed to hit his mark, struck the bull within an inch of the eye without inflicting a wound; and while I threw myself in his way, resolute at least to die in staying the rush, the animal, more furious than ever, came roaring on, with eyes of fire and tail erect.
I was not, however, daunted. Rising in my stirrups as the bull approached, and feeling as if there was but one blow between me and death, I aimed with all my might at the part which the archer had missed. But I was not more fortunate than he had been; and as my sword, having lighted on bone hard as rock, flew to pieces, my antagonist, stunned but unhurt, drew back to prepare for a more furious rush. Drawing my reins tight, I exerted all my horsemanship to avoid the full shock. But this time he was not to be resisted. Frantic with rage and foaming at the mouth, he charged upon me with terrific violence; and, transfixed with both horns, my horse rolled backward, bearing me to the ground.
My fate now appeared to be sealed; and as the bull, with his horns in the bowels of my fallen steed, stood over me bellowing furiously, I gave myself up for lost. But I had an ally, on whose aid I could not, in my excitement, reckon. With a fierce growl, a loud bark, and a rapid bound, the mastiff came to the rescue, seized the bull's lip, and, the teeth tenaciously retaining their grasp, in spite of desperate struggles, prevented the animal from raising his head to pursue his success.
By this time I breathed anew; and, freeing my limbs from my bleeding horse, I rose on my knee and grasped my dagger to bring the conflict to a close. Nor was there, this time, any mistake. One flash, and my steel, cold and keen, had penetrated my terrible antagonist's neck; one plunge, and, bellowing with pain, my terrible antagonist rolled heavily on the ground. As, covered with blood, I gained my feet, trembling with excitement, side by side lay the black steed and the white bull, their hides smeared with their own and each other's gore, their limbs wet with the death sweat, and quivering convulsively; and beside them, at his master's foot, stood the mastiff, with panting frame and protruding tongue, silently watching their expiring struggles.
Meanwhile, though unwounded, I grew faint with the bruises I had received and the exertion I had undergone; and hardly had the princess, taking courage to approach the spot, opened her lips to acknowledge the service I had rendered her in the moment of peril, than I became dizzy, lost all consciousness of what was passing, and sank senseless on the ground.