Agincourt Part 40

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 h.e.l.l 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 pa.s.sword 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 pa.s.sed 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 circ.u.mstances--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 pa.s.sion 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 n.o.bleman; "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 pa.s.sed 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 n.o.bleman 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 a.s.sert, 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 a.s.sembly 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, n.o.ble prince," replied the knight, turning to the Count; "but, under these circ.u.mstances, 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 p.r.o.nounced that the sermon preached by one of his doctors, Jean Pet.i.t, 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 pa.s.s 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 n.o.ble 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 pa.s.s."

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 compa.s.sion; 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 t.i.tle 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 pa.s.sage. Is there aught I can do for you while you are absent?"

"One thing, my n.o.ble 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 grat.i.tude 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.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

TRUE LOVE'S DEFENCE.

In one of the best houses in the best part of Ghent, and in a chamber hung with splendid tapestry, and ornamented with rich carvings of dark oak, sat a fair lady, with a bright and happy face--the rounded chin, with its small dimple, resting on a hand as white as marble and as soft as satin. The dark brown eyes, full of cheerful light, were raised towards the gilt roses on the ceiling, as if counting them; but the thoughts of Mary Markham, or, as we must henceforth call her, Mary Grey, were full of other things; and if she was counting anything, it was the minutes, till her father should return from the Cours des Princes, and tell her, who had come back to Ghent with the young Count of Charolois. She was, as the reader knows, of a hopeful disposition--that most bright and blessed of all frames of mind--that lightener of the labours of the world--that smoother of the rough ways of life; and Mary had already hoped that, perchance, when the door opened, and her father's form appeared, another, well loved too, might be beside him; for, on her first arrival, Sir John Grey had spoken to her much of Richard of Woodville, had praised him, as she was proud to hear him praised, and had smiled to see the colour come into her cheek, as if he meant to say, "Fear not, you shall be his."

True, for the last two days he had not mentioned his name; but that, she thought, might be accidental; and now her father did not come so soon as he had promised; but, then, she fancied that this court ceremony might have been long and tedious, or that other business might have detained him after the reception was over.

Minute upon minute pa.s.sed, however--one hour went by after another--day fled, and night came on--and, after gazing some time upon the flickering fire on the wide hearth, for the evening was somewhat cold, though spring had well nigh made way for summer, Mary rang the little silver bell before her, and bade the servant bring her light to work.

The man obeyed; and when the sconce, protruding through the tapestry by a long gilded arm, was lighted, she said, "Is not my father long?"