The Prince and the Page Part 22

"Worthy!" John of Dunster chafed and bit his lips at such words from a beggar.

"Ay, worthy," repeated the beggar, guessing his irritation. "I like thee well, as a man of thy word, so far, but I must know more of him who is to mate with my pretty Bessee."

It was that evening that a page entered the royal apartments, and giving a ring to the King, informed him that a blind beggar had sent it in, and entreated to speak with him.

"Pray him to come hither," said the King; "and lead him carefully.

Thou, Joan, hadst better seek thy mother and sister."

"O sweet father," cried Joan, "don't order me off. This can be no state business. Prithee let me hear it."

"That must be as my guest pleases, Joan," he answered; "and thou must be very discreet, or we shall have him reproaching me for trying to rule the realm when I cannot rule my own house."

"Father, I verily think you are afraid of that beggar! I am sure he is as mysterious as the Queen of the Dew-drops!" cried the mischievous girl.

The curtain over the doorway was drawn back, and the beggar was led into the chamber. The King advanced to meet him, and took his hand to lead him to a seat. "Good morrow to thee," he said; "cousin, I am glad thou art come at last to see me."

"Thanks, my Lord," said the beggar, with more of courtly tone than when they had met before, and yet Joan thought she had never seen her father addressed so much as an equal; "are any here present with you?"

"Only my wilful little crusading daughter, Joan," said Edward, beckoning to her, and putting her proud reluctant fingers into the hand of the beggar, who bent and raised them to his lips-as the fashion then was-while the maiden reddened and looked to her father, but saw him only smiling; "she shall leave us," he added, "if thy matters are for my private ear. In what can I aid thee?"

"In this matter of daughters," answered the beggar; "not that I need aid of yours, but counsel. I would know if the heir of old Reginald Mohun-John, I think they call him-be a worthy mate for my wench."

Joan had in the meantime placed herself between her father's knees, where she stood regarding this wonderful beggar with the most unmitigated astonishment.

"John of Dunster!" said the King, stroking down Joan's hair, "thou knowst his lineage as well as I, cousin."

"His lineage, true," replied Henry; "but look you, my Lord, my child, the light of mine eyes, may not go from me without being a.s.sured that it is to one who will, I say, not equal her in birth, but will be a faithful and loving lord to her."

"Hath he sought her?" asked the King.

"Even so, my liege. The maid is scarce sixteen; I thought to have kept her longer; but so it was-old Winny, her mother's old nurse, fell sick and died in the winter; and the Dominican, who came to shrive her, must needs craze the poor fool with threats that she did a deadly sin in bringing my sweet wife and me together; and for all the Grand Prior, who, monk as he is, has a soldier's sense, could say of the love that conquered death, nothing would serve the poor woman to die in peace till my Bessee had vowed to make a six weeks' station at her patroness's well, where we were wedded, and pray for her soul and her blessed mother's. So there we journeyed for our summer roaming; and all had been well, had you not come down on us with all the idle danglers of the court to gaze and rhyme and tilt about the first fair face they saw. Even then so discreet was the girl that no more had befallen, but as ill-luck would have it, my old Evesham keepsake," touching his side, "burst forth again one evening, and left me so spent, that Bessee sent the boy to get me a draught of wine. The boy-mountebank as he is-lost her groat, and played truant; and she, poor wench, got into such fear for me that she went herself, and fell in with a sort of insolent masterful rogues, from whom this young knight saved her. I took her home safe enough after that, and thought to be rid of the knaves when they saw my wallet; and so truly I am, all save this lad!"

"O father! it is true love!" whispered Joan.

"What hast to do with true love, popinjay? And so John of Dunster came undaunted to the breach, did he, Henry?"

"Not a whit dismayed he! Now either that is making light of his honour, or 'tis an honour higher than most lads understand. Cousin, I would have the child be loved as her father and mother loved! And methinks she affects this blade. The child hath been less like my merry lark since we met him. A plague on the springalds! But you know him. Has he your good word?"

"John of Dunster?" said the King. "Henry, didst thou not know for whose sake I had loved and proved him? He was Richard's pupil. I was forced to take the child with me, for old Sir Reginald had been unruly enough, and I thought would be the less troublesome to my father were his son in my keeping. But I half repented when I saw what a small urchin it was, to be cast about among grooms and pages! But Richard aided the little uncouth varlet, nursed him when sick, guarded him when well, trained him to be loyal and steadfast. The little fellow came bravely to my aid in my grapple with the traitor before Acre; and when the blow had fallen on Richard, the boy's grief was such that I loved him ever after. And of late I have had no truer trustier warrior. I warrant me he was too shy to tell thee that I knighted him last year in the midst of some of the best feats of arms I ever beheld against the Welsh! Whatever John de Mohun saith is sooth, and I would rather mate my daughter with him than with many a man of fairer speech."

"Then shall he have my pretty Bessee!" said the beggar, lingering over the words. "But one boon I would further ask, cousin; that thou breathe no word to him of my having sought thee."

The young Lord of Dunster had not been noted for choiceness of apparel; but when he repaired to the trysting-tree, none could have found fault with the folds of his long crimson tunic, worked with the black and gold colours of his family, nor with the sit of the broad belt that sustained his sword, a.s.suredly none with his beautiful sleek black charger.

But under the tree stood not the blind beggar, but the beggar's boy.

"Blind Hal bids you meet him at the Spital, at your good pleasure," said the boy; and like the mountebank he was, tumbled three times head over heels.

John de Mohun looked round and about, and saw no alternative but to obey. All his love was required to endure so strange a father-in- law, who did not seem in the least grateful for the honour intended to his daughter; but the knight's word was pledged, and he rode towards the Hospital.

The court of the Hospital was full of steeds and serving-men. A strange conviction came over John that he saw the King's strong white charger-ay, and the palfreys of the elder princesses; and he asked the lay-brother who offered to take his horse, if the King were there. The brother only replied by motioning him towards the inner quadrangle.

He pa.s.sed on accordingly, and as he went, the bells broke forth into a merry peal. On the top of the steps leading to the arched doorway, he saw a scarlet cl.u.s.ter of knights, and among them the Grand Prior, robed as for Ma.s.s. A s.p.a.ce was clear within the deep porch, and there stood the beggar in his russet suit.

"Sir John de Mohun of Dunster," he said, "thou art come hither to espouse my daughter?"

"I hope, so, Sir," said John, somewhat taken by surprise.

"Come hither, maiden," said her father.

The cl.u.s.ter of knights opened, and from within the church there appeared before the astonished bridegroom the stately form of King Edward, leading in his hand the dark-tressed, dark-haired maiden, dressed in spotless white, the only adornment she wore a circlet of diamonds round her flowing dark hair-the Queen indeed of the Dew- drops. And behind her walked with calm dignity the beautiful Princess Eleanor, now nearly a woman, holding with a warning hand the merry mischievous Joan.

Well might John of Dunster stand dazzled and amazed, but hesitation or delay there was none. Then and there, by the Grand Prior himself, was the ceremony performed, without a word of further explanation. The rite over, when the bridegroom took the bride's hand to follow, as all were marshalled on their way, he knew not whither, she looked up to him through her dark eyelashes, and murmured, "They would not have it otherwise!"

"Deem you that I would?" said the knight fervently, pressing her hand.

"I deemed that you should know all-who I am," she faltered.

"My wife, the Lady of Dunster. That is all I need to know," replied Sir John, with the honest trustworthy look that showed it was indeed enough to secure his heart-whole love and reverence.

The great hall of the Spital was decked for the bridal feast. The bride and bridegroom were placed at the head of the table, and the King gave up his place beside the bride to her blind father. All the s.p.a.ce within the cloister without was strewn with rushes, where sat and feasted the whole fraternity of beggars; and well did the Grand Prior and his knights do their part in the entertainment.

Then when the banquet was drawing to its close, the blind beggar bade the boy that waited near him fetch his harp. And, as had often before been his practice, he sang in a deep manly voice, to the boy's accompaniment on his harp. But the song that then he sang had never been heard before, nor was its exact like ever heard again; though tradition has handed down a few of the main features, and (as may be seen by this veracious narration) somewhat vulgarized them:-

"A poore beggar's daughter did dwell on a greene, Who might for her faireness have well been a queene; A blithe bonny la.s.se and a dainty was she, And many one called her pretty Bessee."

Even the King, who had so well guarded the secret, was entirely unprepared to hear the Montfort parentage thus publicly avowed; and the bride, who had as little known of her father's intentions, sat with downcast eyes, blushing and tearful, while the beggar's recitative went briefly and somewhat tremulously over his resuscitation, under the hands of the fair and faithful Isabel. Her hand was held by her bridegroom from the first, with a pressure meant to a.s.sure her that no discovery could alter his love and regard; but when the name of Montfort sounded on his ear, the hand wrung hers with anxiety; and when the entire tale had been told, and the last chord was dying away, he murmured, "Look up at me, my loveliest. Now I know why I first loved thine eyes. Thou art dearer to me than ever, for the sake of my first and best friend!"

His words were only for herself. The King was saying aloud,

"Well sung, fair cousin! A health, my Lords and Knights, for Sir Henry de Montfort, Earl of Leicester."

"Not so, Lords and Knights!" called this strange personage, the only one who would thus have contradicted the King; "the Earl of Leicester has long ago been dead, as you have heard. If you drink, let it be to Blind Hal of Bethnal Green."

Nor could all the entreaties of daughter, son-in-law, nor King, move him from his purpose of living and dying as Blind Hal, the beggar. He had tasted too long of liberty, he said, to put himself under constraint. To live in Somersetshire, as his daughter wished, would have been banishment and solitude to one used to divert himself with every humour of the city; and to be, as he declared, a far more complete king of the beggars than ever his cousin Edward was over England. All he would consent to, was that a room in a lodge in Windsor Park should be set apart for him under charge of Adam de Gourdon, who had been present at this scene, and was infinitely rejoiced at the sight of a scion of the House of Montfort. For the rest, he bade every one to forget his avowal, which, as he said, he had only made that the blanch lion might share with the Mohun cross; and as he added to Princess Eleanor, "that you court dames may never flout at pretty Bessee! Had the Cheddar Yeoman been the true man, none had ever known that she was a Montfort."

"Would you have given her to the Cheddar Yeoman?" burst out Joan furiously.

"That he will say so, to anger thee, is certain, Joan," said the King. "Farewell, Henry. Remember, I hold thee bound to be my comrade when I can return to the Holy War."

"Ay, when you have tamed Scotland, even as you have tamed Wales," returned Henry.

"No fear of my good brother Alexander's realm needing such taming.

Heaven forbid!" said Edward.

But the beggar parted from him with a laugh.

CHAPTER XVI-THE PAGE'S MEMORY

The pure calm picture of a blameless friend.