The Caged Lion - Charlotte M. Yonge (inspirational books .txt) 📗

attended only by Sir Nigel and Malcolm, with a few archers of the royal guard, in case torches should be wanted on the way home.

How magnificent were the surroundings of the great Duke, it would be wearisome to tell. The retainers in the court of the hotel looked, as James said, as if honest steel and good cloth were reckoned as churls, and as if this were the very land of Cockaigne, as Sir Richard Whittington had dreamt it. Neither he nor St. Andrew himself would know their own saltire made in cloth of silver, 'the very metal to tarnish!'

Sir Nigel had to tell their rank, ere the porters admitted the small company: but the seneschal marshalled them forward in full state. And James never looked more the king than when, in simple crimson robe, the pure white cross on his breast, his auburn hair parted back from his noble brow, he stood towering above all heads, passively receiving the Duke of Burgundy's elaborate courtesies and greetings, nor seeming to note the lavish display of gold and silver, meant to amaze the poorest king in Europe.

Exceeding was the politeness shown to him--even to the omission of the seneschal's tasting each dish presented to the Duke, a recognition of the presence of a sovereign that the two Scots scarcely understood enough for gratitude.

Malcolm was the best off of the two at the supper; for James had of course to be cavalier to the sickly fretful-looking Dauphiness, while Malcolm fell to the lot of the Lady Anne, who, though not beautiful, had a kindly hearty countenance and manner, and won his heart by asking whether the Demoiselle de Luxemburg were still in the suite of Madame of Hainault; and then it appeared that she had been her convent mate and warmest friend and admirer in their girlish days at Dijon, and was now longing to see her. Was she as much set as ever on being a nun?

Meantime, the Duke was pompously making way for the King of Scots to enter his cabinet, where--with a gold cup before each, a dish of comfits and a stoup of wine between them--their interview was to take place.

'These dainties accord with a matter of ladies' love,' said James, as the Duke handed him a sugar heart transfixed by an arrow.

'Good, good,' said Philippe. 'The alliance is noble and our crowns and influence might be a good check in the north to your mighty neighbour; nor would I be hard as to her dowry. Send me five score yearly of such knaves as came with Buchan, and I could fight the devil himself. A morning gift might be specified for the name of the thing--but we understand one another.'

'I am not certain of that, Sir,' said James, smiling; 'though I see you mean me kindly.'

'Nay, now,' continued Philippe, 'I know how to honour royalty, even in durance; nor will I even press Madame la Dauphine on you instead of Anne, though it were better for us all if she could have her wish and become a queen, and you would have her jointure--if you or any one else can get it.'

'Stay, my Lord Duke,' said James, with dignity, 'I spake not of myself, deeming that it was well known that my troth is plighted.'

'How?' said Burgundy, amazed, but not offended. 'Methought the House of Somerset was a mere bastard slip, with which even King Henry with all his insolence could not expect you to wed in earnest. However, we may keep our intentions secret awhile; and then, with your lances and my resources, English displeasure need concern you little.'

James, who had learned self-control in captivity, began politely to express himself highly honoured and obliged.

'Do not mention it. Royal blood, thus shamefully oppressed, must command the aid of all that is chivalrous. Speak, and your ransom is at your service.'

The hot blood rushed into James's cheek at this tone of condescension; but he answered, with courteous haughtiness: 'Of myself, Sir Duke, there is no question. My ransom waits England's willingness to accept it; and my hand is not free, even for the prize you have the goodness to offer. I came not to speak of myself.'

'Not to make suit for my sister, nor my intercession!' exclaimed Philippe.

'I make suit to no man,' said James; then, recollecting himself, 'if I did so, no readier friend than the Duke of Burgundy could be found. I did in effect come to propose an alliance between one of my own house and a fair vassal of yours.'

'Ha! the runaway jade of Luxemburg!' cried Burgundy; 'the most headstrong girl who lives! She dared to plead her foolish vows against my brother Boemond, fled with that other hoyden of Hainault, and now defies me by coming here. I'll have her, and make her over to Boemond to tame her pride, were she in the great Satan's camp instead of King Henry's.'

And this is the mirror of chivalry! thought James. But he persevered in his explanation of his arrangement for permitting the estates of Esclairmonde de Luxemburg to be purchased from her and her husband, should that husband be Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie; and he soon found that these terms would be as acceptable to the Duke as they had already proved to her guardian, Monseigneur de Therouenne. Money was nothing to Philippe; but his policy was to absorb the little seignoralties that lay so thick in these border lands of the Empire; and what he desired above all, was to keep them from either passing into the hands of the Church, or from consolidating into some powerful principality, as would have been the case had Esclairmonde either entered a convent or married young Waleran de Luxemburg, her cousin. Therefore he had striven to force on her his half-brother, who would certainly never unite any inheritance to hers; but he much preferred the purchase of her Hainault lands; and had no compunction in throwing over Boemond, except for a certain lurking desire that the lady's contumacy should be chastised by a lord who would beat her well into subjection. He would willingly have made a great show of generosity, and have laid James under an obligation; and yet by the King's dignified tone of courtesy he was always reduced to the air of one soliciting rather than conferring a favour.

Finally, Malcolm was called in, and presented to the Duke, making his own promise on his word of honour as a prince, and giving a written bond, that so soon as he obtained the hand of the Demoiselle de Luxemburg he would resign her Hainault estates to the Duke of Burgundy for a sum of money, to be fixed by persons chosen for the purpose.

This was more like earnest than anything Malcolm had yet obtained; and he went home exulting and exalted, his doubts as to Esclairmonde's consent almost silenced, when he counted up the forces that were about to bear upon her.

And they did descend upon her. Countess Jaqueline had been joined by other and more congenial Flemish dames, and was weary of her grave monitress; and she continually scolded at Esclairmonde for perverseness and obstinacy in not accepting the only male thing she had ever favoured. The Bishop of Therouenne threatened and argued; and the Duke of Burgundy himself came to enforce his commands to his refractory vassal, and on finding her still unsubmissive, flew into a rage, and rated her as few _could_ have done, save Philippe, called the Good.

All she attempted to answer was, that they were welcome to her lands, so they would leave her person free; her vows were not to man, but to God, and God would protect her.

It was an answer that seemed specially to enrage her persecutors, who retorted by telling her that such protection was only extended to those who obeyed lawful authority; and hints were thrown out that, if she did not submit willingly, she might find herself married forcibly, for a bishop could afford to disregard the resistance of a bride.

Would Malcolm--would his king--consent to her being thus treated?

As to Malcolm, he seemed to her too munch changed for her to reckon on what remnant of good feeling there might be to appeal to in him. And James, though he was certain not to permit palpable coercion in his presence, or even if he were aware that it was contemplated, seemed to have left the whole management of the affair to Esclairmonde's own guardians; and they would probably avoid driving matters to extremities that would revolt him, while he was near enough for an appeal. And Esclairmonde was too uncertain whether her guardians would resort to such lengths, or whether it were not a vain threat of the giddy Countess, to compromise her dignity by crying out before she was hurt; and she had no security, save that she was certain that in the English household of King Henry such violence would not be attempted; and out of reach of that protection she never ventured.

Once she said to Henry, 'My only hope is in God and in you, my lord.'

And Henry bent his head, saying, 'Noble lady, I cannot interfere; but while you are in my house, nothing can be done with you against your will.'

Yet even Henry was scarcely what he had been in all-pervading vigilance and readiness. Like all real kings of men, he had been his own prime minister, commander-in-chief, and private secretary, transacting a marvellous amount of business with prompt completeness; and when, in the midst of shattered health which he would not avow, the cares of two kingdoms, and the generalship of an army, with all its garrisons, rested on him, his work would hardly have been accomplished but for his brother's aid. It was never acknowledged, often angrily disdained. But when John of Bedford had watched the terrible lassitude and lethargy that weighed on the King at times in the midst of his cabinet work, he was constantly on the watch to relieve him; and his hand and style so closely resembled Henry's that the difference could scarce be detected, and he could do what none other durst attempt. Many a time would Henry, whose temper had grown most uncertain, fiercely rate him for intermeddling; but John knew and loved him too well to heed; and his tact and unobtrusiveness made Henry rely on him more and more.

If the illness had only been confessed, those who watched the King anxiously would have had more hope; but he was hotly angered at any hint of his needing care; and though he sometimes relieved oppression by causing himself to be bled by a servant, he never allowed that anything ailed him; it was always the hot weather, the anxious tidings, the long pageant that wearied him--things that were wont to be like gnats on a lion's mane.

Those solemn banquets and festivals--lasting from forenoon till eventide, with their endless relays of allegorical subtleties, their long-winded harangues, noisy music, interludes of giants, sylvan men, distressed damsels, knights-errant on horseback, ships and forests coming in upon wheels, and fulsome compliments that must be answered--had been always his aversion, and were now so heavy an oppression that Bedford would have persuaded the Queen to curtail them. But to the fair Catherine this appeared an unkind endeavour of her disagreeable brother-in-law, to prevent her from shining in her native city, and eclipsing the Burgundian pomp; and she opened her soft brown eyes in dignified displeasure, answering