The Lances of Lynwood - Charlotte Mary Yonge (i want to read a book .TXT) 📗
- Author: Charlotte Mary Yonge
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“Oh, it is not the Prince: he knows nought of it; it is those double traitors, the Baron of Clarenham and Sir Leonard Ashton, who have worked upon him and deceived him.”
“Oh, ho!” said Gaston. “The story now begins to wear some semblance of probability.”
Arthur turned, looking perplexed. “Master d’Aubricour,” said he, “I forgot that you were here. This is a secret which should have been for my uncle’s ears alone.”
“Is it so?” said Gaston; “then I will leave the room, if it please you and the Knight—though methought I was scarce small enough to be so easily overlooked; and having heard the half—”
“You had best hear the whole,” said Arthur. “Uncle Eustace, what think you?”
“I know not what to think, Arthur. You must be your own judge.”
Arthur’s young brow wore a look of deep thought; at last he said, “Do not go then, Gaston. If I have done wrong, I must bear the blame, and, be it as it may, my uncle needs must tell you all that I may tell him.”
“Let us hear, then,” said Eustace.
“Well, then,” said Arthur, who had by this time collected himself, “you must know that this Chateau Norbelle is one of those built by that famous Paladin, the chief of freebooters, Sir Renaud de Montauban, of whom you have told me so many tales. Now all of these have secret passages in the vaults communicating with the outer country.”
“The boy is right,” said Gaston; “I have seen one of them in the Castle of Montauban itself.”
“Then it seems,” proceeded Arthur, “that this Castle hath hitherto been in the keeping of a certain one-eyed Seneschal, a great friend and comrade of Sir Leonard Ashton—”
“Le Borgne Basque!” exclaimed both Knight and Squire, looking at each other in amaze.
“True, true,” said Arthur. “Now you believe me. Well, the enemy being in the neighbourhood, it was thought right to increase the garrison, and place it under the command of a Knight, and these cowardly traitors have wrought with my Lord of Pembroke and Sir John Chandos to induce the Prince to give you this post—it being their intention that this wicked Seneschal and his equally wicked garrison should admit Sir Oliver de Clisson, the butcher of Bretagne himself, through the secret passage. And, uncle,” said the boy, pressing Eustace’s hand, while tears of indignation sprang to his eyes, “the letter expressly said there was to be no putting to ransom. Oh, Uncle Eustace, go not to this Castle!”
“And how came you by this knowledge?” asked the Knight.
“That I may never tell,” said Arthur.
“By no means which might not beseem the son of a brave man?” said Eustace.
“Mistrust me not so foully,” said the boy. “I know it from a sure hand, and there is not dishonour, save on the part of those villain traitors. Oh, promise me, fair uncle, not to put yourself in their hands!”
“Arthur, I have taken the oaths to the Prince as Castellane. I cannot go back from my duty, nor give up its defence for any cause whatsoever.”
“Alas! alas!”
“There would be only one way of avoiding it,” said Eustace, “and you must yourself say, Arthur, whether that is open to me. To go to the Prince, and tell him openly what use is made of his Castles, and impeach the villains of their treachery.”
“That cannot be,” said Arthur, shaking his head sadly—“it is contrary to the pledge I gave for you and for myself. But go not, go not, uncle. Remember, uncle, if you will not take thought for yourself, that you are all that is left me—all that stands between me and that wicked Clarenham.—Gaston, persuade him.”
“Gaston would never persuade me to disgrace my spurs for the sake of danger,” replied Eustace. “Have you no better learnt the laws of chivalry in the Prince’s household, Arthur? Besides, remember old Ralph’s proverb, ‘Fore-warned is fore-armed.’ Think you not that Gaston, and honest Ingram, and I may not be a match for a dozen cowardly traitors? Besides which, see here the gold allotted me to raise more men, with which I will obtain some honest hearts for my defence—and it will go hard with me if I cannot find Sir Renaud’s secret door.”
“Then, if you will go, uncle, take, take me with you—I could, at least, watch the door; and I know how to hit a mark with a crossbow as well as Lord Harry of Lancaster himself.”
“Take you, Master Arthur? What! steal away the Prince’s page that I have been at such pains to bring hither, and carry him to a nest of traitors! Why, it would be the very way to justify Clarenham’s own falsehoods.”
“And of the blackest are they!” said Arthur. “Think, uncle, of my standing by to hear him breathing his poison to the Prince, and the preventing him from searching to find out the truth, by pretending a regard for my father’s name, and your character. Oh that our noble Prince should be deluded by such a recreant, and think scorn of such a Knight as you!”
“I trust yet to prove to him that it is a delusion,” said Eustace. “Many a Knight at twenty-two has yet to make his name and fame. Mine, thanks to Du Guesclin and the Prince himself, is already made, and though clouded for a time, with the grace of our Lady and of St. Eustace, I will yet clear it; so, Arthur, be not downcast for me, but think what Father Cyril hath taught concerning evil report and good report. But tell me, how came you hither?”
“She—that is, the person that warned me—let me down from the window upon the head of the great gurgoyle, and from thence I scrambled down by the vines on the wall, ran through the court without being seen by the Squires and grooms, and found my way to the bridge, where happily I met John Ingram, who brought me hither.”
“She?” repeated Gaston, with a sly look in his black eyes.
“I have said too much,” said Arthur, colouring deeply; “I pray you to forget.”
“Forget!” proceeded the Squire, “that is sooner said than done. We shall rack our brains to guess what lady can—”
“Hush, Gaston,” said Eustace, as his nephew looked at him imploringly, “tempt not the boy. And you, Arthur, must return to the palace immediately.”
“Oh, uncle!” said the boy, “may I not stay with you this one night? It is eight weary months since I have ever seen you, save by peering down through the tall balusters of the Princess’s balcony, when the Knights were going to dinner in the hall, and I hoped you would keep me with you at least one night. See how late and dark it is—the Castle gates will be closed by this time.”
“It does indeed rejoice my heart to have you beside me, fair nephew,” said Eustace, “and yet I know not how to favour such an escape as this, even for such a cause.”
“I never broke out of bounds before,” said Arthur, “and never will, though Lord Harry and Lord Thomas Holland have more than once asked me to join them.”
“Then,” said the Knight, “since it is, as you say, too late to rouse the palace, I will take you back in my hand to-morrow morn, see the master of the Damoiseaux, and pray him to excuse you for coming to see me ere my departure.”
“Yes, that will be all well,” said Arthur; “I could, to be sure, find the corner where Lord Harry has loosened the stones, and get in by the pages’ window, ere old Master Michael is awake in the morn; but I think such doings are more like those of a fox than of a brave boy, and though I should be well punished, I will walk in at the door, and hold up my head boldly.”
“Shall you be punished then?” said Gaston. “Is your old master of the Damoiseaux very severe?”
“He has not been so hitherto with me,” said Arthur: “he scolds me for little, save what you too are displeased with, Master d’Aubricour, because I cannot bring my mouth to speak your language in your own fashion. It is Lord Harry that chiefly falls under his displeasure. But punished now I shall assuredly be, unless Uncle Eustace can work wonders.”
“I will see what may be done, Arthur,” said Eustace. “And now, have you supped?”
The evening passed off very happily to the little page, who, quite reassured by his uncle’s consolations, only thought of the delight of being with one who seemed to supply to him the place at once of an elder brother and of a father.
Early the next morning, Eustace walked with him to the palace. Just before he reached it, he made this inquiry, “Arthur, do you often see the Lady Agnes de Clarenham?”
“Oh, yes, I am with her almost every afternoon. She hears me read, she helps me with my French words, and teaches me courtly manners. I am her own page and servant—but, here we are. This is the door that leads to the room of Master Michael de Sancy, the master of the Damoiseaux.”
The next few days were spent in taking precautions against the danger intimated by the mysterious message. Gaston gathered together a few of the ancient Lances of Lynwood, who were glad to enlist under the blue crosslet, and these, with some men-at-arms, who had recently come to Bordeaux to seek employment, formed a body with whom Eustace trusted to be able to keep the disaffected in check. Through vineyards and over gently swelling hills did their course lead them, till, on the evening of the second day’s journey, the view to the south was shut in by more lofty and bolder peaks, rising gradually towards the Pyrenees, and on the summit of a rock overhanging a small rapid stream appeared the tall and massive towers of a Castle, surmounted by the broad red cross of St. George, and which their guide pronounced to be the Chateau Norbelle.
“A noble eyrie!” said Eustace, looking up and measuring it with his eye. “Too noble to be sacrificed to the snaring of one poor Knight.”
“Shame that such a knightly building should serve for such a nest of traitors!” said Gaston. “Saving treachery, a dozen boys could keep it against a royal host, provided they had half the spirit of your little nephew.”
“Let us summon the said traitors,” said Eustace, blowing a blast on his bugle. The gates were thrown wide open, the drawbridge lowered, and beneath the portcullis stood the Seneschal, his bunch of keys at his girdle. Both Eustace and Gaston cast searching glances upon him, and his aspect made them for a moment doubt the truth of the warning. A patch covered the lost eye, his moustache was shaved, his hair appeared many shades lighter, as well as his beard, which had been carefully trimmed, and altogether the obsequious Seneschal presented a strong contrast to the dissolute reckless man-at-arms. The Knight debated with himself, whether to let him perceive that he was recognized; and deciding to watch his conduct, he asked by what name to address him.
“Thibault Sanchez,” replied Le Borgne Basque, giving his real name, which he might safely do, as it was not known to above two men in the whole Duchy of Aquitaine. “Thibault Sanchez, so please you, noble Sir, a poor Squire from the mountains, who hath seen some few battles and combats in his day, but never one equal to the fight of Najara, where your deeds of prowess—”
“My deeds of prowess, Sir Seneschal, had better
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