Agincourt Part 48

Richard of Woodville judged the caution too wise not to be followed; and on they rode in silence at a brisk pace, with the wind blowing, and the rain das.h.i.+ng against them, through the darkness of the night, for somewhat more than two hours, following the broad and open road all the way, till the young knight thought they must be approaching Paris. More than once, indeed, he fancied that he caught a glimpse of some large dark ma.s.s before him; and imagination shaped towers and pinnacles in the black obscurity of night; but at length the clerk's man, who seemed to act as guide, p.r.o.nounced the words, "To the left!"

and striking into a narrower, though still well beaten path, they soon came upon a river, flowing on dull and heavy, but with a glistening light, in the midst of its dark banks, which they followed for some way, till a bridge presented itself, which they crossed, and then, turning a little to the right again, continued their course without drawing a rein, till the faint grey streaks of morning began to appear in the east.

Shortly after, a bell was heard ringing slowly, apparently at no great distance; and the young clerk said aloud, with a sigh of relief, "Thank G.o.d!"

"You are fatigued, young gentleman, with this long stormy ride, I fear?" said Richard of Woodville.

"A little," was the only reply; and in a few minutes they stopped at the gate of a small walled building, bearing the aspect of some inferior priory of a religious house. The bell was still ringing when they approached; but the door was closed; and the clerk and his attendant dismounted and knocked for admission. A board was almost immediately withdrawn from behind a grating of iron, about a palm in breadth and twice as much in length, and a voice demanded, "Who are you?"

"Bourgogne," replied the clerk; and instantly the door was opened without further inquiry. The arrival of the party seemed to have been expected; for two men, not dressed in monastic habits, took the horses without further inquiry; a monk addressed himself to Woodville, and bade him follow; and, before he could ask any questions, he and his companions were led in different directions, the one to one part of the building, and the others to another.

With the same celerity and taciturnity, his guide introduced him to a small but comfortable chamber, provided him with all that he could require, and bidding him strip off his wet clothes, and lie down to rest in peace, returned with a cup of warm spiced wine, "to chase the damp out of his marrow," as he termed it. The young knight drained it willingly, and then would fain have asked the old man some questions; but the only information he could gain imported, that he was at Triel, the old man always replying, "To bed, to bed, and sleep. You can talk when you have had rest."

Woodville finding he could obtain no other answer, followed his counsel: and, wearied with such a journey after a long period of inactivity, but with a heart lightened by the feeling that he was free, he had hardly laid his limbs on the pallet before he was asleep.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

THE PRISONER FREE.

The only true calm and happy sleep that man can ever obtain, is given by the heart at ease. Slumber, deep, profound, and heavy, may be obtained by fatigue of body or of mind; but even those great and tranquil spirited men, of whom it is recorded that, at any time, they could lie down, banish thought and care, and obtain repose in the most trying circ.u.mstances, must have gained the power, from that consciousness of having done all to ensure success in the course before them that human wisdom can achieve, or by that confidence in the resources within, which are the chief lighteners of the load of life.

Richard of Woodville slept soundly, but it was heavily. It was the sleep of weariness, not of peace. His mind was agitated even during slumber, with many of the subjects which might well press for attention in the circ.u.mstances in which he was placed; and unbridled fancy hurried him through innumerable dreams. Now he saw her he loved standing at the altar with another; and when the figure turned its face towards him, he beheld Simeon of Roydon. Then he stood in the presence of the King; and Henry, with a frowning brow, turned to an executioner, with the countenance of Sir Henry Dacre, but gigantic limbs, and ordered him to strike off the prisoner's head. Then came Isabel Beauchamp to plead for his life; and suddenly, as the King was turning away, a pale shadowy form, through which he could see the figures on the arras behind, appeared before the monarch, and he recognised the spirit of the murdered Catherine. Old times were strangely mingled with the thoughts of the present; and sometimes he was a boy again; sometimes still a prisoner in the castle of Montl'herry: sometimes in the court of a strange prince, receiving high rewards for some imaginary service. He heard voices, too, as well as saw sights; and the words rang in his ears,

For the true heart and kind, Its recompence shall find; Shall win praise.

And golden days, And live in many a tale.

At length when he had slept long, he suddenly started and raised himself upon his arm, for some one touched him; and looking round he saw the clerk with his black hood still drawn far over his head, and the page who had been his fellow captive, standing by the side of the pallet.

"You must be up and away, sir knight," said the young clerk, in the sweet musical tones of youth. "In an hour, a party of the Canonesses of Cambray, who arrived at noon under the escort of a body of my Lord of Charolois' men-at-arms,[12] are to depart for Amiens, and you and your page can ride forward with them. I must here leave your fair company; for I have other matters to attend to for my good lord."

[Footnote 12: The actual removal of the Canonesses of Cambray took place a few months later.]

"But I shall see you again, young sir, I trust?" said Woodville; "I owe you guerdon, as well as thanks and deep grat.i.tude."

"I have only done my duty, n.o.ble knight," replied the clerk; "but we shall soon meet again; for I suppose your first task will be to seek Sir John Grey, who is with the King; and I shall not be long absent from him,--so fare you well, sir."

"But where am I to find him?" demanded Woodville; "remember I am in utter ignorance of all that has happened."

"Nor do I know much," answered the clerk. "Rumour is my only source of information; for I have been cut off from all direct communication for many weeks. The only certainty is, that King Henry and his friends are now in France; that Harfleur surrendered a few weeks ago, and that he is marching through the land with banners displayed. You will hear of him as you go; and as soon as you know which way his steps are bent, you can hasten to join him. But ere you discover yourself to any one else, seek out Sir John Grey, and take counsel with him, for false reports have been spread concerning you, and no one can tell how the King's mind may be affected."

"But tell me, at least, before you go," said Richard of Woodville, "who was the lady spoken of by the man who aided my escape at Montl'herry; and also, who it is that has generously paid the high sums which were doubtless demanded for my deliverance?"

"In truth, n.o.ble sir," replied the clerk, "I must not stay to answer you; for the people with whom I go are waiting for me; and I must depart immediately. You will know all hereafter in good time. It was the Lord of Croy who furnished the money needful. Now, fare you well, and Heaven give you guidance!"

Thus saying, he departed, without waiting for farther question; and Richard of Woodville rising, dressed himself in haste in the same clothes which he had worn the day before, but which he now found carefully dried and ready for his use.

"I must have slept sound, boy," he said, speaking to the page, who remained beside him; "for I do not think that at any other time my clothes could have been taken away from my bed side, and I not know it."

"You did sleep sound, sir knight," replied the page, laughing; "and talked in your sleep, moreover, while we were looking at you. But I can tell you who the lady was at Montl'herry, if you must needs know, as well as the clerk, for I saw her once speaking with the guard."

"Say, say!" cried Richard of Woodville, impatiently. "I would fain know, for she must be in peril, if left behind."

"Why, it was the fair demoiselle," answered the page, "who went with us from Nieuport to Ghent. I caught but a glimpse of her, indeed; but that bright face is not easily forgotten when once it has been seen."

"And yet I never thought of her!" murmured Richard of Woodville to himself: "poor girl, her deep grat.i.tude would have merited better remembrance. Why smile you, boy? Every honourable man is bound to recollect all who trust him, and all who serve him."

"Nay, sir," replied the page, resuming a grave look, "I did but smile to think how often ladies remember knights and gentlemen, when they are themselves forgot."

"A sad comment on the baseness of man's nature," answered Woodville; "let it never be so with you, boy. Now, see for the old monk; my purse is very empty, but I would not that he should call me n.i.g.g.ard."

Some minutes pa.s.sed before the page returned; but when he appeared he came not alone, nor empty handed, for the old man was with him who had conducted the fugitive to his chamber the night before; and the one carried a large bottle and a tin cup, while the other was loaded with a pasty and a loaf of brown bread. Such refreshment was very acceptable to the young knight; but the good monk hurried him at his meal, telling him that his party were waiting for him; and, finis.h.i.+ng the repast as soon as possible, Woodville rose and put a piece of gold into his good purveyor's hand, saying, "That for your house, father.

Now I am ready."

On going out into the little court between the priory and the abbey, he found some twelve or fourteen men mounted; and at the call of the monk who accompanied him, a party of six Canonesses and two novices, all closely veiled, came forth from the little lodge by the gate. They were soon upon the mules which stood ready for them; but the good ladies eyed with an inquiring glance the young stranger who was about to join their party; and one of them, as she marked the knightly spurs he wore, turned to her companions, and made some observation which created a light-hearted laugh amongst those around. The moment after, they issued forth from the gates, and rode on at a quick pace in the direction of Gisors.

The day was evidently far advanced, but the sun, though somewhat past his meridian, was still very powerful, so that the horses were distressed with the heat. The commander of the men-at-arms, however, would permit no relaxation of their speed, much to the annoyance of the fair Canonesses, who had every inclination to amuse the tedious moments of the journey by chattering with the young knight, and the other persons who escorted them. In reply to their remonstrances, the leader told them that if they did not make haste, they would get entangled between the two armies, and then worse might come of it.

"Besides," he said, "we have strict orders from our lord the Duke to take part with neither French nor English; and it would be a hard matter to fall in with either, and not strike one stroke for the honour of our arms."

Judging from his reply that he must have some knowledge of the relative position of the two hosts, Richard of Woodville endeavoured to gain intelligence from him, as to both the events which had lately taken place in France, and those which were likely to follow; but the man seemed sullen, and unwilling to communicate with his companion of the way, replying to all questions merely by a monosyllable, or by the a.s.sertion that he did not know.

Thus pa.s.sed by hour after hour, during their first and second day's journey, which brought them to the small town of Breteuil. They had hitherto paused either for the purpose of seeking repose, or of taking refreshment, at religious houses only; but at Breteuil they took up their lodging for the night at the inn of the place, which they found vacant of all guests. The town, too, as they entered it, seemed melancholy and nearly deserted; but the tongue of the good host made up for the stillness which reigned around; and from him Richard of Woodville discovered that the apparent abandonment of the place by its inhabitants was caused partly by the dread which some of the more wealthy townsmen had felt on the near approach of several large detachments of English troops, and partly by the zeal of the younger portion of the population, which had led them to proceed in arms to join the royal standard raised against the invaders. From him, too, the young knight found that the King of England, at the head of his army, was marching rapidly up the Somme, in order to force the pa.s.sage of that river, but that, as all the fords were strictly guarded, and French troops in immense mult.i.tudes were gathering on the opposite bank, it was scarcely possible that many days could pa.s.s without a battle.

"'Twas but yesterday at this hour," said the host, "that news reached the town that a fight had taken place at Fremont; and then, this morning we heard it was all false, and that the English King has not yet pa.s.sed the river."

"Where was he when last you heard of him?" demanded Richard of Woodville, taking care to use the French tongue, which he spoke with less accent, perhaps, than most of the inhabitants of distant provinces.

"Oh, he was at Bauvillers," answered the landlord of the hostel, "and he wont get much farther without fighting, I fancy; for he has got St.

Quentin on his right, and our people before him. Heaven send that he may not march back again; for then, he would come right through Breteuil; and we are poor enough without being pillaged by those vagabond English. I wonder your Duke does not come to the King's help, with all his gallant men-at-arms, for then these proud islanders would be caught in a net, and could not get out."

"It is a wonder," answered Richard of Woodville. "But, hark! and, as he listened, he heard two sweet voices talking in the hall, in a tongue that sounded like English to his ear.

"I am sure of it," said the one, "and if it be so, I beseech you own it. My heart beat so, I can scarcely speak; but, I say again, I am sure of it; and that if you will, you have the power not alone to punish the guilty, for that, perhaps, you may not desire--"

"Yes I do," replied the other, in a somewhat sharper tone; "and in my own good time, I will do it."

"To punish the guilty, the time is your own," replied the first voice; "but, to save the innocent from utter destruction, there is no time but the present."