The Lances of Lynwood by Charlotte Mary Yonge (i read book TXT) 📕

not—Yes, ‘tis Brigliador, and John Ingram himself,” cried Arthur. “Oh, my uncle! my uncle!” And, in one moment, he had bounded across the ditch, which fenced in their exercising ground, and had rushed to meet Ingram. “Oh, John!” exclaimed he, breathlessly, “have they done it? Oh, tell me of Uncle Eustace! I he alive?”

“Master Arthur!” exclaimed Ingram, stopping his wearied horse.

“Oh, tell me, Ingram,” reiterated Arthur, “is my uncle safe?”

“He is alive, Master Arthur—that is, he was when I came away, but as sore wounded as ever I saw a Knight. And the butcher of Brittany is upon them by this time! And here I am sent to ask succours—and I know no more whom to address myself, than the cock at the top of Lynwood steeple!”

“But what has chanced, John?—make haste, and tell me.”

And John, in his own awkward and confused style, narrated how he had been entrapped by Sanchez, and the consequences of his excess. “But,” said he, “I have vowed to our Lady of Taunton, and St. Joseph of Glastonbury, that never again—”

Arthur had covered his face with his hands, and gave way to tears of indignation and grief, as he felt his helplessness. But one hand was kindly withdrawn, and a gentle voice said, “Weep not, Arthur, but come with me, and my father will send relief to the Castle, and save your uncle.”

“You here, Lord Edward?” exclaimed Arthur, who had not perceived that the Prince had followed him. “Oh yes, thanks, thanks! None but the Prince can save him. Oh, let me see him myself, and that instantly!”

“Then, let us come,” said Edward, still holding Arthur’s hand.

Arthur set off at such a pace, as to press the little Prince into a breathless trot by his side; but he, too, was all eagerness, and scorned to complain. They proceeded without interruption to the court of the palace. Edward, leading the way, hastened to his mother’s apartments. He threw open the door, looked in, and, saying to Arthur, “He must be in the council chamber,” cut short an exclamation of Lady Maude Holland, by shutting the door, and running down a long gallery to an ante-chamber, where were several persons waiting for an audience, and two warders, with halberts erect, standing on guard outside a closed door.

“The Prince is in council, my Lord.”

Edward drew up his head, and, waving them aside with a gesture that became the heir of England, said, “I take it upon myself.” He then opened the door, and, still holding Arthur fast by the hand, led him into the chamber where the Prince of Wales sat in consultation.

There was a pause of amazement as the two boys advanced to the high carved chair on which the Prince was seated—and Edward exclaimed, “Father, save Arthur’s uncle!”

“What means this, Edward?” demanded the Prince of Wales, somewhat sternly. “Go to your mother, boy—we cannot hear you now, and—”

“I cannot go, father,” replied the child, “till you have promised to save Arthur’s uncle! He is wounded!—the traitors have wounded him!—and the French will take the Castle, and he will be slain! And Arthur loves him so much!”

“Come here, Edward,” said the Prince, remarking the flushed cheek and tearful eye of his son. “and tell me what this means.”

Edward obeyed, but without loosing his hold of his young friend’s hand. “The man-at-arms is come, all heat and dust, on the poor drooping, jaded steed—and he said, the Knight would be slain, and the Castle taken, unless you would send him relief. It is Arthur’s uncle that he loves so well.”

“Arthur’s uncle?” repeated the Prince—and, turning his eyes on the suppliant figure, he said, “Arthur Lynwood! Speak, boy.”

“Oh, my Lord,” said Arthur, commanding his voice with difficulty, “I would only pray you to send succour to my uncle at Chateau Norbelle, and save him from being murdered by Oliver de Clisson.”

It was a voice which boded little good to Arthur’s suit that now spoke. “If it be Sir Eustace Lynwood, at Chateau Norbelle, of whom the young Prince speaks, he can scarce be in any strait, since the garrison is more than sufficient.”

The little page started to his feet, and, regarding the speaker with flashing eyes, exclaimed, “Hearken not to him, my Lord Prince! He is the cause of all the treachery!—he is the ruin and destruction of my uncle;—he has deceived you with his falsehoods! —and now he would be his death!”

“How now, my young cousin!” said Clarenham, in a most irritating tone of indifference—“you forget in what presence you are.”

“I do not,” replied Arthur, fiercely. “Before the Prince, Fulk Clarenham, I declare you a false traitor!—and, if you dare deny it, there lies my gloves!”

Fulk only replied by a scornful laugh, and, addressing the Prince, said, “May I pray of your Grace not to be over severe with my young malapert relation.”

The Captal de Buch spoke: “You do not know what an adversary you have provoked, Fulk! The other day, I met my nephew, little Pierre, with an eye as black as the patch we used to wear in our young days of knight-errantry. ‘What wars have you been in, Master Pierre?’ I asked. It was English Arthur who had fought with him, for mocking at his talking of nothing but his uncle. But you need not colour, and look so abashed, little Englishman!—I bear no more malice than I hope Pierre does—I only wish I had as bold a champion! I remember thine uncle, if he is the youth to whom the Constable surrendered at Navaretta, and of whom we made so much.”

“Too much then, and too little afterwards,” said old Sir John Chandos.

“You do not know all, Chandos,” said the Prince.

“You do not yourself know all, my Lord,” said Arthur, turning eagerly. “Lord de Clarenham has deceived you, and led you to imagine that my uncle wished ill to me, and wanted to gain my lands; whereas it is he himself who wants to have me in his hands to bend me to his will. It is he who has placed traitors in Chateau Norbelle to slay my uncle and deliver him to the enemy; they have already wounded him almost to death”—here Arthur’s lips quivered, and he could hardly restrain a burst of tears—“and they have sent for Sir Oliver de Clisson, the butcher. Gaston will hold out as long as they can, but if you will not send succours, my Lord, he will—will be slain; and kind Gaston too;” and Arthur, unable to control himself any longer, covered his face with his hands, and gave way to a silent suppressed agony of sobs and tears.

“Cheer thee, my boy,” said the Prince, kindly; “we will see to thine uncle.” Then, looking at his nobles, he continued, “It seems that these varlets will allow us no more peace; and since there does in truth appear to be a Knight and Castle in jeopardy, one of you had, perhaps, better go with a small band, and clear up this mystery. If it be as the boy saith, Lynwood hath had foul wrong.”

“I care not if I be the one to go, my Lord,” said Chandos; “my men are aver kept in readiness, and a night’s gallop will do the lazy knaves all the good in the world.”

Arthur, brushing off the tears, of which he was much ashamed, looked at the old Knight in transport.

“Thanks, Chandos,” said the Prince; “I would commit the matter to none so willingly as to you, though I scarce would have asked it, considering you were not quite so prompt on a late occasion.”

“My Lord of Pembroke will allow, however, that I did come in time,” said Sir John. “It was his own presumption and foolhardiness that got him into the scrape, and he was none the worse for the lesson he received. But this young fellow seems to have met with this mischance by no fault of his own; and I am willing to see him righted; for he is a good lad as well as a brave, as far as I have known him.”

“How came the tidings?” asked the Prince. “Did not one of you boys say somewhat of a man-at-arms?”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Arthur; “John Ingram, my uncle’s own yeoman, has come upon Brigliador with all speed. I sent him to the guard-room, where he now waits in case you would see him.”

“Ay,” said old Chandos, “a man would have some assurance that he is not going on a fool’s errand. Let us have him here, my Lord.”

“Cause him to be summoned,” said the Prince to Arthur.

“And at the same time,” said Chandos, “send for my Squire, Henry Neville, to the ante-chamber. The men may get on their armour in the meantime.”

In a few minutes John Ingram made his appearance, the dust not yet wiped from his armour, his hair hanging is disordered masses over his forehead, and his jaws not completely resting from the mastication of a huge piece of pasty. His tale, though confused, could not be for an instant doubted, as he told of the situation in which he had left Chateau Norbelle and its Castellane, “The best man could wish to live under. Well, he hath forgiven me, and given me his hand upon it”

“Forgiven thee—for what?” said the Prince.

“Ah! my Lord, I may speak of treason, but I am one of the traitors myself! Did not the good Knight leave me in charge to make my rounds constantly in the Castle, while he slept after his long watching? and lo, there comes that wily rascal, the Seneschal, Sanchez, with his ”Tis a cold night, friend John; the Knight wakes thee up early; come down to the buttery, and crack a cup of sack in all friendliness!’ Down then go I, oaf that I was, thinking that, may be, our Knight was over strict and harsh, and pulled the reins so tight, that a poor man-at-arms must needs get a little diversion now and then—as the proverb says, “when the cat’s away, the mice may play.’ But it was drugged, my Lord, else when would one cup of spiced wine have so overcome me that I knew nought till I hear Master d’Aubricour shouting treason in the courtyard like one frantic? But the Knight has forgiven me, and I have sworn to our blessed Lady of Taunton, and St. Joseph of Glastonbury, that not a draught of wine, spiced or unspiced, shall again cross my lips.”

“A wholesome vow,” said the Prince; “and her is a token to make thee remember it,”—and he placed in the hand of the yeoman a chain of some value. “Go to the guard-room, where you shall be well entertained till such time as we need thee again, as we may, if you have been, as you say, long in Sir Eustace Lynwood’s service. But what now? Hast more to say?”

“I would say—so please you, my Lord—that I pray you but to let me ride back to Chateau Norbelle with this honourable Knight, for I owe all service to Sir Eustace, nor could I rest till I know how it fares with him.”

“As you will, good fellow,” said the Prince; “and you, Chandos, come with me to my chamber—I would speak with you before you depart.”

“My Lord,” said Arthur, “would you but grant me one boon—to go with Sir John to Chateau Norbelle?”

“You too? You would almost make me think you all drawn by witchcraft to this Castle!” But Arthur’s eagerness extorted a consent, and he rode off amid Sir John Chandos’s troop, boldly enough at first, but by and by so sleepily, that, as night advanced, Sir John ordered him to be placed in front of a trooper, and he soon lost all perception of