In the Days of Chivalry: A Tale of the Times of the Black Prince

Young Edward had received knighthood at his father's hand upon landing on the shores of France, though truly it was this day's fighting which had won him his spurs. But as the King was resolved to mark the occasion by some rewards to those who had stood by his gallant boy in the thick of the press, he quickly picked out from the cluster of noble youths who stood behind their young leader some six of gentle blood and known bravery, and thereupon dubbed them knights upon the bloody battlefield. Amongst those thus singled out for such honourable notice were the two sons of the King's Master of the Horse, Oliver and Bernard de Brocas, the latter of whom was destined to be the Prince's chosen and trusted comrade through many another warlike campaign.

Gladly and proudly did the royal boy stand by and see the reward of valour thus bestowed upon his chosen comrades of the day; but he seemed scarce satisfied by all that was done. His eye wandered quickly over the little knot grouped upon the knoll around the King, and then his glance travelling yet farther to the remoter outskirts, he suddenly detached himself from the centre group, and ran quickly down the hillside till he reached the spot where the twin brothers were standing watching the scene with vivid interest, Raymond still leaning rather heavily upon his brother's arm.

"Nay now, why tarry ye here?" eagerly questioned the Prince. "Sure ye were amongst the most steadfast and fearless in the fight today.

"Good Raymond, but for thy quick eye and timely word of warning, we had been fallen upon and scattered unawares, and perhaps had been cut to pieces, ere we knew that we were vanquished rather than victors. My father is even now bestowing upon my gallant comrades the reward their good swords have won for them. Come, and let me present you twain to him; for sure in all the gallant band that fought by my side none were more worthy of knighthood than you. Come, and that quickly!"

A quick flush crossed Gaston's cheek as the guerdon so dear to the heart of the soldier was thus thrust upon him; but a whisper in his ear held him back.

"Gaston, we have no name; we cannot receive knighthood without revealing all. Has the time yet come to speak? Of that thou shalt be the judge. I will follow thy wishes in this as in all else."

For a moment Gaston stood debating with himself. Then the counsel of prudence prevailed over that of youthful ambition. How were he and his brother worthily to support the offered rank? Even did they make known their true parentage, that would not put money in their purses; and to be poor dependents upon the bounty of relatives who had rejected their mother and driven forth their father to seek his fortune as he could, was as repugnant to Gaston's pride now as it had been two years before.

"Sweet Prince," he answered, after this brief pause for thought, "we have but done our duty today, and knighthood is far too great a reward for our poor merits. Sure it has been honour and glory enough to fight by your side, and win this gallant day. We are but poor youths, without home or friends. How could we receive a reward which we could not worthily wear? A penniless knight without servant or esquire would cut but a sorry figure. Nay then, sweet Prince, let it be enough for us this day to have won these gracious words at your lips. It may be when fair fortune has smiled upon us, and we are no longer poor and nameless, that we will come to you to crave the boon you have graciously offered this day. We will remain for the nonce in our present state, but will ever look forward to the day when some other glorious victory may be won, and when we may come to our Prince for that reward which today we may not receive at his hands."

"So be it," answered the Prince, his face, which had clouded over with regret a few moments earlier, lighting up again at these latter words. "Be assured I will not forget you, nor the services ye have done me this day. I too in days to come shall have knighthood to bestow upon those who have earned the right to wear it. Fear not that Edward ever will forget. Whenever the day comes that shall bring you thus to me for the reward so nobly earned today, that reward shall be yours. The King's son has promised it."

CHAPTER XIV. WINTER DAYS

"Nephew John, I have brought thee a companion to share thy winter's solitude."

John de Brocas, who was in his old and favourite retreat – his Rector-uncle's great library – rose to his feet with a start at hearing the familiar voice of Master Bernard (whom he believed to be far away in France), and found himself face to face not with his cheery uncle alone, but with a tall, white, hollow-eyed youth, upon whose weary face a smile of delighted recognition was shining, whilst a thin hand was eagerly advanced in welcome.

"Raymond!" exclaimed John, with a look that spoke volumes of welcome.

"Good mine uncle, welcome at all times, thou art doubly welcome in such company as this. But I had not looked to see you in merry England again for long. Men say that Calais is closely besieged by the King, and methought he had need of thee and my father likewise whilst the campaign across the water lasted."

"True, lad, the King has need of those he graciously dubs his trusty counsellors; and I have but come hither for a short while. The King is full of anxiety about this outbreak of the hardy Scots, which has been so gallantly frustrated at Neville's Cross by our gracious Queen, worthy to be the mate of the world's greatest warrior. I am come hither charged with much business in this matter, and so soon as all is accomplished I am desired to bring the Queen to join her royal spouse before the walls of Calais. It is not long that I may linger here. I have but a few short hours to set mine own affairs in order. But thinking I should be like to find thee here, Nephew John, as the autumn weather in low-lying Windsor generally drives thee forth from thence, I hastened hither to bring to thee a companion for thy winter's loneliness. Methinks thou hast known and loved him before. Treat him as a cousin and a friend. He will tell thee all his story at his leisure."

The slight stress laid upon the word "cousin" by the prelate caused John to glance quickly and curiously at Raymond, who answered by a slight smile. Just at that moment there was no time for explanations. Master Bernard engrossed the whole of John's time and attention, being eager to learn from that young man every detail of the campaign in the north which had reached his ears. And John, who took a wide and intelligent interest in all the passing affairs of the day, and from his position was able to learn much of what went on in the world, sat beside his uncle at the hastily-spread board, and told all the leading facts of the brief and triumphant campaign in terse and soldier-like fashion.

Meantime Raymond sat at ease in the corner of a deep settle beside the fire, leaning back against the soft fur rug which draped it, unable to eat through very weariness, but eagerly interested in all the news his uncle was hearing from John.

Master Bernard had to push on to London that night. He and his companion had landed at Southampton the previous day, and had taken Guildford upon their way to the capital. There Raymond was to remain under the kindly care of John; and as soon as the Rector had set off with fresh horses and his own retinue of servants, his nephew turned eagerly back to the hall, where his cousin was still resting, and taking him warmly by the hands, gazed into his face with a glance of the most friendly and affectionate solicitude.

"Good my cousin, I have scarce had time to bid thee welcome yet, but I do so now with all my heart. It is as a cousin I am to receive and treat thee? What meant my good uncle by that? Hast thou told him what I myself know? Methought he spoke like one with a purpose."

"Yes, it is true that he knows," answered Raymond; "but he counsels us to keep our secret awhile longer. He thinks, as does Gaston, that we were wiser first to win our way to greater fame and fortune than mere boys can hope to do, and then to stand revealed as those sprung from a noble line. How came he to know? That I will tell thee when I am something rested. But I am so weary with our journey that I scarce know how to frame my thoughts in fitting words. Yet I am glad to see thy face again, good John. I have been wearying long for a sight of thee."

"Thou art indeed sadly changed thyself, my cousin," said John. "In truth, men who go to these wars go with their lives in their hands. Was it on the glorious field of Crecy that thou receivedst some hurt? Sure thou hast been sore wounded. But thou shalt tell me all thy tale anon, when thou art something rested and refreshed."

The tale was told that same evening, when, after Raymond had slept for a few hours and had been able then to partake of some food, he felt, in part at least, recovered from the fatigues of the long ride from the coast, and could recline at ease beside the glowing fire, and talk to John of all that had befallen him since they had parted two and a half years before.

The account of the victory at Crecy was eagerly listened to, and also that of the subsequent march upon Calais, when the King of France, choosing to consider the campaign at an end, had disbanded both his armies, leaving the victorious King of England to build unmolested a new town about Calais, in which his soldiers could live through the winter in ease and plenty, and complete the blockade both by sea and land undisturbed by hostile demonstrations.

"It seems to me," said Raymond, "that did our great Edward wish to make good his claim on the crown of France, he has only to march straight upon Paris and demand coronation there. When after the victory at Crecy and the subsequent triumphs I have told you of, over band after band of troops all going to the support of Philip, we could have marched unopposed through the length and breadth of the land, none daring to oppose us, the soldiers all thought that Paris, not Calais, would be the next halting place.

"What thinkest thou, good John? Thou knowest much of the true mind of the King. Why, after so glorious a victory, does he not make himself master of all France?"

John smiled his thoughtful smile.

"Verily because our King is statesman as well as soldier; and though he boldly advances a claim on the crown of France, to give the better colour to his feats of arms against its King, he knows that he could not rule so vast an empire as that of France and England together would be, and that his trusty subjects at home would soon grow jealous and discontented were they to find themselves relegated to the second place, whilst their mighty Edward took up his abode in his larger and more turbulent kingdom of France. England rejoices in snatching portions of territory from the French monarch, in holding off his grasping hand from those portions of France that lawfully belong to our great King. She will support him joyfully through a series of victories that bring spoil and glory to her soldiers; but jealousy would soon arise did she think that her King was like to regard France as his home rather than England, that England was to be drained of her gold and her best men to keep under control the unwieldy possession she had won but could never peacefully hold. Methinks the King and his best counsellors know this well, and content themselves with their glorious feats of arms which stir the blood and gratify the pride of all loyal subjects.

"But now, I pray thee, tell me of thyself; for thou hast sadly altered since we parted last. What has befallen thee in these wars? and where is thy brother Gaston, whom thou wentest forth to seek? and where the faithful Roger, whose name thou hast spoken many times before?"

"I have left them together in the camp before Calais," answered Raymond. "Roger would fain have come with me, but I thought it not well that he should place himself so near his ancient foes and masters, even though I trow the spell has been snapped once and for ever. He loves Gaston only second to me, and was persuaded at length to stay with him. I, too, would have stayed likewise, but they said the winter's cold would kill me, and I could no longer bear arms or serve in the ranks. So I was fain to leave them and come to England with our uncle. And the thought of spending the winter months with thee and with the books made amends for all I left behind beneath the walls of Calais."

"What ails thee then, Raymond? Is it some unhealed wound?"

The youth shook his head.

"Nay, I have no wound. It was some hurt I got in that last melee on the field of Crecy, when the Prince nearly lost his life just as the day was won. I was hurled to the ground and trampled upon. Methought for many long minutes that I should never rise again. But for days afterwards I knew not that the hurt was aught to think about or care for. It pained me to move or breathe, but I thought the pain would pass, and heeded it but little. We rode gaily enough to the walls of Calais, and we set about building a second city without its walls (when the governor refused to surrender it into our hands), which the King has been pleased to call Newtown the Bold. I strove to work with the rest, thinking that the pain I suffered would abate by active toil, and liking not to speak of it when many who had received grievous wounds were to be seen lending willing service in the task set us. But there came a day when I could no more. I could scarce creep to the tent which Gaston, Roger, and I shared together; and then I can remember naught but the agony of a terrible pain that never left me night or day, and I only longed that I might die and so find rest."

"Ah, poor lad, I too have known that wish," said John. "Doubtless it was some grave inflammation of the hidden tissues of the body from the which you so grievously suffered. And how came it that our uncle found you out? He is a notable leech, as many men have found ere now. Was it as such that he then came to thee?"

"Yes, truly; and our generous and kindly Prince sent him. He heard through Gaston of the strait I was in, and forthwith begged our uncle to come and visit me. John, dost thou know that Gaston and I each wear about our neck the halves of a charm our mother hung there in our infancy? It is a ring of gold, each complete in itself, yet which may be so joined together as to form one circlet with the two halves of the medallion joined in one;" and Raymond pulled forth from within his doublet a small circlet of gold curiously chased, with a half medallion bearing certain characters inscribed upon it.

John examined it curiously, and said it was of Eastern workmanship.

"I know not how that may be. I know not its history," answered Raymond; "but Gaston tells me that when our uncle saw the ring about my neck he seemed greatly moved, and asked quickly how it came there. Gaston told him it was hung there by our mother, and showed his own half, and how they fitted together. At that our uncle seemed yet more moved; and after he had done what he could to ease my pain, he left me with Roger, and bid Gaston follow him to his own tent. There he told him the history of that ring, and how for many generations it had been in the De Brocas family, its last owner having been the Arnald de Brocas who had quarrelled with his kindred, and had died ere the dispute had been righted. Seeing that it was useless to hide the matter longer, Gaston told our uncle all; and he listened kindly and with sympathy to the tale. At the first he seemed as if he would have told your father all the story likewise, and have had us owned before the world. But either Gaston's reluctance to proclaim ourselves before we had won our way to fortune, or else his own uncertainty as to how your father would take the news, held him silent; and he said we were perchance right and wise to keep our secret. He added that to reveal ourselves, though it might gain us friends, would also raise up many bitter and powerful enemies. The Sieur de Navailles in the south, who by joining the French King's standard had already made himself a mark for Edward's just displeasure when the time should come for revenging himself upon those treacherous subjects in Gascony, would be certain to hold in especial abhorrence any De Brocas who would be like to cast longing eyes upon the domain he had so long ruled over; whilst in England the fierce and revengeful Sanghursts would have small scruple in seeking the destruction of any persons who would rise to dispute their hold on Basildene. The King's time and thought were too much engrossed in great matters of the state to give him leisure to concern himself with private affairs. Let the youths then remain as they were for the present, serving under his banner, high in favour with the youthful Prince, and like to win fame and honour and wealth through the victorious war about to be waged in France. When that war had triumphantly ended, and the King was rewarding those whose faithful service had gained him the day, then might the time come for the brothers of Basildene to make themselves known, and plead for their own again."

"I trow he is in the right," said John, "and I am glad that he knows all himself. So would he take the more interest in you, good Raymond; and thus it was, I take it, that he brought you to England himself when he came hither."

"Ay, truly his kindness was great; and after he knew all, I was moved to better quarters, and a prince could not have been better treated. But it was long before I could stand upon my own feet, and save for the hope of seeing you once again, I would gladly have been spared the journey to England. But the sea passage was favourable, and gave me strength, though the wind from the east blew so strong that we could not make the harbour of Dover, and were forced to beat westward along the coast till we reached the friendly port of Southampton. Then we took horse and rode hither, and glad am I to be at the journey's end. But our uncle tells me that in a few short weeks I shall be sound and whole again, and before the winter ends I may hope to join my brother beneath the King's banner."

"I hope it will be so," answered John; "and if rest is what thou needest for thy recovery, it will not be lacking to thee here. It is well that the sword is not the only weapon thou lovest, but that the quill and the lore of the wise of the earth have attractions for thee likewise."

It quickly seemed to Raymond as if the incidents of that stirring campaign had been but part and parcel of a fevered dream. He was disposed to believe that he had never quitted the retreat of his uncle's roof, and took up his old studies with John with the greatest zest. John found him marvellously advanced since the days they had studied together before. His two years with Father Paul in the Brotherhood had wonderfully enlarged his mind and extended his field of vision. It was a delight to both cousins to exchange ideas, and learn from one another; and the time fled by only too fast, each day marked by a steady though imperceptible improvement in Raymond's state of health, as his fine constitution triumphed over the serious nature of the injury received.

Although he often thought of Basildene, he made no attempt to see the place. The winter cold had set in with severity; John had little disposition to face it, and quiet and rest were far more congenial to him than any form of activity or amusement. John believed that the Sanghursts were still there, engaged in their mysterious experiments that savoured so strongly of magic. But after hearing of Raymond's bold defiance of the implacable Peter in the forest near to the Brotherhood, John was by no means desirous that the fact of Raymond's residence at the Rectory of St. Nicholas should become known at Basildene. Without sharing to the full the fears of the country people with regard to the occult powers of the father and son in that lonely house, John believed them to be as cruel and unscrupulous a pair as ever lived, even in those half-civilized times. He therefore charged his servants to say nothing of Raymond's visit, and hoped that it would not reach the ears of the Sanghursts.

But there was another person towards whom Raymond's fancy had sometime strayed during the years of his absence from Guildford, and this person he was unaccountably shy of naming even to John, though he would have been quite unable to allege a reason for his reticence.

But fortune favoured him in this as in other matters, for on entering the library one day after a short stroll around the Rector's garden, he found himself face to face with a radiant young creature dressed in the picturesque riding gear of the day, who turned to him with a beaming smile as she cried:

"Ah! I have been hearing of thee and of thy prowess, my fair young sir. My good brother Alexander, who has followed the King's banner, would gladly have been in thy place on the day of Crecy. Thou and thy brother were amongst that gallant little band who fought around the Prince and bore him off the field unhurt. Did not I say of thee that thou wouldst quickly win thy knighthood's spurs? And thou mightest already have been a belted knight if thy prudence and thy modesty had not been greater than thine ambition. Is it not so?"

Raymond's face glowed like a child's beneath the praises of Mistress Joan Vavasour, and the light of her bright eyes seemed fairly to dazzle him. John came to the rescue by telling Raymond's own version of the story; and then he eagerly asked Joan of herself and what had become of her these past years, for he had seldom seen her, and knew not where she was living nor what she was doing – knew not even if she were wedded, nor if Peter Sanghurst's suit were at an end or had been crowned by success.

At the sound of that name the girl's face darkened quickly, and a spark of fire gleamed in her eyes.

"Talk not of him," she said; "I would that he were dead! Have I not said that I would never wed him, that I would die first? Fair fortune hath befriended me in this thing. Thou knowest perchance that my father and brother have been following the King's banner of late, first in Flanders and then in France. My mother and I meantime have not been residing at Woodcrych, but in London, whither all news of the war is first known, and where travellers from the spot are like to come. We are here but for a short space, to spend the merry Yuletide season with my mother's brother, who lives, as thou knowest, within the town of Guildford. After that we return once more to London, there to await the return of my father and brother. Alexander, in truth, has once visited us, but has returned to the siege of Calais, hoping to be amongst those who will reap plenteous spoil when the city is given over to plunder, as Caen was given. Of the Sanghursts, I thank my kindly saints, I have heard naught all this while. My mother loved them not, albeit she was always entreating me in nowise to thwart or gainsay my father. I cannot but hope that these long months of absence will have gone far to break the spell that those evil men seemed to cast about him. Be that as it may, I myself have grown from a child to a woman, and I say now, as I said then, that no power in the world shall induce me to give my hand in marriage to Peter Sanghurst. I will die first!"

The girl threw back her handsome head, and her great eyes glowed and flashed. Raymond looked at her with a beating heart, feeling once more that mysterious kindling of the soul which he could not understand, and yet of which he had been before in the presence of Joan so keenly conscious. She appeared to him to be far older than himself, though in reality he was a few months the senior; for at eighteen a girl is always older in mind than a boy, and Joan's superb physique helped to give to her the appearance of a more advanced age than was really hers. Just then, too, Raymond, though grown to his full height, which was stately enough, was white and thin and enfeebled. He felt like a mere stripling, and it never occurred to him that the many glances bent upon him by the flashing eyes of the queenly maiden were glances of admiration, interest, and romantic approval. To her the pale, silent youth, with the saint-like face and the steadfast, luminous eyes, was in truth a very preux chevalier amongst men. She had seen something too much of those knights of flesh and blood and nothing else, who could fight gallantly and well, but who knew nothing of the deeper and truer chivalry of the days of mythical romance in which her own ardent fancies loved to stray. Feats of arms she delighted in truly with the bold spirit of her soldier race; but she wanted something more than mere bravery in the field. It was not physical courage alone that made Sir Galahad her favourite of all King Arthur's knights. Ah no! There was another quest than that of personal glory which every true knight was bound to seek. Yet how many of them felt this and understood the truer, deeper meaning of chivalry? She knew, she felt, that Raymond did; and as she turned her palfrey's steps homeward when the twilight began to fall that cold December day, it was with her favourite Sir Galahad that her mind was engrossed, and to him she gave a pale, thin face, with firm, sweet lines and deep-set dreamy eyes – eyes that looked as though they had never quailed before the face of foe, and which yet saw far into the unseen mysteries of life, and which would keep their sweet steadfastness even to the end.