The Caged Lion

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER IV: THE TIDINGS OF BEAUGE

  Malcolm understood it at last. In the great chamber where he was biddento wait within 'Nigel' till 'Sir James' came from a private conferencewith 'Harry,' he had all explained to him, but within a curtness andbrevity that must not be imitated in the present narrative.

  The squire Nigel was in fact Sir Nigel Baird, Baron of Bairdsbrae, thegentleman to whom poor King Robert II. had committed the charge of hisyoung son James, when at fourteen he had been sent to France, nominallyfor education, but in reality to secure him from the fate of his brotherRothsay.

  Captured by English vessels on the way, the heir of Scotland had been toovaluable a prize to be resigned by the politic Henry IV., who had lodgedhim at Windsor Castle, together with Edmund Mortimer, earl of March, andplaced both under the nominal charge of the Prince of Wales, a youth of afew years older. Unjust as was the detention, it had been far fromsevere; the boys had as much liberty as their age and recreationrequired, and received the choicest training both in the arts of war andpeace. They were bred up in close intercourse with the King's own foursons, and were united with them by the warmest sympathy.

  In fact, since usurpation had filled Henry of Lancaster's mind withdistrust and jealousy, his eldest son had been in no such enviableposition as to be beyond the capacity of fellow-feeling for the royalprisoner.

  Of a peculiarly frank, open, and affectionate nature, young Henry had sowarmly loved the gentle and fascinating Richard II., that his trust inthe father, of whom he had seen little in his boyhood, had received asevere shock through Richard's fate. Under the influence of a new,suspicious, and avaricious wife, the King kept his son as much at adistance as possible, chiefly on the Welsh marches, learning the art ofwar under Hotspur and Oldcastle; and when the father and son were broughttogether again, the bold, free bearing and extraordinary ability of thePrince filled the suspicious mind of the King with alarm and jealousy. Tokeep him down, give him no money, and let him gain no influence, was thenarrow policy of the King; and Henry, chafing, dreaming, feeling theinjustice, and pining for occupation, shared his complaints within James,and in many a day-dream restored him freely to his throne, and togetherredressed the wrongs of the world. Meantime, James studied deep inpreparation, and recreated himself with poetry, inspired by the charms ofJoan Beaufort, the lovely daughter of the King's legitimatized brother,the Earl of Somerset; while Henry persisted in a boy's passionate love toKing Richard's maiden widow, Isabel of France. Entirely unrequited ashis affection was, it had a beneficial effect. Next after his deep senseof religion, it kept his life pure and chivalrous. He was for everfaithful to his future wife, even when Isabel had been returned toFrance, and his romantic passion had fixed itself on her younger sisterCatherine, whom he endowed in imagination with all he had seen orsupposed in her.

  Credited with every excess by the tongue of his stepmother, too active-minded not to indulge in freakish sports and experiments in life veryastounding to commonplace minds, sometimes when in dire distress evenhelping himself to his unpaid allowance from his father's mails, andalways with buoyant high spirits and unfailing drollery that scandalizedthe grave seniors of the Court, there is full proof that Prince Hal everkept free from the gross vices which a later age has fancied inseparablyconnected with his frolics; and though always in disgrace, the vexationof the Court, and a by-word for mirth, he was true to the grand ideal hewas waiting to accomplish, and never dimmed the purity and loftiness ofhis aim. That little band of princely youths, who sported, studied,laughed, sang, and schemed in the glades of Windsor, were strangelybrought together--the captive exiled King, the disinherited heir of therealm, and the sons of the monarch who held the one in durance andoccupied the throne of the other; and yet their affection had all thefrank delight of youthful friendship. The younger lads were in morefavour with their father than was the elder. Thomas was sometimespreferred to him in a mortifying manner, John's grave, quiet natureprevented him from ever incurring displeasure, and Humfrey was the spoiltpet of the family; but nothing could lessen Harry's large-minded love ofhis brothers; and he was the idol and hero of the whole young party, whoimplicitly believed in his mighty destinies as a renovator of the world,the deliverer of Jerusalem, and restorer of the unity and purity of theChurch.

  'Harry the Fifth was crowned,' and with the full intention of carryingout his great dream. But his promise of releasing James became matter ofquestion. The House of Albany, who held the chief power in Scotland, hadbound Henry IV. over not to free their master; and it was plain that tosend him home before his welcome was ensured would be but tossing him ontheir spears. In vain James pleaded that he was no boy, and was able toprotect himself; and vowed that when the faithful should rally round hisstandard, he would be more than a match for his enemies; or that if not,he would rather die free than live in bondage. Henry would not listen,and insisted upon retaining him until he should himself be at leisure tobring him home with a high hand, utterly disregarding his assurance thatthis would only be rendering him in the eyes of his subjects anotherdespised and hated Balliol.

  Deeming himself a divinely-appointed redresser of wrongs, Henry wasalready beginning on his great work of purifying Europe in preparationfor his mighty Crusade; and having won that splendid victory which laiddistracted France at his feet, he only waited to complete the conquest asthoroughly and rapidly as might be; and, lest his grand purpose should beobstructed, this great practical visionary, though full of kindness andgenerosity, kept in thraldom a whole troop of royal and noble captives.

  He had, however, been so far moved by James's entreaties, as to consentthat when he himself offered his devotions at the shrine of St. John ofBeverley, the native saint who shared with the two cordwainers hisgratitude for the glories of 'Crispin Crispian's day,' his prisonershould, unknown to any save the few who shared the pilgrimage, push on toreconnoitre his own country, and judge for himself, having first sworn toreveal himself to no one, and to avoid all who could recognize him. Jameshad visited Glenuskie within a special view to profiting by the wisdom ofSir David Drummond, and had then been at Stirling, Edinburgh, and Perth.On his way back, falling in with Malcolm in his distress, he hadconceived the project of taking him to England; and finding himselfalready more than half recognized by Sir David, had obtained his mostgrateful and joyous consent. In truth, James's heart had yearned to hisyoung cousin, his own situation had become much more lonely of late; forHenry was no longer the comrade he had once been, since he had become akeeper instead of a fellow-sufferer. It was true that he did his best toforget this by lavishing indulgences on his captive, and insisting onbeing treated on terms of brotherly familiarity; but though histranscendent qualities commanded love, the intimacy could be but asemblance of the once equal friendship. Moreover, that conspiracy whichcost the life of the Earl of Cambridge had taught James that cautiousreserve was needed in dealing with even his old friends the princes, soeasily might he be accused of plotting either with Henry's immediate heiror with the Mortimers; and, in this guarded life, he had hailed withdelight the opportunity of taking to himself the young orphan cousin ofkindred blood, of congenial tastes, and home-like speech, whom he mighttreat at once as a younger brother and friend, and mould by and by into atrusty counsellor and assistant. That peculiar wistfulness andgentleness of Malcolm's look and manner, together with the refinement andintellect apparent to all who conversed with him without alarming him,had won the King's heart, and made him long to keep the boy with him. Asto Malcolm's longing for the cloister, he deemed it the result of theweakly health and refined nature which shrank from the barbarism of theouter world, and he thought it would pass away under shelter from therude taunts of the fierce cousins, at a distance from the well-meaningexhortations of the monks, and at the spectacle of brave and active menwho could also be pious, conscientious, and cultivated. In the renewedsojourn at Windsor which James apprehended, the training of such a youthas Malcolm of Glenuskie would be no small solace.

  By the time Ma
lcolm had learnt as much of all this as Sir Nigel Bairdknew, or chose to communicate, the King entered the room. He flunghimself on his knees, exclaiming, with warm gratitude, as he kissed theKing's hand, 'My liege, I little kenned--'

  'I meant thee to ken little,' said James, smiling. 'Well, laddie, wiltthou share the prisoner's cell?--Ay, Bairdsbrae, you were a true prophet.Harry will do all himself, and will not hear of losing me to deal with myown people at my own gate. No, no, he'll have me back with Southron bowsand bills, so soon as this small trifle of France lies quiet in hisgrasp! I had nearly flung back my parole in his face, and told him thatno English sword should set me on the Bruce's throne; but there issomething in Harry of Monmouth that one _must_ love, and there aremoments when to see and hear him one would as soon doubt the commissionof an angel with a flaming sword.'

  'A black angel!' growled Sir Nigel.

  'Scoff and chafe, Baird, but look at his work. Look at Normandy, freedfrom misrule and exaction, in peace and order. Look at this land. Wasever king so loved? Or how durst he act as he did this day?'

  'Nay, an it were so at home,' said Baird, 'I had as lief stay here aswhere a man is not free to fight out his own feud. Even this sacklesscallant thought it shame to see two honest men baulked.'

  'Poor Scotland!' sighed James. 'Woe is the land where such thoughts comereadiest to gray-haired men and innocent boys. I tell you, cousin, thisprecious right is the very cause that our poor country is so lawless andbloody, that yon poor silly sparrow would fain be caged for fear of thekites and carrion-crows.'

  'Alack, my Lord, let me but have my way. I cannot fight! Let PatrickDrummond have my sister and my lands, and your service will be far betterdone,' said Malcolm.

  'I know all that,' said the King, kindly. 'There is time enough forsettling that question; and meantime you will not be spoilt for monk orpriest by cheering me awhile in my captivity. I need you, laddie,' meadded, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder, with all the instinctivefascination of a Stewart. 'I lack a comrade of my own blood, for I amall alone!'

  'Oh, Sir!' and Malcolm, looking into his face, saw it full of tenderness.

  'Books and masters you shall have,' continued James, 'such as for churchor state, cathedral, cloister, or camp, shall render you the meeterprince; and I pass you my royal word, that if at full age the cowl beyour choice, I will not gainsay you. Meantime, abide with me, and be theyoung brother I have yearned for.'

  The King threw his arms round Malcolm, who felt, and unconsciouslymanifested, a strange bliss in that embrace, even while fixed in hisdetermination that nothing should make him swerve from his chosen path,nor render him false to his promise to Patrick and Lilias. It was astrange change, from being despised and down-trodden by fierce cousins,or only fondled, pitied, and treated with consideration by his ownnearest and dearest friends, to be the chosen companion of a king, and_such_ a king. Nor could it be a wile of Satan, thought Malcolm, sinceJames still promised him liberty of choice. He would ask counsel of apriest next time he went to confession; and in the meantime, in the fulltide of gratitude, admiration, and affection, he gave himself up to theenjoyment of his new situation, and of time King's kindness andsolicitude. This was indeed absolutely that of an elder brother; for,observing that Malcolm's dress and equipments, the work of Glenuskielooms, supplemented by a few Edinburgh purchases, was uncouth enough toattract some scornful glances from the crowd who came out to welcome theroyal entrance into York the next day, he instantly sent Brewster insearch of the best tailor and lorimer in the city, and provided sohandsomely for the appearance of young Glenuskie, his horse, and hisattendants, that the whole floor of their quarters was strewn withdoublets, boots, chaperons, and gloves, saddles, bridles, and spurs, whenthe Duke of Bedford loitered into the room, and began to banter James forthus (as he supposed) pranking himself out to meet the lady of his love;and then bemoaned the fripperies that had become the rage in their oncebachelor court, vowing, between sport and earnest, that Hal was soenamoured of his fair bride, that anon the conquest of France would beleft to himself and his brother, Tom of Clarence; while James retorted bythrusts at Bedford's own rusticity of garb, and by endeavouring to forceon him a pair of shoes with points like ram's horns, as a specialpassport to the favour of Dame Jac--a lady who seemed to be the object ofDuke John's great distaste.

  Suddenly a voice was heard in the gallery of the great old mansion wherethey were lodged. 'John! John! Here!--Where is the Duke, I say?' Itwas thick and husky, as with some terrible emotion; and the King and Dukehad already started in dismay before the door was thrown open, and KingHenry stood among them, his face of a burning red.

  'See here, John!' he said, holding out a letter; and then, with an accentof wrathful anguish, and a terrible frown, he turned on James,exclaiming, 'I would send you to the Tower, Sir, did I think you had ahand in this!'

  Malcolm trembled, and sidled nearer his prince; while James, with anequally fierce look, replied, 'Hold, Sir! Send me where you will, butdare not dishonour my name!' Then changing, as he saw the exceedinggrief on Henry's brow, and heard John's smothered cry of dismay, 'ForHeaven's sake, Harry, what is it?'

  'This!' said Henry, less loudly, less hotly, but still with an agony ofindignation: 'Thomas is dead--and by the hand of two of your traitorScots!'

  'Murdered!' cried James, aghast.

  'Murdered by all honest laws of war, but on the battlefield,' said Henry.'Your cousin of Buchan and old Douglas fell on my brave fellows atBeauge, when they were spent with travel to stop the robberies in Anjou.They closed in with their pikes on my brave fellows, took Somersetprisoner, and for Thomas, while he was dealing with a knight namedSwinton in front, the villain Buchan comes behind and cleaves his head intwain; and that is what you Scots call fighting!'

  'It was worthy of a son of Albany!' said James. 'Would that vengeancewere in my power!'

  'Ay, you loved him!' said Henry, grasping James's hand, his passionsoftened into a burst of tears, as he wrung his prisoner's hand. 'Nay,who did not love him, my brave, free-hearted brother? And that I--Ishould have dallied here and left him to bear the brunt, and be cut offby you felon Scots!' And he hid his face, struggling within an agony ofheart-rending grief, which seemed to sway his whole tall, powerful frameas he leant against the high back of a chair; while John, together withJames, was imploring him not to accuse himself, for his presence had beenneedful at home; and, to turn the tenor of his thought, James inquiredwhether there were any further disaster.

  'Not as yet,' said Henry; 'there is not a man left in thatheaven-abandoned crew who knows how to profit by what they have got! butI must back again ere the devil stir them up a man of wit!--And you, Sir,can you take order with these heady Scots?'

  'From Windsor? no,' said James; 'but set me in the saddle, let me learnwar under such a captain as yourself, and maybe they will not take thefield against me; or if they do, the slayer of Clarence shall rue it.'

  'Be it so,' said Henry, wringing his hand. 'You shall with me to France,Jamie, and see war. The Scots should flock to the Lion rampant, andwithout them the French are mo better than deer, under the fool andmurderer they call Dauphin. Yet, alas! will any success give me back mybrother--my brother, the brave and true?' he added, weeping again withintime _abandon_ of an open nature and simple age. 'It was for my sins, myforgetfulness of my great work, that this has come on me.--Ho, Marmion!carry these tidings from me to the Dean; pray him that the knell betolled at the Minster, and a requiem sung for my brother and all who fellwith him. We will be there ourselves, and the mayor must hold us excusedfrom his banquet; these men are too loyal not to grieve for their King.'

  And, with his arm round the neck of his brother John, Henry left theroom; and before another word could be said, Sir Nigel was there, havingonly retired on the King's entrance. The news was of course all over thehouse, and with an old attendant's freedom he exclaimed, 'So, Sir, theEnglish have found tough cummers at last!'

  'Not too honourably,' said James, sad
ly.

  'Hout, would not the puir loons be glad enow of any gate of coming by aclout at the man's brother that keeps you captive!'

  'They have taken away one of those I loved best!' said James.

  'I'm no speaking ill of the lad Clarence himself,' said Nigel; 'he was abraw youth, leal and bold, and he has died in his helm and spurs, as agood knight should. I'd wish none of these princes a waur ending.Moreover, could Swinton have had the wit to keep him living, he'd havebeen a bonnie barter for you, my Lord; but ony way the fight was agallant one, and the very squire that brought the tidings cannot denythat our Scots fought like lions.'

  'Would Douglas but so fight in any good quarrel!' sighed the King. 'Butwhat are you longing to ask, Malcolm? Is it for your kinsman Patrick? Ifear me that there is little chance of your hearing by name of him.'

  'I wot not,' said Sir Nigel; 'I did but ask for that hare-brained youngcousin of mine, Davie Baird, that must needs be off on this journey toFrance; and the squire tells me he was no herald, to be answerable forthe rogues that fought on the other side.'

  'We shall soon see for ourselves,' said James; 'I am to make thiscampaign.'

  'You! you, my liege! Against your own ally, and under the standard ofEngland! Woe's me, how could ye be so lost!'

  James argued on his own conviction that the true France was with poorCharles VI., and that it was doing the country no service to prolong theresistance of the Armagnacs and the Dauphin, who then appeared merepartisans instead of patriots. As to fighting under the English banner,no subjection was involved in an adventurer king so doing: had not theKing of Bohemia thus fought at Crecy? and was not the King of Sicily withthe French army? Moreover, James himself felt the necessity of gainingsome experience in the art of war. Theoretically he had studied it withall his might, from Caesar, Quintus Curtius, and that favourite modernauthority, the learned ecclesiastic, Jean Pave, who was the Vauban of thefifteenth century; and he had likewise obtained greedily all theinformation he could from Henry himself and his warriors; but all thishad convinced him that if war was to be more than a mere raid, conductedby mere spirit and instinct, some actual apprenticeship was necessary.Even for such a dash, Henry himself had told him that he would find hisbook-knowledge an absolute impediment without some practice, and wouldprobably fail for that very reason when opposed to tough old seasonedwarriors. And, prudence apart, James, at five-and-twenty, absolutelyglowed with shame at the thought that every one of his companions hadborne arms for at least ten years past, while his arrows had no mark butthe target, his lances had all been broken in the tilt-yard. It was thisargument that above all served to pacify old Bairdsbrae; though heconfessed himself very uneasy as to the prejudice it would create inScotland, and so evidently loathed the expedition, that James urged onhim to return to Scotland, instead of continuing his attendance. Therewas no fear but that his ransom would be accepted, and he had been absenttwelve years from his home.

  'No, no, my Lord; I sware to your father that I'd never quit you till Ibrought you safe home again, and, God willing, I'll keep my oath. Butwhat's this puir callant to do, that you were set upon rearing upon yourbooks at Windsor?'

  'He shall choose,' said James. 'Either he shall study at the learneduniversity at Oxford or at Paris, or he shall ride with me, and see howcities and battles are won. Speak not yet, cousin; it takes many monthsto shake out the royal banner, and you shall look about you ere deciding.Now give me yonder black cloak; they are assembling for the requiem.'

  Malcolm, as he followed his king, was not a little amazed to see thatHenry, the magnificent victor, was wrapped in a plain black sergegarment, his short dark hair uncovered, his feet bare; and that onarriving at the Minster he threw himself on his knees, almost on hisface, before the choir steps, there remaining while the _De profundis_and the like solemn and mournful strains floated through the darkvaultings above him, perhaps soothing while giving expression to theagony of his affliction, and self-accusation, not for the devastation ofthe turbulent country of an insane sovereign, but for his having relaxedin the mighty work of renovation that he had imposed on himself.

  Even when the service was ended, the King would not leave the Minster. Helifted himself up to bid Bedford and his companions return; but forhimself, he intended to remain and confess, in preparation for being'houselled' at the Mass for the dead early the next morning, beforehastening on the southern journey.

  Was this, thought the bewildered Malcolm as he fell asleep, the godlessatmosphere he had been used to think all that was not Glenuskie orColdingham--England above all?

  Indeed, in the frosty twilight of the spring morning, though Henry wasnow clad in his usual garb, sleeplessness, sorrow, and fasting made himas wan and haggard as any ascetic monk; his eyes were sunken, and hisclosed lips bore a stern fixed expression, which scarcely softened evenwhen the sacrificial rite struck the notes of praise; and though a lightcame into his eye, it was rather the devotion of one who had offeredhimself, than the gleam of hopeful exultation. The horses stood saddledat the west door, for Henry was feverishly eager to reach Pontefract,where he had left his queen, and wished to avoid the delay of breakinghis fast at York, but only to snatch a meal at some country hostel on hisway.

  Round the horses, however, a crowd of the citizens were collected togaze; and two or three women with children in their arms made piteousentreaties for the King's healing touch for their little ones. The kindHenry waited, ungloved his hand, asked his treasurer for the gold piecesthat were a much-esteemed part of the cure, and signed to his attendantchaplain to say the Collect appointed for the rite.

  Fervent blessings were meantime murmured through the crowd, which brokeout into loud shouts of 'God save King Harry!' as he at length leapt intothe saddle; but at that moment, a feeble, withered old man, leaning on astaff, and wearing a bedesman's gown, peered up, and muttered to acomrade--

  'Fair-faced, quotha--fair, maybe, but not long for this world! One isgone already, and the rest will not be long after; the holy man's wordswill have their way--the death mark is on him.'

  The words caught James's ear, and he angrily turned round: 'Foul-mouthedraven, peace with thy traitor croak!' but Bedford caught his arm, crying--

  'Hush! 'tis a mere bedesman;' and bending forward to pour a handful ofsilver into the beggar's cap, he said, 'Pray, Gaffer, pray--pray for thedead and living, both.'

  'So,' said James, as both mounted, 'there's a fee for a boding traitor.'

  'I knew his face,' said Bedford, with a shudder; 'he belonged toArchbishop Scrope.'

  'A traitor, too,' said James.

  'Nay, there was too much cause for his words. Never shall I forget theday when Scrope was put to death on this very moor on which we areentering. There sat my father on his horse, with us four boys aroundhim, when the old man passed in front of us, and looked at him with aface pitiful and terrible. "Harry of Bolingbroke," he said, "becausethou hast done these things, therefore shall thy foes be of thine ownhousehold; the sword shall never depart therefrom, but all the increaseof thy house shall die in the flower of their age, and in the fourthgeneration shall their name be clean cut off." The commons will have itthat at that moment my father was struck with leprosy; and struck to theheart assuredly he was, nor was he ever the same man again. I alwaysbelieved that those words made him harder upon every prank of poor Hal's,till any son save Hal would have become his foe! And see now, the oldbedesman may be in the right; poor pretty Blanche has long been in hergrave, Thomas is with her now, and Jamie,'--he lowered his voice,--'whenmen say that Harry hath more of Alexander in him than there is in othermen, it strikes to my heart to think of the ring lying on the emptythrone.'

  'Now,' said James, 'what strikes _me_ is, what doleful bodings can comeinto a brave man's head on a chill morning before he has broken his fast.A tankard of hot ale will chase away omens, whether of bishop orbedesman.'

  'It may chase them from the mind, but will not make away with them,' saidJohn. 'But I might have known better than t
o speak to you of suchthings--you who are well-nigh a Lollard in disbelief of all beyondnature.'

  'No Lollard am I,' said James. 'What Holy Church tells me, I believedevoutly; but not in that which she bids me loathe as either craft ofdevils or of men.'

  'Ay, of which? There lies the question,' said John.

  'Of men,' said the Scottish king; 'of men who have wit enough to lay holdof the weaker side even of a sober youth such as Lord John of Lancaster!Your proneness to believe in sayings and prophecies, in sorceries andmagic, is the weakest point of all of you.'

  'And it is the weakest point in you, James, that you will not credit uponproof, such proof as was the fulfilment of the prophecy of the place ofmy father's death.'

  'One such saying as that, fulfilled to the ear, though not in truth, ismade the plea for all this heart-sinking--ay, and what is worse, for thedurance of your father's widow as a witch, and of her brave young son,because forsooth his name is Arthur of Richemont, and some old Welshrhymester hath whispered to Harry that Richmond shall come out ofBrittany, and be king of England.'

  'Arthur is no worse off than any other captive of Agincourt,' saidBedford; 'and I tell you, James, the day may come when you will rue yourwant of heed to timely warnings.'

  'Better rue once than pine under them all my life, and far better thanlet them betray me into deeming some grewsome crime an act of justice, asyou may yet let them do,' said James.

  Such converse passed between the two princes, while King Henry rode inadvance, for the most part silent, and only desirous of reachingPontefract Castle, where he had left the young wife whose presence helonged for the more in his trouble. The afternoon set in with heavyrain, but he would not halt, although he gave free permission to any ofhis suite to do so; and James recommended Malcolm to remain, and come onthe next day with Brewster. The boy, however, disclaimed all weariness,partly because bashfulness made him unwilling to venture from under hisroyal kinsman's wing, and partly because he could not bear to let theEnglish suppose that a Scotsman and a Stewart could be afraid of weather.As the rain became harder with the evening twilight, silence sank uponthe whole troop, and they went splashing on through the deep lanes, inmud and mire, until the lights of Pontefract Castle shimmered on highfrom its hill. The gates were opened, the horses clattered in, torchescame forth, flickering and hissing in the darkness. The travellers wentthrough what seemed to Malcolm an interminable number of courts andgateways, and at length flung themselves off their horses, when Henry,striding on, mounted the steps, entered the building, and, turning thecorner of a great carved screen, he and his brother, with James andMalcolm, found themselves in the midst of a blaze of cressets and tapers,which lighted up the wainscoted part of the hall.

  The whole scene was dazzling to eyes coming in from the dark, and onlyafter a moment or two could Malcolm perceive that, close to the greatfire, sat a party of four, playing at what he supposed to be that Frenchgame with painted cards of which Patrick Drummond had told him, and thatthe rest seemed to be in attendance upon them.

  Dark eyed and haired, with a creamy ivory skin, and faultless form andfeature, the fair Catherine would have been unmistakable, save that asHenry hurried forward, the lights glancing on his jaded face, mattedhair, and soaked dress, the first to spring forward to meet him was ahandsome young man, who wrung his hand, crying, 'Ah, Harry, Harry, then'tis too true!' while the lady made scarcely a step forwards: no shade ofcolour tinged her delicate cheek; and though she did not resist hisfervent embrace, it was with a sort of recoil, and all she was heard tosay was, '_Eh, Messire, vos bottes sont crottees_!'

  'You know all, Kate?' he asked, still holding her hand, and lookingafraid of inflicting a blow.

  'The battle? Is it then so great a disaster?' and, seeing his amazedglance, 'The poor Messire de Clarence! it was pity of him; he was ahandsome prince.'

  'Ah, sweet, he held thee dear,' said Henry, catching at the crumb ofsympathy.

  'But yes,' said Catherine, evidently perplexed by the strength of hisfeeling, and repeating, 'He was a _beau sieur courtois_. But surely itwill not give the Armagnacs the advantage?'

  'With Heaven's aid, no! But how fares it with poor Madge--his wife, Imean?'

  'She is away to her estates. She went this morn, and wished to havetaken with her the Demoiselle de Beaufort; but I forbade that--I couldnot be left without one lady of the blood.'

  'Alack, Joan--' and Henry was turning, but Catherine interrupted him.'You have not spoken to Madame of Hainault, nor to the Duke of Orleans.Nay, you are in no guise to speak to any one,' she added, looking withrepugnance at the splashes of mud that reached even to his waist.

  'I will don a fresh doublet, sweetheart,' said Henry, more rebuked thanseemed fitting, 'and be ready to sup anon.'

  'Supper! We supped long ago.'

  'That may be; but we have ridden long since we snatched our meal, that Imight be with thee the sooner, my Kate.'

  'That was not well in you, my Lord, to come in thus dishevelled, steamingwith wet--not like a king. You will be sick, my Lord.'

  The little word of solicitude recalled his sweet tender smile ofgratitude. No fear, _ma belle_; sickness dares not touch me.'

  'Then,' said the Queen, 'you will be served in your chamber, and we willfinish our game.'

  Henry turned submissively away; but Bedford tarried an instant to say,'Fair sister, he is sore distressed. It would comfort him to have youwith him. He has longed for you.'

  Catherine opened her beautiful brown eyes in a stare of surprise andreproof at the infraction of the rules of ceremony which she had broughtwith her. John of Bedford had never seemed to her either _beau_ or_courtois_, and she looked unutterable things, to which he replied by anelevation of his marked eyebrows.

  She sat down to her game, utterly ignoring the other princes in theirweather-beaten condition; and they were forced to follow the King, andmake their way to their several chambers, for Queen Catherine's will waslaw in matters of etiquette.

  'The proud peat! She is jealous of every word Harry speaks--even to hiscousin,' muttered James, as he reached his own room. 'You saw her,though,--you saw her!' he added, smiling, as he laid his hand onMalcolm's shoulder.

  The boy coloured like a poppy, and answered awkwardly enough, 'The LadyJoan, Sir?'

  'Who but the Lady Joan, thou silly lad? How say'st thou? Will notScotland forget in the sight of that fair face all those fulephantasies--the only folly I heard at Glenuskie?'

  'Methinks,' said Malcolm, looking down in sheer awkwardness, 'it wereeasier to bow to her than to King Harry's dame. She hath more ofstateliness.'

  'Humph!' said James, 'dost so serve thy courtly 'prenticeship? Nay, butin a sort I see thy meaning. The royal blood of England shows itself toone who hath an eye for princeliness of nature.'

  'Nay,' said Malcolm, gratified, 'those dark eyes and swart locks--'

  'Dark eyes--swart locks!' interrupted the King. 'His wits have gone wool-gathering.'

  'Indeed, Sir!' exclaimed Malcolm, 'I thought you meant the lady who stoodby the Queen's table, with the grand turn of the neck and the whitewimple and veil.'

  'Pshaw!' said James; 'the foolish callant! he hath taken that great brownLuxemburg nun of Dame Jac's for the Rose of Somerset.'

  However, James, seeing how confounded the boy was by this momentarydispleasure, explained to him who the other persons he had seenwere--Jaqueline, the runaway Countess of Hainault in her own right, andDuchess of Brabant by marriage; Humfrey, duke of Gloucester, the King'syoung, brilliant brother; the grave, melancholy Duke of Orleans, who hadbeen taken captive at Agincourt, and was at present quartered atPontefract; the handsome, but stout and heavy-looking Earl of March;brave Lord Warwick; Sir Lewis Robsart, the old knight to whose charge theQueen had been specially committed from the moment of her betrothal; anda young, bold, gay-looking lad, of Malcolm's own age, but far taller andstouter, and with a merry, half-defiant, half-insouciant air, who hadgreatly taken his fancy, was, he was told, Ralf Percy, th
e second son ofSir Harry Percy.

  'Of him they called Hotspur?--who was taken captive at Otterburn, whodied a rebel!' exclaimed Malcolm.

  'Ay,' said James; 'but King Harry had learnt the art of war as a boy,first under Hotspur, in Wales; nor doth he love that northern fashion ofours of keeping up feud from generation to generation. So hath herestored the eldest son to his barony, and set him to watch our Borders;and the younger, Ralf, he is training in his own school of chivalry.'

  More wonders for Malcolm Stewart, who had learnt to believe it meredishonour and tameness to forgive the son for his father's deeds. Acloistered priest could hardly do so: pardon to a hostile family cameonly with the last mortal throe; and here was this warlike king forgivingas a mere matter of course!

  'But,' added James, 'you had best not speak of your bent conventwards inthe Court here. I should not like to have you called the monkling!'

  Malcolm crimsoned, with the resolution never to betray himself.