CHAPTER IX: THE DANCE OF DEATH
The Queen was coming! No sooner had the first note of surrender beensounded from the towers of Meaux, than Henry had sent intelligence toEngland that the way was open for the safe arrival of his much-lovedwife; and at length, on a sunny day in May, tidings were received thatshe had landed in France, under the escort of the Duke of Bedford.
Vincennes, in the midst of its noble forest, was the place fixed for themeeting of the royal pair; and never did a happier or more brilliantcavalcade traverse those woodlands than that with which Henry rode to theappointed spot.
All the winter, the King had heeded appearances as little as of old whenroughing it with Hotspur in Wales; but now his dress was of the mostroyal. On his head was a small green velvet cap, encircled by a crown inembroidery; his robe was of scarlet silk, and over it was thrown a mantleof dark green samite, thickly powdered with tiny embroidered whiteantelopes; the Garter was on his knee, the George on his neck. It was akingly garb, and well became the tall slight person and fair noblefeatures. During these tedious months he had looked wan, haggard, andcareworn; but the lines of anxiety were all effaced, his lustrous blueeyes shone and danced like Easter suns, his complexion rivalled the freshdelicate tints of the blossoms in the orchards; and when, with a shynessfor which he laughed at himself, he halted to brush away any trace ofdust that might offend the eye of his 'dainty Kate,' and gaily asked hisbrother king if he were sufficiently pranked out for a lady's bower,James, thinking he had never seen him so handsome, replied:
'Like a young bridegroom--nay, more like a young suitor.'
'You're jealous, Jamie--afraid of being outshone. 'Tis is your ownfault, man; none can ever tell whether you be in festal trim or not.'
For King James's taste was for sober, well-blending hues; and as he neverlapsed into Henry's carelessness, his state apparel was not veryapparently dissimilar from his ordinary dress, being generally of darkrich crimson, blue, or russet, with the St. Andrew's cross in white silkon his breast, or else the ruddy lion, but never conspicuously; and thesombre hues always seemed particularly well to suit his auburn colouring.
Malcolm, in scarlet and gold, was a far gayer figure, and quite consciousof the change in his own appearance--how much taller, ruddier, andbrowner he had become; how much better he held himself both in riding andwalking; and how much awkwardness and embarrassment he had lost. Nowonder Esclairmonde had despised the sickly, timid, monkish school-boy;and if she had then shown him any sort of grace or preference, what wouldshe think of the princely young squire he could new show her, who hadseen service, had proved his valour, and was only not a knight because ofKing Henry's unkindness and King James's punctilio?--at any rate, nochild to be brow-beaten and silenced with folly about cloistraldedication, but a youth who had taken his place in the world, and couldallege that his inspiration had come through her bright eyes.
Would she be there? That was the chief anxiety: for it was not certainthat either she or her mistress would risk themselves on the Continent;and Catherine had given no intimation as to who would be in her suite--sothat, as Henry had merrily observed, he was the only one in the wholeparty who was not in suspense, except indeed Salisbury, who had sent hiscommands to his little daughter to come out with the Queen.
'She is come!' cried Henry. 'Beforehand with us, after all;' and hespurred his horse on as he saw the banner raised, and the escort aroundthe gate; and in a few seconds more he and his companions had hurriedthrough the court, where the ladies had scarcely dismounted, and hastenedinto the hall, breaking into the seneschal's solemn reception of theQueen.
'My Kate, my fairest! Mine eyes have been hungry for a sight of thee.'
And Catherine, in her horned head-gear and flutter of spangled veil, wasalmost swallowed up in his hearty embrace; and the fervency of his greatlove so far warmed her, that she clung to him, and tenderly said, 'Mylord, it is long since I saw you.'
'Thou wert before me! Ah! forgive thy tardy knight,' he continued,gazing at her really enhanced beauty as if he had eyes for no one else,even while with lip and hand, kiss, grasp, and word, he greeted hercompanions, of whom Jaqueline of Hainault and John of Bedford were themost prominent.
'And the babe! where is he?' then cried he. 'Let me have him to hold upto my brave fellows in the court!'
'The Prince of Wales?' said Catherine. 'You never spake of my bringinghim.'
'If I spake not, it was because I doubted not for a moment that you wouldkeep him with you. Nay, verily it is not in sooth that you left him. Youare merely sporting with use.'
'Truly, Sir,' said Catherine, 'I never guessed that you would clogyourself with a babe in the cradle, and I deemed him more safely nursedat Windsor.'
'If it be for his safety! Yet a soldier's boy should thrive amongsoldiers,' said the King, evidently much disappointed, and proceeding toeager inquiries as to the appearance and progress of his child; to whichthe Queen replied with a certain languor, as though she had no veryintimate personal knowledge of her little son.
Other eyes were meanwhile eagerly scanning the bright confusion of veilsand wimples; and Malcolm had just made out the tall head and dark locksunder a long almost shrouding white veil far away in the backgroundbehind the Countess of Hainault, when the Duke of Bedford came up with afrown of consternation on his always anxious face, and drawing King Jamesinto a window, said, 'What have you been doing to him?'--to which James,without hearing the question, replied, 'Where is _she_?'
'Joan? At home. It was the Queen's will. Of that another time. Butwhat means this?' and he signed towards his brother. 'Never saw I man sochanged.'
'Had you seen him at Christmas you might have said so,' replied James;'but now I see naught amiss; I had been thinking I had never seen him sofair and comely.'
'I tell you, James,' said Bedford, contracting his brows till they almostmet ever his arched nose, 'I tell you, his look brings back to me mymother's, the last time she greeted my father!'
'To your fantasy, not your memory, John! You were a mere babe at herdeath.'
'Of five years,' said Bedford. 'That face--that cough--have brought allback--ay, the yearning look when my father was absent, and the pure rosyfairness that Harry and Tom cited so fiercely against one who would havetold them how sick to death she was. I mind me too, that when ourgrandame of Hereford made us motherless children over to our grandsire ofLancaster, it was with a warning that Harry had the tender lungs of theBohuns, and needed care. One deadly sickness he had at Kenilworth, whenmy father was ridden for post-haste. My mind misgave me throughout thisweary siege; but his service held me fast at home, and I trusted that youwould watch over him.'
'A man like him is ill to guide,' said James; 'but he is more himself nowthan he has been for months, and a few weeks' quiet with his wife willrestore him. But what is this?' he proceeded in his turn; 'why is theLady Joan not here?'
'How can I tell? It was no fault of mine. I even got a prim warningthat it became me not to meddle about her ladies, and I doubted whatslanders you might hear if I were seen asking your Nightingale for atoken.'
'Have you none! Good John, I know you have.'
John smiled his ironical smile, produced from the pouch at his girdle asmall packet bound with rose-coloured silk, and said: 'The Nightingalehath a plume, you see, and saith, moreover, that her knight hath done hisdevoir passably, but that she yet looks to see him send some captivegiant to her feet. So, Sir Knight, I hope your poor dwarf hath acquittedhim well in your chivalrous jargon.'
James smiled and coloured with pleasure; the fantastic message was notdevoid of reality in the days when young imaginative spirits tried tohide the prose of war and policy in a bright mist of romantic fancy; norwas he ashamed to bend his manly head in reverence to, and even press tohis lips, his lady's first love-letter, in the very sight of thesatirical though sympathizing Bedford, of whom he eagerly asked of thefair Joan's health and welfare, and whether she were flouted by QueenCatherine.
'No
more than is the meed of her beauty,' said Bedford. 'Sister Katelikes not worship at any shrine save one. Look at our suite: ourknights--yea, our very grooms are picked for their comeliness; to witthat great feather-pated oaf of a Welshman, Owen Tudor there; while damesand demoiselles, tire-women and all, are as near akin as may be to SirGawain's loathly lady.'
'Not at least the fair Luxemburg. Did not I see her stately mien?'
'She is none of the Queen's, and moreover she stands aloof, so that thewomen forgive her gifts! There is that cough of Harry's again! He isthe shadow of the man he was; I would I knew if this were the step-dame'sdoing.'
'Nay, John, when you talk to me of Harry's cough, and of night-watchesand flooded camps, I hearken; but when your wits run wool-gathering afterthat poor woman, making waxen images stuck full--'
'You are in the right on't, James,' said Henry, who had come up to themwhile he was speaking. 'John will never get sorceries out of his head. Ihave thought it over, and will not be led into oppressing my father'swidow any more. I cannot spend this Pentecost cheerily till I know sheis set free and restored to her manors; and I shall write to Humfrey andthe Council to that effect.'
And as John shrugged his shoulders, Henry gaily added: 'Thou seest whatcomes of a winter spent with this unbeliever Jamie; and truly, I foundthe thought of unright to my father's widow was a worse pin in my heartthan ever she is like to thrust there.'
Thus then it was, that in the overflowing joy and good-will of his heart,and mayhap with the presentiment which rendered him willing to be atpeace with all his kindred, Henry forgave and released his step-mother,Joan of Navarre, whom common rumour termed the Witch Queen, and whom hehad certainly little reason to love, whether it were true or not that shehad attempted to weave spells against him. In fact, there were few ofthe new-comers from England who did not, like Bedford, impute thetransparency of Henry's hands, and the hollowness of his brightly-tintedcheek, to some form of sorcery.
Meantime, Esclairmonde de Luxemburg, more beautiful than ever under astill simpler dress, had greeted Malcolm with her wonted kindness;adding, with a smile, that he was so much grown and embrowned that sheshould not have known him but for the sweet Scottish voice which he, likehis king, possessed.
'You do me too much grace in commending aught that is mine, madame,' saidMalcolm, with an attempt at the assurance he believed himself to haveacquired; but he could only finish by faltering and blushing. There wasa power of repression about Esclairmonde that annihilated all hisdesigns, and drove him back into his bashful self whenever he came intocontact with her, and felt how unlike the grave serene loftiness of herpresence was to the mere queen of romance, that in her absence her shadowhad become.
Alice Montagu, returning to her side, relieved while disconcerting him.Sweet little Alice had been in a continual flutter ever since commandshad come from Meaux that she was to come out to meet the father whom shehad not seen since what seemed like half her childish lifetime, and thebetrothed whom she had never seen at all; and Lady Westmoreland had addedto her awe by the lengthened admonition with which she took leave of her.And on this day, when Esclairmonde herself had arrayed the fair child inthe daintiest of rose-pink boddices edged with swan's-down, the whitestof kirtles, and softest of rosy veils, the flush of anxiety on the palelittle face made it so fair to look upon, that as the maiden wistfullyasked, 'Think you he will flout me?' it was impossible not to laugh atthe very notion. 'Ah! but I would be glad if he did, for then I mightbide with you.'
When, in the general greeting, Alice had been sought out by a tall, dark-browed, grizzled warrior, Esclairmonde had, cruelly, as the maidenthought, kept her station behind the Countess, and never stirred for allthose wistful backward glances, but left her alone to drop on her knee toseek the blessing of the mighty old soldier.
And now she was holding his great hand, almost as tough as his gauntlets,and leading him up to her friend, while he louted low, and spoke with agrand fatherly courtesy:
'Fair demoiselle, this silly wench of mine tells me that you have beengood friend to her, and I thank you for the same with all mine heart.'
'Silly' was a fond term of love then, and had all the affection of aproud father in it, as the Earl of Salisbury patted the small softfingers in his grasp.
'Truly, my lord,' responded Esclairmonde, 'the Lady Alice hath been mysweetest companion, friend, and sister, for these many months.'
'Nay, child, art worthy to be called friend by such a lady as this? Ifso, I shall deem my little Alice grown a woman indeed, as it is time shewere--Diccon Nevil is bent on the wedding before we go to the warsagain.'
Alice coloured like a damask rose, and hid her face behind her friend.
'Hast seen him, sweet?' asked Esclairmonde, when Salisbury had beencalled away. 'Is he here?'
'Yes; out there--he with the white bull on his surcoat,' said Alice,dreading to look that way.
'And hast spoken with him?' asked the lady next, feeling as if the stout,commonplace, hardy-looking soldier she saw was scarce what she would havechosen for her little wild rose of an Alice, comely and brave though hewere.
'He hath kissed mine hand,' faltered Alice, but it was quite crediblethat not a word had passed. The marriage was a business contract betweenthe houses of Wark and Raby, and a grand speculation for Sir RichardNevil, that was all; but gentle Alice had no reluctance beyond meremaidenly shyness, and unwillingness to enter on an unknown future under anew lord. She even whispered to her dear Clairette that she was glad SirRichard never tormented her by talking to her, and that he was grave, andso old.
'So old? why, little one, he can scarce be seven-and-twenty!'
'And is not that old? oh, so old!' said Alice. 'Able to take care of me.I would not have a youth like that young Lord of Glenuskie. Ohno--never!'
'That is well,' said Esclairmonde, smiling; 'but wherefore put suchdisdain in thy voice, Alice? He used to be our playfellow, and he hathgrown older and more manly in this year.'
'His boyhood was better than such manhood,' said Alice; 'he was more tomy taste when he was meek, than now that he seems to say, "I would besaucy if I durst." And he hath not the stuff to dare any way.'
'Fie! fie! Alice, you are growing slanderous.'
'Nay, now, Clairette, own verily--you feel the like!'
'Hush, silly one, what skills it? Youths must pass through temptation;and if his king hindered his vocation, maybe the poor lad may rue itsorely, but methinks he will come to the right at last. It were betterto say a prayer for his faults than to speak evil of them, Alice.'
Poor Malcolm! He was at that very moment planning with an embroiderer arobe wherein to appear, covered with flashes of lightning transfixing theworld, and mottoes around--'Esclaire mais Embrase'
Every moment that he was absent from Esclairmonde was spent in composingchivalrous discourses in which to lay himself at her feet, but the meresight of her steady dark eyes scattered them instantly from his memory;and save for very shame he would have entreated King James again to breakthe ice for him, since the lady evidently supposed that she had last yearentirely quashed his suit. And in this mood Malcolm mounted and took hisplace to ride into Paris, where the King wished to arrive in the evening,and with little preparation, so as to avoid the weary length of a statereception, with all its speeches and pageants.
In the glow of a May evening the cavalcade passed the gates, and enteredthe city, where the streets were so narrow that it was often impossibleto ride otherwise than two and two. The foremost had emerged into anopen space before a church and churchyard, when there was a sudden pause,a shock of surprise. All across the space, blocking up the way, was anenormous line of figures, looking shadowy in the evening light, andbearing the insignia of every rank and dignity that earth presented.Popes were there, with triple crown and keys, and fanned by peacocktails; scarlet-matted and caped cardinals, mitred and crosiered bishops,crowned and sceptred kings, ermined dukes, steel-clad knights, gownedlawyers, square-capped priests, cowled monks,
and friars of everydegree--nay, the mechanic with his tools, the peasant with his spade,even the beggar within his dish; old men, and children of every age; andwomen too of all grades--the tower-crowned queen, the beplumed dame, thelofty abbess, the veiled nun, the bourgeoise, the peasant, thebeggar;--all were there, moving in a strange shadowy wild dance,sometimes slow, sometimes swift and mad with gaiety, to the music of anunseen band of clashing kettle-drums, cymbals, and other instruments,that played fast and furiously; while above all a knell in the churchtower rang forth at intervals a slow, deep, lugubrious note; and all thetime there glided in and out through the ring a grislybeing--skull-headed, skeleton-boned, scythe in hand--Death himself; andever and anon, when the dance was swiftest, would he dart into the midst,pounce on one or other, holding an hour-glass to the face, unheedingrank, sex, or age, and bear his victim to the charnel-house beside thechurch. It was a sight as though some terrible sermon had taken life, asthough the unseen had become visible, the veil were taken away; and theimplicit unresisting obedience of the victims added to the sense of awfulreality and fatality.
The advance of the victorious King Henry made no difference to thecontinuousness of the frightful dance; nay, it was plain that he was butin the presence of a monarch yet more victorious than himself, and themazes wound on, the performers being evidently no phantoms, but assubstantial as those who beheld them; nay, the grisly ring began toabsorb the royal suite within itself, and an awe-stricken silenceprevailed--at least, where Malcolm Stewart and Ralf Percy were ridingtogether.
Neither lad durst ask the other what it meant. They thought they knewtoo well. Percy ceased not for one moment to cross himself, and mutterinvocations to the saints; Malcolm's memory and tongue alike seemed inertand paralyzed with horror--his brain was giddy, his eyes stretched open;and when Death suddenly turned and darted in his direction, one horriblegush of thought--'Fallen, fallen! Lost, lost! No confession!'--cameover him; he would have sobbed out an entreaty for mercy and for apriest, but it became a helpless shriek; and while Percy's sword flashedbefore his eyes, he felt himself falling, death-stricken, to the earth,and knew no more.
'There--he moved,' said a voice above him.
'How now, Glenuskie?' cried Ralf Percy. 'Look up; I verily thought youwere sped by Death in bodily shape; but 'twas all an abominable grislypageant got up by some dismal caitiffs.'
'It was the Danse Macabre,' added the sweet tone that did indeed uncloseMalcolm's eyes, to see Esclairmonde bending over him, and holding wine tohis lips. Ralf raised him that he might swallow it, and looking round,he saw that he was in a small wainscoted chamber, with an old burgherwoman, Ralf Percy, and Esclairmonde; certainly not in the other world. Hestrove to ask 'what it meant,' and Esclairmonde spoke again:
'It is the Danse Macabre; I have seen it in Holland. It was invented asa warning to those of sinful life, and this good woman tells me it hasbecome the custom to enact it every evening at this churchyard of theHoly Innocents.'
'A custom I devoutly hope King Harry will break!' exclaimed Ralf. 'Ifnot, I'll some day find the way between those painted ribs of Monseigneurde la Mort, I can tell him! I had nearly given him a taste of my swordas it was, only some Gascon rogue caught my arm, and he was off ere Icould get free. So I jumped off, that your poor corpse should not betrodden by French heels; and I hardly know how it was, but the LadyEsclairmonde was by my side as I dragged you out, and caused these goodfolks to let me bring you in behind their shop.'
'Lady, lady, I am for ever beholden,' cried Malcolm, gathering himself upas if to fall at her feet, and his heart bounding high with joy, for thiswas from death to life indeed.
'I saw there was some one hurt,' said Esclairmonde in her repressivemanner. 'Drink some more wine, eat this bread, and you will be able toride to the Hotel de St. Pol.'
'Oh, lady, let me speak of my bliss!' and he snatched at her hand, butwas still so dizzy that he sank back, becoming aware that he was stiffand bruised from his fall. Almost at the same moment a new step andvoice were heard in the little open booth where the cutler displayed hiswares, and King James was at once admitted.
'How goes it, laddie?' he asked. 'They told me grim Death had clutchedyou and borne you off to his charnel-house; but at least I see an angelhas charge of you.'
Esclairmonde slightly coloured as she made answer:
'I saw some one fall, and came to offer my poor skill, Sir; but as theSieur de Glenuskie is fast recovering, if you will permit Sir Nigel Bairdto attend me, Sir, I will at once return.'
'I am ready--I am not hurt. Oh, let us go together!' panted Malcolm,leaping up.
'Eh, gentlemen!' exclaimed the hospitable cutler's wife; 'you will notaway so fast! This gallant knight will permit you to remain. And thefair lady, she will do me the honour to drink a cup of wine to therecovery of her betrothed.'
'Not so, good woman,' said Esclairmonde, a little apart, 'I am thebetrothed of Heaven. I only assisted because I feared the youth's fallwas more serious than it proves.'
The bourgeoise begged pardon, and made a curtsey; there was nothingunusual in the avowal the lady had made, when the convent was athoroughly recognized profession; but Esclairmonde could not carry outher purpose of departing separately with old Sir Nigel Baird; Malcolm wason his feet, quite ready to mount, and there was no avoiding the beingassisted to her saddle by any but the King, who was in truth quite asobjectionable a companion, as far as appearances went, for a youngsolitary maiden, as was Malcolm himself. Esclairmonde felt that herbenevolence might have led her into a scrape. When she had seen thefall, knowing that to the unprepared the ghastly pageant must seemreality, she had obeyed the impulse to hurry to the rescue, to consoleand aid in case of injury, and she had not even perceived that her femalecompanions did not attempt to accompany her. However, the mischancecould best be counteracted by simplicity and unconsciousness; so, as shefound herself obliged to ride by the King, she unconcernedly observedthat these fantastic dances might perhaps arouse sinners, but that theywere a horrible sight for the unprepared.
'Very like a dream becoming flesh and blood,' said James. 'We in advancewere slow to perceive what it was, and then the King merely thoughtwhether it would alarm the Queen.'
'I trow it did not.'
'No; the thing has not been found that will stir her placid face. Shemerely said it was very lugubrious, and an ill turn in the Parisians thusto greet her, but they were always senseless _betes_; and he, beingrelieved of care for her, looked with all his eyes, with a strangemixture of drollery at the antics and the masques, yet of grave musing atthe likeness to this present life.'
'I think,' said Esclairmonde, 'that King Henry is one of the few men towhom the spectacle _is_ a sermon. He laughs even while he lays a thingto heart.'
These few sentences had brought them to the concourse around the gatewayof the great Hotel de St. Pol, in whose crowded courtyard Esclairmondehad to dismount; and, after being handed through the hall by King James,to make her way to the ladies' apartments, and there find out, what shewas most anxious about, how Alice, who had been riding at some distancefrom her with her father, had fared under the alarm.
Alice ran up to her eagerly. 'Ah, dear Clairette, and was he greatlyhurt?'
'Not much; he had only swooned for fright.'
'Swooned! to be a prince, and not have the heart of a midge!'
'And how was it with you, you very wyvern for courage?'
'With me? Oh, I was somewhat appalled at first, when my father took holdof my rein, and bade me never fear; for I saw his face grow amazed. SirRichard Nevil rode up on the other side, and said the hobgoblins shouldeat out his heart ere they hurt me; and I looked into his face as he saidthat, and liked it more than ever I thought to like any but yours,Clairette. I think my father was going to leave me to him and seewhether the King needed some one to back him; but up came a French lord,and said 'twas all a mere show, and my father said he was glad I was astout-hearted wench that had never cried out for fear; and then I was soplea
sed, that I never heeded the ugly sight any more. Ay, and when SirRichard lifted me off my horse, he kissed my hand of his own accord.'
'This is all he has ever said to you?' said Esclairmonde, smiling. 'Itis like an Englishman--to the purpose.'
'Yea, is it not? Oh! is it not better than all the fine speeches andcompliments that Joan Beaufort gets from her Scottish king?'
'They have truths in them too, child.'
'Ay; but too fine-spun, too minstrel-like, for a plain English maid. Thehobgoblins should eat out his heart ere they touched me!' she repeated toherself, as though the saying were the most poetical concert sung onminstrel lover's lute.
Death's Dance had certainly brought this affianced pair to a betterunderstanding than all the gayest festivities of the Court.
Esclairmonde would have been happy if no one had noticed her benevolenceto the young Scot save Alice Montagu; but she had to endure countlessrailleries from every lady, from Countess Jaqueline downwards, on theunmistakable evidence that her heart had spoken; and her grave dignityhad less effect in silencing them than usual, so diverting was thealleged triumph over her propriety, well as they knew that she would havedone the same for the youngest horse-boy, or the oldest man-at-arms.
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