CHAPTER XXXIV.
A dungeon is by no means an agreeable place; and the dungeon of poorEdward Langdale was not an agreeable dungeon. As was common at thattime, before Vauban and others had introduced a better system offortification, the principal defence of the Castle of Coiffy was a wetditch or fosse, which differed little from those we see surrounding oldcastles of the feudal period. This wet ditch was supplied with abundanceof water from a spring a little higher up the hill, which, indeed, wasthe source of one of the principal confluents of the Aube; but the soil,as I have said elsewhere, being somewhat sandy, the banks suffered thewater to percolate, somewhat to the detriment of the foundations of thecastle; and, had not the masonry been very heavy and the mortar somewhatbetter than we use in building cockney villas, the square flanking-towerto the right of the gateway as you look east would have been down fiftyyears before and crushed to death the denizens of poor Edward'sdungeon,--if it had been furnished with tenants at that time.
Now, doubtless the reader learned in romance-composition may imaginethat I am merely preparing the way for a fine scene of escape fromprison, with melodramatic incidents, new songs, scenery, anddecorations. But, as I am sorry to say no such heroic result was at thistime achieved by Lord Montagu's page, I cannot use it as an incident inthis part of my true history. I only mention the percolation of thewater of the fosse, and its effect upon the foundations amongst whichthat and other dungeons were placed, to show that the place of the pooryouth's confinement was as damp and disagreeable as it could be. Somestones had fallen from the vault above, some large detached pieces ofmortar, green and shiny, covered the mud or stone floor, and the wallswere all glistening with dampness; but those walls were too thick andthe blocks of stone of which they were composed too heavy for anyunaided prisoner to have worked his way out, with the utmost diligence.In one corner of the miserable hole was a sort of camp-bedstead, with astraw bed covered with yellow and green stains from long exposure to thefoul, moist air,--disgust and sickness and death to lie upon; and inanother corner, high up on the wall, was a little grated window, not sohigh as the opposite parapet of the glacis, but sufficiently so to admitthe air and the sounds from without. The wall was too thick to allow ofa prisoner catching even a glimpse of the blue sky or to permit one rayof the sun to enter, even at his rising or his setting. It was indeed adesolate chamber. What an expressive word that _desolate_ is! Althoughsometimes in the heats of an almost tropical climate--heats often moreintense than I ever heard of in the tropics themselves--I sometimesgrumble a little at the power and ardor of the sun, yet what would theearth be without him? what is any place on the earth's surface which hedoes not visit? Desolate, desolate indeed!
The first sound which Edward heard after the bolts had ceased to gratein their sockets was that of a cannon, apparently from the walls of thecastle. Some few minutes after the same sound seemed to be repeated froma distance. It might be an echo. He could not tell. But a moment or twoafter another report was heard, certainly nearer; and then two moreconfirmed his fancy that they were signal-guns announcing that thewell-watched English envoy had been captured and was a prisoner atCoiffy. Some three hours then passed, if not in perfect silence, atleast only enlivened by the voices of some soldiers on the ramparts; andthen came the squeaking of the wry-necked fife and the beating of drums,intimating to Edward that troops of some kind were drawing round Coiffy.Then were heard voices on the drawbridge, and gay laughter, as ifofficers were being received into the castle with signs of honor.
All that passed away, and silence resumed her reign till night fell. Thelight in the lantern burned down almost to the socket. No meat, nodrink, had been brought to the prisoner; and he began to ask himself ifit could be their intention to starve him there in darkness. Hisfeelings were not pleasant.
Just about that time there was some noise and bustle heard fromwithout,--probably on the drawbridge or at the gate,--the tramp ofhorses, and voices speaking. Then for a few minutes all was silentagain. Then there were sounds just above, more distinct and clear thanany he had hitherto heard,--people speaking, and others moving slowlyabout,--evidently penetrating to the cell which Edward tenanted by thebroken parts of the vault on which the flooring of the upper chamberrested.
"Oh!" cried a voice, with a groan, "you have got me by the shoulder juston the wound! Do not do that! Put your hand lower down: not there, notthere!--lower still. That young devil! he does not miss his mark,indeed!"
"Lay him on the bed,--flat on his back," said another voice. "Now, Brin,is not that easier for you?" And then followed several sentences in alanguage Edward did not understand at all.
"The two blacksmiths," said Edward to himself. "They have just broughtin the wounded man."
For some half-hour various sounds succeeded, some distinct, othersconfused, to which the young prisoner did not pay much attention; andthen there was a sort of lull,--not quite silence, but still much lessbustle. Even slight sounds were easily distinguishable in the dungeon;for the roof was so far dilapidated that here and there the rays oflight from above found their way through a chink in the flooring andtraced a yellow line upon the pavement. He could hear the wounded mangroan and ask in a faint tone for drink.
"He is badly hurt, it seems," said Edward Langdale to himself: "if thehorse had not shied away, it would have gone through his head and servedthe traitor right."
Edward wanted a little more softening to make him a real sentimentalhero; but I can only paint him as I find him. He did not feel theslightest remorse for what he had done. He thought it but right,--butjust; and he would have done it over again the next minute. It is true,the groans of the wounded man did somewhat annoy him. He felt nopleasure in his pain; but, as to the mere fact of having shot himbecause he had betrayed his lord, Edward was as hard as a stone.
It seemed, indeed, as if Monsieur de Bourbonne was inclined to try uponthe young Englishman the treatment sometimes employed to tame wildbeasts,--fasting and darkness. He had kept him without food all day; andnow the light in the lantern went out, and all was obscure in thedungeon, except where those yellow streaks from above checkered thefloor; and the youth's only entertainment was to listen while a gooddeal of walking to and fro and speaking took place overhead. He divinedfrom all he heard that a surgeon had been sent for and was performingsome operation upon the wounded man. At length the latter exclaimed,"Oh, you have got it now. There, there! that is comfortable. It feels asif you had pulled out a hot coal!"
Just at that time a soldier opened the dungeon-door and brought in apitcher of cool water and some bread.
"Am I to be kept in darkness?" asked Edward.
"I don't know," answered the man, holding up his own lantern to look athim: "you have offended Monsieur le Comte mightily, it seems; but I donot suppose that he intends you should have no light."
"Well, tell him something for me," replied Edward. "Say that I amgreatly obliged to him for all his kindness, but that I have friends inFrance who will repay him sevenfold, or I am much mistaken in them."
The man went away without reply, but returned in a minute or two with afresh candle.
"Did you tell him?" asked Edward.
"Yes," answered the soldier, who seemed a good-natured sort of person;"I told him. But you had better not enrage him. It will do no good,young gentleman."
Edward ate heartily of his poor fare, and drank the cool water as if ithad been nectar. He had hardly finished the temperate meal, when heheard a voice above which he recognised by a slight hesitation of speechas that of Monsieur de Bourbonne; and he certainly might be excused inhis circumstances for listening with all his ears.
First the count made several inquiries as to the state of the woundedman; and then he added, "Well, my good friend, I have got the youngtiger who scratched you safely caged in the worst dungeon of the castle.I hope you will get well; but if you should die I will hang him from the_herse_."
"For God's sake, do not do that, monseigneur," cried the companion ofthe patient.
"If I d
ie, hang him as high as you please," growled the voice of MaitreBrin: "the cardinal cannot do any thing to me after I am dead, and theyoung devil had better go with me."
"Ha!" said Monsieur de Bourbonne, apparently in a tone of some surprise:"he boasts of having some good friends in France, and speaks as if hepersonally knew his Eminence."
"And so he does," said Brin's more timid companion: "he is a greatfavorite of the cardinal; and Monsieur de Tronson warned us not to toucha hair of his head under any circumstances. He said that we should beheld to answer for any evil that happened to him. We were only to followhim wherever he went from Nantes, and not lose sight of him till hejoined the English lord."
"Then did you first see him at Nantes?" asked the count.
"Surely," replied the other: "we waited in the court-yard while he wasin with the cardinal, that we might take good note of him as he cameout."
There was a silence of some minutes, and then the voice of the sick manwas heard saying, "After all, you had better not treat him badly,monseigneur. I do not think I am very much hurt; and if he is hardlyused some of us will suffer, you may be sure."
"You should have told me this before," said Monsieur de Bourbonne, in avery sharp tone.
"Why, what time had we to tell you any thing, monseigneur?" asked thewounded man's brother.
"At all events, we tell you now," growled Brin; "and this talking is notlikely to do me good. The lad is as fierce as a young wolf. Hethreatened to shoot me once before; but he is a pet of thecardinal,--one of his own people, for aught we know,--and, now that youare told he is so, you may use him as you think fit. It is no fault ofours: we have not hurt him."
It is probable that the interview was less satisfactory to the Count deBourbonne than he had expected; for he brought it speedily to aconclusion, and Edward for full half an hour after heard the two menabove talking together in the language he did not understand. At the endof that time the bolt of the door was undrawn, and the soldier who hadpreviously brought him bread and water appeared again, with somewhat ofa grin upon his face.
"Well, young gentleman," he said, "Monsieur le Comte begs you will sendhim up the safe-conduct you mentioned to him. After seeing that, perhapsthey may treat you better."
"Tell him I will not!" said Edward, in a resolute tone: "he may come andtake it from me by force,--or he may see it here in my presence; but Igive it out of my own hands to no one,--especially not to one who hastreated me unlike a soldier and a gentleman. Tell him what I say."
The soldier laughed. "'Pon my word, you are a bold one!" he said. "Doyou not know you are quite in his power?"
"Not so much as you think," replied Edward: "I am not the least afraidof him. Tell him exactly what I say."
A full hour passed; and probably it was spent in some degree of anxiousand hesitating deliberation between Monsieur de Bourbonne and the Countde Boulogne, his father-in-law, for they remained the whole of that timeshut up together in a small room on the second floor. One can easilyconceive that it was a hard thing for a proud and irritable man to makeany concession to a mere lad who set him at defiance in languagesomewhat tinged with contempt. But a bold face stoutly kept up has agreat effect upon most men; and if Edward had known the count intimatelyhe could not (though it was entirely accidental) have chosen his coursebetter. De Bourbonne was brave, and even rash; but he had a terriblereverence for power, and, when he found the youth's account of himselfconfirmed even by the very man whose life he had nearly taken, fancyconjured up all sorts of ministerial indignation, and showed him theservice he had rendered in the capture of Lord Montagu--on which he hadbased many gorgeous dreams--more than counterbalanced in the eyes ofRichelieu by his treatment of one of the cardinal's favorites. Monsieurde Boulogne, too, an older and milder man, strongly counselledmoderation and gentleness, somewhat censured what had been already done,and advised recourse to measures perhaps too directly and suddenlyopposed.
Still, pride struggled hard with De Bourbonne. He vowed he did not andwould not believe the tale which he had heard. What hold, he asked,could a mere fierce English lad have upon the cardinal? and for sometime his father-in-law reminded him in vain that Richelieu, though awonderfully great man, was somewhat capricious in his affections,suggested that, as he was not a little superstitious, too, in regard toastrology and the occult sciences, he might find some imaginaryconnection between the youth's fate and his own, and pointed out that itwas utterly improbable Edward should treat him with such daringdisrespect if he was not certain of some very strong support.
In the mean time the poor prisoner remained in some doubt and anxiety.Imprisonment, solitude, and low diet had gone some way to tame the wildbird, and the uncertainty of the last hour had been very heavy. He hadfancied that the words he had heard spoken by the wounded man and hiscompanion would produce an immediate change; but, as minute after minutepassed by and nothing indicated any better treatment, he began todespond. At length, however, he heard the tramp of feet and the jingleof spurs, and a man with a torch opened the door, admitting Monsieur deBoulogne and one or two attendants.
"Young gentleman," said the old nobleman, with a reproving but fatherlyair, "you have been acting very rashly and impetuously toward the countmy son-in-law."
"And how has he been acting toward me, sir?" asked Edward, in a morerespectful tone than he had used in speaking to the younger man.
"Somewhat harshly, I am afraid," said the other, looking round him: "hecould not have known the state of this place, or he would not have putyou here."
"What right had he to put me in a dungeon at all?" asked Edward.
"Why, you shot and nearly killed one of his attendants," was the reply.
"Not at all," answered Edward. "You are deceived, sir. I shot anattendant of Lord Montagu whom I caught in the act of betraying hismaster. Ask his lordship--ask the man himself or his brother--if theyhad not both taken service with my lord and received his money."
The old gentleman smiled. "That puts a new face upon the matter," hesaid. "But let us leave recriminations. I wish to smooth matters downbetween you and my fiery relative. You say you have a safe-conduct fromhis Eminence of Richelieu. Let me see it."
"On the sole condition, sir, that you restore it to me at once," saidEdward, putting his hand into a pocket in the breast of his coat andtaking out the passport in its velvet case.
"Let me examine it," said Monsieur de Boulogne. "Do not fear. You shallhave it again in a moment."
"I do not fear," replied the youth, giving him the case. "I am sure youare a man of honor, by your face."
"Here, man, hold the torch nearer," said the count; and, putting a pairof spectacles--or banicles, as they were then commonly called--upon hisnose, he proceeded to examine the safe-conduct minutely. But all was inproper form and order, calling upon all royal officers, governors ofcities, castles, or provinces, to let the Seigneur Edward Langdale andsuite pass and repass, without limitation of time or place, throughoutthe land of France; and there was the seal of the council, and theundoubted signature of the prime minister.
The face of the count turned very grave as he read. "This is odd!" hesaid. "My son should have seen this. Here is your suite mentioned, younggentleman. Of whom consists your suite?"
"I might reply," said Edward, "that any one I choose to name is of mysuite, for his Eminence put no restriction. But I wish not to quibble.The suite of which he speaks is now at Nancy,--with the exception of onepage," he added, half smiling, "who is in Venice."
"Well, this is all very strange," said the old man. "I cannot understandthe cardinal's giving you such a wide safe-conduct at all,--anEnglishman,--and a youth like you."
"I am neither bound nor inclined to explain the motives of hisEminence," replied Edward. "If you think fit to interrogate any one uponthat subject, it must be himself."
"God forbid!" cried Monsieur de Boulogne, eagerly. "There! take thepaper and come with me. I will take this business on myself. Two suchyoung, rash spirits may make mischief."
Edwar
d followed, willingly enough; and the old count led him up thestairs from the dungeon to a tolerably comfortable room in one of thetowers above, where he left him on his promise to remain till Monsieurde Bourbonne could be conferred with. In a few minutes the two noblemenentered together, De Bourbonne evidently struggling--not verysuccessfully--to keep up his dignity while forced to make disagreeableconcessions.
"The Count de Boulogne informs me, sir," he said, "that you have reallygot a safe-conduct from his Eminence of Richelieu."
"Which you have known ever since mid-day," said Edward.
"Hush! hush!" said the elder gentleman. "No more of that. Tell myson-in-law, young gentleman, what it is you demand of him in thecircumstances."
"I demand that he shall respect the cardinal's safe-conduct," answeredthe youth.
But De Bourbonne waved his hand, saying, "I will respect it by sendingyou to his Eminence under guard on the very first opportunity. Whatmore?"
"That I be no more put in a wet dungeon; that I be not fed on bread andwater; that I have my baggage restored to me; and that I be treated inevery respect as that safe-conduct gives me a right to expect."
"Granted," said the count, "but upon the clear understanding that youare a prisoner and remain such till I can send you to the cardinal."
"With the clear understanding added," replied Edward, "that you shall becalled to a strict account for every hour you keep me prisoner withoutlawful cause, and for your manifest disobedience of the cardinal'swritten orders under his own hand and seal."
The count's face flushed, and he exclaimed, in evident embarrassment,"What the fiend are you to the cardinal, or the cardinal to you?"
But Edward saw that, one way or another, he had got the advantage."That, sir," he said, in a cool tone, "you may have to learn hereafter,from other lips than mine. In the mean time you can do exactly as youthink fit. Obey the commands you have received in the king's name, ordisobey them, as seems expedient to you; but only do not put me in adamp dungeon or feed me on bread and water any more, for it is asunpleasant to me as it may be dangerous to yourself."
"But suppose the safe-conduct is a forgery," said De Bourbonne.
"It would be a curious one," replied the youth, with perfectcomposure,--"somewhat bold to devise and difficult to practise. Of thatyou can judge yourself; but take care you judge right. I have but oneother demand to make; namely, to be permitted to visit my Lord Montagu."
"He has gone to bed," said De Bourbonne, sharply, "and I shall considerof the matter further till to-morrow. I have now one more question. Howmuch liberty in this castle do you want? It will depend entirely uponwhether you do or do not give me your parole of honor that you will notattempt to escape."
"Now, this is strange!" said Edward, with an irrepressible laugh. "Onemoment I am suspected of forgery, and the next my word of honor is to berelied upon implicitly. However, Monsieur le Comte, as I have nointention of leaving you quite so soon, and as, if I did escape, Ishould run straight to his Eminence, to whom you say you intend to sendme, I will give you my parole. But would you allow me to insinuate thatI am exceedingly hungry, and that I have always considered a little goodwine of Beaugency better than a draught of cold water out of a pitchernot over-clean?"
Both the counts laughed; and old Monsieur de Boulogne, taking hisson-in-law by the arm, led him away, saying, in a low voice, "Come,come! I shall make you two better friends before I have done."
"You will need to do so, father," said M. de Bourbonne; "for, on mylife, it shall be long enough before that keen boy sees the cardinal. Ifwhat he says is true,--as I suppose it is,--the tales he has to tellmight ruin us; and, if it is false, he well deserves a good long spellof imprisonment."
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