CHAPTER XXIII.
How frequently in real life, as upon the mimic stage, the most oppositescenes that it is possible to conceive follow each other in quicksuccession. Often, indeed, are they placed side by side, or only veiledfrom the eye of the spectator by a thin partition, which falls with atouch, and all is changed. While revelry haunts the saloons of life,anguish writhes in the garret, and misery tenants the cellar. Pomp, andpageantry, and splendour occupy the one day; sorrow, destitution, anddespair the next; and, as in some of our old tragedies, the laughterand merriment of the buffoon, appear alternately with tears and agony.
If it be so with human life--if, in this fitful spring-day of ourbeing, the storms and the sunshine tread upon the heels of eachother, so must it be with everything that would truly representexistence--even with a tale like this.
We must change the scene, then, and convey the reader far away from thesad field of Evesham--without pausing to detail some of the barbaroushorrors there committed on the bodies of the dead--at once to thesplendid court of England, now triumphant over its enemies, andrevelling in uncontrolled power.
We may, indeed, stay for an instant to remark, that while joy andsatisfaction spread through the various partisans of the court, whilethe foreign favourites of Henry III. displayed their rejoicing withindecent ostentation, and even the calmer and wiser adherents of hishigh-minded son could not refrain from triumphant exultation,consternation, dismay, and mourning spread throughout the middle andlower classes of the people, through the clergy of the real Anglicanchurch, and through the greater part of the barons who claimed agenuine English descent. The barrier was thrown down which hadprotected their rights and liberties; and most of those whose swordshad been so long unsheathed in the popular cause, now lay weltering intheir gore upon the field of Evesham, leaving none but outlaws, andfugitives to mourn for them in secrecy and concealment, and poets andminstrels to sing the deeds of the gone.
It was at the court of England,--not in the capital of the kingdom, butin the palace of Eltham, then one of the most beautiful, if not mostsplendid of the residences of our kings--in a small chamber in the leftwing of the building, rather more than a month after the scenes whichwe have lately commemorated, that there lay upon a couch, covered witha leopard's skin, a young knight, busily engaged in reading amanuscript written in a somewhat cramped and difficult hand. He wasclad altogether in the garments of peace, but a deep gash upon hisbrow, a scarf bound tight round his arm, and a certain uneasyexpression of countenance when he turned from side to side, showed thatit was not long since he had been engaged in the fierce and bloodypursuits of war.
Hugh de Monthermer had not passed through the battle of Eveshamunwounded; and though, as a point of chivalrous, courage, he hadscorned to suffer the slightest sign of anguish to appear, yet theinjuries he had received were long in being healed, and even for somedays his life had been held in danger.
Asa prisoner taken by the Prince's own hand, he had been brought in thetrain of the Court to London, and then to Eltham; and although no oneword had been spoken of his future fate--no proposal made in regard toterms of liberation at the period when many other nobles were allowedto submit and receive letters of remission, yet he had been treatedwith constant care and kindness. Scarcely a day had passed without hisbeing visited by Edward himself; but the subject of his actualsituation had been studiously avoided by the Prince; and Hugh,impatient of farther restraint, now lay in his chamber waiting hiscoming, and resolved to make such inquiries as must lead to somedefinite reply.
About half an hour later than his usual time, the firm step of Edwardwas heard in the ante-room, and his voice bidding the page who followedstop at the door. The next instant the Prince entered, bowing his loftyhead as he passed through the low arched doorway. His countenance wassomewhat grave; but his tone was full of kindness towards Hugh deMonthermer, and he took him by the hand inquiring after his health.
"I am nearly well, my dear lord," replied Hugh; "and, like your Grace,when I found you in the castle of Hereford, I only sigh for fresh airand liberty to use my cramped limbs."
"But why do you not take exercise?" demanded the Prince. "You shouldride forth every day."
"I did not know I had permission," answered Hugh. "I fancied your Gracemight think that the lesson you gave upon the banks of the Wye mightnot be lost upon your humble prisoner."
"Not after you had surrendered, rescue or no rescue, Monthermer," saidthe Prince. "I put no fetters upon you, my friend, but the fetters ofyour word. The great gates are as free to you as to myself; and, thoughI give you not your liberty, it is for your sake, not my own. Myfather's anger burns fierce against your house, Monthermer. It is theonly spark which I have not been able to quench. You, he will pardon,after a time; but I fear towards your uncle we shall never softenhim.--He says that it was by his advice De Montfort acted."
Edward put the last words in the tone of a question, or, perhaps,as an assertion which he wished to hear refuted; but Hugh replied,gravely--"His majesty says true, my lord; it was by my uncle's advice.But your Grace's words give relief to my mind. I have had no tidings ofmy uncle since that fatal field; and though I had hopes that he hadescaped, yet those hopes were faint. I do beseech you, my good lord,tell me what you know for never son loved father more than I love him,under whose sword I have been brought up from youth."
"I know little more than yourself," answered the Prince; "all I cansay, is, neither his body nor his arms were found amongst the dead; andso far is my father convinced of his having escaped, that he, withseven others, who have not yet made submission, have had sentence ofoutlawry proclaimed against them."
Hugh de Monthermer mused with feelings very much divided betweenpleasure and pain; but the Prince laid his hand kindly on his shoulder,saying--"Come, old playfellow, prepare yourself for a ride, and join mein a minute in the court below. There are guests coming to the palaceto-day, and perchance we may meet them."
There was no slight delight to Hugh de Monthermer, as the reader mayvery well imagine, in the thought of using his limbs in wholesomeexercise, and tasting again the free outward air; and dressing himselfhastily for the expedition, he was soon by the Prince's side. It oftenhappens, however, that when we have looked forward with brightanticipations towards enjoyments from which we have been long debarred,and have thought that nothing but pleasure and refreshment can await ustherein, a degree of melancholy falls upon us even in the very fruitionof our wishes--a memory, a regret, is poured out from the heart todilute the inebriating cup of joy.
It was so with Hugh de Monthermer. The first breath of the free airfelt to him like new life and the promises of hope; but, almostinstantly, the thought of the many high and noble, good and wisecompanions, with whom not long before he had enjoyed the same gentlebreeze, the same warm sunshine, and who could now taste them nomore--the thought of his just and chivalrous uncle, wandering woundedand alone, an exile or an outlaw--the thought of the gallant and thebrave who strewed the field of Evesham, came across his mind, anddimmed all the happiness of the hour.
He was gloomy, then, as he rode forth from the palace gates, and themerriment of many a young knight and gay esquire, who followed inEdward's train, sounded harsh and unpleasant to his ear. They wereabsent for some two hours; but, as they returned, the look of Hugh deMonthermer was brightened, and his smile as cheerful as the rest.
If the reader would know why, it is easy to tell. Riding beside PrinceEdward, were the Earls of Gloucester and Ashby, and not far distant, atrain of fair ladies and attendants, amongst whom was one whose softdark eyes seemed ready to run over with bright drops whenever theyturned towards the young knight, who, for his part, was by her side asoften as the movements of the cavalcade would permit.
It is true, that more than one of the gentlemen around, proud of beingof the court party, and vain of any share they had taken in the latestruggle, deemed it almost an act of insolence on the part of a captiveand a rebel, as they chose to term him, to cl
aim the attention of oneof the fair guests of their sovereign, Hugh de Monthermer's renown as aknight, however, kept their saucy anger within due bounds; and, thoughthey so contrived that no private word could pass between Lucy de Ashbyand her lover, they could not cut him off from the enjoyment of hersociety.
On arriving at the palace, more than one prepared himself to aid thelady in dismounting from her horse; but Hugh de Monthermer, feeling atitle in her regard advanced as of right, and lifted the fair form ofLucy from the saddle. In so doing, the only opportunity occurred ofuttering a word to each other, unheard by those around. But it was Lucyherself who took advantage of it.
"I have something to say to you, Hugh," she, whispered; "something thatmust be said."
Ere he could answer, however, the Earl of Ashby was by their side. Hehad hitherto taken no notice of his former friend and confederate, andperhaps might not have done so even now, had not his conversation withthe Prince been of a kind to show him that, in Edward's eyes, Hugh deMonthermer was anything but a captive enemy. He held out his hand tohim, then, with kindly greeting, and asked him after his health,adding--"Now that these contentions are happily at an end, my youngfriend, let us forget any disputes in the past."
Hugh, as may be supposed, was not backward to accept his proferredhand, and good care did he take, not even by a look, to shew that heknew himself to be rather the injured than the injurer, in thedissensions which had taken place. A few brief questions and repliesfollowed, while Edward spoke in a low tone with the Earl of Gloucester,whose eyes, Hugh de Monthermer remarked, were fixed earnestly andsomewhat sternly upon himself. At length the Prince turned, and bendinggracefully to Lucy de Ashby, and another lady who was with the party,told them that, though the Queen was still absent in France, thePrincess Eleanor waited for them in the hall.
"She is a cousin of yours, you know, fair lady," he added, addressingLucy, and then turning to his prisoner, he said "We have a grandbanquet to-night, Monthermer, at which you must find strength to bepresent.--I have my father's commands to invite you."
Hugh bowed low, and as the guests passed on, he retired thoughtfully tohis own chamber.
It was still early in the day; the hour appointed for the banquet waslate, and his first reveries were full of joy and love, but adiscomfort of a trifling, yet annoying kind, crossed the young knight'sthoughts from time to time. Separated from all his attendants, kept aclose prisoner up to that period, both by his wounds, and by hissituation--he was totally without the means of appearing at the tableof the King with that splendour which the customs of the dayrequired.--The only suit he had was that which he then wore, thepourpoint, namely, over which at Evesham he had borne his armour. Someother necessaries had been supplied to him, as a kindness, by one ofEdward's attendants; but still--though resolved, at all events, not tobe absent from the banquet--how could he appear in garments soiled andrent, where all the pomp and pageantry of England were sure to bedisplayed!
"I will send to the Prince," he thought, "and let him know thesituation in which I am placed; but still, though doubtless, he willnow give me means of sending to my own friends, both for money andapparel, the supply will come too late, for this day's necessities atleast, and even if he himself furnishes me with gold for present need,where can I buy, in this lonely situation, any thing that I want?"
While he was thus thinking, the sound of steps in his ante-room showedhim that some one was approaching; and in a moment after, two of theinferior attendants of the court entered, bringing in between them, oneof the long heavy cases of leather stretched upon a frame of wood,which were then used for carrying arms and clothing in the train of anarmy.
"This was brought here last night, my lord, and left for you," said oneof the servants. "The chief sewer opened it by mistake, and findingthat it contained apparel, sent us with it."
Hugh smiled, thinking that it was a kindly stratagem of the Prince tofurnish him with what he needed; but ere the two men had quitted theante-room, Edward himself re-entered it, coming to offer the assistanceof his purse or wardrobe, and taking blame to himself for not havingthought before of his friend's need.
Hugh laughed, and pointing to the coffer, thanked him for what he hadalready sent; but the Prince denied all knowledge of it, and on openingthe case, which Edward insisted on his doing before his eyes, he foundthat it was filled with apparel of his own, nearly new, which had beenleft behind him in Yorkshire, in the early part of the year.
"This must be the doings of the fairies, my lord," he said; "but as Icannot always count upon these nimble gentry thus attending to mywants, I will beseech your Grace to let me send a messenger to enquireafter my own poor friends and attendants who were scattered at Evesham,and to bring me such a number of men and horses as I may be permittedto maintain while a prisoner, as well as some small supply of money."
"If you will write," said Edward, in reply, "I will send immediately.But let us understand each other completely, Monthermer. I think onmany accounts that it may be better for you to reside some few monthsat the Court of England, and I believe, at all events, that youyourself will not be eager to quit it, while a certain bright ladyremains with the Princess. Your being my captive is the only excusethat can be given for your prolonging your stay, where it is veryneedful you should remain; and this is the reason why I do not publiclyset you free. But as in this changeful world," he continued, in amarked and significant manner, "one never can tell what the next daymay bring forth, and as it may be necessary, either for your happinessor your safety, under some circumstances, to fly at a moment'snotice--for I can neither trust the fierce Mortimer, nor the cruelPembroke--I promise to fix your ransom whenever you require it; and,should need be, you may act upon this promise as if I had already givenyou liberty--I will justify you whenever it takes place. In themeantime, however, you must play the part of captive demurely, and makethe best of your opportunities, my young friend; for I have learnedfrom one of your enemies the state of your affections, and I doubt notthat your lady love will willingly listen to your tale if you choose afair hour for telling it.--Nay, no thanks, Monthermer! Take what moneyyou want from my purse till your own arrives; and now, adieu."
Hugh conducted the Prince to the door of his ante-room, and thenreturned, proposing to examine more fully the wardrobe which had beenso unexpectedly sent to him, thinking that perhaps he might findsomething to indicate from what hand it came. But before he did so, hesat down thoughtfully, and gazed out of the small casement of hischamber, while, strange to say, his spirit seemed oppressed. In everypoint his situation was happier and better than it had been a few hoursprevious; the storm cloud which had obscured his hopes was clearingaway; his mind had been made more easy in regard to his uncle's safety;liberty appeared before him, and he was near to her he loved; but,nevertheless, he felt a sadness that he could not account for. As thefirst impression of the fresh air upon a person going out after a longsickness will give them a sensation of faintness, even while it revivesthem, so will the return to hope and happiness, after a long period ofdespair and sorrow, bring with it a touch of melancholy even on thewings of joy.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times Page 23
