CHAPTER XXXIII.
The battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light.--Shakspere.
Thine is th' adventure, thine the victory; Well has thy fortune turned the die for thee.--Dryden.
Sir Osborne immediately turned into the forest, and, rousing hiscompanions, called them to horse; but, however, though confessedly thehero of our story, we must leave him for a little time and follow thetraveller we have just left upon the road.
For a considerable way he rode on musing, and if one might judge fromhis countenance, his meditations were somewhat bitter; such as mightbecome the bosom of a king on finding the treachery of the world, thehollowness of friendship, the impossibility of securing affection, orany other of the cold lessons which the world will sometimes teach thechildren of prosperity. At length he paused, and, looking to thedeclining sun, saw the necessity of hastening his progress; whereupon,setting spurs to his horse, he galloped along the road without muchheeding in what direction it led him, till, coming to one of thoseopenings called _carrefours_ by the French, where a great many roadsmet, he stopped to consider his farther route. In the midst, it istrue, stood a tall post, which doubtless in days of yore pointed outto the inquisitive eye the exact destination to which each of theseveral paths tended; but old Time, who will be fingering everythingthat is nice and good, from the loveliest feature of living beauty tothe grandest monument of ancient art, had not spared even socontemptible a thing as the finger-post, but, like a great mischievousbaby, had scratched out the letters with his pocketknife, leaving notrace of their purport visible.
The traveller rode round it in vain, then paused and listened, as ifto catch the sound of the distant hunt; but all was now silent. As alast resource, he raised his hunting-horn to his lips, and blew a longand repeated call; but all was hushed and still: even babbling Echo,in pure despite, answered not a word. He blew again, and had the samesuccess. There was an ominous sort of quietness in the air, which,joined with the sultriness of the evening, the expecting taciturnityof the birds, and some dark heavy clouds that were beginning to rollin lurid masses over the trees, gave notice of an approaching storm.
Some road he must choose, and, calculating as nearly as he could bythe position of the sun, he made his election, and spurred along itwith all speed. A dropping sound amongst the green leaves, however,soon showed that the storm was begun, and once having commenced, itwas not slow in following up its first attack: the rain came down intorrents, so as to render the whole scene misty, and the lightning,followed by its instant peal of thunder, flickered on every side withflash after flash, dazzling the traveller's sight, and scaring hishorse by gleaming across his path, while the inky clouds overheadalmost deprived them of other light. In vain he every now and thensought some place of shelter, where the trees seemed thickest; theverdant canopy of the leaves, though impervious to the summer sun, anda good defence against a passing shower, were incapable of resisting astorm like that, and wherever he turned the rain poured through intorrents, and wet him to the skin. Galloping on, then, in despair offinding any sufficient covering, he proceeded for nearly half-an-houralong the forest road, before it opened into the country; and where itdid so, instead of finding any nice village to give him rest, andshelter, and food, and fire, the horseman could distinguish nothingbut a wide, bare expanse of country, looking dismal and desolate inthe midst of the gray deluge that was falling from the sky. Aboutseven or eight miles farther on, he could, indeed, see faintly throughthe rain the spire of some little church, giving the only sign ofhuman habitation; except where, to the left, in the midst of the heaththat there bordered the forest, he perceived the miserable little hutof a charcoal-burner, with a multitude of black hillocks before thedoor, and a large shed for piling up what was already prepared.
To this, then, as the nearest place of shelter, the stranger took hisway, very different in appearance from what he had been in themorning; his rich dress soaked and soiled, his velvet hat out of allshape or form, his high plume draggled and thin, with all the featheradhering closely to the pen; and, in short, though still bearing theinalienable look of gentleman, yet in as complete disarray of apparelas the very worst wetting can produce. Without ceremony he rode up tothe door, sprang off his horse, and entered the cabin, whereinappeared a good woman of about forty, busily piling up with fresh fuela fire of dry boughs, over which hung a large pot of soup for theevening meal. The traveller's tale was soon told, and the dame readilypromised him shelter and food, in the name of her husband, who wasabsent, carrying charcoal to the distant village; and seeing that thestorm was likely to last all night, he tied his horse under the shed,placed himself by the side of the fire, aided the good woman to raiseit into a blaze, and frankly prepared to make himself as comfortableas circumstances would permit. Well pleased with his easy good-humour,the good dame soon grew familiar, gave him a spoon to skim the pot,while she fetched more wood, and bade him make himself at home. In ashort time the husband himself returned, as dripping as the travellerhad been, and willingly confirmed all that his wife had promised. Onlycasting himself, without ceremony, into the chair where the strangerhad been sitting--and which, by-the-way, was the only chair in theplace, all the rest of the seats being joint-stools--he addressed himfamiliarly, saying, "I take this place by the fire, my good gentleman,because it is the place where I always sit, and this chair, because itis mine; and you know the old proverb--
"By right and by reason, whatever betide, A man should be master by his own fireside."[17]
"Faith, you are in the right," cried the traveller, laughing; "so Iwill content myself with this settle. But let us have something forsupper; for, on the word of a--knight, my ride has taught me hunger."
"Give us the soup, dame," cried the charcoal-burner. "Well I wot, sirtraveller, that you might be treated like a prince, here on the edgeof the wood, did not those vile forest laws prevent a poor man fromspearing a boar as well as a rich one. In truth, the king is to blameto let such laws last."
"Faith, and that is true," cried the traveller; "and heartily toblame, too, if his laws stand between me and a good supper. Now wouldI give a link of this gold chain for a good steak of wild boar porkupon those clear ashes."
The cottager looked at his wife, and the cottager's wife looked at herhusband, very like two people undecided what to do. "Fie, now!" criedthe stranger; "fie, good dame! I will wager a gold piece against a cupof cold water, that if I look in that coffer, I shall find wherewithalto mend our supper."
"Hal ha! ha!" roared the charcoal-burner; "thou hast hit it. Faith,thou hast hit it! There it is, my buck, sure enough! Bring it forth,dame, and give us some steaks. But, mind," he continued, laying hisfinger on his lip, with a significant wink; "mind, mum's the word!never fare well and cry roast beef."
"Oh! I'm as close as a mouse," replied the stranger in the samestrain; "never fear me: many a stout stag have I overthrown in theking's forests, without asking with your leave or by your leave of anyman."
"Ha! ha! ha!" cried the cottager; "thou'rt a brave one! Come, let usbe merry while the thunder rolls without. It will strike the king'spalace sooner than my cottage, though we are eating wild boartherein."
In such sort of wit passed the evening till nightfall; and the stormstill continuing in its full glory, the traveller was fain to contenthimself with such lodging as the cottage afforded for the night.Though his dress bespoke a rank far higher than their own, neither thecottager nor his wife seemed at all awe-struck or abashed, but quietlyexamined the gold lacing of his clothes, declared it was very fine,and seemed to look upon him more as a child does upon a gilded toythan in any other light. When night was come, the good dame strewedout one corner of the hut with a little straw, piled it high with dryleaves, and the stranger, rolling up his cloak for a pillow, laid itunder his head, stretched himself on the rude bed thus prepared, andsoon fell into a profound sleep.
Taking advantage of his nap, we will now return to Sir Osborne, whowit
h all speed roused his companions from their slumbers, and badethem mount and follow. With military alacrity, Longpole was on hishorse in a moment, and ready to set out; but for his part, the youngHainaulter yawned and stretched, and, somewhat bewildered, looked asif he would fain have asked whither the knight was going to lead him.A word, however, from Longpole hurried his motions, and both were soonupon the track of Sir Osborne, who was already some way on the littlebridle-path by which they had arrived at the grassy mound where theyhad been sleeping. When he reached the road they had formerly left, hepaused, and waited their coming up.
"Now, Longpole," cried he, "give me your judgment: does this road leadto any crossing or not? Quick! for we must not waste a moment."
"Most certainly it does, my lord," replied the shield-bearer: "mostprobably to the spot where they all meet in the heart of the wood."
"Perhaps he may tell us with more certainty," said the knight; andchanging his language to French, for the ear of the young Hainaulter,he asked the same question.
"Oh, yes, certainly," replied Frederick: "it leads to the greatcarrefour; I have hunted here a hundred times."
"Then, are we on French ground or Flemish?" demanded the knight.
"The French claim it," replied the youth; "but we used to hunt here intheir despite."
"Quick, then! let us on!" cried Sir Osborne; "and keep all your eyeson the road before, to see if any one crosses it."
"He has something in his head, I'll warrant," said Longpole to theirnew companion, as they galloped after Sir Osborne. "Oh! our lord knowsthe trade of war, and will snuff you out an enemy, without ever seeinghim, better than a beagle dog with bandy legs and a yellow spot overhis eyes."
"Halt!" cried the knight, suddenly reining in his horse as they camewithin sight of the carrefour we have already mentioned. "Longpole,keep close under that tree! Frederick, here by my side; back him intothe wood, my good youth; that will do. Let every one keep his eyesupon the crossing, and when you see a horseman pass, mark which roadhe takes. How dark the sky is growing! Hark! is not that a horse'sfeet?"
They had not remained many minutes when the cavalier we have spoken ofappeared at the carrefour, examined in vain the finger-post, soundedhis horn once or twice, as we have described, and then again took hisway to the left.
"Whither does that road lead?" demanded the knight, addressing theyoung Hainaulter.
"It opens out on the great heath between the forest and Lillers, mylord," answered Frederick.
"Is there any village, or castle, or house near?" asked Sir Osbornequickly.
"None, none!" replied Frederick; "it is as bare as my hand: perhaps acharbonier's cottage or so," he added, correcting himself.
"Let us on, then," replied the knight. "We are going to have a storm,but we must not mind that;" and putting his horse into a quick pace,he led his followers upon the track of the traveller, taking carenever to lose sight of him entirely, and yet contriving to concealhimself, whenever any turn of the road might have exposed him to theview of the person he pursued. The rain poured upon his head, thelightning flashed upon his path; but still the knight followed onwithout a moment's pause, till he had seen the traveller take refugein the cottage of the charcoal-burner. Then, and not until then, hepaused, spurred his horse through some thick bushes on the edge of thewood, and obtained as much shelter as the high beeches of the forestcould afford; nor did he pause at the first or the thickest trees hecame to, but took particular pains to select a spot where, thoughconcealed by a high screen of underwood, they could yet distinguishclearly the door of the hut through the various breaks in thebranches. Here, having dismounted with his followers, he stationedFrederick at a small opening, to watch the cottage, while he andLongpole carefully provided for the security and refreshment of theirhorses, as far as circumstances would admit, although the longforest-grass was the only food that could be procured for them, andthe storm still continued pouring through the very thickest parts ofthe wood. To obviate this, the knight and his shield-bearer plied theunderwood behind them with their swords, and soon obtained asufficient supply of leafy branches to interweave with the lowerboughs of the trees overhead, and thus to secure themselves againstthe rain.
While thus employed, Frederick gave notice, as he had been commanded,that some one approached the cottage, which proved to be thecharbonier himself, returning with his mule; and after his arrival,their watch remained undisturbed by the coming of any visitor tillnightfall.
As soon as it was dark, Sir Osborne allotted to his followers and tohimself the portion of the night that each was to watch, taking forhis own period the first four hours; after which Longpole's turnsucceeded; and lastly, towards morning, came the young Hainaulter's.
With his eye fixed upon the light in the cottage, and his ear eagerfor every sound, Sir Osborne passed the time till the flame graduallydied away, and, flashing more and more faintly, at last sank entirely.However, the dark outline of the hut was still to be seen, and the earhad now more power; for the storm had gradually passed away, and theonly sounds that it had left were the thunder rolling faintly roundthe far limits of the horizon, and the dropping of the water from theleaves and branches of the forest. Towards midnight, Sir Osborneroused Longpole, and recommending him to watch carefully, he threwhimself down by the young Hainaulter and was soon asleep.
Somewhat tired with the fatigues of the day, the knight slept soundly,and did not wake till Frederick, who had replaced Longpole on thewatch, shook him by the arm; and starting up, he found that it wasday.
"Hist, hist! my lord," cried the youth; "here are Shoenvelt and hisparty."
Sir Osborne looked through the branches in the direction the young manpointed, and clearly distinguished a party of seven spearmen, slowlymoving along the side of the forest, at about five hundred yards'distance from the spot where they lay. "It is Shoenvelt's height andform," said the knight, measuring the leader with his eye, "and thatlooks like Wilsten by his side; but how are you sure?"
"Because I know the arms of both," replied Frederick, "See! they aregoing to hide in the wood, close by the high road from Lillers toAire."
As he spoke, the body of horsemen stopped, and one after anotherdisappeared in the wood, convincing Sir Osborne that the youngHainaulter was right.
"Then, nerve your arm and grasp your lance, Frederick," said theknight with a smile; "for if you do well, even this very day you maywin your golden spurs. Wake Longpole there; we must be all prepared."
The youth's eyes gleamed with delight, and snatching up his casque, heshook Longpole roughly, and ran to tighten his horse's girths, whileSir Osborne explained to the yeoman that they were upon the eve of anencounter.
'"Odslife!" cried Longpole, "I'm glad to hear it, my lord. I find itvastly cold sleeping in a steel jacket, and shall be glad of a fewback-strokes to warm me. You say there are seven of them. It's anawkward number to divide; but you will take three, my lord; I will domy best for two and a-half, and then there will be one and a-half forMaster Frederick here. We could not leave the poor youth less, inhonesty; for I dare say he is as ready for such a breakfast as weare."
The bustle of preparation now succeeded for a moment or two; and whenall was ready, and the whole party once more on horseback, the knightled the way to a gap, from whence he could issue out upon the plainwithout running the risk of entangling his horse in the underwood.Here stationing himself behind the bushes to the left, he gave ordersto Longpole and Frederick not to stir an inch, whatever they saw, tillhe set the example; and then grasping his lance, he sat like marble,with his eyes fixed upon the cottage.
In about a quarter of an hour the door of the hut opened, and thecottager, running to the shed, brought up the traveller's horse. Bythis time, he seemed to have discovered that his guest was of higherrank than he imagined; for when the stranger came forth, he casthimself upon his knees, holding the bridle, and remained in thatsituation till the other had sprung into the saddle.
Dropping some pieces of gold into his host's hand, the tr
aveller nowshook his rein; and, putting his horse into an easy pace, took his wayover the plain, at about three hundred yards' distance from theforest, proceeding quietly along, totally unconscious of danger. Amoment, however, put an end to his security; for he had not passedabove a hundred yards beyond the spot where the knight was concealed,when a galloping of horse was heard, and Shoenvelt's party, withlevelled lances and horses in charge, rushed forth from the wood uponhim.
In an instant Sir Osborne's vizor was down, his spear was in the rest,and his horse in full gallop. "Darnley! Darnley!" shouted he, with avoice that made the welkin ring. "Darnley to the rescue! Traitor ofShoenvelt, turn to your death!"
"Darnley! Darnley!" shouted Longpole, following his lord. "St. Georgefor Darnley! down with the traitors!"
The shout was not lost upon either Shoenvelt or the traveller. The oneinstantly turned, with several of his men, to attack the knight; theother, seeing unexpected aid at hand, fell back towards Darnley, andwith admirable skill and courage defended himself, with nothing buthis sword, against the lances of the marauders, who--their objectbeing more to take him living than to kill him--lost the advantagewhich they would have otherwise had by his want of armour.
Like a wild beast, raging with hate and fury, Shoenvelt chargedtowards the knight, his lance quivering in his hand with the angryforce of his grasp. On, on bore Sir Osborne at full speed towards him,his bridle in his left hand, his shield upon his breast, his lancefirmly fixed in the rest, and levelled in such a manner as to avoidits breaking. In a moment they met. Shoenvelt's spear struck SirOsborne's shield, and, aimed firmly and well, partially traversed theiron; but the knight, throwing back his left arm with vast force,snapped the head of the lance in twain. In the mean while, his ownspear, charged at the marauder's throat with unerring exactness,passed clean through the gorget-piece and the upper rim of thecorslet, and came bloody out at the back. You might have heard theiron plates and bones cranch as the lance rent its way through. Downwent Shoenvelt, horse and man, borne over by the force of the knight'scourse.
"Darnley! Darnley!" shouted Sir Osborne, casting from him the spear,which he could not disengage from the marauder's neck, and drawing hissword. "Darnley! Darnley to the rescue! Now, Wilsten! now!" andturning, galloped up to where the traveller, with Longpole andFrederick by his side, firmly maintained his ground against theadventurers.
Wilsten's lance had been shivered by Longpole; and now, with his sworddrawn, on the other side of the _m?l?e_, he was aiming a desperateblow at the unarmed head of the traveller, who defended himself from aspearman in front; but at that moment the knight charged theadventurer through the midst, overturning all that came in his way,and shouting loud his battle-cry, to call his adversary's attention,and divert him from the fatal blow which he was about to strike. Theplan succeeded. Wilsten heard the sound; and seeing Shoenvelt deadupon the plain, turned furiously on Darnley. Urging their horsesbetween all the others, they met in the midst, and thus seemed toseparate the rest of the combatants, who, for a moment or two, lookedon inactive; while the swords of the two champions played about eachother's heads, and sought out the weaker parts of their harness. Bothwere strong, and active, and skilful; and though Sir Osborne wasdecidedly superior, it was long before the combat appeared to turn inhis favour. At length, by a quick movement of his horse, the knightbrought himself close to the adventurer's side, and gaining a fairblow, plunged the point of his sword through his corslet into hisbosom.
At that moment, the combat having been renewed by the rest, one of themarauders struck the knight from behind so violently on the head, thatit shook him in the saddle, and breaking the fastenings of his helmet,the casque came off and rolled upon the plain. But the blow was toolate to save Wilsten, who now lay dead under his horse's feet; and SirOsborne well repaid it by a single back-stroke at this new opponent'sthigh.
By this time only two of the marauders remained on horseback, so wellhad Longpole, the traveller, and Frederick, done their devoir; andthese two were not long in putting spurs to their steeds and flyingwith all speed, leaving the knight and his companions masters of thefield. Looking round, however, Sir Osborne missed the gallant youngHainaulter, while he saw his horse flying masterless over the plain.
"Where is Frederick?" cried the knight, springing to the ground. "Bymy knighthood! if he be dead, we have bought our victory dear!"
"Not dead, monseigneur, but hurt," said a faint voice near; andturning, he beheld the poor youth fallen to the earth, and leaning onone arm, while with the other he was striving to take off his casque,from the bars of which the blood dripped out fast upon the greensward.Darnley hastened to his aid; and having disencumbered him of hishelmet, discovered a bad wound in his throat, which, however, did notappear to him to be mortal; and Longpole, with the stranger, havingdismounted and come to his aid, they contrived to stanch the bleeding,which was draining away his life.
When this was done, the noble traveller turned towards Darnley.
"Sir knight," said he, with the calm, dignified tone of one seldomused to address an equal, "how you came here, or why, I cannot tell;but it seems as if heaven had sent you on purpose to save my life.However that may be, I will say of you, that never did a more famousknight wield sword; and, therefore, as the best soldiers in Europe maybe proud of such a companion, let me beg you to take this collar, tillI can thank you better;" and he cast over the knight's neck the goldenchain of the order of St. Michael, with which he was decorated.
"As for you, good squire," he continued, addressing Longpole, "you areworthy of your lord; therefore kneel down."
"Faith, your worship," answered the yeoman, "I never knelt to any manin my life, and never will to any but a king, while I'm in thisworld!"
"Fie, fie! Heartley!" cried Sir Osborne; "bend your knee. It is theking, man! Do you not understand? It is King Francis!"
"Oh! that changes the case," cried Longpole; "I crave your highness'spardon. I did not know your grace;" and he bent his knee to the king.
Francis drew his sword, and laid it on the yeoman's shoulder; thenstriking him three light blows, he said, "In the name of God, ourLady, and St. Denis, I dub thee knight. _Avance, bon chevalier!_ Nobleor not noble, from this moment I make you such."
Longpole rose, and the king turned to the young Hainaulter, who,sitting near, and supporting himself by his sword, had looked on withlonging eyes. "No one of my gallant defenders must be forgotten," saidFrancis. "Knighthood, my good youth, will hardly pay your wound."
"Oh, yes, yes!" cried Frederick, eagerly; "indeed it will, yourhighness, more than repay it."
"Then be it so," replied the king, knighting him. "However, remember,fair knights, that Francis of France stints not here his gratitude, oryou may think him niggard of his thanks. We will have you all go withus, and we will find better means to repay your timely aid. I knownot, sir," he continued, turning to Sir Osborne, and resuming the morefamiliar first person singular, "whether I heard your battle-cryaright, and whether I now see the famous Lord Darnley, the knight ofBurgundy, who, in wars now happily ended, often turned the tide ofbattle in favour of the emperor." Sir Osborne bowed his head. "Then,sir," continued Francis, "I will say, that never did monarch receiveso much injury or so much benefit from the hand of one nobleadversary."
Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold Page 34
