CHAPTER VII. THE RECTOR'S HOUSE.
"It was well thought and boldly executed, my son," said the King ofEngland, as he looked with fatherly pride at his bright-faced boy. "Thouwilt win thy spurs ere long, I doubt not, an thou goest on thus. But itmust be an exploit more worthy thy race and state that shall win theethe knighthood which thou dost rightly covet. England's Prince must beknighted upon some glorious battlefield -- upon a day of victory that Itrow will come ere long for thee and me. And now to thy mother, boy, andask her pardon for the fright thou madest her to suffer, when thysisters betrayed to her the wild chase upon which thou and thy boycomrades were bent. Well was it for all that our trusty huntsmen werewith you, else might England be mourning sore this day for a life cutoff ere it had seen its first youthful prime. Yet, boy, I have not heartto chide thee; all I ask is that when thou art bent on some quest ofglory or peril another time, thou wilt tell thy father first. Trust himnot to say thee nay; it is his wish that thou shouldst prove a worthyscion of thy house. He will never stand in thy path if thy purpose beright and wise."
The Prince accepted this paternal admonition with all becoming grace andhumility, and bent his knee before his mother, to be raised and warmlyembraced both by her and the little princesses, who had come in allhaste to the Palace of Guildford before the good Rector had had time tosend a message of warning to the King. Queen Philippa had heard from herdaughters of the proposed escapade on the part of the little bandsurrounding the Prince, and the fear lest the bold boy might exposehimself to real peril had induced the royal family to hasten toGuildford only two days after the Prince had gone thither. They had meta messenger from Master Bernard as they had neared the Palace, and theKing, after assuring himself of the safety of his son, made kindlyinquiries after those of his companions who had been with him on hissomewhat foolhardy adventure.
John de Brocas was lying dangerously ill in one of the apartments of thePalace. The King was greatly concerned at hearing how severely he hadbeen hurt; and when the story came to be told more in its details, andit appeared that to John's fidelity and the stanch support of Audley'stwo youthful esquires the heir of England owed his life, Edward and hisQueen both paid a visit to the room where the sick youth lay, and withtheir own hands bestowed liberal rewards upon the twin brothers, who hadstood beside the Prince in the stress of the fight, and had bothreceived minor hurts in shielding him.
Sir James Audley was himself in the King's train; but he was about toleave the south for a secret mission in Scotland, entrusted to him byhis sovereign. He was going to travel rapidly and without any largeescort, and for the present he had no further need for the services ofthe Gascon twins. Neither of the lads would be fit for the saddle formore than a week to come, and they had already made good use of theirtime in England, and had interested both the King and the Prince inthem, and had also earned liberal rewards. In their heart of hearts theywere anxious to remain in the neighbourhood of Guildford, for they knewthat there they were not far from Basildene. Wherefore when theyunderstood that their master had no present occasion for any furtherservice from them, they were not a little excited and pleased by thethought that they were now in a position to prosecute their own quest insuch manner as seemed best to them.
They had made a wonderfully good beginning to their life of adventure.They had won the favour not only of their own kinsfolk, but of the Kingand the Prince. They had money and clothes and arms. They had theprospect of service with Sir James in the future, when he should havereturned from his mission and require a larger train. Everything seemedto be falling in with their own desires; and it was with faces of eagersatisfaction that they turned to each other when the knight had leftthem alone again, after a visit to the long rush-carpeted room, by theglowing hearth of which they were sitting when he had come to seek themsoon after the King had visited John's couch.
John lay in a semi-conscious state upon the tall canopied bed, beneath aheavy pall of velvet, that gave a funereal aspect to the whole room. Hehad been aroused by the King's visit, and had spoken a few words inreply to the kind ones addressed to him; but afterwards he had sunk backinto the lethargy of extreme weakness, and the brothers were to allintents and purposes alone in the long dormitory they had shared withJohn, and with two more comrades who had also received slight hurts, butwho had now been summoned to attend the Prince on the return journey toWindsor, which was to be taken leisurely and by short stages.
Oliver and Bernard de Brocas had likewise gone, and John was, they knew,to be moved as soon as possible to Master Bernard's rectory, not faraway. The kindly priest had said something about taking the brothersthere also till they were quite healed of their wounds and bruises, andJohn invariably asked for Raymond if ever he awoke to consciousness.What was to be the end of it all the twins had no idea, but it certainlyseemed as though for the present they were to be the guests of their ownuncle, who knew nothing of the tie that existed betwixt them.
"Shall we say aught to him, Gaston?" asked Raymond, in a low whisper, asthe pair sat over the glowing fire together. "He is a good man and akind one, and perchance if he knew us for kinsmen he might --"
"Might be kinder than before?" questioned Gaston, with a proud smile."Is it that thou wouldst say, brother? Ay, it is possible, but it isalso likely enough that he would at once look coldly and harshly uponus. Raymond, I have learned many lessons since we left our peacefulhome, and one of these is that men love not unsuccess. It is theprosperous, the favoured of fortune, upon whom the smiles of the greatare bent. Perchance it was because he succeeded not well that by his ownbrothers our father was passed by. Raymond, I have seen likewise this --if our kinsmen are kind, they are also proud. They have won kinglyfavour, kingly rewards; all men speak well of them; they are placed highin the land. Doubtless they could help us if they would; but are we tocome suing humbly to them for favours, when they would scarce listen toour father when he lived? Shall we run into the peril of having theirsmiles turned to frowns by striving to claim kinship with them, whenperchance they would spurn us from their doors? And if in days to comewe rise to fame and fortune, as by good hap we may, shall we put it intheir power to say that it is to their favour we owe it all? No -- athousand times no! I will carve out mine own fortune with mine own goodsword and mine own strong arm. I will be beholden to none for that whichsome day I will call mine own. The King himself has said that I shallmake a valiant knight. I have fought by the Prince's side once; I trowthat in days to come I shall do the like again. When my knighthood'sspurs are won, then perchance I will to mine uncle and say to him,'Sire, I am thy brother Arnald's son -- thine own nephew;' but not tillthen will I divulge the secret. Sir John de Brocas -- no, nor MasterBernard either -- shall never say that they have made Sir Gaston'sfortune for him!"
The lad's eyes flashed fire; the haughty look upon his face was notunlike the one sometimes to be seen upon that of the King's Master ofthe Horse.
Raymond listened with a smile to these bold words, and then said quietly:
"Perhaps thou art right, Gaston; but I trust thou bearest no ill willtowards our two uncles?"
Gaston's face cleared, and he smiled frankly enough.
"Nay, Brother, none in the world. It is only as I think sometimes of thestory of our parents' wrongs that my hot blood seems to rise againstthem. They have been kind to us. I trow we need not fear to take suchkindness as may be offered to us as strangers; but to come as suppliantkinsmen, humble and unknown, I neither can nor will. Let us keep oursecret; let us carve out our own fortunes. A day shall come when we maystand forth before all the world as of the old line of De Brocas, butfirst we will win for ourselves the welcome we would fain receive."
"Ay, and we will seek our lost inheritance of Basildene," added Raymond."That shall be our next quest, Gaston. I would fain look upon ourmother's home. Methinks it lies not many miles from here."
"I misdoubt me if Basildene be aught of great moment," said Gaston,shaking back his curly hair. "Like enough it is but a Manor such as wehave seen
by the score as we have ridden through this land. It may be nosuch proud inheritance when we do find it, Raymond. It is of our lostpossessions in Gascony that I chiefly think. What can any English house,of which even here scarce any man has heard, be as compared with ourvast forest lands of Gascony -- our Castle of Saut -- of Orthez -- wherethe false Sieur de Navailles rules with the rod of iron? It is therethat I would be; it is there that I would rule. When the Roy Outremerwages war with the French King, and I fight beneath his banner and winhis favour, as I will do ere many years have passed, and when he callsme to receive my rewards at his kingly hands, then will I tell him ofyon false and cruel tyrant there, and how our people groan beneath hisharsh rule. I will ask but his leave to win mine own again, and then Iwill ride forth with my own knights in my train, and there shall be onceagain a lord of the old race ruling at Saut, and the tyrant usurpershall be brought to the very dust!"
"Ay," answered Raymond, with a smile that made his face look older forthe moment than that of his twin brother, "thou, Gaston, shalt reign inSaut, and I will try to win and to reign at Basildene, content with thesmaller inheritance. Methinks the quiet English Manor will suit me well.By thy side for a while will I fight, too, winning, if it may be, myspurs of knighthood likewise; but when the days of fighting be past, Iwould fain find a quiet haven in this fair land -- in the very placewhere our mother longed to end her days."
It may be seen, from the foregoing fragment of talk, that already thetwin brothers were developing in different directions. So long as theyhad lived in the quiet of the humble home, they had scarce known athought or aspiration not shared alike by both; but the experiences ofthe past months had left a mark upon them, and the mark was notaltogether the same in the case of each. They had shared all adventures,all perils, all amusements; their hearts were as much bound up as everone with the other; but they were already looking at life differently,forming a different ideal of the future. The soldier spirit was comingout with greater intensity in one nature than in the other. Gaston hadno ambition, no interest beyond that of winning fame and glory by thesword. Raymond was just beginning to see that there were other aims andinterests in life, and to feel that there might even come a day whenthese other interests should prove more to him than any laurels of battle.
In the days that followed, this feeling grew more and more upon him. Hishurt was more slow to heal than Gaston's, and long after his brother wasriding out daily into the forest with the keepers to slay a fat buck forthe prelate's table or fly a falcon for practice or sport, Raymondremained within the house, generally the companion of the studious John;and as the latter grew strong enough to talk, he was always impartingnew ideas to the untutored but receptive mind of the Gascon boy.
They had quickly removed from the Royal Palace to the more cozy andcomfortable quarters within the Rectory, which belonged to MasterBernard in right of his office. John was as much at home in his uncle'shouse as in his father's, having spent much of his youth with thepriest. Indeed it may be questioned whether he felt as much at easeanywhere as he did in this sheltered and retired place, and Raymondbegan to feel the subtle charm of the life there almost at once.
The Rector possessed what was for that age a fine collection of books.These were of course all manuscripts, and very costly of their kind,some being beautifully illuminated and others very lengthy. Thesemanuscripts and books were well known to John, who had read the majorityof them, and was never weary of reading them again and again. Some werewritings of the ancient fathers; others were the works of pagan writersand philosophers who had lived in the dark ages of the world's history,yet who had had thoughts and aspirations in advance of their day, andwho had striven without the light of Christianity to construct a code ofmorals that should do the work for humanity which never could have beendone till the Light came into the world with the Incarnation.
As Raymond sat day by day beside John's couch, hearing him read out ofthese wonderful books, learning himself to read also with a sense ofquickened pleasure that it was a surprise to experience, he began torealize that there was a world around and about him of which he had hadno conception hitherto, to feel his mental horizon widening, and to seethat life held weightier questions than any that could be settled at thesword's point.
"In truth I have long held that myself," answered John, to whom somesuch remark had been made; and upon the pale face of the student thereshone a light which Raymond had seen there before, and marked with a dimsense of awe. "We hear men talk of the days of chivalry, and mournbecause they seem to be passing away. Yet methinks there may be a holierand a higher form of chivalry than the world has yet seen that may riseupon the ashes of what has gone before, and lead men to higher andbetter things. Raymond, I would that I might live to see such a day -- aday when battle and bloodshed should be no longer men's favouritepastime, but when they should come to feel as our Blessed Lord hasbidden us feel, brothers in love, for that we love Him, and that we walkforward hand in hand towards the light, warring no more with ourbrethren of the faith, but only with such things as are contrary to HisWord, and are hindering His purpose concerning the earth."
Raymond listened with but small comprehension to a thought so vastly inadvance of the spirit of the day; but despite his lack of trueunderstanding, he felt a quick thrill of sympathy as he looked intoJohn's luminous eyes, and he spoke with reverence in his tone eventhough his words seemed to dissent from those of his companion.
"Nay, but how would the world go on without wars and gallant feats ofarms? And sure in a good cause men must fight with all their might andmain? Truly I would gladly seek for paynim and pagan foes if they mightbe found; but men go not to the Holy Land as once they did. There befoes nigher at home against whom we have to turn our arms. Good John,thou surely dost not call it a wicked thing to fight beneath the bannerof our noble King when he goes forth upon his wars?"
John smiled one of those thoughtful, flickering smiles that puzzled hiscompanion and aroused his speculative curiosity.
"Nay, Raymond," he answered, speaking slowly, as though it were no easymatter to put his thought in such words as would be comprehensible tohis companion, "it is not that I would condemn any man or any cause. Weare placed in the midst of warlike and stirring times, and it may bethat some great purpose is being worked out by all these wars andtumults in which we bear our share. It is only as I lie here and think(I have, as thou knowest, been here many times before amongst thesebooks and parchments, able for little but study and thought) that therecomes over me a strange sense of the hollowness of these earthlystrivings and search after fame and glory, a solemn conviction -- Iscarce know how to frame it in words -- that there must be other work tobe done in the world, stronger and more heroic deeds than men will everdo with swords and spears. Methinks the holy saints and martyrs who wentbefore us knew something of that work; and though it be not given to usto dare and suffer as they did, yet there come to me moments when I feelassured that God may still have works of faith and patience for us to dofor Him here, which (albeit the world will never know it) may be moreblessed in His eyes than those great deeds the fame of which goesthrough the world. Perchance were I a man of thews and sinews like mybrothers, I might think only of the glory of feats of arms and thestress and strife of the battle. But being as I am, I cannot but thinkof other matters; and so thinking and dreaming, there has come to me thesense that if I may never win the knighthood and the fame which mayattend on others, I may yet be called upon to serve the Great King insome other way. Raymond, I think that I could gladly die content if Imight but feel that I had been called to some task for Him, and havingbeen called had been found faithful."
John's eyes were shining brightly as he spoke. Raymond felt a slightshiver run through his frame as he answered impulsively:
"Thou hast done a deed already of which any belted knight might well beproud. It was thou who saved the life of the Prince of Wales by takingupon thy shoulder the blow aimed at his head. The King himself hasspoken in thy praise. How canst thou speak as th
ough no fame or glorywould be thine?"
A look of natural pride and pleasure stole for a moment over John's paleface; but the thoughtful brightness in his eyes deepened during thesilence that followed, and presently he said musingly:
"I am glad to think of that. I like to feel that my arm has struck onegood blow for my King and country; though, good Raymond, to thee and toGaston, as much as to me, belongs the credit of saving the young Prince.Yet though I too love deeds of glory and chivalry, and rejoice to haveborne a part in one such struggle undertaken in defence of the poor andthe weak, I still think there be higher tasks, higher quests, yet to beundertaken by man in this world."
"What quest?" asked Raymond wonderingly, as John paused, enwrapped, asit seemed, in his own thoughts.
It was some time before the question was answered, and then John spokedreamily and slow, as though his thoughts were far away from hiswondering listener.
"The quest after that whose glory shall not be of this world alone; thequest that shall raise man heavenward to his Maker. Is that thought newin the heart of man? I trow not. We have heard of late much of thatgreat King Arthur, the founder of chivalry, and of his knights. Werefeats of arms alone enough for them? or those exploits undertaken in thecause of the helpless or oppressed, great and noble as these must everbe? Did not one or more of their number feel that there was yet anotherand a holier quest asked of a true knight? Did not Sir Galahad leave allelse to seek after the Holy Grail? Thou knowest all the story; have wenot read it often together? And seems it not to thee to point us everonward and upward, away from things of earth towards the things ofheaven, showing that even chivalry itself is but an earthly thing,unless it have its final hopes and aspirations fixed far above this earth?"
John's face was illumined by a strange radiance. It seemed to Raymond asthough something of the spirit of the Knight of the Grail shone out fromthose hollow eyes. A subtle sympathy fired his own soul, and taking hiscousin's thin hand in his he cried quickly and impetuously:
"Such a knight as that would I fain be. Good John, tell me, I pray thee,where such a quest may be found."
At that literal question, put with an air of the most impulsive goodfaith, John's face slightly changed. The rapt look faded from his eyes,and a reflective smile took its place, as the young man gazed long andearnestly into the bright face of the eager boy.
"Why shouldst thou come to me to know, good lad?" he questioned. "It isof others that thou wilt learn these matters better than of me. Do theynot call me the man of books -- of dreams -- of fancies?"
"I know not and I care not," answered Raymond impetuously. "It is ofthee and of thee only that I would learn."
"And I scarce know how to answer thee," replied the youth, "thoughgladly would I help thee to fuller, clearer knowledge if I knew how. Itrow that many men would smile at me were I to put my thoughts intowords, for it seems to me that for us who call ourselves after thesacred name of Christ there can be no higher or holier service than theservice in which He himself embarked, and bid His followers do likewise-- feeding the hungry, ministering to the sick, cheering the desolate,binding up the broken heart, being eyes to the blind and feet to thelame. He that would be the greatest, let him be the servant of all.Those were His own words. Yet how little do we think of them now."
Raymond sat silent and amazed. Formerly such words would have seemedcomprehensible enough to him; but of late he had seen life under vastlydifferent aspects than any he had known in his quiet village home. Thegreat ones of the earth did not teach men thus to think or speak. Not toserve but to rule was the aim and object of life.
"Wouldst have me enter the cloister, then?" he asked, a look of distasteand shrinking upon his face; for the quiet, colourless life (as itseemed to him) of those who entered the service of the Church was littleto the taste of the ardent boy. But John's answer was a bright smile anda decided negative; whereupon Raymond breathed more freely.
"Nay; I trow we have priests and monks enow, holy and pious men as theyare. It has often been asked of me if I will not follow in the steps ofmy good uncle here; but I have never felt the wish. It seems to me thatthe habit of the monk or the cassock of the priest too often seems toseparate betwixt him and his fellow man, and that it were not good forthe world for all its holiest men to don that habit and dividethemselves from their brethren. Sir Galahad's spotless heart beatbeneath his silver armour. Would he have been to story and romance thestar and pattern he now is had he donned the monkish vesture and turnedhis armed quest into a friar's pilgrimage?"
"Nay, verily not."
"I think with thee, and therefore say I, Let not all those who wouldfain lead the spotless life think to do so by withdrawing from theworld. Rather let them carry about the spotless heart beneath the coatof mail or the gay habit. Their quest need not be the less exalted --"
"But what is that quest to be?" cried Raymond eagerly; "that is what Ifain would know. Good John, give me some task to perform. What wouldstthou do thyself in my place?"
"Thou wouldst laugh were I to tell thee."
"Try me and see."
"I will. If I were sound and whole tomorrow, I should forth into theforest whence we came, and I should seek and find that aged woodman, whoseemed so sorely bowed down with sorrow, and I should bid him unfold histale to me, and see if in any wise I might help him. He is poor,helpless, wretched, and by the words he spoke, I knew that he hadsuffered heavy sorrow. Perchance that sorrow might be alleviated couldone but know the story of it. His face has haunted my fevered dreams. Tome it seems as though perchance this were an errand of mercy sent to meto do. Deeds of knightly prowess I trow will never now be mine. It mustbe enough for me to show my chivalry by acts of love and care for thehelpless, the sorrowful, the oppressed."
Raymond's eyes suddenly glowed. Something of the underlying poetry ofthe thought struck an answering chord in his heart, though the wordsthemselves had been plain and bald enough.
"I will perform that task for thee, good John," he said. "I wellremember the place, ay, and the old man and his sorrowful mien. I willthither tomorrow, and will bring thee word again. If he may be helped byany act of mine, be assured that act shall not be lacking."
John pressed his comrade's hand and thanked him; but Raymond little knewto what this quest, of apparently so little moment, was to lead, norwhat a link it was to form with the story of the lost inheritance ofBasildene.
In the Days of Chivalry: A Tale of the Times of the Black Prince Page 7
