The Robber Baron of Bedford Castle
Page 19
*CHAPTER XIX.*
_*FEARS AND HOPES.*_
William de Beauchamp, the taciturn and melancholy, had not attended thecouncil at Northampton. But he could not well absent himself when anattack was made upon the castle which once had been his; and for his ownbenefit, for the king had promised to reinstate him as soon as theRobber Baron should have been driven out. He had been given a commandin the royal force, and found himself in the anomalous position ofbesieging his own castle.
But the march of events did not, as might well have been imagined, raisehis drooping spirits. He was, indeed, more dismal than ever, having gota fixed idea in his head that he should never come to his own again.Though he had escaped unhurt from the two first assaults, by which thebarbican and the outer bailey had been won, he was well aware that yetmore serious struggles were before the besiegers ere they might hope towin the inner bailey and the keep. These assaults, he had made up hismind, he should not survive, and in his gloomiest, most funereal manner,called Ralph to him at the close of a summer's evening, when they wereresting from duty in the house of Gilbert the Clothier, where they werequartered, and prepared to deliver to him what he supposed to be hislast wishes and dispositions.
"Nephew Ralph," he began, in his most lugubrious tones, "thou hast beenas a son to me, since my only son was cut off in early childhood."
"True, uncle much revered by me," replied Ralph, puzzled at this solemnaddress. "I know not quite if I have been a good son to thee, but thouhast, in good sooth, given me all the father's care I have ever known."
"And now, Nephew Ralph," William de Beauchamp continued, "I am about toconfide to thee a very precious and holy message. Thou hast heard tellof the Lady Margaret de Ripariis?"
"Ay, certes," replied Ralph.
"And now that my time is at hand, and that the sands of my life are--"
"Thy time is at hand! By my faith, uncle, what mean these words?"
"Thou wottest that ere long we attack the old tower and the innerbailey," the uncle proceeded, in a tragic manner.
"I have but just come from the old tower, where John de Standen hathshowed me how nigh is its overthrow."
"Hark ye, nephew. I shall fall then; I know it of a certainty. I haveseen in a dream that I shall not survive the assault. I shall ne'eragain set eyes on the Lady Margaret, now for many years the unhappy wifeof Fulke de Breaute. Once, when we were young and she was fair, weplighted our troth, and I have never forgotten it, though a cruel fatetore us asunder. My wife, who was ne'er to me as the first love of myyouth the Lady Margaret, hath been dead these many years; and had thetime come for the end of the miserable Fulke, I would fain have offeredmyself again to my once affianced bride. But I die before him. I feelit. For us there is no hope."
Ralph began to perceive the gloomy forebodings that had seized hisuncle, and tried, but in vain, to reassure him, pointing out how muchdanger he had already escaped, and bidding him hope for the best.
"For eight long years thou hast pined an exile from the halls of thineancestors, uncle. But to-day our star is again in the ascendant, andfortune smiles once more upon the De Beauchamps."
William shook his head sadly.
"It may not be, nephew. But bear thou to the Lady Margaret my lastwords of unalterable affection for the love of my youth."
"Nay, uncle, thou shalt bear them thyself, when Fulke shall have gone tothe perdition reserved for him! But cease these dark meditations, andlist awhile to a sprightly wooing I overheard 'twixt one of those withinthe castle, and no less a person than the king's miner, in the oldtower, this very noontide."
And to turn his uncle's thoughts, Ralph proceeded to relate the strangemeeting between John de Standen and Beatrice.
But at the very hour these two talked thus together in Master Gilbert'sguest-chamber, the subject of their conversation, the Lady Margaret, satwith her waiting-woman in the deep window of the lady's bower.
The latter was brimming over with eagerness to impart to Aliva the goodnews she had just ascertained as to Ralph's safety, but deemed itprudent to confide it first to her mistress.
"By'r Lady, mistress mine, I vow I heard him, though I cannot say I sawhim, and he is whole and in good heart."
"The saints be praised!" ejaculated Lady Margaret. "It hath grieved mesore that this sweet maiden should be thus held prisoner by myevil-disposed brother, and yet sadder am I to think that she should havebeen told her knight was slain."
"And such a knight, lady! Fair spoken, and of good courage. I heard itin the ring of his voice, as he hasted to ask after her welfare, howmuch he loveth her."
"Thou knewest that he was the Lady Aliva's knight, then, Beatrice?"
"Ever since the affair of the helmet, lady. My Lady Aliva could notcontain herself then, when she knew him wounded, and told me all. Sheis as true to him as the pole-star to the north, or as I to--"
"I know it, Beatrice, and it would be a deadly sin, and one I will standout against as long as I draw breath, were she to be forced to wedWilliam. The lying wretch! he will stick at naught to gain his end. Totell Aliva Sir Ralph was dead! Alas, alas! But peace, Beatrice; hereshe comes. I will tell her the news."
Inwardly chafing at being deprived of the pleasure of imparting suchdelightful information, Beatrice retreated behind the chair of hermistress as Aliva entered.
The weary weeks the latter had spent as a prisoner since that fatalmorning when she was hurried into the castle, and the intense mentalanguish she had endured since the helmet of the wounded knight had beenhanded to her on the ramparts that same evening, had left their traceson Aliva's pale cheek. The listless attitude in which she sank upon astone seat, and gazed with mournful eyes out into the fast-fallingsummer twilight, contrasted strangely with the natural vigour andvivacity of the brave horsewoman who had led William de Breaute such achase over the Ouse marshes. Something akin to despair had crushed hersoul since Sir Fulke had brought her the news of Sir Ralph's death.
"Daughter," began Lady Margaret, tenderly drawing the fair head whichleaned so wearily upon the thin hand down upon her knee, "I havesomewhat to say to thee. This suit of my husband's brother--methinksSir Fulke knew, as well as thou and I, how vain it was to urge it whilethy true knight yet lived--"
"It were ever vain, lady, were Ralph alive or dead. Death would besweeter to me than marriage with William de Breaute," replied Alivamournfully.
"He hath used treachery once to gain his end; what if he hath also useddeceit of words?" Lady Margaret went on. "Other De Beauchamps than thyknight bear the crest thou sawest on the casque."
"Ah, lady," moaned Aliva, "beguile me not with vain hopes. Did notBeatrice here see him fall?"
"In good sooth! But, lady, I saw him not die."
"Mind you how the townsfolk bore him off with much care? PerchanceHubert of Provence aimed not o'er true with his quarrel--"
"He is but a sorry wight in many things, lady," put in Beatricescornfully.
"And the leeches are possessed of marvellous skill, as thou wellknowest, and Sir Ralph is young and strong--"
"_Was_ young and strong, you mean, lady. O prithee, peace! Open notthus afresh a wound which bleeds, ay, and will bleed for ever!"
"My lady means what she says, and naught else," interrupted Beatrice,unable to restrain herself any longer. "He is young and strong, orbeshrew me for a deaf old crone, for I trow his voice was strong enoughthis noontide!"
"His voice!" exclaimed Aliva, raising herself eagerly, and a faintcolour overspreading her pallid cheek. "O Beatrice, mock me not!"
"Thou mockest thyself, daughter," said Lady Margaret, smiling. "Takeheart o' grace. Beatrice speaks true; she hath heard him not many hourssince."
And Beatrice, coming forward and falling at her lady's knees, pouredforth her wonderful tale in a torrent of words.
When she paused for lack of breath, Aliva rose, like one waking from adream, and clutched Beatrice's arm.
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sp; "Beatrice, an thou lovest me, take me to this chink in the vault of theold tower. Haste thee, haste thee! Let me hear him speak again."
"Alas, lady! but this very evening William de Breaute hath ordered thatall women keep within the keep, as the enemy presseth us round soclose."
A merry laugh as of old, the first which had rung from her since she hadbeen a prisoner, and the first to which the lady's bower had re-echoedfor many a day, burst from Aliva's lips. With the violent revulsion offeeling born of her youth and high mettle, she waved her hand scornfullyand laughed again.
"William de Breaute! Oh, he may command and order, in good sooth, if itplease him. What for him now, or for his commands! Methinks his timecomes apace, and Ralph de Beauchamp will be master here. My Ralph--tothink they had dared to tell me that he was slain!"
And then she fell to bidding Beatrice tell her story all over again.
"Pretty Beatrice, an could I, I would give thee a lapful of gold noblesfor this news thou hast brought. It is to me worth a king's ransom. Ifeel like one risen from the dead. But I trow, Mistress Beatrice," sheadded archly, "that thou hast had thy reward, in that the bold miner wasalso below. But tell me once more the very words Sir Ralph spake."
"Nay, nay, maidens," put in Lady Margaret; "it is already night, and joyoft wearies as much as grief. Let us now to rest while we may. Thestrife will begin again at dawn."
"Lady," cried Aliva, embracing the elder woman with tenderness, "go thouand rest if thou canst. I could not close my eyes for very joy.--Go,Beatrice, and leave me here a while alone, that I may think it all o'eragain. Go to thy dreams of mines and miners!"
Left to herself, Aliva sat down in the deep window-seat where LadyMargaret had sat when Sir Fulke related to her a less pleasant vision ofthe night than that which probably haunted the couch of Beatrice--adream which now seemed in fair way of coming true. The short Julydarkness had fallen. Across the river the petraria were at rest, and inthe silence of the night Aliva only
"Heard the sound, and could almost tell The sullen words of the sentinel, As his measured step on the stone below Clanked as he paced it to and fro."
Aliva gazed out into the beautiful balmy night, and a peace to which shehad long been a stranger stole in upon her heart. The world was atrest, and it seemed sad to think that in a few short hours, when thedarkness should be over, man would be once more at his cruel work ofwar. But the stars, shining deep in the purple overhead and reflectedin the placid stream below, seemed to her stars of hope.
"It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whispered word, And gentle winds and waters near Make music to the lonely ear."
As she gazed she thought she heard her name called softly from out ofthe gloom below.
"Aliva!" said a voice, "Aliva!"