CHAPTER VI
Leonard Ashton was awakened the next morning by the light of the risingsun streaming in where the curtain of the tent had been raised to admitthe fresh dewy morning air. The sunbeams fell on the hair and face ofEustace as he leant over Gaston, who lay stretched on the couch, andfaintly spoke: "I tell you it is more. Such fever as this would not becaused by this trifling cut. There is sickness abroad in the camp, andwhy should it not be my turn as well as another man's. Take care ofyourself, Sir Eustace."
No sooner did Leonard understand the sense of these words, than hesprang up, rushed out of the tent, and never rested till he thoughthimself at a safe distance, when he shouted to Eustace to come to him.
"Has he got this fever on him?" exclaimed he, as Eustace approached.
"He is very ill at ease," replied Eustace, "but to my mind it is causedby yesterday's fatigue and heat, added to the wine which he woulddrink."
"It is the fever, I say," replied Ashton; "I am sure it is. Come away,Eustace, or we shall all be infected."
"I cannot leave him," said Eustace.
"What? You do not mean to peril yourself by going near him?" saidAshton.
"I think not that there is peril in so doing," answered Eustace; "andeven if there were, I could not leave him in sickness, after all hiskindness to me and patience with my inexperience."
"He is no brother nor cousin to us," said Leonard. "I see not why weshould endanger our lives for a stranger. I will not, for my own part;and, as your old friend and comrade, I would entreat you not."
These were kinder words than Eustace had heard from Ashton since thebeginning of his jealousy, and he answered, as he thought they weremeant, in a friendly tone, "Thanks, Leonard, but I cannot look onGaston d'Aubricour as a stranger; and had I fewer causes for attachmentto him, I could not leave my post."
"Only you do not expect me to do the same," said Leonard; "my fathersent me here to gain honour and wealth, not to be poisoned with thebreath of a man in a fever."
"Assuredly not," said Eustace. "I will arrange matters so that youshall no longer sleep in our tent. But let me ask of you, Leonard,what was the meaning of your conduct of yesterday?"
"You may ask yourself," said Leonard, sullenly; "it is plain enough,methinks."
"Have a care, Leonard. Remember that my brother's authority is givento me."
"Much good may it do you," said Leonard; "but that is nothing to me. Iam no vassal of yours, to come at your call. I have my own friends,and am not going to stay in this infected part of the camp with men whokeep a fever among them. Give me but my sword and mantle from thetent, and I will trouble you no more."
"Wait, Leonard, I will take all measures for your safety; but rememberthat I am answerable to the Prince for my brother's followers."
"Answer for your own serfs," retorted Leonard, who had nearly succeededin working himself into a passion. "My father might be willing tograce Sir Reginald by letting me follow him, but by his death I am myown man, and not to move at your beck and call, because the Prince laidhis sword on your shoulder. Knave Jasper," he called to one of themen-at-arms, "bring my sword and cloak from the tent; I enter it nomore."
"I know not how far you may be bound to me," said Eustace, "and mustinquire from some elder Knight, but I fear that your breaking from memay be attended with evil effects to your name and fame."
Leonard had put on his dogged expression, and would not listen. He hadalready set his mind on joining _le Borgne Basque_, and leaving theservice which his own envious service rendered galling; and the panicexcited in his mind by Gaston's illness determined him to departwithout loss of time, or listening to the representations which hecould not answer. He turned his back on Eustace, and busied himselfwith the fastenings of his sword, which had by this time been broughtto him. Even yet Eustace was not rebuffed. "One more hint, Leonard.From what I am told, there is more peril to thy health in revelry thanin the neighbourhood of poor Gaston. If you will quit one who wishesyou well, take heed to your ways."
Still the discourteous Squire made no reply, and walked off in all thedignity of ill-humour. The young Knight, who really had a warm feelingof affection for him, stood looking after him with a sigh, and thenreturned to his patient, whom he found in an uneasy sleep. After a fewmoments' consideration, he summoned old Guy to take the part of nurse,and walked to the tent of Sir Richard Ferrars, to ask his counsel.
The old Knight, who was standing at the door of his tent, examininginto some hurt which his steed had received the day before, kindly andcordially greeted Eustace on his approach. "I am glad you are notabove taking advice," he said, "as many a youth might be after suchfresh honours."
"I feel but too glad to find some one who will bestow advice on me,"said Eustace; and he proceeded to explain his difficulties with regardto Leonard Ashton.
"Let him go! and a good riddance," said Sir Richard; "half your caresgo with him."
"Yet I am unwilling not to attempt to hinder my old comrade fromrunning to ruin."
"You have quite enough on your own hands already," said the old Knight;"he would do far more harm in your troop than out of it, and try yourpatience every hour."
"He is my old playfellow," said Eustace, still dissatisfied.
"More shame for him," said Sir Richard; "waste not another thought onso cross-grained a slip, who, as I have already feared, might prove astumbling-block to you, so young in command as you are. Let him getsick of his chosen associates, and no better hap can befall him. Andfor yourself, what shall you do with this sick Squire?"
"What can I do, save to give the best attendance I may?"
"Nay, I am not the man to gainsay it. 'Tis no more than you ought. Andyet--" He surveyed the young Knight's slender form and slightlymoulded limbs, his cheeks pale with watching and the oppressive heat ofthe night, and the heavy appearance of the eyelids that shaded his darkblue thoughtful eyes. "Is your health good, young man?"
"As good as that of other men," said Eustace.
"Men!" said Sir Richard; "boys, you mean! But be a man, since youwill, only take as good care of yourself as consists with duty. I hadrather have you safe than a dozen of these black-visaged Gascons."
Eustace further waited to mention to Sir Richard his untoward encounterwith Sir John Chandos, and to beg him to explain it to the old Baron.
"I will," said Sir Richard; "and don't take old Chandos's uncourtlinesstoo much to heart, young Eustace. He means you no ill. Do your duty,and he will own it in time."
Eustace thanked the old Knight, and with spirits somewhat cheered,returned to his tent, there to devote himself to the service of hissick Squire. The report that the fever was in his tent made mostpersons willing to avoid him, and he met little interruption in hiscares. Of Leonard, all that he heard was from a man-at-arms, who madehis appearance in his tent to demand Master Ashton's arms, horse, andother property, he having entered the service of Sir William Felton;and Eustace was too much engaged with his own cares to make furtherinquiry after him.
For a day or two Gaston d'Aubricour's fever ran very high, and justwhen its violence was beginning to diminish, a fresh access wasoccasioned by the journey from Burgos to Valladolid, whither he wascarried in a litter, when the army, by Pedro's desire, marched thitherto await his promised subsidy. The unwholesome climate was of mostpernicious effect to the whole of the English army, and in especial tothe Black Prince, who there laid the foundation of the disorder whichdestroyed his health. Week after week passed on, each adding heat tothe summer, and increasing the long roll of sick and dying in the camp,while Gaston still lay, languid and feeble by day, and fevered bynight; there were other patients among the men-at-arms, requiringscarcely less care; and the young Knight himself, though, owing to histemperate habits, he had escaped the prevailing sickness, was lookingthin and careworn with the numerous troubles and anxieties that werepressing on him.
Still he had actually lost not one of his men, and after the first weekor two, began to have more con
fidence in himself, and to feel his placeas their commander more than he would have done had Gaston been able toassist him. At last his trusty Squire began slowly to recover, thoughnightly returns of fever still kept him very weak.
"The Pyrenean breezes would make me another man," said he, one evening,when Eustace had helped him to the front of the tent, where he mightenjoy the coolness which began to succeed the sultry heat of the day.
"I hear," said Eustace, "that we are to return as soon as the Princecan be moved. He is weary of waiting till this dog of a Spaniard willperform his contract."
"By my faith," said d'Aubricour, "I believe the butcherly rogue meansto cancel his debts by the death of all his creditors. I would give myshare of the pay, were it twenty times more, for one gust of themountain air of my own hills."
"Which way lies your home, Gaston?" asked Eustace. "Near the pass bywhich we crossed?"
"No; more to the west. My home, call you it? You would marvel to seewhat it is now. A shattered, fire-scathed keep; the wolf's den inearnest, it may be. It is all that is left of the Castle d'Albricorte."
"How?" exclaimed Eustace. "What brought this desolation?"
"Heard you never my story?" said Gaston. "Mayhap not. You are freshin the camp, and it is no recent news, nor do men question much whencetheir comrades come. Well, Albricorte was always a noted house forcourage, and my father, Baron Beranger, not a whit behind hisancestors. He called himself a liegeman of England, because Englandwas farthest off, and least likely to give him any trouble, and madewar with all his neighbours in his own fashion. Rare was the prey thatthe old Black Wolf of the Pyrenees was wont to bring up to his lair,and right merry were the feastings there. Well I do remember how myfather and brothers used to sound their horns as a token that they didnot come empty-handed, and then, panting up the steep path, would comea rich merchant, whose ransom filled our purses half a year after, or aKnight, whose glittering armour made him a double prize, or--"
"What! you were actually--"
"Freebooters, after the fashion of our own Quatre fils Aymon," answeredGaston, composedly. "Yes, Beranger d'Albricorte was the terror of allaround, and little was the chance that aught would pursue him to hisden. So there I grew up, as well beseemed the cub of such a wolf,racing through the old halls at my will."
"Your mother?" asked Eustace.
"Ah! poor lady! I remember her not. She died when I was a babe, andall I know of her was from an old hag, the only woman in the Castle, towhom the charge of me was left. My mother was a noble Navarrese damselwhom my father saw at a tourney, seized, and bore away as she wasreturning from the festival. Poor lady! our grim Castle must have beena sad exchange from her green valleys--and the more, that they say shewas soon to have wedded the Lord of Montagudo, the victor of thattourney. The Montagudos had us in bitter feud ever after, and myfather always looked like a thunderstorm if their name was spoken.They say she used to wander on the old battlements like a ghost, evergrowing thinner and whiter, and scarce seemed to joy even in her babes,but would only weep over them. That angered the Black Wolf, and therewere chidings which made matters little better, till at last the poorlady pined away, and died while I was still an infant."
"A sad tale," said Eustace.
"Ay! I used to weep at it, when the old crone who nursed me would tellit over as I sat by her side in the evening. See, here is holy relicthat my mother wore round her neck, and my nurse hung round mine. Ithas never been parted from me. So I grew up to the years of pagehood,which came early with me, and forth I went on my first foray with therest of them. But as we rode joyously home with our prey before us, aband of full a hundred and fifty men-at-arms set on us in the forest.Our brave thirty--down they went on all side. I remember the tumult,the heavy mace uplifted, and my father's shield thrust over me. I canwell-nigh hear his voice saying, 'Flinch not, Gaston, my bravewolf-cub!' But then came a fall, man and horse together, and I wentdown stunned, and knew no more till a voice over me said, 'That whelpis stirring--another sword-thrust!' But another replied, 'He bears thefeatures of Alienor, I cannot slay him.'"
"It was your mother's lover?"
"Montagudo? Even so; and I was about to beg for mercy, but, at myfirst movement, the other fellow's sword struck me back senseless oncemore, and when I recovered my wits, all was still, and the moonlightshowed me where I was. And a fair scene to waken to! A score of darkshapes hung on the trees--our trusty men-at-arms--and my own head wasresting on my dead father's breast. Us they had spared fromhanging--our gentle blood did us that service; but my father and mythree brethren all were stone dead. The Count de Bearn had sworn toput an end to the ravages of the Black Wolf, and, joining with theMontagudos, had done the work, like traitor villains as they were."
"And yourself, Gaston?"
"I was not so badly wounded but that I could soon rise to my feet--butwhere should I go? I turned towards the Castle, but the Bearnese hadbeen there before me, and I saw flames bursting from every window. Iwas weak and wounded, and sank down, bleeding and bewailing, till mysenses left me; and I should have died, but for two Benedictinesjourneying for the service of their Convent. The good brethren were infear for their bags in going through the Black Wolf's country, but theyhad pity on me; they brought me to myself, and when they had heard mytale, they turned aside to give Christian burial to my father andbrothers. They were holy men, those monks, and, for their sakes, I havespared the cowl ever since. They tended me nearly as well as you havedone, and brought me to their Convent, where they would fain have madea monk of me, but the wolf was too strong in me, and, ere a month waspassed, I had been so refractory a pupil, that they were right glad toopen the Convent gates. I walked forth to seek my fortune, without adenier, with nothing but the sword I had taken from my father's hand,and borne with me, much against the good men's will. I meant to seekservice with any one who would avenge me on the Count de Bearn. Onenight I slept on the hill-side, one day I fasted, the next I fell inwith Sir Perduccas d'Albret's troop. I had seen him in my father'scompany. He heard my tale, saw me a strong, spirited lad, and knew ad'Aubricour would be no discredit to his free lances. So he took me ashis page, and thence--but the tale would be long--I became what you seeme."
"And you have never seen your own Castle again?"
"But once. D'Albret laughed when I called on him to revenge me on theCount de Bearn, and bade me bide my time till I met him in battle. Asto my heritage, there was no hope for that. Once, when I had justbroken with Sir Nele Loring, and left his troop, and times were hardwith me, I took my horse and rode to Albricorte, but there was noughtbut the bare mountain, and the walls black with fire. There was,indeed, a wretched shepherd and his wife, who trembled and lookeddismayed when they found that one of the Albricortes still lived; but Icould get nothing from them, unless I had taken a sheep before me onthe saddle; so I rode off again to seek some fresh service, and, bygood hap, lit on Sir Reginald just as old Harwood was dead. All I havefrom my father is my name, my shield, and an arm that I trust hasdisgraced neither."
"No, indeed. Yours is a strange history, Gaston; such as we dream notof in our peaceful land. Homeless, friendless, I know not how you canbe thus gay spirited?"
"A light heart finds its way through the world the easiest," saidGaston, smiling. "I have nothing to lose, and no sorrows to waste timeon. But are you not going forth this cool evening, Sir Eustace? youspoke of seeking fresh tidings of the Prince."
Eustace accordingly walked forth, attended by his yeoman, John Ingram;but all he could learn was, that Edward had sent a remonstrance to theKing of Castile on the delay of the subsidy.
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