In the Days of Chivalry Part 34

Wan and white and wasted did Raymond indeed appear, as though a breath would blow him away. Upon his face was that faraway, ethereal look of one who has been lingering long beside the portal of another world, and scarce knows to which he belongs. It sometimes seemed as though the angel song of the unseen realm was oftener heard and understood by him than the voices of those about him. But the fever cloud was slowly lifting from his brain, and today the first impulse to a real recovery had been given by these few words with his brother.

Raymond's recollection of past events was coming back to him connectedly, and the thought of Joan acted like a tonic upon him. For her sake he would live; for her sake he would make a battle for his life. Had he not vowed himself to her service? and did any woman stand more in need of her lover's strong arm than the daughter of Sir Hugh Vavasour?

Raymond had gauged the character of that knight before, and knew that he would sell his daughter without scruple to any person who would make it worth his while. It had been notorious in old days that the Sanghursts had some peculiar hold upon him, and was it likely that Peter Sanghurst, who was plainly resolved to make Joan his wife, would allow that power to rest unused when it might be employed for the furtherance of his purpose? To send Gaston forth upon the quest for Joan was much; but he himself must fight this wasting sickness, that he might be ready to go to her when the summons came that she was found, and was ready to welcome her faithful knight.

From that hour Raymond began to amend; and although his progress was slow, and seemed doubly slow to his impatience, it was steady and sure, and he was as one given back from the dead.

"Mistress Joan Vavasour, boy? why, all the world is making that inquiry.

How comes it that thou, by thine own account but just home from Gascony, shouldst be likewise asking the same question?"

Master Bernard de Brocas turned his kindly face towards Gaston with a look of shrewd inquiry in his eyes. His nephew had arrived but a short half-hour at his house, somewhat jaded by rapid travelling, and after hurriedly removing the stains of the journey from his person, was seated before a well-supplied board, whilst the cleric sat beside him, always eager for news, and exceedingly curious to know the history of the twin brothers, who for the past six months seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. But for the moment Gaston was too intent upon asking questions to have leisure to answer any.

"How?" he questioned; "what mean you, reverend Sir? Everybody asking news of her? How comes that about?"

"Marry, for the reason that the lady hath disappeared these last three weeks from her father's house, and none can tell whither she has fled, or whether she has been spirited away, or what hath befallen her. Sir Hugh is in a mighty taking, for he had just arranged a marriage betwixt her and Peter Sanghurst, and the lady had given her consent (or so it is said, albeit there be some who doubt the truth of that), and he is sorely vexed to know what can have become of her."

"Peter Sanghurst! that arch-villain!" cried Gaston, involuntarily laying his hand on the hilt of his dagger. "Mine uncle, I have come to ask counsel of thee about that same miscreant. I am glad that he at least has not fled the country. He shall not escape the fate he so richly merits."

And then, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes and words eloquent through excess of feeling, Gaston related the whole story of the past months: the appearance on board the vessel of the Black Visor; the concerted action against Raymond carried out by Sanghurst, thus disguised, and the Sieur de Navailles; and the cruelty devised against him, from which he had escaped only by something of a miracle.

And as Master Bernard de Brocas listened to this tale of treachery, planned and carried out against one of his own name and race, an answering light shone in his eyes, and he smote his palms together, crying out in sudden wrath:

"Gaston, the King shall hear of this! Thou shalt tell to him the tale as thou hast told it to me. He will not hear patiently of such indignities offered to a subject of his, not though the King of France himself had done it! That Sieur de Navailles is no friend to England. I know him well, and his false, treacherous ways. I have heard much of him ere now, and the King has his eye upon him. Gaston, this hollow truce cannot long continue. The n.o.bles and the King are alike weary of a peace which is no peace, and which the King of France or his lords are continually breaking. A very little, and the flame of war will burst out anew. It may be that even this tale of thine may put the spark to the train (as they say of these new artillery engines that are so astonis.h.i.+ng men by their smoke and noise), and that the Prince, when he hears of it, will urge his father to march once more into France, and put an end to the petty annoyances and treacherous attacks which are goading the royal lion of England to wrath and fury."

"Pray Heaven it may!" cried Gaston, starting to his feet and pacing up and down the hall. "Thou knowest, uncle mine, how the Prince and the King did long ago confirm to me the rights of the De Brocas to the ancient Castles of Orthez and Saut. If he would but give me his royal warrant for mustering men and recovering mine own, I trow, be the walls of Saut never so strong, that I would speedily make mine entrance within them! Uncle, the Sieur de Navailles is hated and feared and reviled by all men for miles around his walls. I trow that, even amongst those who bear arms for him, some would be found who would gladly serve another master. Stories of the punishments he is wont to inflict upon all who fall beneath his displeasure have pa.s.sed from mouth to mouth, and bitter is the rage burning in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of those whose helpless kinsfolk have suffered through his tyrant cruelty. I trow an armed band, coming in the name of the English King, could soon smoke that old fox out of his hole; whilst all men would rejoice at his fall. Let me to the King -- let me tell my tale! I burn to be on the wing once more! Where may his Majesty be found?"

"Softly, softly, boy! We must think somewhat more of this. And we have two foes, not one alone, to deal with. Peter Sanghurst is, as it were, beneath our very hand. He is at Basildene, fuming like a wild thing at the sudden disappearance of Mistress Joan. There be, nevertheless, some who say that this wrath is all a.s.sumed; that he has captured the lady, and holds her a prisoner in his hands, all the while pretending to know naught of her. I know not what truth there may be in such rumours. The Sanghurst bears an evil name, and many are the stories whispered about him."

"What!" almost shouted Gaston, in the fierceness of his excitement, "Mistress Joan a prisoner in Basildene, the captive of that miscreant!

Uncle, let us lose not an hour! Let us forthwith to the King. He will give us his royal warrant, and armed with that we will to Basildene, and search for her there, and free her ere the set of sun. Oh, it would be like him -- it would be all in a piece with his villainy! I cannot rest nor breathe till I know all. Uncle, may we not set forth this very day -- this same night?"

The worthy ecclesiastic laid a hand upon Gaston's shoulder.

"Boy," he said, "I will myself to the King this very day. The moon will soon be up, and the way is familiar to me and my men. But thou shalt tarry here. Thou hast travelled far today, and art weary and in need of rest. Perchance, in this matter of the Sanghurst, I shall do better without thee. Thou shalt see the King anon, and shalt tell him all thy tale; but methinks this matter of Basildene had best be spoken of betwixt him and me alone. Thou knowest that I have for long been in the King's favour and confidence, and have managed many state matters for him. Thou mayest therefore leave thy cause in my hands. I have all the papers safe that thou broughtest from Gascony long since, and have left in my care these many years. I have been awaiting my opportunity to lay the matter of Basildene before the King, and now I trow that the hour has come."

Gaston stopped short in his restless pacing, a bright light in his eyes.

"Thou thinkest to oust the Sanghurst thence -- to gain Basildene for Raymond?"

"Ay, verily I do. It is your inheritance by right; the papers prove it.

Ye were deprived of it by force, and now the hour of rest.i.tution has come. As to thee are secured the Gascon lands, when they can be wrested from the hand of the foe, so shall Basildene be secured to Raymond, albeit he has not won his spurs as thou hast done, boy, and that right l.u.s.tily. But I know much good of Raymond. He will worthily fill his place. Go now to rest, boy, and leave this matter in mine hands. I warrant thee the cause shall not suffer for being intrusted to me. Get thee to rest. Fear not; and ere two days be pa.s.sed thou shalt have tidings of some sort from me."

Gaston would fain have been his uncle's companion on the road, but he knew better than to insist. Master Bernard de Brocas well knew what he was about, and was plainly deeply interested in the story he had heard.

Raymond had long been high in his favour. To cause to recoil upon the head of the treacherous Sanghurst the vengeance he had plotted against his own nephew, to punish him for his treachery -- to wrest from his rapacious grasp the lands and the Manor of Basildene, was a task peculiarly agreeable to the statesman, who knew well what he was about and the master whom he served. Basildene was no great possession, but it might be greatly increased in value, and there was rumour of buried h.o.a.rds there which might speedily restore the old house to more than its former splendour. At any rate, its lands and revenues would be a modest portion for a younger son, who still had the flower of his life before him, and was like to rise in the King's favour. The romantic story of his love, his sufferings, his rescue from the two foes of his house, was certain to appeal to the King and his son, whilst the treachery of those foes would equally rouse the royal wrath.

Master Bernard departed for Windsor with the rising of the moon; and Gaston pa.s.sed a restless night and day wondering what was pa.s.sing at Windsor, and feeling, when he retired to rest upon the second night, as though his excitement of mind must drive slumber from his eyes. Nor did sleep visit him till the tardy dawn stole in at the window, and when he did sleep he slept long and soundly.

He was aroused by the sound of a great trampling in the courtyard below; and springing quickly from his couch, he saw the place full of men-at-arms, all wearing either the badge of the De Brocas or else that of the Prince of Wales.

Throwing on his clothes in great haste, and scarce tarrying to buckle on his sword, Gaston strode from his chamber and hastened down the great staircase. At the foot of this stood one whom well he knew, and with an inarticulate exclamation of delight he threw himself upon one knee before the young Prince, and pressed his lips to the hand graciously extended to him.

"Nay, Gaston; thy friend and comrade, not thy sovereign!" cried the handsome youth gaily, as he raised Gaston and looked smilingly into his face, his own countenance alight with satisfaction and excitement. "Ah, thou knowest not how glad I am to welcome thee once more! For the days be coming soon when I must needs rally all my brave knights about me, and go forth to France for a new career of glory there. But today another task is ours, and not as thy Prince, but thy good comrade, have I come. I will forth with thee to the den of this foul Sanghurst, and together will we search his house for the lady men say he has so cunningly spirited away; and if she be found indeed languis.h.i.+ng in captivity there, then in very truth shall the Sanghurst feel the wrath of the royal Edward. He shall live to feel the iron hand of the King he has outraged and defied! But he shall pay the forfeit of his life.

England shall be rid of one of her greatest villains when Peter Sanghurst feels the halter about his neck!"

CHAPTER XXIX. THE FALL OF THE SANGHURST.

"Is that the only answer you have for me, sweet lady?"

"The only one, Sir; and you will never have another. Strive as you will, keep me imprisoned as long as you will, I will never yield. I will never be yours; I belong to another --"

A fierce gleam was in Sanghurst's eyes, though he retained the suave softness of speech that he had a.s.sumed all along.

"He is dead, fair mistress."

"Living or dead, I am yet his," answered Joan unfalteringly; "and were I as free as air -- had I never pledged my faith to him -- I should yet have none other answer for you. Think you that your evil deeds have not been whispered in mine ear? Think you that this imprisonment in which you think fit to keep me is like to win my heart?"

"Nay, sweetest lady, call it not by that harsh name. Could a princess have been better served or tended than you have been ever since you came beneath my humble roof? It is no imprisonment; it is but the watchful care of one who loves you, and would fain save you from the peril into which you had recklessly plunged. Lady, had you known the dangers of travel in these wild and lawless days, you never would have left the shelter of your father's house with but one attendant to protect you.

Think you that those peerless charms could ever have been hidden beneath the dress of a peasant lad? Well was it for you, lady, that your true love was first to follow and find you, ere some rude fellow had betrayed the secret to his fellows, and striven to turn it to their advantage.

Here you are safe; and I have sent to your father to tell him you are found and are secure. He, too, is searching for you; but soon he will receive my message, and will come hastening hither. Then will our marriage be solemnized with all due rites. Your obstinate resistance will avail nothing to hinder our purpose. But I would fain win this lovely hand by gentle means; and it will be better for thee, Joan Vavasour, to lay down thine arms and surrender while there is yet time."

There was a distinct accent of menace in the last words, and the underlying expression upon that smiling face was evil and threatening in the extreme. But Joan's eyes did not falter beneath the searching gaze of her would-be husband. Her face was set in lines of fearless resolution. She still wore the rough blue homespun tunic of a peasant lad, and her chestnut locks hung in heavy natural curls about her shoulders. The distinction in dress between the s.e.xes was much less marked in those days than it has since become. Men of high degree clothed themselves in flowing robes, and women of humble walk in life in short kirtles; whilst the tunic was worn by boys and girls alike, though there was a difference in the manner of the wearing, and it was discarded by the girl in favour of a longer robe or sweeping supertunic with the approach of womanhood. In the lower ranks of life, however, the difference in dress between boy and girl was nothing very distinctive; and the disguise had been readily effected by Joan, who had only to cut somewhat shorter her flowing locks, clothe herself in the homespun tunic and leather gaiters of a peasant boy, and place a cloth cap jauntily on her flowing curls before she was transformed into as pretty a lad as one could wish to see.

With the old henchman Nat to play the part of father, she had journeyed fearlessly forth, and had made for the coast, which she would probably have reached in safety had it not been for the acuteness of Peter Sanghurst, who had guessed her purpose, had dogged her steps with the patient sagacity of a bloodhound, and had succeeded in the end in capturing his prize, and in bringing her back in triumph to Basildene.

He had not treated her badly. He had not parted her from the old servant under whose escort she had travelled. Perhaps he felt he would have other opportunities of avenging this insult to himself; perhaps there was something in the light in Joan's eyes and in the way in which she sometimes placed her hand upon the hilt of the dagger in her belt which warned him not to try her too far. Joan was something of an enigma to him still. She was like no other woman with whom he had ever come in contact. He did not feel certain what she might say or do. It was rather like treading upon the crust of some volcanic crater to have dealings with her. At any moment something quite unforeseen might take place, and cause a complete upheaval of all his plans. From policy, as well as from his professed love, he had shown himself very guarded during the days of their journey and her subsequent residence beneath the roof of Basildene; but neither this show of submission and tenderness, nor thinly-veiled threats and menaces, had sufficed to bend her will to his.

It had now come to this -- marry him of her own free will she would not.

Therefore the father must be summoned, and with him the priest, and the ceremony should be gone through with or without the consent of the lady.

Such marriages were not so very unusual in days when daughters were looked upon as mere chattels to be disposed of as their parents or guardians desired. It was usual, indeed, to marry them off at an earlier age, when reluctance had not developed into actual resistance; but still it could be done easily enough whatever the lady might say or do.

Peter Sanghurst, confident that the game was now entirely in his own hands, could even afford to be indulgent and patient. In days to come he would be amply avenged for all the slights now inflicted upon him. He often pictured the moment when he should tell to Joan the true story of his possession of the love token she had bestowed upon Raymond. He thought that she would suffer even more in the hearing of it than he had done upon the rack; and his wife could not escape him as his other victim had. He could wring her heartstrings as he had hoped to wring the nerves of Raymond's sensitive frame, and none could deliver her out of his hand.

But now he was still playing the farce of the suppliant lover, guessing all the while that she knew as well as he what a farce the part was. He strove to make her surrender, but was met by an invincible firmness.

"Do what you will, Peter Sanghurst," she said: "summon my father, call the priest, do what you will, your wife I will never be. I have told you so before; I tell it you again."

He smiled a smile more terrible than his frown.

"We shall see about that," was his reply, as he turned on his heel and strode from the room.

When he was gone Joan turned suddenly towards the old man, who was all this while standing with folded arms in a distant window, listening in perfect silence to the dialogue. She made a few swift paces towards him and looked into his troubled face.

"Nat," she said, in a low voice, "thou hast not forgotten thy promise made to me?"