Quentin Durward Part 32

At the top of the stair was an anteroom, with boxes and trunks, which bore marks of having been rifled, as some of the contents lay on the floor. A lamp, dying in the chimney, shed a feeble beam on a dead or senseless man who lay across the hearth.

Bounding from Pavillon like a greyhound from his keeper's leash, and with an effort which almost overthrew him, Quentin sprang through a second and a third room, the last of which seemed to be the bedroom of the Ladies of Croye. No living mortal was to be seen in either of them.

He called upon the Lady Isabelle's name, at first gently, then more loudly, and then with an accent of despairing emphasis, but no answer was returned. He wrung his hands, tore his hair, and stamped on the earth with desperation. At length a feeble glimmer of light, which shone through a crevice in the wainscoting of a dark nook in the bedroom, announced some recess or concealment behind the arras. Quentin hasted to examine it. He found there was indeed a concealed room, but it resisted his hurried efforts to open it. Heedless of the personal injury he might sustain, he rushed at the door with the whole force and weight of his body, and such was the impetus of an effort made betwixt hope and despair, that it would have burst much stronger fastenings.

He thus forced his way, almost headlong, into a small oratory, where a female figure, which had been kneeling in agonizing supplication before the holy image, now sank at length on the floor, under the new terrors implied in this approaching tumult. He hastily raised her from the ground, and, joy of joys it was she whom he sought to save--the Countess Isabelle. He pressed her to his bosom--he conjured her to awake--entreated her to be of good cheer--for that she was now under time protection of one who had heart and hand enough to defend her against armies.

"Durward!" she said, as she at length collected herself, "is it indeed you?--then there is some hope left. I thought all living and mortal friends had left me to my fate.--Do not again abandon me."

"Never--never!" said Durward. "Whatever shall happen, whatever danger shall approach, may I forfeit the benefits purchased by yonder blessed sign, if I be not the sharer of your fate until it is again a happy one!"

"Very pathetic and touching, truly," said a rough, broken, asthmatic voice behind. "A love affair, I see, and, from my soul, I pity the tender creature as if she were my own Trudchen."

"You must do more than pity," said Quentin, turning towards the speaker, "you must a.s.sist in protecting us, Meinheer Pavillon. Be a.s.sured this lady was put under my especial charge by your ally the King of France, and, if you aid me not to shelter her from every species of offence and violence, your city will lose the favour of Louis of Valois. Above all, she must be guarded from the hands of William de la Marck."

"That will be difficult," said Pavillon, "for these schelms of lanzknechts are very devils at rummaging out the wenches. But I'll do my best.--We will to the other apartment, and there I will consider.--It is but a narrow stair, and you can keep the door with a pike, while I look from the window, and get together some of my brisk boys of the curriers'

guildry of Liege, that are as true as the knives they wear in their girdles.--But first undo me these clasps--for I have not worn this corselet since the battle of Saint Tron [fought by the insurgents of Liege against the Duke of Burgundy, Charles the Bold, when Count of Charalois, in which the people of Liege were defeated with great slaughter. S.] and I am three stone heavier since that time, if there be truth in Dutch beam and scale."

The undoing of the iron enclosure gave great relief to the honest man, who, in putting it on, had more considered his zeal to the cause of Liege, than his capacity of bearing arms. It afterwards turned out that being, as it were, borne forward involuntarily, and hoisted over the walls by his company as they thronged to the a.s.sault, the magistrate had been carried here and there, as the tide of attack and defence flowed or ebbed, without the power, latterly, of even uttering a word until, as the sea casts a log of driftwood ash.o.r.e in the first creek, he had been ultimately thrown in the entrance to the Ladies of Croye's apartments, where the enc.u.mbrance of his own armour, with the superinc.u.mbent weight of two men slain in the entrance, and who fell above him, might have fixed him down long enough, had he not been relieved by Durward.

The same warmth of temper which rendered Hermann Pavillon a hot headed and intemperate zealot in politics, had the more desirable consequence of making him, in private, a good tempered, kind hearted man, who, if sometimes a little misled by vanity, was always well meaning and benevolent. He told Quentin to have an especial care of the poor pretty yung frau [young woman], and, after this unnecessary exhortation, began to halloo from the window, "Liege, Liege, for the gallant skinners'

guild of curriers!"

One or two of his immediate followers collected at the summons and at the peculiar whistle with which it was accompanied (each of the crafts having such a signal among themselves), and, more joining them, established a guard under the window from which their leader was bawling, and before the postern door.

Matters seemed now settling into some sort of tranquillity. All opposition had ceased, and the leaders of the different cla.s.ses of a.s.sailants were taking measures to prevent indiscriminate plunder. The great bell was tolled, a summons to a military counsel, and its iron tongue communicating to Liege the triumphant possession of Schonwaldt by the insurgents, was answered by all the bells in that city, whose distant and clamorous voices seemed to cry, Hail to the victors! It would have been natural that Meinheer Pavillon should now have sallied from his fastness, but either in reverent care of those whom he had taken under his protection, or perhaps for the better a.s.surance of his own safety, he contented himself with dispatching messenger on messenger, to command his lieutenant, Peterkin Geislaer, to attend him directly.

Peterkin came, at length, to his great relief, as being the person upon whom, on all pressing occasions, whether of war, politics, or commerce, Pavillon was most accustomed to repose confidence. He was a stout, squat figure, with a square face and broad black eyebrows, that announced him to be opinionative and disputatious,--an advice giving countenance, so to speak. He was endued with a buff jerkin, wore a broad belt and cutla.s.s by his side, and carried a halberd in his hand.

"Peterkin, my dear lieutenant," said the commander, "this has been a glorious day--night I should say--I trust thou art pleased for once."

"I am well enough pleased that you are so," said the doughty lieutenant, "though I should not have thought of your celebrating the victory, if you call it one, up in this garret by yourself, when you are wanted in council."

"But am I wanted there?" said the Syndic.

"Ay, marry are you, to stand up for the rights of Liege, that are in more danger than ever," answered the lieutenant.

"Pshaw, Peterkin," answered his princ.i.p.al, "thou art ever such a frampold grumbler--"

"Grumbler? not I," said Peterkin, "what pleases other people will always please me. Only I wish we have not got King Stork, instead of King Log, like the fabliau [fable] that the Clerk of Saint Lambert's used to read us out of Meister Aesop's book."

[Refers to Aesop's fable. The commonwealth of frogs, having conceived an aversion for their amiable king Log, asked Jupiter to send them another sovereign. He accordingly bestowed upon them a stork who gradually devoured all his subjects.]

"I cannot guess your meaning," said the Syndic.

"Why then, I tell you, Master Pavillon, that this Boar or Bear is like to make his own den of Schonwaldt, and is probable to turn out as bad a neighbour to our town as ever was the old Bishop, and worse. Here has he taken the whole conquest in his own hand, and is only doubting whether he should be called Prince or Bishop--and it is a shame to see how they have mishandled the old man among them."

"I will not permit it, Peterkin," said Pavillon, hustling up, "I disliked the mitre, but not the head that wore it. We are ten to one in the field, Peterkin, and will not permit these courses."

"Ay, ten to one in the field, but only man to man in the castle, besides that Nikkel Blok the butcher, and all the rabble of the suburbs, take part with William de la Marck, partly for saus and braus [means here carousing] (for he has broached all the ale tubs and wine casks), and partly for old envy towards us, who are the craftsmen, and have privileges."

"Peter," said Pavillon, "we will go presently to the city. I will stay no longer in Schonwaldt."

"But the bridges of this castle are up, master," said Geislaer--"the gates locked, and guarded by these lanzknechts, and, if we were to try to force our way, these fellows, whose everyday business is war, might make wild work of us that only fight of a holyday."

"But why has he secured the gates?" said the alarmed burgher, "or what business hath he to make honest men prisoners?"

"I cannot tell--not I," said Peter. "Some noise there is about the Ladies of Croye, who have escaped during the storm of the castle. That first put the Man with the Beard beside himself with anger, and now he 's beside himself with drink also."

The Burgomaster cast a disconsolate look towards Quentin, and seemed at a loss what to resolve upon. Durward, who had not lost a word of the conversation, which alarmed him very much, saw nevertheless that their only safety depended on his preserving his own presence of mind, and sustaining the courage of Pavillon. He struck boldly into the conversation, as one who had a right to have a voice in the deliberation.

"I am ashamed," he said, "Meinheer Pavillon, to observe you hesitate what to do on this occasion. Go boldly to William de la Marck, and demand free leave to quit the castle, you, your lieutenant, your squire, and your daughter. He can have no pretence for keeping you prisoner."

"For me and my lieutenant--that is myself and Peter?--Good--but who is my squire?"

"I am for the present," replied the undaunted Scot.

"You!" said the embarra.s.sed burgess, "but are you not the envoy of King Louis of France?"

"True, but my message is to the magistrates of Liege--and only in Liege will I deliver it.--Were I to acknowledge my quality before William de la Marck, must I not enter into negotiations with him? Ay, and, it is like, be detained by him. You must get me secretly out of the castle in the capacity of your squire."

"Good--my squire--but you spoke of my daughter--my daughter is, I trust, safe in my house in Liege--where I wish her father was, with all my heart and soul."

"This lady," said Durward, "will call you father while we are in this place."

"And for my whole life afterwards," said the Countess, throwing herself at the citizen's feet, and clasping his knees.

"Never shall the day pa.s.s in which I will not honour you, love you, and pray for you as a daughter for a father, if you will but aid me in this fearful strait.--Oh, be not hard hearted! Think, your own daughter may kneel to a stranger, to ask him for life and honour--think of this, and give me the protection you would wish her to receive!"

"In troth," said the good citizen, much moved with her pathetic appeal, "I think, Peter, that this pretty maiden hath a touch of our Trudchen's sweet look--I thought so from the first, and that this brisk youth here, who is so ready with his advice, is somewhat like Trudchen's bachelor--I wager a groat, Peter, that this is a true love matter, and it is a sin not to further it."

"It were shame and sin both," said Peter, a good natured Fleming, notwithstanding all his self conceit, and as he spoke he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jerkin.

"She shall be my daughter, then," said Pavillon, "well wrapped up in her black silk veil and if there are not enough of true hearted skinners to protect her, being the daughter of their Syndic, it were pity they should ever tug leather more.--But hark ye--questions must be answered--How if I am asked what should my daughter make here at such an onslaught?"

"What should half the women in Liege make here when they followed us to the castle?" said Peter. "They had no other reason, sure, but that it was just the place in the world that they should not have come to. Our yung frau Trudchen has come a little farther than the rest--that is all."

"Admirably spoken," said Quentin, "only be bold, and take this gentleman's good counsel, n.o.ble Meinheer Pavillon, and, at no trouble to yourself, you will do the most worthy action since the days of Charlemagne.--Here, sweet lady, wrap yourself close in this veil" (for many articles of female apparel lay scattered about the apartment)--"be but confident, and a few minutes will place you in freedom and safety.

n.o.ble Sir," he added, addressing Pavillon, "set forward."

"Hold--hold--hold a minute," said Pavillon, "my mind misgives me!--This De la Marck is a fury, a perfect boar in his nature as in his name, what if the young lady be one of those of Croye?--and what if he discover her, and be addicted to wrath?"

"And if I were one of those unfortunate women," said Isabelle, again attempting to throw herself at his feet, "could you for that reject me in this moment of despair? Oh, that I had been indeed your daughter, or the daughter of the poorest burgher!"

"Not so poor--not so poor neither, young lady--we pay as we go," said the citizen.

"Forgive me, n.o.ble sir," again began the unfortunate maiden.

"Not n.o.ble, nor sir, neither," said the Syndic, "a plain burgher of Liege, that pays bills of exchange in ready guilders.--But that is nothing to the purpose.--Well, say you be a countess, I will protect you nevertheless."