Agincourt Part 23

Ella looked round, and beheld the man whom she had found speaking with the porter a moment before, bending his brows sternly upon the servant of Sir Simeon Roydon, whom she had seen watching near the hermitage of St. Catherine, as she pa.s.sed up the Strand. The latter, however, seemed to be animated by no very pugnacious spirit, for he merely replied, "Methinks one man has a right to walk the high road to London as well as another."

But he did not proceed to enforce this right by following the course he had been pursuing; and, crossing over from the south to the north side of the way, he was soon lost amongst the low shops and small houses which there occupied the middle of the road.

"I will ride along beside you, fair maiden," said Ned Dyram, for he it was who had come up, "though I should not wonder, from what the porter told me just now, if you were the person I am looking for."

He spoke civilly and gravely; and Ella replied, with a bright smile, "Ha! perhaps it is so; for he said he would send. Whom do you come from?"

"I come from Richard of Woodville," answered the man; "and I am sent to a maiden named Ella Brune, living not far up the new street somewhat beyond the Old Temple, in an hostelry called the Falcon."

"'Tis I--'tis I!" cried Ella. "Oh! I am glad to see you."

Her bright eyes lighted up, and her fair face glowed with an expression of joy and satisfaction, which added in no small degree to its loveliness; for, though we hear much of beauty in distress being heightened by tears, yet there is an inherent harmony between man's heart and joy, which makes the expression thereof always more pleasant to the eye than that of any other emotion.

Ned Dyram gazed at her with admiration, but withdrew his eyes the moment after, and resumed a more sober look. "I will give you all his messages by and by," he said, "for I shall lodge at the Falcon to-night, and have much to say. But yet I may as well tell you a part as we go along," he continued, dismounting from his horse, and taking the bridle on his arm. "First, fair maiden, I was to ask how you fared, and what you intended to do?"

"I have fared ill and well," answered Ella Brune; "but that is a long story, and I will relate it to you afterwards; for that I can talk of, though the people of the house should be present; but what I am to do is a deeper question, and I know not well how to answer it. I have friends at the court of Burgundy--"

"What, then, are you of n.o.ble race, lady?" asked Ned Dyram, in an altered tone.

"Oh, no!" replied Ella Brune, with a faint smile. "The cousin of whom I speak is but a goldsmith to the Count of Charolois; but, 'tis a long journey for a woman to take alone, through foreign lands, and amongst a people somewhat unruly."

"Why not come with us?" inquired Ned Dyram; "we sail from Dover in three days, and our company will be your protection. Did not Childe Richard tell you he was going?"

"Yes," answered Ella Brune, casting down her eyes, "but he did not seem to like the thought of having a woman in his company."

"Faith! that is courteous of the good youth," cried Ned Dyram, with a low sharp laugh. "He may win his spurs, but will not merit them, if he refuses protection to a lady."

"That, I am sure, he would not do," replied Ella, gravely. "He has given me the n.o.blest protection at my need; but he may not think it right."

"No, no; you have mistaken him," said Ned Dyram. "He is courteous and kind, without a doubt. He might think it better for yourself to go to York, as he bade me tell you, and to see your friends there, and to claim your rights; but if you judge fit to turn your steps to Burgundy instead, depend upon it he will freely give you aid and comfort on the way. If he did doubt," added the man, "'twas but that he thought his lady-love might be jealous, if she heard that he had so fair a maiden in his company--for you know he is a lover!"--and he fixed his eyes inquiringly on Ella's face.

"I know he is," she answered, calmly, and without a change of feature.

"I know the lady, too; but she is not unwilling that I should go; and I dread much to show myself in York."

"Why so?" demanded Ned Dyram. But Ella Brune was not sufficiently won by his countenance or manner to grant him the same confidence that she had reposed in Richard of Woodville; and she replied, "For many reasons; but the first and strongest is, that there are persons there who have seized on that which should be mine. They are powerful; I am weak; and 'tis likely, as in such case often happens, that they would be willing to add wrong to wrong."

"Not only often, but always," replied Ned Dyram; "therefore I say, fair maiden, you had better come with us. Here's one arm will strike a stroke for you, should need be; and there are plenty more amongst us who will do the like."

Ella answered him with a bright smile; but at that moment they were turning up the lane opposite the gate of the Temple, and she paused in her reply, willing to think farther and see more of her companion before she decided.

"Stay, fair maiden!" continued Ned Dyram, who well knew where the hostelry of the Falcon was situate--"It may be as well to keep our counsel, whatever it be, from host and hostess. Gossip is a part of their trade; and it is wise to avoid giving them occasion. I will give you, when we are within, a letter from my young lord, and read it to you, too, as perchance you cannot do that yourself; but it will let the people see that I am not without authority to hold converse with you, which may be needful."

"Nay," answered Ella, "I can read it myself; for I have not been without such training."

"Ay, I forgot," rejoined Ned Dyram, with one of his light sneers; "had you been a princess, you would not have been able to read. Such clerk-craft is only fit for citizens and monks. I wonder how Childe Richard learned to read and write. I fear it will spoil him for a soldier."

The satire was not altogether just; for, though it did not unfrequently happen that high n.o.bles and celebrated warriors and statesmen were as illiterate as the merest boors, and in some instances (especially after the wars of the Roses had deluged the land with blood, and interrupted all the peaceful arts of life) the barons affected to treat with sovereign contempt the cultivation of the mind, yet such was not by any means so generally the case, as the pride of modern civilization has been eager to show. We have proofs incontestable, that, in the reigns of Richard II., Henry IV., and Henry V., men were by no means so generally ignorant as has been supposed. The House of Lancaster was proud of its patronage of literature; and, though more than one valiant n.o.bleman could not sign his own name, or could do so with difficulty, there is much reason to believe that the exceptions have been pointed out as the rule; for we know that many a citizen of London could not only maintain, without the aid of another hand, long and intricate correspondence with foreign merchants, but also took delight in the reading during winter's nights of Chaucer and Gower, if not in studying secretly the writings of Wickliffe and his disciples.

Ella Brune replied not, but walked on into the house, calling the good hostess, who, in that day as in others, often supplied the place of both master and mistress in a house of public entertainment. Ned Dyram followed her with his eyes into the house, scrutinizing with keen and wondering glance the beauties of form which even the long loose robe of serge could not fully conceal. He marvelled at the grace he beheld, even more rare at that day amongst the sons and daughters of toil than at present; and, although the pride of rank and station could not, in his case, suggest the bold disregard of all law and decency in seeking the gratification of pa.s.sion, his feelings towards Ella Brune were not very far different from those of Sir Simeon of Roydon. He might have more respect for the opinion of the world, by which he hoped to rise; he might even have more respect for, and more belief in, virtue, for he was a wiser man; he might seek to obtain his ends by other means; he was even not incapable of love,--strong, pa.s.sionate, overpowering love; but the moving power was the same. It was all animal; for, strange to say, though his intellect was far superior to that of most men of his day; though he had far more mind than was needful, or even advantageous, in his commerce with the world of that age, his impulses were all animal towards others. That which he cared for little in himself, he admired, he almost wors.h.i.+pped, in woman. It was beauty of form and feature only that attracted him. Mind he cared not for--he thought not of; nay, up to that moment, he perhaps either doubted whether it existed in the other s.e.x, or thought it a disadvantage if it did. Even more, the heart itself he valued little; or, rather, that strange and complex tissue of emotions, springing from what source we know not, entwined with our mortal nature--by what delicate threads who can say?--which we are accustomed to ascribe to the heart, he regarded but as an almost worthless adjunct. His was the eager love--forgive me, if I profane what should be a holy name, rather than use a coa.r.s.er term--of the wild beast; the appet.i.te of the tiger, only tempered by the shrewdness of the fox. I mean not to say it always remained so; for, under the power of pa.s.sion and circ.u.mstances, the human heart is tutored as a child. Neither would I say that aught like love had yet touched his bosom for Ella Brune. I speak but of his ordinary feeling towards woman; but feelings of that sort are sooner roused than those of a higher nature. He saw that she was very beautiful--more beautiful, he thought, than any woman of his own station that ever he had beheld; and that was enough to make him determine upon counteracting his master's wishes and counsel, and persuading Ella to turn her steps in the same course in which his own were directed. He knew not how willing she was to be persuaded; he knew not that she was at heart already resolved: but he managed skilfully, he watched shrewdly, through the whole of his after-communications with her during the day. He discovered much--he discovered all, indeed, but one deep secret, which might have been penetrated by a woman's eyes, but which was hid from his, with all their keenness--the motive, the feeling, that led her so strongly in the very path he wished. He saw, indeed, that she was so inclined; he saw that there was a voice always seconding him in her heart, and he took especial care to furnish that voice with arguments which seemed irresistible. He contrived, too, to win upon her much; for there was in his conversation that mingling of frankness and flattering courtesy, of apparent carelessness of pleasing, with all the arts of giving pleasure, and that range of desultory knowledge and tone of superior mind, with apparent simplicity of manner, and contempt for a.s.sumption, which of all things are the most calculated to dazzle and impress for a time. 'Tis the lighter qualities that catch, the deeper ones that bind; and though, had there been a comparison drawn between him, who was her companion for a great part of that evening, and Richard of Woodville, Ella Brune would have laughed in scorn; yet she listened, well pleased, to the varied conversation with which he whiled away the hours, when she could wean her thoughts from dearer, though more painful themes; yielded to his arguments when they seconded the purposes of her own heart, and readily accepted his offered service to aid her in executing the plan she adopted.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE JOURNEY AND THE VOYAGE.

The sun rose behind some light grey clouds, and the blue sky was veiled; but the birds made the welkin ring from amongst the young leaves of the April trees, and told of the coming brightness of the day. Why, or wherefore, let men of science say; but one thing is certain, the seasons at that time were different from those at present; they were earlier; they were more distinct; spring was spring, and summer was summer; and winter, content with holding his own right stiffly, did not attempt to invade the rights of his brethren. Far in the north of England we had vines growing and bearing fruit in the open air. At Hexham there was a vineyard; and wine was made in more than one English county--not very good, it is to be supposed, but still good enough to be drunk, and to prove the longer and more genial reign of summer in our island. Thus, though the morning was grey, as I have said, and April had not yet come to an end, the air was as warm as it is often now in June, and every bank was already covered with flowers.

There were horses before the gate of Richard of Woodville's house, and men busily preparing them for a journey. There was the heavy charger, or battle horse, with tall and bony limbs, well fitted to bear up under the weight of a steel-covered rider; and the lighter, but still powerful palfrey, somewhat of the size and make of a hunter of the present day, to carry the master along the road. Besides these, appeared many another beast; horses for the yeomen and servants, and horses and mules for the baggage: the load of armour for himself and for his men which the young adventurer carried with him, requiring not a few of those serviceable brutes who bow their heads to man's will, in order to carry it to the sea-sh.o.r.e. At length all was prepared; the packs were put upon the beasts, the drivers were at their heads, the yeomen by their saddles; and with ten stout men and two boys, fourteen horses, three mules, a plentiful store of arms, and all the money he could raise, in his wallet, Richard of Woodville issued forth, gave his last commands to the old man and woman whom he left behind in the hall, and, springing into the saddle, began his journey towards Dover.

It was not without a sigh that he set out; for he was leaving the land in which Mary Markham dwelt; but yet he thought he was going to win honour for her sake--perchance to win her herself; and all the bright hopes and expectations of youth soon gathered on his way, more vivid and more glowing in his case, than they could be in that of any youth of the present day, taking his departure for foreign lands. If at present each country knows but very little in reality of its neighbour, if England entertains false views and wild imaginations regarding France and her people, and France has not the slightest particle of knowledge in regard to the feelings, character, and habits of thought, of the English, how much more must such have been the case in an age when communication was rare, and then only or chiefly by word of mouth! It is true that the state of geographical knowledge was not so low as has been generally supposed, for we are very apt to look upon ourselves as wonderful people, and to imagine that n.o.body knew anything before ourselves; and the difference between former ages and the present is more in the general diffusion of knowledge than in its amount. In the very age of which we speak, the famous Henry of Vasco was pursuing his great project for reaching India by pa.s.sing round Africa, attempting to establish Portuguese stations on the coast of that continent, and to communicate with the natives; "e poi aver con essi loro comercio per l'onore e utilta del Regno."[4]

[Footnote 4: Barros, Dec. i. lib. i. cap. 6.]

The highways of Europe were well known; for mercantile transactions between country and country were carried on upon a system so totally different from that existing at present, that mult.i.tudes of the citizens of every commercial state were constantly wandering over the face of Europe, and bringing home anecdotes, if not much solid information, regarding the distant lands they had visited. The merchant frequently accompanied his goods; and the smaller traders, especially from the cities of Italy, travelled every season from fair to fair, and mart to mart, throughout the whole of the civilized world. Besides the communications which thus took place, and the information thus diffused, intelligence of a different sort was carried by another cla.s.s, who may have been said to have represented in that day the tourists of the present. Chivalry, indeed, had greatly declined since the days of Richard I., and even since the time of the Black Prince; but still it was a constant practice for young knights and n.o.bles of every country to visit the courts of foreign princes, in order either to acquire the warlike arts then practised, or to gain distinction by feats of arms. Few books of travels were written, it is true, and fewer read; for the art of printing had not yet, by the easy multiplication of copies, placed the stores of learning within the reach of the many; and one of the sources from which vast information might have been derived was cut off, by the general abhorrence with which the ever-wandering tribes of Israel were regarded, and the habitual taciturnity which had thus been produced in a people naturally loquacious.

Still a great deal of desultory and vague information concerning distant lands was floating about society. Strange tales were told, it is true, and truth deformed by fiction; but imagination had plenty of materials out of which to form splendid structures; and bright pictures of the far and the future, certainly did present themselves to the glowing fancy of Richard of Woodville, as he rode on upon his way. Knowing his own courage, his own skill, and his own strength; energetic in character, resolute, and persevering; animated by love, and encouraged by hope, he might well look forward to the world as a harvest-field of glory, into which he was about to put the sickle.

Then came all the vague and misty representations that imagination could call up of distant courts and foreign princes, tilt and tournament, and high emprize; and the adventurous spirit of the times of old made his bosom thrill with dim visions of strange scenes and unknown places, accidents, difficulties, dangers, enterprises,--the hard rough ore from which the gold of praise and renown was still to be extracted.

Movement and exertion are the life-blood of youth; and as he rode on, the spirits of Richard of Woodville rose higher and higher; expectation expanded; the regrets were left behind; and "Onward, onward!" was the cry of his heart, as the grey cloud broke into mottled flakes upon the sky, and gradually disappeared, as if absorbed by the blue heaven which it had previously covered.

Through the rich wooded land of England he took his way for four days, contriving generally to make his resting-place for the night at some town which possessed the advantage of an inn, or at the house of some old friend of his family, where he was sure of kind reception. In the daytime, however, many of his meals were eaten in the open field, or under the broad shade of the trees; and, as he sat, after partaking lightly of the food which had been brought with him, while the horses were finis.h.i.+ng their provender, the birds singing in the trees above often brought back to his mind the words of the minstrel's girl's lay:--

"The lark shall sing on high, Whatever sh.o.r.e thou rovest; The nightingale shall try To call up her thou lovest.

For the true heart and kind, Its recompence shall find; Shall win praise, And golden days, And live in many a tale."

It seemed like the song of hope, and rang in his ear, mingling with the notes of the blackbird, the thrush, and the wood-lark, and promising success and happiness. The words, too, called up the image of Mary Markham, as she herself would have wished, the end and object of all his hopes and wishes, the crowning reward of every deed he thought to do. It is true that, with her, still appeared to the eye of memory the form of poor Ella Brune; but it was with very different sensations. He felt grateful to her for that cheering song; and, indeed, how often is it in life, that a few words of hope and encouragement are more valuable to us, are of more real and solid benefit, than a gift of gold and gems! for moral support to the heart of man, in the hour of difficulty, is worth all that the careless hand of wealth and power can bestow. But he felt no love--he might admire her, he might think her beautiful; but it was with the cold admiration of taste, not with pa.s.sion. Her loveliness to him was as that of a picture or statue, and the only warmer sensations that he felt when he thought of her, were pity for her misfortunes, and interest in her fate. Nor did this arise either in coldness of nature, or the haughty pride of n.o.ble birth; but love was with him, as it was with many in days somewhat previous to his own, very different from the transitory and mutable pa.s.sion which so generally bears that name. It was the absorbing principle of his whole nature, the ruling power of his heart, concentrated all in one--indivisible--unchangeable--a spirit in his spirit, a devotion, almost a wors.h.i.+p. I say not, that in former times, before he had felt that pa.s.sion, he might not have lived as others lived,--that he might not have trifled with the fair and bright wherever he found them,--that the fiery eagerness of youthful blood might not have carried him to folly, and to wrong; but from the moment he had learned to love Mary Markham, his heart had been for her alone, and the gate of his affections was closed against all others. Thus, could she have seen his inmost thoughts, she would have found how fully justified was her confidence, and might, perhaps, have blushed to recollect that one doubt had ever crossed her bosom.

It was about three o'clock on the evening of the fourth day, that Richard of Woodville--pa.s.sing along by the priory, and leaving the church of St. Mary to the left, with the towers of the old castle frowning from the steep above, on one side, and the round chapel of the ancient temple house peeping over the hill upon the other--entered the small town of Dover, and approached the sea-sh.o.r.e, which, in those days, unenc.u.mbered by the immense ma.s.ses of s.h.i.+ngle that have since been rolled along the coast, extended but a short distance from the base of the primeval cliffs. Thus the town was then thrust into the narrow valley at the foot of the two hills; and the moment that the houses were pa.s.sed, the wide scene of the sea, with a number of small vessels lying almost close to the sh.o.r.e, broke upon the eye.

The a.s.sociations of the people naturally gave to the princ.i.p.al hostelry of the place a similar name to that which it has ever since borne. Though very differently situated and maintained, the chief place of public reception in the town of Dover was then called the Bark, as it is now called the s.h.i.+p; and although that port was not the princ.i.p.al place through which the communication between England and France took place, yet, ever since Calais had been an English possession, a great traffic had been carried on by Dover, so that the hostelry of the Bark was one of the most comfortable and best appointed in the kingdom.

As every man of wealth and consequence who landed at, or embarked from, that port, brought his horses with him, numerous ostlers and stable boys were always ready to take charge of the guests' steeds; and as soon as a gentleman's train was seen coming down the street, loud shouts from the host called forth a crowd of expectant faces, and ready hands to give a.s.sistance to the arriving guests.

The first amongst those who appeared was Ned Dyram, in his blue tabard; and, although he did not condescend to hold his master's stirrup, but left that task to others, yet he advanced to the young gentleman's side, with some pride in the numbers and gallant appearance of the train, and informed him as he dismounted, that he had performed his errand in London; and also the charge which he had received for Dover, having engaged a large bark, named the Lucy Neville, to carry his master, with horses and attendants, to the small town of Nieuport, on the Flemish coast.

"The tide will serve at five o'clock, sir," he said. "There is time to embark the horses and baggage, if you will, while you and the men sup.

We have plenty of hands here to help; and I will see it all done safely. If not, we must stop till to-morrow."