Part 22 (1/2)

Clarenham was then compelled to dismount from his horse, and to, first one foot, and then the other, upon the block, where a broad red-faced cook, raising his cleaver, cut off the golden spurs. Sir John Chandos, as Constable of Aquitaine, then came forward, and, taking the s.h.i.+eld from the arm of Clarenham, gave it, reversed, into the hands of one of the heralds, who carried it away. The belt, another token of knighthood, was next unbuckled, and Chandos, taking the sword, broke it in three pieces across his knee, saying, ”Lie there, dishonoured steel!” and throwing it down by the spurs. Lastly, the helmet, with the baronial bars across the visor, was removed, and thrown to the ground, leaving visible the dark countenance, where the paleness of shame and the flush of rage alternated.

”And now, away with the traitor, away with the recreant Knight! out upon him!” cried in a loud voice Sir John Chandos, while the shout was taken up by a deafening mult.i.tude of voices--in the midst of which the degraded Knight and landless Baron made his way to the gate, and, as he pa.s.sed out, a redoubled storm of shouts and yells arose from without.

”Out upon the traitor!” cried Harry of Lancaster with the loudest.

”Away with him! But, Edward, and you too, Arthur, why shout you not?

Hate you not traitors and treason?”

”I would not join my voice with the rabble,” said Edward, ”and it makes me sad to see knighthood fallen. What say you, Arthur?”

”Alas! he is my mother's kinsman,” said Arthur, ”and I loved his name for her sake as for that of Agnes too. Where is Agnes?”

”In the Convent of the Benedictine nuns,” said Edward. ”But in your ear, Arthur, what say you to our plan that she shall be heiress of her brother's lands, on condition of her wedding--guess whom?”

”Not mine uncle! Oh, Lord Edward, is it really so? How rejoiced old Ralph would be!”

”Speak not of it, Arthur--it was my mother who told me, when Agnes craved permission to go to the Convent, and I feared she would become one of those black-veiled nuns, and I should never see her more.”

”Where is my uncle?” asked Arthur, gazing round. ”I thought he was standing by the Lady Princess's chair--”

”He went to speak to Sir John Chandos but now,” said Prince Henry, ”but I see him not. Mark! what a lull in the sounds without!”

In fact, the various cries of execration which had a.s.sailed Fulk Clarenham on his exit from the gates of the Castle, after sounding more and more violent for some minutes, had suddenly died away almost into stillness--and the cause was one little guessed at within the court.

The unhappy Fulk was moving onwards, almost as in a dream, without aim or object, other than to seek a refuge from the thousand eyes that marked his disgrace, and the tongues that upbraided him with it; but, in leaving the court, he entered upon a scene where danger, as well as disgrace, was to be apprehended. The rabble of the town, ever pleased at the fall of one whose station was higher than their own, mindful of unpaid debts, and harsh and scornful demeanour, and, as natives, rejoiced at the misfortune of a foreigner, all joined in one cry of--”Away with the recreant Englishman!--down with him!--down with him!” Every hand was armed with a stone, and brief would have been Fulk's s.p.a.ce for repentance, had not the cry in its savage tones struck upon the ear of Eustace as he stood in the lists, receiving the congratulations of Sir John Chandos and of other Knights, who, with changed demeanour, came to greet the favoured hero.

”They will murder him,” exclaimed Eustace; and breaking from his new friends, he made his way to the gate, and hurried into the town, just as Fulk had fallen to the ground, struck by a heavy stone hurled by the hand of no other than John Ingram. He rushed forward amid the hail of stones, and, as he lifted Clarenham's head, called out, ”How is this!

Brave men of Bordeaux, would you become murderers! Is this like honourable men, to triumph over the fallen!”

They held back in amazement for a second; then, as Eustace knelt by him and tried to recall his consciousness, murmurs arose, ”Why interferes he with our affairs? He is English,” and they all held together.

”Another of the purse-proud English, who pay no debts, and ruin the poor Bordelais.” ”His blood we will have, if we cannot have his money.

Away, Master Knight, be not so busy about the traitor, if you would not partake his fate.”

Eustace looked up as the stones were uplifted, and more than one Free Companion had drawn his sword. ”Hold,” he exclaimed in a clear full-toned voice that filled every ear. ”Hold! I am Eustace Lynwood, the Castellane of Chateau Norbelle!”

There was an instant silence. Every one pressed forward to see him, whose recent adventures had made him an object of much interest and curiosity, and the attention of the crowd was entirely diverted from the former unhappy subject of their pursuit. Whispers pa.s.sed of ”n.o.ble Knight! flower of chivalry! how generous and Christian-like he bends over his enemy! Nay, if he revenge not himself, what right have we?

And see, his arm is still in a scarf from the treachery of those villains! Well, I would yet give yon ruffian his desert.”

By this time Eustace having observed Ingram among the crowd, summoned him to his side, and at the same time courteously craving the aid of one of the by-standers (who, of course, though collectively lions, were individually lambs), succeeded in conveying Clarenham, whose senses had so far returned that he was able to rise with their a.s.sistance, to the door of a monastery chapel, the porch of which opened upon the street.

”Holy Fathers,” said Eustace, ”I crave the protection of the Church for an unhappy, and, I trust, a penitent man, praying you will tend him well to aid and relief alike of body and soul, until you hear from me again.”

With these words he quitted the chapel before his late enemy had sufficiently recovered his faculties to recognize his preserver.

Leonard Ashton, for whom Eustace inquired, had, it appeared, saved himself by making full confession, and had been sent home, in deep disgrace, though spared public dishonour.

It was some few days after these events that the presence of Lady Agnes de Clarenham was requested in the parlour of her nunnery, which was some miles distant from Bordeaux, by a person who, as the porteress informed her, was the bearer of a message from the Princess of Wales.

She descended accordingly, but her surprise was great on beholding, instead of one of the female attendants of her mistress as she had expected, the slender figure of the young Knight with whom she had last parted at the hostelry.

Her first feeling was not one of kindness towards him. Agnes had indeed grieved and felt indignant when she saw him oppressed and in danger from her brother's treachery, but, in these days of favour, she could not regard with complacency the cause of her brother's ruin, and of the disgrace of her house. She started, and would have retreated, but that he prevented, by saying, in a tone which had in it more of sorrow than of any other feeling, ”Lady Agnes, I pray you to hear me--for you have much to forgive.”