Part 42 (1/2)
”It would be best that he should come,” cried the Hospitaller.
”And bring with him a flask of holy water,” added the knight of Bohemia.
”Not so, gentlemen,” answered Sir Bertrand. ”It is not needful that this priest should be called, and it is in my mind that in asking for this ye cast some slight shadow or slur upon the good name of my wife, as though it were still doubtful whether her power came to her from above or below. If ye have indeed such a doubt I pray that you will say so, that we may discuss the matter in a fitting way.”
”For myself,” said Sir Nigel, ”I have heard such words fall from the lips of this lady that I am of the opinion that there is no woman, save only one, who can be in any way compared to her in beauty and in goodness. Should any gentleman think otherwise, I should deem it great honor to run a small course with him, or debate the matter in whatever way might be most pleasing to him.”
”Nay, it would ill become me to cast a slur upon a lady who is both my guest and the wife of my comrade-in-arms,” said the Seneschal of Villefranche. ”I have perceived also that on her mantle there is marked a silver cross, which is surely sign enough that there is nought of evil in these strange powers which you say that she possesses.”
This argument of the seneschal's appealed so powerfully to the Bohemian and to the Hospitaller that they at once intimated that their objections had been entirely overcome, while even the Lady Rochefort, who had sat s.h.i.+vering and crossing herself, ceased to cast glances at the door, and allowed her fears to turn to curiosity.
”Among the gifts which have been vouchsafed to my wife,” said Du Guesclin, ”there is the wondrous one of seeing into the future; but it comes very seldom upon her, and goes as quickly, for none can command it. The blessed hour of sight, as she hath named it, has come but twice since I have known her, and I can vouch for it that all that she hath told me was true, for on the evening of the Battle of Auray she said that the morrow would be an ill day for me and for Charles of Blois.
Ere the sun had sunk again he was dead, and I the prisoner of Sir John Chandos. Yet it is not every question that she can answer, but only those----”
”Bertrand, Bertrand!” cried the lady in the same mutterings far-away voice, ”the blessed hour pa.s.ses. Use it, Bertrand, while you may.”
”I will, my sweet. Tell me, then, what fortune comes upon me?”
”Danger, Bertrand--deadly, pressing danger--which creeps upon you and you know it not.”
The French soldier burst into a thunderous laugh, and his green eyes twinkled with amus.e.m.e.nt. ”At what time during these twenty years would not that have been a true word?” he cried. ”Danger is in the air that I breathe. But is this so very close, Tiphaine?”
”Here--now--close upon you!” The words came out in broken, strenuous speech, while the lady's fair face was writhed and drawn like that of one who looks upon a horror which strikes, the words from her lips. Du Guesclin gazed round the tapestried room, at the screens, the tables, the abace, the credence, the buffet with its silver salver, and the half-circle of friendly, wondering faces. There was an utter stillness, save for the sharp breathing of the Lady Tiphaine and for the gentle soughing of the wind outside, which wafted to their ears the distant call upon a swine-herd's horn.
”The danger may bide,” said he, shrugging his broad shoulders. ”And now, Tiphaine, tell us what will come of this war in Spain.”
”I can see little,” she answered, straining her eyes and puckering her brow, as one who would fain clear her sight. ”There are mountains, and dry plains, and flash of arms and shouting of battle-cries. Yet it is whispered to me that by failure you will succeed.”
”Ha! Sir Nigel, how like you that?” quoth Bertrand, shaking his head.
”It is like mead and vinegar, half sweet, half sour. And is there no question which you would ask my lady?”
”Certes there is. I would fain know, fair lady, how all things are at Twynham Castle, and above all how my sweet lady employs herself.”
”To answer this I would fain lay hand upon one whose thoughts turn strongly to this castle which you have named. Nay, my Lord Loring, it is whispered to me that there is another here who hath thought more deeply of it than you.”
”Thought more of mine own home?” cried Sir Nigel. ”Lady, I fear that in this matter at least you are mistaken.”
”Not so, Sir Nigel. Come hither, young man, young English squire with the gray eyes! Now give me your hand, and place it here across my brow, that I may see that which you have seen. What is this that rises before me? Mist, mist, rolling mist with a square black tower above it. See it shreds out, it thins, it rises, and there lies a castle in green plain, with the sea beneath it, and a great church within a bow-shot. There are two rivers which run through the meadows, and between them lie the tents of the besiegers.”
”The besiegers!” cried Alleyne, Ford, and Sir Nigel, all three in a breath.
”Yes, truly, and they press hard upon the castle, for they are an exceeding mult.i.tude and full of courage. See how they storm and rage against the gate, while some rear ladders, and others, line after line, sweep the walls with their arrows. They are many leaders who shout and beckon, and one, a tall man with a golden beard, who stands before the gate stamping his foot and hallooing them on, as a p.r.i.c.ker doth the hounds. But those in the castle fight bravely. There is a woman, two women, who stand upon the walls, and give heart to the men-at-arms. They shower down arrows, darts and great stones. Ah! they have struck down the tall leader, and the others give back. The mist thickens and I can see no more.”
”By Saint Paul!” said Sir Nigel, ”I do not think that there can be any such doings at Christchurch, and I am very easy of the fortalice so long as my sweet wife hangs the key of the outer bailey at the head of her bed. Yet I will not deny that you have pictured the castle as well as I could have done myself, and I am full of wonderment at all that I have heard and seen.”
”I would, Lady Tiphaine,” cried the Lady Rochefort, ”that you would use your power to tell me what hath befallen my golden bracelet which I wore when hawking upon the second Sunday of Advent, and have never set eyes upon since.”
”Nay, lady,” said du Guesclin, ”it does not befit so great and wondrous a power to pry and search and play the varlet even to the beautiful chatelaine of Villefranche. Ask a worthy question, and, with the blessing of G.o.d, you shall have a worthy answer.”