The Caged Lion, Charlotte M. Yonge [dark books to read TXT] 📗

young James Kennedy—son to Sir James Kennedy of Dunure, and to Mary, an elder sister of the King—was studying with exceeding zeal.  Both James and Dr. Bennet were greatly interested in this famous abode of hearing—the King, indeed, was already sketching out designs in his own mind for a similar institution in Scotland, designs that were destined to be carried out after his death by Kennedy; and Malcolm perforce heard many inquiries and replies, but he held aloof from friendship with his clerkly cousin Kennedy, and closed his ears as much as might be, hanging back as if afraid of returning to his books.  There was in this some real dread of Ralf Percy’s mockery of his clerkliness, but there was more real distaste for all that appertained to the past days that he now despised.

The tide of vitality and physical vigour, so long deficient, had, whom it had fairly set in, carried him away with it: and in the activity of body newly acquired, mental activity had well-nigh ceased.  And therewith went much of the tenderness of conscience and devout habits of old.  They dropped from him, sometimes for lack of time, sometimes from false shame, and by and by from very weariness and distaste.  He was soldier now, and not monk—ay, and even the observances that such soldiers as Henry and James never failed in, and always enforced, were becoming a burthen to him.  They wakened misgivings that he did not like, and that must wait till his next general shrift.

And Esclairmonde?  Out of her sight, Malcolm dreamt a good deal about her, but more as the woman, less as the saint; and the hopes, so low in her presence, burnt brighter in her absence as Malcolm grew in self-confidence and in knowledge of the world.  He knew that when he parted with her he had been a miserable little wretch whom any woman would despise, yet she had shown him a sort of preference; how would it be when he returned to her, perhaps a knight, certainly a brave man like other men!

Of Patrick Drummond he had as yet heard nothing, and only believed him to be among the Scots who fought on the French side under the Earls of Buchan and Douglas.  Indeed, James especially avoided places where he knew these Scots to be engaged, as Henry persisted in regarding them as rebels against him, and in hanging all who were made prisoners; nor had Malcolm, during the courtesies that always pass between the outposts of civilized armies, made much attempt to have any communication with his cousin, for though his own abnegation of his rights had never been permitted by his guardian, or reckoned on by his sister or her lover, still he had been so much in earnest about it himself, as, while regarding it as a childish folly, to feel ill at ease in the remembrance, and, though defiant, willing to avoid all that could recall it.

Meantime he, with his king, was lodged in a large old convent, as part of the immediate following of King Henry.  Others of the princes and nobles were quartered in the market hall and lower town, but great part of thine troops were in tents, and in a state of much discomfort, owing to the overflowings of the Marne.  Fighting was the least of their dangers, though their skirmishes were often fought ankle-deep in mud and mire; fever and ague were among them, and many a sick man was sent away to recover or die at Paris.  The long dark evenings were a new trial to men used to summer campaigning, and nothing but Henry’s wonderful personal influence and perpetual vigilance kept up discipline.  At any hour of the day or night, at any place in the camp, the King might be at hand, with a cheery word of sympathy or encouragement, or with the most unflinching sternness towards any disobedience or debauchery—ever a presence to be either loved or dreaded.  An engineer in advance of his time, he was persuaded that much of the discomfort might be remedied by trenching the ground around the camp; but this measure proved wonderfully distasteful to the soldiery.  How hard they laboured in the direct siege operations they cared not, but to be set to drain French fields seemed to them absurd and unreasonable, and the work would not have proceeded at all without constant superintendence from one of the chiefs of the army, since the ordinary knights and squires were as obstinately prejudiced as were the men.

Thus it was that, on a cold sleety December day, James of Scotland rode along the meadows, splashing through thin ice into muddy water, and attended by his small personal suite, excepting Sir Nigel Baird, who was gone on a special commission to Paris.  Both he and Malcolm were plainly and lightly armed, and wore long blue cloaks with the St. Andrew’s cross on the shoulder, steel caps without visors, and the King’s merely distinguished by a thread-hike circlet of gold.  They had breastplates, swords, and daggers, but they were not going to a quarter where fighting was to be expected, and bright armour was not to be exposed to rust without need.  A visit of inspection to the delvers was not a congenial occupation, for though the men-at-arms had obeyed James fairly well when he was in sole command at Dreux, yet whenever he was obliged to enforce anything unpopular, the national dislike to the Scot was apt to show itself, and the whole army was at present in a depressed condition which made such manifestations the more probable.

But King Henry was not half recovered from a heavy feverish cold, which he had not confessed or attended to, and he had also of late been troubled with a swelling of the neck.  This morning, too, much to his inconvenience and dismay, he had missed his signet-ring.  The private seal on such a ring was of more importance than the autograph at that time, and it would never have left the King’s hand; but no doubt, in consequence of his indisposition, his finger, always small-boned, had become thin enough to allow the signet to escape unawares, he was unwilling to publish the loss, as it might cast doubt on the papers he despatched, and he, with his chamberlain Fitzhugh, King James, Malcolm, Percy, and a few more, had spent half the morning in the vain search, ending by the King sending his chamberlain, Lord Fitzhugh, to carry to Paris a seal already bearing his shield, but lacking the small private mark that authenticated it as his signet.  Fitzhugh would stand over the lapidary and see this added, and bring it back.  Ralf Percy had meantime been sent to bring a report of the diggers, but he was long in returning; and when Henry became uneasy, James had volunteered to go himself, and Henry had consented, not because the air was full of sleety rain or snow, but because his hands were full of letters needing to be despatched to all quarters.

The air was so thick that it was not easy to see where were the sullen group of diggers presided over by the quondam duellists of Thirsk, Kitson and Trenton, now the most inseparable and impracticable of men; but James and his companions had ridden about two miles from the market-place, when Ralf Percy came out of the mist, exclaiming, ‘Is it you, Sir King?  Maybe you can do something with those rascals!  I’ve talked myself blue with cold to make them slope the sides of their dyke, but the owl Kitson says no Yorkshireman ditcher ever went but by one fashion, and none ever shall; and when I lifted my riding-rod at the most insolent of the rogues, what must Trenton do but tell me the lot were free yeomen, and I’d best look out, or they’d roll me in the mire if I meddled with a soul of them.’

‘You didn’t threaten to strike Trenton?’

‘No, no; the sullen cur is a gentleman.  ’Twas one of those lubberly men-at-arms!  I told them they should hear what King Harry would say to their mood.  I would it were he!’

‘So would I,’ said James.  ‘Little chance that they will hearken to a Scot when you have put them in such a mood.  Hold, Ralf, do not go for the King; he has letters for the Emperor mattering more than this dyke.’

He rode on, and did his best by leaping into the ditch, taking the spade, and showing the superior security of the angle of inclination traced by the King, but all in vain; both Trenton and Kitson silently but obstinately scouted the notion that any king should know more about ditches than themselves.

‘See,’ cried Percy, starting up, ‘here’s other work!  The fellows, whence came they?’

Favoured by the fog and the soft soil of the meadows, a considerable body of the enemy were stealing on the delvers with the manifest purpose of cutting them off from the camp.  They were all mounted, but the only horses in the English party were those of James, Percy, Malcolm, and the half-dozen men of his escort.  James, assuming the command at once, bade these to be all released; they would be sure to find their way to the camp, and that would bring succour.  Meantime he drew the whole of the men, about thirty in number, into a compact body.  They were, properly, archers, but their bows had been left behind, and they had only their pikes and bills, which were, however, very formidable weapons against cavalry as long as they continued in an unbroken rank; and though the bogs, pools, sunken hedges, and submerged stumps made it difficult to keep close together as they made their way slowly with one flank to the river, these obstacles were no small protection against a charge of horsemen.

For a quarter of a mile these tactics kept them unharmed, but at length they reached a wide smooth meadow, and the enemy seemed preparing to charge.  James gave orders to close up and stand firm, pikes outwards.  Malcolm’s heart beat fast; it was the most real peril he had yet seen; and yet he was cheered by the King’s ringing voice, ‘Stand firm, ye merry men.  They must soon be with us from the camp.’

Suddenly a voice shouted, ‘The Scots! the Scots!  ’Tis the Scots!  Treachery! we are betrayed.  Come, Sir’ (to Percy), ‘they’ll be on you.  Treason!’

‘An’ it were, you fool, would a Percy turn his back?’ cried Ralf, striking at the man; but the panic had seized the whole body; all were shouting that the false Scots king had brought his countrymen down on them; they scattered hither and thither, and would have fallen an easy prey if they had been pursued.  But this did not seem to be the purpose of the enemy, who merely extended themselves so as to form a hedge around the few who stood, sword in hand, disdaining to fly.  These were, James, somewhat in advance, with his head high, and a lion look on his brow; Malcolm, white with dismay; Ralf, restless with fury; Kitson and Trenton, apparently as unmoved as ever; Brewster, equally steady: and Malcolm’s follower, Halbert, in a glow of hopeful excitement.

‘Never fear, friends,’ said James, kindly; ‘to you this can only be matter of ransom.’

‘I fear nothing,’ sharply answered Ralf.

‘We’ll stand by you, Sir,’ said Kitson to Ralf; ‘but if ever there were foul treason—’

‘Pshaw! you ass,’ were all Percy’s thanks; for at that moment a horseman came forward from among the enemy, a gigantic form on a tall white horse, altogether a ‘dark gray man,’ the open visor revealing an elderly face, hard-featured and grim, and the shield on his arm so dinted, faded, and battered, as scarce to show the blue chief and the bleeding crowned heart; but it was no unfamiliar sight to Malcolm’s eyes, and with a slight shudder he bent his head in answer to the fierce whisper, ‘Old Douglas himself!’ with which Hotspur’s son certified himself that he had the foe of his house before him.  King James, resting the point of his sword on his mailed foot, stood erect and gravely expectant; and the Scot, springing to the ground, advanced with the words, ‘We greet you well, my liege, and hereby—’ he was bending his knee as he spoke, and removing his gauntlet in preparation for the act of homage.

‘Hold, Earl Douglas,’ said James, ‘homage is vain to a captive.’

‘You are captive no longer, Sir King,’ said Earl Archibald.  ‘We have long awaited this occasion, and will at once return to Scotland with you, with the arms and treasure we have gained here, and will bear down the craven Albany.’

Kitson and Trenton looked at one another and grasped their swords, as though doubting whether they ought not to cut down their king’s prisoner rather than let him be rescued; and meanwhile the cry, ‘Save King James!’ broke out on all sides, knights leapt down to