The Little Duke, Charlotte Mary Yonge [large screen ebook reader .TXT] 📗

him in your own rebel hands. You had best yield—it will be the

better for you and for him. The child is the King’s ward, and he

shall not be left to be nurtured in rebellion by northern pirates.”

 

At this moment a cry from without arose, so loud as almost to drown

the voices of the speakers on the turret stair, a cry welcome to the

ears of Osmond, repeated by a multitude of voices, “Haro! Haro! our

little Duke!”

 

It was well known as a Norman shout. So just and so ready to redress

all grievances had the old Duke Rollo been, that his very name was an

appeal against injustice, and whenever wrong was done, the Norman

outcry against the injury was always “Ha Rollo!” or as it had become

shortened, “Haro.” And now Osmond knew that those whose affection

had been won by the uprightness of Rollo, were gathering to protect

his helpless grandchild.

 

The cry was likewise heard by the little garrison in the turret

chamber, bringing hope and joy. Richard thought himself already

rescued, and springing from Fru Astrida, danced about in ecstasy,

only longing to see the faithful Normans, whose voices he heard

ringing out again and again, in calls for their little Duke, and

outcries against the Franks. The windows were, however, so high,

that nothing could be seen from them but the sky; and, like Richard,

the old Baron de Centeville was almost beside himself with anxiety to

know what force was gathered together, and what measures were being

taken. He opened the door, called to his son, and asked if he could

tell what was passing, but Osmond knew as little—he could see

nothing but the black, cobwebbed, dusty steps winding above his head,

while the clamours outside, waxing fiercer and louder, drowned all

the sounds which might otherwise have come up to him from the French

within the Castle. At last, however, Osmond called out to his

father, in Norse, “There is a Frank Baron come to entreat, and this

time very humbly, that the Duke may come to the King.”

 

“Tell him,” replied Sir Eric, “that save with consent of the council

of Normandy, the child leaves not my hands.”

 

“He says,” called back Osmond, after a moment, “that you shall guard

him yourself, with as many as you choose to bring with you. He

declares on the faith of a free Baron, that the King has no thought

of ill—he wants to show him to the Rouennais without, who are

calling for him, and threaten to tear down the tower rather than not

see their little Duke. Shall I bid him send a hostage?”

 

“Answer him,” returned the Baron, “that the Duke leaves not this

chamber unless a pledge is put into our hands for his safety. There

was an oily-tongued Count, who sat next the King at supper—let him

come hither, and then perchance I may trust the Duke among them.”

 

Osmond gave the desired reply, which was carried to the King.

Meantime the uproar outside grew louder than ever, and there were new

sounds, a horn was winded, and there was a shout of “Dieu aide!” the

Norman war-cry, joined with “Notre Dame de Harcourt!”

 

“There, there!” cried Sir Eric, with a long breath, as if relieved of

half his anxieties, “the boy has sped well. Bernard is here at last!

Now his head and hand are there, I doubt no longer.”

 

“Here comes the Count,” said Osmond, opening the door, and admitting

a stout, burly man, who seemed sorely out of breath with the ascent

of the steep, broken stair, and very little pleased to find himself

in such a situation. The Baron de Centeville augured well from the

speed with which he had been sent, thinking it proved great

perplexity and distress on the part of Louis. Without waiting to

hear his hostage speak, he pointed to a chest on which he had been

sitting, and bade two of his men-at-arms stand on each side of the

Count, saying at the same time to Fru Astrida, “Now, mother, if aught

of evil befalls the child, you know your part. Come, Lord Richard.”

 

Richard moved forward. Sir Eric held his hand. Osmond kept close

behind him, and with as many of the men-at-arms as could be spared

from guarding Fru Astrida and her hostage, he descended the stairs,

not by any means sorry to go, for he was weary of being besieged in

that turret chamber, whence he could see nothing, and with those

friendly cries in his ears, he could not be afraid.

 

He was conducted to the large council-room which was above the hall.

There, the King was walking up and down anxiously, looking paler than

his wont, and no wonder, for the uproar sounded tremendous there—and

now and then a stone dashed against the sides of the deep window.

 

Nearly at the same moment as Richard entered by one door, Count

Bernard de Harcourt came in from the other, and there was a slight

lull in the tumult.

 

“What means this, my Lords?” exclaimed the King. “Here am I come in

all good will, in memory of my warm friendship with Duke William, to

take on me the care of his orphan, and hold council with you for

avenging his death, and is this the greeting you afford me? You

steal away the child, and stir up the rascaille of Rouen against me.

Is this the reception for your King?”

 

“Sir King,” replied Bernard, “what your intentions may be, I know

not. All I do know is, that the burghers of Rouen are fiercely

incensed against you—so much so, that they were almost ready to tear

me to pieces for being absent at this juncture. They say that you

are keeping the child prisoner in his own Castle and that they will

have him restored if they tear it down to the foundations.”

 

“You are a true man, a loyal man—you understand my good intentions,”

said Louis, trembling, for the Normans were extremely dreaded. “You

would not bring the shame of rebellion on your town and people.

Advise me—I will do just as you counsel me—how shall I appease

them?”

 

“Take the child, lead him to the window, swear that you mean him no

evil, that you will not take him from us,” said Bernard. “Swear it

on the faith of a King.”

 

“As a King—as a Christian, it is true!” said Louis. “Here, my boy!

Wherefore shrink from me? What have I done, that you should fear me?

You have been listening to evil tales of me, my child. Come hither.”

 

At a sign from the Count de Harcourt, Sir Eric led Richard forward,

and put his hand into the King’s. Louis took him to the window,

lifted him upon the sill, and stood there with his arm round him,

upon which the shout, “Long live Richard, our little Duke!” arose

again. Meantime, the two Centevilles looked in wonder at the old

Harcourt, who shook his head and muttered in his own tongue, “I will

do all I may, but our force is small, and the King has the best of

it. We must not yet bring a war on ourselves.”

 

“Hark! he is going to speak,” said Osmond.

 

“Fair Sirs!—excellent burgesses!” began the King, as the cries

lulled a little. {11} “I rejoice to see the love ye bear to our

young Prince! I would all my subjects were equally loyal! But

wherefore dread me, as if I were come to injure him? I, who came but

to take counsel how to avenge the death of his father, who brought me

back from England when I was a friendless exile. Know ye not how

deep is the debt of gratitude I owe to Duke William? He it was who

made me King—it was he who gained me the love of the King of

Germany; he stood godfather for my son—to him I owe all my wealth

and state, and all my care is to render guerdon for it to his child,

since, alas! I may not to himself. Duke William rests in his bloody

grave! It is for me to call his murderers to account, and to cherish

his son, even as mine own!”

 

So saying, Louis tenderly embraced the little boy, and the Rouennais

below broke out into another cry, in which “Long live King Louis,”

was joined with “Long live Richard!”

 

“You will not let the child go?” said Eric, meanwhile, to Harcourt.

 

“Not without provision for his safety, but we are not fit for war as

yet, and to let him go is the only means of warding it off.”

 

Eric groaned and shook his head; but the Count de Harcourt’s judgment

was of such weight with him, that he never dreamt of disputing it.

 

“Bring me here,” said the King, “all that you deem most holy, and you

shall see me pledge myself to be your Duke’s most faithful friend.”

 

There was some delay, during which the Norman Nobles had time for

further counsel together, and Richard looked wistfully at them,

wondering what was to happen to him, and wishing he could venture to

ask for Alberic.

 

Several of the Clergy of the Cathedral presently appeared in

procession, bringing with them the book of the Gospels on which

Richard had taken his installation oath, with others of the sacred

treasures of the Church, preserved in gold cases. The Priests were

followed by a few of the Norman Knights and Nobles, some of the

burgesses of Rouen, and, to Richard’s great joy, by Alberic de

Montemar himself. The two boys stood looking eagerly at each other,

while preparation was made for the ceremony of the King’s oath.

 

The stone table in the middle of the room was cleared, and arranged

so as in some degree to resemble the Altar in the Cathedral; then the

Count de Harcourt, standing before it, and holding the King’s hand,

demanded of him whether he would undertake to be the friend,

protector, and good Lord of Richard, Duke of Normandy, guarding him

from all his enemies, and ever seeking his welfare. Louis, with his

hand on the Gospels, “swore that so he would.”

 

“Amen!” returned Bernard the Dane, solemnly, “and as thou keepest

that oath to the fatherless child, so may the Lord do unto thine

house!”

 

Then followed the ceremony, which had been interrupted the night

before, of the homage and oath of allegiance which Richard owed to

the King, and, on the other hand, the King’s formal reception of him

as a vassal, holding, under him, the two dukedoms of Normandy and

Brittany. “And,” said the King, raising him in his arms and kissing

him, “no dearer vassal do I hold in all my realm than this fair

child, son of my murdered friend and benefactor—precious to me as my

own children, as so on my Queen and I hope to testify.”

 

Richard did not much like all this embracing; but he was sure the

King really meant him no ill, and he wondered at all the distrust the

Centevilles had shown.

 

“Now, brave Normans,” said the King, “be ye ready speedily, for an

onset on the traitor Fleming. The cause of my ward is my own cause.

Soon shall the trumpet be sounded, the ban and arriere ban of the

realm be called forth, and Arnulf, in the flames of his cities, and

the blood of his vassals, shall learn to rue the day when his foot

trod the Isle of Pecquigny! How many Normans can you bring to the

muster, Sir Count?”

 

“I cannot say, within a few hundreds of lances,” replied the old

Dane, cautiously; “it depends on the numbers that may be