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

again,

the force of the current was less, and they were gaining the bank.

At that instant, however, they perceived two men aiming at them with

cross-bows from the castle, and another standing on the bank above

them, who called out, “Hold! None pass the ford of Montemar without

permission of the noble Dame Yolande.” “Ha! Bertrand, the Seneschal,

is that you?” returned Osmond. “Who calls me by my name?” replied

the Seneschal. “It is I, Osmond de Centeville. Open your gates

quickly, Sir Seneschal; for here is the Duke, sorely in need of rest

and refreshment.”

 

“The Duke!” exclaimed Bertrand, hurrying down to the landing-place,

and throwing off his cap. “The Duke! the Duke!” rang out the shout

from the men-at-arms on the battlements above and in an instant more

Osmond had led the horse up from the water, and was exclaiming, “Look

up, my Lord, look up! You are in your own dukedom again, and this is

Alberic’s castle.”

 

“Welcome, indeed, most noble Lord Duke! Blessings on the day!” cried

the Seneschal. “What joy for my Lady and my young Lord!”

 

“He is sorely weary,” said Osmond, looking anxiously at Richard, who,

even at the welcome cries that showed so plainly that he was in his

own Normandy, scarcely raised himself or spoke. “He had been very

sick ere I brought him away. I doubt me they sought to poison him,

and I vowed not to tarry at Laon another hour after he was fit to

move. But cheer up, my Lord; you are safe and free now, and here is

the good Dame de Montemar to tend you, far better than a rude Squire

like me.”

 

“Alas, no!” said the Seneschal; “our Dame is gone with young Alberic

on a pilgrimage to Jumieges to pray for the Duke’s safety. What joy

for them to know that their prayers have been granted!”

 

Osmond, however, could scarcely rejoice, so alarmed was he at the

extreme weariness and exhaustion of his charge, who, when they

brought him into the Castle hall, hardly spoke or looked, and could

not eat. They carried him up to Alberic’s bed, where he tossed about

restlessly, too tired to sleep.

 

“Alas! alas!” said Osmond, “I have been too hasty. I have but saved

him from the Franks to be his death by my own imprudence.”

 

“Hush! Sieur de Centeville,” said the Seneschal’s wife, coming into

the room. “To talk in that manner is the way to be his death,

indeed. Leave the child to me—he is only over-weary.”

 

Osmond was sure his Duke was among friends, and would have been glad

to trust him to a woman; but Richard had but one instinct left in all

his weakness and exhaustion—to cling close to Osmond, as if he felt

him his only friend and protector; for he was, as yet, too much worn

out to understand that he was in Normandy and safe. For two or three

hours, therefore, Osmond and the Seneschal’s wife watched on each

side of his bed, soothing his restlessness, until at length he became

quiet, and at last dropped sound asleep.

 

The sun was high in the heavens when Richard awoke. He turned on his

straw-filled crib, and looked up. It was not the tapestried walls of

his chamber at Laon that met his opening eyes, but the rugged stone

and tall loop-hole window of a turret chamber. Osmond de Centeville

lay on the floor by his side, in the sound sleep of one overcome by

long watching and weariness. And what more did Richard see?

 

It was the bright face and sparkling eyes of Alberic de Montemar, who

was leaning against the foot of his bed, gazing earnestly, as he

watched for his waking. There was a cry—“Alberic! Alberic!” “My

Lord! my Lord!” Richard sat up and held out both arms, and Alberic

flung himself into them. They hugged each other, and uttered broken

exclamations and screams of joy, enough to have awakened any sleeper

but one so wearied out as Osmond.

 

“And is it true? Oh, am I really in Normandy again?” cried Richard.

 

“Yes, yes!—oh, yes, my Lord! You are at Montemar. Everything here

is yours. The bar-tailed hawk is quite well, and my mother will be

here this evening; she let me ride on the instant we heard the news.”

 

“We rode long and late, and I was very weary,” said Richard! “but I

don’t care, now we are at home. But I can hardly believe it! Oh,

Alberic, it has been very dreary!”

 

“See here, my Lord!” said Alberic, standing by the window. “Look

here, and you will know you are at home again!”

 

Richard bounded to the window, and what a sight met his eyes! The

Castle court was thronged with men-at-arms and horses, the morning

sun sparkling on many a burnished hauberk and tall conical helmet,

and above them waved many a banner and pennon that Richard knew full

well. “There! there!” he shouted aloud with glee. “Oh, there is the

horse-shoe of Ferrieres! and there the chequers of Warenne! Oh, and

best of all, there is—there is our own red pennon of Centeville! O

Alberic! Alberic! is Sir Eric here? I must go down to him!”

 

“Bertrand sent out notice to them all, as soon as you came, to come

and guard our Castle,” said Alberic, “lest the Franks should pursue

you; but you are safe now—safe as Norman spears can make you—thanks

be to God!”

 

“Yes, thanks to God!” said Richard, crossing himself and kneeling

reverently for some minutes, while he repeated his Latin prayer;

then, rising and looking at Alberic, he said, “I must thank Him,

indeed, for he has saved Osmond and me from the cruel King and Queen,

and I must try to be a less hasty and overbearing boy than I was when

I went away; for I vowed that so I would be, if ever I came back.

Poor Osmond, how soundly he sleeps! Come, Alberic, show me the way to

Sir Eric!”

 

And, holding Alberic’s hand, Richard left the room, and descended the

stairs to the Castle hall. Many of the Norman knights and barons, in

full armour, were gathered there; but Richard looked only for one.

He knew Sir Eric’s grizzled hair, and blue inlaid armour, though his

back was towards him, and in a moment, before his entrance had been

perceived, he sprang towards him, and, with outstretched arms,

exclaimed: “Sir Eric—dear Sir Eric, here I am! Osmond is safe! And

is Fru Astrida well?”

 

The old Baron turned. “My child!” he exclaimed, and clasped him in

his mailed arms, while the tears flowed down his rugged cheeks.

“Blessed be God that you are safe, and that my son has done his

duty!”

 

“And is Fru Astrida well?”

 

“Yes, right well, since she heard of your safety. But look round, my

Lord; it befits not a Duke to be clinging thus round an old man’s

neck. See how many of your true vassals be here, to guard you from

the villain Franks.”

 

Richard stood up, and held out his hand, bowing courteously and

acknowledging the greetings of each bold baron, with a grace and

readiness he certainly had not when he left Normandy. He was taller

too; and though still pale, and not dressed with much care (since he

had hurried on his clothes with no help but Alberic’s)—though his

hair was rough and disordered, and the scar of the burn had not yet

faded from his check—yet still, with his bright blue eyes, glad

face, and upright form, he was a princely, promising boy, and the

Norman knights looked at him with pride and joy, more especially

when, unprompted, he said: “I thank you, gallant knights, for coming

to guard me. I do not fear the whole French host now I am among my

own true Normans.”

 

Sir Eric led him to the door of the hall to the top of the steps,

that the men-at-arms might see him; and then such a shout rang out of

“Long live Duke Richard!”—“Blessings on the little Duke!”—that it

echoed and came back again from the hills around—it pealed from the

old tower—it roused Osmond from his sleep—and, if anything more had

been wanting to do so, it made Richard feel that he was indeed in a

land where every heart glowed with loyal love for him.

 

Before the shout had died away, a bugle-horn was heard winding before

the gate; and Sir Eric, saying, “It is the Count of Harcourt’s note,”

sent Bertrand to open the gates in haste, while Alberic followed, as

Lord of the Castle, to receive the Count.

 

The old Count rode into the court, and to the foot of the steps,

where he dismounted, Alberic holding his stirrup. He had not taken

many steps upwards before Richard came voluntarily to meet him (which

he had never done before), held out his hand, and said, “Welcome,

Count Bernard, welcome. Thank you for coming to guard me. I am very

glad to see you once more.”

 

“Ah, my young Lord,” said Bernard, “I am right glad to see you out of

the clutches of the Franks! You know friend from foe now, methinks!”

 

“Yes, indeed I do, Count Bernard. I know you meant kindly by me, and

that I ought to have thanked you, and not been angry, when you

reproved me. Wait one moment, Sir Count; there is one thing that I

promised myself to say if ever I came safe to my own dear home.

Walter—Maurice—Jeannot—all you of my household, and of Sir Eric’s-

-I know, before I went away, I was often no good Lord to you; I was

passionate, and proud, and overbearing; but God has punished me for

it, when I was far away among my enemies, and sick and lonely. I am

very sorry for it, and I hope you will pardon me; for I will strive,

and I hope God will help me, never to be proud and passionate again.”

 

“There, Sir Eric,” said Bernard, “you hear what the boy says. If he

speaks it out so bold and free, without bidding, and if he holds to

what he says, I doubt it not that he shall not grieve for his journey

to France, and that we shall see him, in all things, such a Prince as

his father of blessed memory.”

 

“You must thank Osmond for me,” said Richard, as Osmond came down,

awakened at length. “It is Osmond who has helped me to bear my

troubles; and as to saving me, why he flew away with me even like an

old eagle with its eaglet. I say, Osmond, you must ever after this

wear a pair of wings on shield and pennon, to show how well we

managed our flight.” {15}

 

“As you will, my Lord,” said Osmond, half asleep; “but ‘twas a good

long flight at a stretch, and I trust never to have to fly before

your foes or mine again.”

 

What a glad summer’s day was that! Even the three hours spent in

council did but renew the relish with which Richard visited Alberic’s

treasures, told his adventures, and showed the accomplishments he had

learnt at Laon. The evening was more joyous still; for the Castle

gates were opened, first to receive Dame Yolande Montemar, and not

above a quarter of an hour afterwards, the drawbridge was lowered to

admit the followers of Centeville; and in front of them appeared Fru

Astrida’s own high cap. Richard made but one bound into her arms,

and was clasped to her breast; then held off at arm’s-length, that

she might see how much he was grown, and pity his scar; then hugged

closer than ever: but, taking another look, she declared that Osmond