The Caged Lion by Charlotte M. Yonge (readict .txt) 📖

seemed to me the message of deliverance.  Her nurse brought us peasant dresses, high stiff caps, black boddices, petticoats of many colours, and therein we dressed ourselves, and stole out, ere dawn, to a church, where we knelt till the Sieur d’Escaillon—the gentleman who attends Madame still—drove up in a farmer’s garb, with a market cart, and so forth from Bruges we drove.  We cause to Valenciennes, to her mother; but we found that she, by persuasion of the Duke, would give us both up; so the Sieur d’Escaillon got together sixty lances, and therewith we rode to Calais, where never were weary travellers more courteously received than we by Lord Northumberland, the captain of Calais.’

‘Oh, I am glad you came to us English!’ cried Alice.  ‘Only I would it had been my father who welcomed you.  And now?’

‘Now I remain with my lady, as the only demoiselle she has from her country; and, moreover, I am waiting in the trust that my kinsmen will give up their purpose of bestowing me in marriage, now that I am beyond their reach; and in time I hope to obtain sufficient of my own goods for a dowry for whatever convent I may enter.’

‘Oh, let it be an English one!’ cried Alice.

‘I have learnt to breathe freer since I have been on English soil,’ said Esclairmonde, smiling; ‘but where I may rest at last, Heaven only knows!’

‘This is a strange country,’ said Malcolm.  ‘No one seems afraid of violence and wrong here.’

‘Is that so strange?’ asked Alice, amazed.  ‘Why, men would be hanged if they did violence!’

‘I would we were as sure of justice at my home,’ sighed Esclairmonde.  ‘King Henry will bring about a better rule.’

‘Never doubt,’ cried Salisbury’s daughter.  ‘When France is once subdued, there will be no more trouble, he will make your kinsmen do you right, dear demoiselle, and oh! will you not found a beauteous convent?’

‘King Henry has not conquered France yet,’ was all Esclairmonde said.

‘Ha!’ cried the buxom Countess Jaqueline, as the ladies dismounted, ‘never speak to me more, our solemn sister.  When have I done worse than lure a young cavalier, and chain him all day with my tongue?’

‘He is a gentle boy!’ said Esclairmonde, smiling.

‘Truly he looked like a calf turned loose among strange cattle!  How gat he into the hall?’

‘He is of royal Scottish blood,’ said Esclairmonde ‘cousin-german to King James.’

‘And our grave nun has a fancy to tame the wild Scots, like a second St. Margaret!  A king’s grandson! fie, fie! what, become ambitious, Clairette?  Eh? you were so occupied, that I should have been left to no one but Monseigneur of Gloucester, but that I was discreet, and rode with my Lord Bishop of Winchester.  How he chafed! but I know better than to have tête-à-têtes with young sprigs of the blood royal!’

Esclairmonde laughed good-humouredly, partly in courtesy to her hoyden mistress, but partly at the burning, blushing indignation she beheld in the artless face of Alice Montagu.

The girl was as shy as a fawn, frightened at every word from knight or lady, and much in awe of her future mother-in-law, a stiff and stately dame, with all the Beaufort haughtiness; so that Lady Westmoreland gladly and graciously consented to the offer of the Demoiselle de Luxemburg to attend to the little maiden, and let her share her chamber and her bed.  And indeed Alice Montagu, bred up in strictness and in both piety and learning, as was sometimes the case with the daughters of the nobility, had in all her simplicity and bashfulness a purity and depth that made her a congenial spirit with the grave votaress, whom she regarded on her side with a young girl’s enthusiastic admiration for a grown woman, although in point of fact the years between them were few.

The other ladies of the Court were a little in awe of the Demoiselle de Luxemburg, and did not seek her when they wished to indulge in the gossip whose malice and coarseness she kept in check; but if they were anxious, or in trouble, they always came to her as their natural consoler; and the Countess Jaqueline, bold and hoydenish as she was, kept the license of her tongue and manners under some shadow of restraint before her, and though sometimes bantering her, often neglecting her counsel, evidently felt her attendance a sort of safeguard and protection.

The gentlemen were mostly of the opinion of the Duke of Gloucester, who said that the Lady Esclairmonde was so like Deborah, come out of a Mystery, that it seemed to be always Passion-tide where she was; and she, moreover, was always guarded in her manner towards them, keeping her vocation in the recollection of all by her gravely and coldly courteous demeanour, and the sober hues and fashion of her dress; but being aware of Malcolm’s destination, perceiving his loneliness, and really attracted by his pensive gentleness, she admitted him to far more friendly intercourse than any other young noble, while he revered and clung to her much as Lady Alice did, as protector and friend.

King James was indeed so much absorbed in his own lady-love as to have little attention to bestow on his young cousin, and he knew, moreover, that to be left to such womanly training as ladies were bound to bestow on young squires and pages was the best treatment for the youth, who was really thriving and growing happier every day, as he lost his awkwardness and acquired a freedom and self-confidence such as he could never have imagined possible in his original brow-beaten state, though without losing the gentle modesty and refinement that gave him such a charm.

A great sorrow awaited him, however, at Leicester, where Easter was to be spent.  A messenger came from Durham, bringing letters from Coldingham to announce the death of good Sir David Drummond, which had taken place two days after Malcolm had left him, all but the youth himself having well known that his state was hopeless.

In his grief, Malcolm found his chief comforter in Esclairmonde, who kindly listened when he talked of the happy old times at Glenuskie, and of the kindness and piety of his guardian; while she lifted his mind to dwell on the company of the saints; and when he knew that her thoughts went, like his, to his fatherly friend in the solemn services connected with the departed, he was no longer desolate, and there was almost a sweetness in the grief of which his fair saint had taken up a part.  She showed him likewise some vellum pages on which her ghostly father, the Canon of St. Agnes, had written certain dialogues between the Divine Master and His disciple, which seemed indeed to have been whispered by heavenly inspiration, and which soothed and hallowed his mourning for the guide and protector of his youth.  He loved to dwell on her very name, Esclairmonde—‘light of the world.’  The taste of the day hung many a pun and conceit upon names, and to Malcolm this—which had, in fact, been culled out of romance—seemed meetly to express the pure radiance of consolation and encouragement that seemed to him to shine from her, and brighten the life that had hitherto been dull and gloomy—nay, even to give him light and joy in the midst of his grief.

At that period Courts were not much burdened with etiquette.  No feudal monarch was more than the first gentleman, and there was no rigid line of separation of ranks, especially where, as among the kings of the Red Rose, the boundaries were so faint between the princes and the nobility; and as Catherine of Valois was fond of company, and indolently heedless of all that did not affect her own dignity or ease, the whole Court, including some of the princely captives, lived as one large family, meeting at morning Mass in church or chapel, taking their meals in common, riding, hunting, hawking, playing at bowls, tennis, or stool-ball, or any other pastime, in such parties as suited their inclinations; and spending the evening in the great hall, in conversation varied by chess, dice, and cards, recitals of romance, and music, sometimes performed by the choristers of the Royal chapel, or sometimes by the company themselves, and often by one or other of the two kings, who were both proficients as well with the voice as with the lute and organ.

Thus Malcolm had many opportunities of being with the Demoiselle of Luxemburg: and almost a right was established, that when she sat in the deep embrasure of a window with her spinning, he should be on the cushioned step beneath; when she mounted, he held the stirrup; and when the church bells were ringing, he led her by her fair fingers to her place in the nave, and back again to the hall; and when the manchet and rere supper were brought into the hall, he mixed her wine and water, and held the silver basin and napkin to her on bended knee, and had become her recognized cavalier.  He was really thriving.  Even the high-spirited son of Hotspur could not help loving and protecting him.

‘Have a care,’ said Ralf to a lad of ruder mould; ‘I’ll no more see that lame young Scot maltreated than a girl.’

‘He is no better than a girl,’ growled his comrade; ‘my little brother Dick would be more than a match for him!’

‘I wot not that,’ said Percy; ‘there’s a drop of life and spirit at the bottom; and for the rest, when he looks up with those eyes of his, and smiles his smile, it is somehow as if it were beneath a man to vex him wilfully.  And he sees so much meaning in everything, too, that it is a dozen times better sport to hear him talk than one of you fellows, who have only wit enough to know a hawk from a heron-schaw.’

After a grave Easter-tide spent at Leicester, the Court moved to Westminster, where Henry had to meet his parliament, and obtain supplies for the campaign which was to revenge the death of Clarence.

There was no great increase of gaiety even here, for Henry was extremely occupied, both with regulating matters for government during his absence, and in training the troops who began to flock to his standard; so that the Queen complained that his presence in England was of little service to her, since he never had any leisure, and there were no pastimes.

‘Well, Dame,’ said Henry, gaily, ‘there is one revel for you.  I have promised to knight the Lord Mayor, honest Whittington, and I hear he is preparing a notable banquet in the Guild Hall.’

‘A city mayor!’ exclaimed Queen Catherine, with ineffable disgust.  ‘My brothers would sooner cut off his roturier head than dub him knight!’

‘Belike,’ said Henry, dryly; ‘but what kind of friends have thy brothers found at Paris?  Moreover, this Whittington may content thee as to blood.  Rougedragon hath been unfolding to me his lineage of a good house in Gloucestershire.’

‘More shame that he should soil his hands with trade!’ said the Queen.

‘See what you say when he has cased those fair hands in Spanish gloves.  You ladies should know better than to fall out with a mercer.’

‘Ah!’ said Duke Humfrey, ‘they never saw the silks and samites wherewith he fitted out my sister Philippa for the Swedes!  Lucky the bride whose wardrobe is purveyed by honest Dick!’

‘Is it not honour enough for the mechanical hinds that we wear their stuffs,’ said Countess Jaqueline, ‘without demeaning ourselves to eat at their boards?  The outrecuidance of the rogues in the Netherlands would be surpassing, did we feed it in that sort.’

‘’Tis you that will be fed, Dame Jac,’ laughed Henry.  ‘I can tell you, their sack and their pasties, their march-pane and blanc-manger, far exceed aught that a poor soldier can set before you.’

‘Moreover,’ observed Humfrey, ‘the ladies ought to see the romaunt of the Cat complete.’

‘How!’ cried Jaqueline, ‘is it, then, true that this Vittentone is the miller’s son whose cat wore boots and made his fortune?’

‘I have heard my aunt of Orleans divert my father with that story,’ murmured Catherine.  ‘How went the tale?  I thought it folly, and marked it not.  What became of the cat?’

‘The cat desired to test his master’s gratitude, so tells Straparola,’ said the Duke of Orleans, in his dry satirical tone; ‘and whereas he had been wont to promise his benefactor a golden coffin and state funeral, Puss feigned death, and thereby heard the lady inform her husband that the old cat was dead.  “A la bonne heure!” said the Marquis.  “Take him by the tail, and fling him on the muck-heap beneath the window!”’

‘Thereof I acquit Whittington, who never was thankless to man or brute,’ said King Henry.  ‘Moreover, his cat, or her grandchildren, must be now in high preferment at the King of Barbary’s Court.’

‘A marvellous beast is that cat,’ said James.  ‘When I was a child in Scotland, we used