Quentin Durward by Walter Scott (good romance books to read TXT) 📖

CHAPTER VII: THE ENROLMENT Justice of Peace.— Here, hand me down the statute—read the articles— Swear, kiss the book—subscribe, and be a hero; Drawing a portion from the public stock For deeds of valour to be done hereafter— Sixpence per day, subsistence and arrears. THE RECRUITING OFFICER

An attendant upon the Archers having been dismounted, Quentin Durward was accommodated with his horse, and, in company of his martial countrymen, rode at a round pace towards the Castle of Plessis, about to become, although on his own part involuntarily, an inhabitant of that gloomy fortress, the outside of which had, that morning, struck him with so much surprise.

In the meanwhile, in answer to his uncle's repeated interrogations, he gave him an exact account of the accident which had that morning brought him into so much danger. Although he himself saw nothing in his narrative save what was affecting, he found it was received with much laughter by his escort.

“And yet it is no good jest either,” said his uncle, “for what, in the devil's name, could lead the senseless boy to meddle with the body of a cursed misbelieving Jewish Moorish pagan?”

“Had he quarrelled with the Marshals men about a pretty wench, as Michael of Moffat did, there had been more sense in it,” said Cunningham.

“But I think it touches our honour that Tristan and his people pretend to confound our Scottish bonnets with these pilfering vagabonds—torques and turbands, as they call them,” said Lindesay. “If they have not eyes to see the difference they must be taught by rule of hand. But it 's my belief, Tristan but pretends to mistake, that he may snap up the kindly Scots that come over to see their kinsfolks.”

“May I ask, kinsman,” said Quentin, “what sort of people these are of whom you speak?”

“In troth you may ask,” said his uncle, “but I know not, fair nephew, who is able to answer you. Not I, I am sure, although I know, it may be, as much as other people; but they appeared in this land within a year or two, just as a flight of locusts might do.”

“Ay,” said Lindesay, “and Jacques Bonhomme (that is our name for the peasant, young man—you will learn our way of talk in time)—honest Jacques, I say, cares little what wind either brings them or the locusts, so he but knows any gale that would carry them away again.”

“Do they do so much evil?” asked the young man.

“Evil? why, boy, they are heathens, or Jews, or Mahommedans at the least, and neither worship Our Lady, nor the Saints” (crossing himself) “and steal what they can lay hands on, and sing, and tell fortunes,” added Cunningham.

“And they say there are some goodly wenches amongst these,” said Guthrie; “but Cunningham knows that best.”

“How, brother!” said Cunningham. “I trust ye mean me no reproach?”

“I am sure I said ye none,” answered Guthrie.

“I will be judged by the company,” said Cunningham. “Ye said as much as that I, a Scottish gentleman, and living within pale of holy church, had a fair friend among these off scourings of Heathenesse.”

“Nay, nay,” said Balafre, “he did but jest. We will have no quarrels among comrades.”

“We must have no such jesting then,” said Cunningham, murmuring, as if he had been speaking to his own beard.

“Be there such vagabonds in other lands than France?” said Lindesay.

“Ay, in good sooth, are there—tribes of them have appeared in Germany, and in Spain, and in England,” answered Balafre. “By the blessing of good Saint Andrew, Scotland is free of them yet.”

“Scotland,” said Cunningham, “is too cold, a country for locusts, and too poor a country for thieves.”

“Or perhaps John Highlander will suffer no thieves to thrive there but his own,” said Guthrie.

“I let you all know,” said Balafre, “that I come from the Braes of Angus, and have gentle Highland kin in Glen Isla and I will not have the Highlanders slandered.”

“You will not deny that they are cattle lifters?” said Guthrie.

“To drive a spreagh [to plunder] or so, is no thievery,” said Balafre, “and that I will maintain when and how you dare.”

“For shame, comrade!” said Cunningham, “who quarrels now? The young man should not see such mad misconstruction—Come, here we are at the Chateau. I will bestow a runlet of wine to have a rouse in friendship, and drink to Scotland, Highland and Lowland both, if you will meet me at dinner at my quarters.”

“Agreed—agreed,” said Balafre; “and I will bestow another to wash away unkindness, and to drink a health to my nephew on his first entrance to our corps.”

At their approach, the wicket was opened, and the drawbridge fell. One by one they entered; but when Quentin appeared, the sentinels crossed their pikes, and commanded him to stand, while bows were bent, and harquebusses aimed at him from the walls, a rigour of vigilance used, notwithstanding that the young stranger came in company of a party of the garrison, nay, of the very body which furnished the sentinels who were then upon duty.

Le Balafre, who had remained by his nephew's side on purpose, gave the necessary explanations, and, after some considerable hesitation and delay, the youth was conveyed under a strong guard to the Lord Crawford's apartment.

This Scottish nobleman was one of the last relics of the gallant band of Scottish lords and knights who had so long and so truly served Charles VI in those bloody wars which decided the independence of the French crown, and the expulsion of the English. He had fought, when a boy, abreast with Douglas and with Buchan, had ridden beneath the banner of the Maid of Arc, and was perhaps one of the last of those associates of Scottish chivalry who had so willingly drawn their swords for the fleur de lys, against their “auld enemies of England.” Changes which had taken place in the Scottish kingdom, and perhaps his having become habituated to French climate and manners, had induced the old Baron to resign all thoughts of returning to his native country, the rather that the high office which he held in the household of Louis and his own frank and loyal character had gained a considerable ascendancy over the King, who, though in general no ready believer in human virtue or honour, trusted and confided in those of the Lord Crawford, and allowed him the greater influence, because he was never known to interfere excepting in matters which concerned his charge.

[Douglas: fourth earl of Douglas. He was created Duke of Touraine in 1423 by Charles VII of France.]

[Buchan: Regent of Scotland and grandson of Robert II. He entered the service of Charles VII in 1420, and was appointed Constable of France.]

[Maid of Arc (1412-1431): Joan of Arc. She believed that God had called her to liberate France from the curse of the English who were besieging Orleans. In person she led the French troops from victory to victory until she saw the Dauphin crowned as Charles VII at Rheims. She was then betrayed by her people into the hands of the English, who, in 1431, sentenced her to the flames.]

Balafre and Cunningham followed Durward and the guard to the apartment of their officer, by whose dignified appearance, as well as with the respect paid to him by these proud soldiers, who seemed to respect no one else, the young man was much and strongly impressed.

Lord Crawford was tall, and through advanced age had become gaunt and thin; yet retaining in his sinews the strength, at least, if not the elasticity, of youth, he was able to endure the weight of his armour during a march as well as the youngest man who rode in his band. He was hard favoured, with a scarred and weather-beaten countenance, and an eye that had looked upon death as his playfellow in thirty pitched battles, but which nevertheless expressed a calm contempt of danger, rather than the ferocious courage of a mercenary soldier. His tall, erect figure was at present wrapped in a loose chamber gown, secured around him by his buff belt, in which was suspended his richly hilted poniard. He had round his neck the collar and badge of the order of Saint Michael [a patron saint of France. In 1469, a military order was instituted in his honour by Louis XI]. He sat upon a couch covered with deer's hide, and with spectacles on his nose (then a recent invention) was labouring to read a huge manuscript called the Rosier de la Guerre, a code of military and civil policy which Louis had compiled for the benefit of his son the Dauphin, and upon which he was desirous to have the opinion of the experienced Scottish warrior.

Lord Crawford laid his book somewhat peevishly aside upon the entrance of these unexpected visitors, and demanded, in his broad national dialect, what, in the foul fiend's name, they lacked now.

Le Balafre, with more respect than perhaps he would have shown to Louis himself, stated at full length the circumstances in which his nephew was placed, and humbly requested his Lordship's protection. Lord Crawford listened very attentively. He could not but smile at the simplicity with which the youth had interfered in behalf of the hanged criminal, but he shook his head at the account which he received of the ruffle betwixt the Scottish Archers and the Provost Marshal's guard.

[Such disputes between the Scots Guards and the other constituted authorities of the ordinary military corps often occurred. In 1474, two Scotsmen had been concerned in robbing... a fishmonger of a large sum of money. They were accordingly apprehended by Philip du Four, Provost, with some of his followers. But ere they could lodge one of them,... in the prison of the Chastellet, they were attacked by two Archers of the King's Scottish Guard, who rescued the prisoner.... S.]

“How often,” he said, “will you bring me such ill winded pirns to ravel out? How often must I tell you, and especially both you, Ludovic Lesly, and you, Archie Cunningham, that the foreign soldier should bear himself modestly and decorously towards the people of the country if you would not have the whole dogs of the town at your heels? However, if you must have a bargain [a quarrel, videlicet. S.], I would rather it were with that loon of a Provost than any one else; and I blame you less for this onslaught than for other frays that you have made, Ludovic, for it was but natural and kind-like to help