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

left sleeve. With this little army he approached the city of Liege. Upon this the citizens, who were engaged in the conspiracy, came to their Bishop, and, offering to stand by him to the death, exhorted him to march out against these robbers. The Bishop, therefore, put himself at the head of a few troops of his own, trusting to the assistance of the people of Liege. But so soon as they came in sight of the enemy, the citizens, as before agreed, fled from the Bishop's banner, and he was left with his own handful of adherents. At this moment De la Marck charged at the head of his banditti with the expected success. The Bishop was brought before the profligate Knight, who first cut him over the face, then murdered him with his own hand, and caused his body to be exposed naked in the great square of Liege before Saint Lambert's Cathedral. S.]

But William de la Marck, raising his tremendous voice above the tumult, and shaking his clenched hand and extended arm, shouted aloud, “How now, ye porkers of Liege! ye wallowers in the mud of the Maes!—do ye dare to mate yourselves with the Wild Boar of Ardennes?—Up, ye Boar's brood!” (an expression by which he himself, and others, often designated his soldiers) “let these Flemish hogs see your tusks!”

Every one of his followers started up at the command, and mingled as they were among their late allies, prepared too for such a surprisal, each had, in an instant, his next neighbour by the collar, while his right hand brandished a broad dagger that glimmered against lamplight and moonshine. Every arm was uplifted, but no one struck, for the victims were too much surprised for resistance, 'and it was probably the object of De la Marck only to impose terror on his civic confederates.

But the courage of Quentin Durward, prompt and alert in resolution beyond his years, and stimulated at the moment by all that could add energy to his natural shrewdness and resolution, gave a new turn to the scene. Imitating the action of the followers of De la Marck, he sprang on Carl Eberson, the son of their leader, and mastering him with ease, held his dirk at the boy's throat, while he exclaimed, “Is that your game? then here I play my part.”

“Hold! hold!” exclaimed De la Marck, “it is a jest—a jest.—Think you I would injure my good friends and allies of the city of Liege!—Soldiers, unloose your holds, sit down, take away the carrion” (giving the Bishop's corpse a thrust with his foot) “which hath caused this strife among friends, and let us drown unkindness in a fresh carouse.”

All unloosened their holds, and the citizens and the soldiers stood gazing on each other, as if they scarce knew whether they were friends or foes. Quentin Durward took advantage of the moment.

“Hear me,” he said, “William de la Marck, and you, burghers and citizens of Liege—and do you, young sir, stand still” (for the boy Carl was attempting to escape from his grip)—“no harm shall befall you unless another of these sharp jests shall pass around.”

“Who art thou, in the fiend's name,” said the astonished De la Marck, “who art come to hold terms and take hostages from us in our own lair—from us, who exact pledges from others, but yield them to no one?”

“I am a servant of King Louis of France,” said Quentin, boldly, “an Archer of his Scottish Guard, as my language and dress may partly tell you. I am here to behold and to report your proceedings, and I see with wonder that they are those of heathens, rather than Christians—of madmen, rather than men possessed of reason. The hosts of Charles of Burgundy will be instantly in motion against you all, and if you wish assistance from France, you must conduct yourself in a different manner.

“For you, men of Liege, I advise your instant return to your own city, and if there is any obstruction offered to your departure, I denounce those by whom it is so offered, foes to my master, his Most Gracious Majesty of France.”

“France and Liege! France and Liege!” cried the followers of Pavillon, and several other citizens whose courage began to rise at the bold language held by Quentin.

“France and Liege, and long live the gallant Archer! We will live and die with him!”

William de la Marck's eyes sparkled, and he grasped his dagger as if about to launch it at the heart of the audacious speaker, but glancing his eye around, he read something in the looks of his soldiers which even he was obliged to respect. Many of them were Frenchmen, and all of them knew the private support which William had received, both in men and in money, from that kingdom, nay, some of them were rather startled at the violent and sacrilegious action which had been just committed. The name of Charles of Burgundy, a person likely to resent to the utmost the deeds of that night, had an alarming sound, and the extreme impolicy of at once quarrelling with the Liegeois and provoking the Monarch of France, made an appalling impression on their minds, confused as their intellects were. De la Marck, in short, saw he would not be supported, even by his own band, in any farther act of immediate violence, and relaxing the terrors of his brow and eye, declared that he had not the least design against his good friends of Liege, all of whom were at liberty to depart from Schonwaldt at their pleasure, although he had hoped they would revel one night with him, at least, in honour of their victory. He added, with more calmness than he commonly used, that he would be ready to enter into negotiation concerning the partition of spoil, and the arrangement of measures for their mutual defence, either the next day, or as soon after as they would. Meantime he trusted that the Scottish gentleman would honour his feast by remaining all night at Schonwaldt.

The young Scot returned his thanks, but said his motions must be determined by those of Pavillon, to whom he was directed particularly to attach himself, but that, unquestionably, he would attend him on his next return to the quarters of the valiant William de la Marck.

“If you depend on my motions,” said Pavillon, hastily and aloud, “you are likely to quit Schonwaldt without an instant's delay—and, if you do not come back to Schonwaldt, save in my company, you are not likely to see it again in a hurry.”

This last part of the sentence the honest citizen muttered to himself, afraid of the consequences of giving audible vent 'to feelings which, nevertheless, he was unable altogether to suppress.

“Keep close about me, my brisk Kurschner [a worker in fur] lads.” he said to his bodyguard, “and we will get as fast as we can out of this den of thieves.”

Most of the better classes of the Liegeois seemed to entertain similar opinions with the Syndic, and there had been scarce so much joy amongst them at the obtaining possession of Schonwaldt as now seemed to arise from the prospect of getting safe out of it. They were suffered to leave the castle without opposition of any kind, and glad was Quentin when he turned his back on those formidable walls.

For the first time since they had entered that dreadful hall, Quentin ventured to ask the young Countess how she did.

“Well, well,” she answered, in feverish haste, “excellently well—do not stop to ask a question, let us not lose an instant in words.—Let us fly—let us fly!”

She endeavoured to mend her pace as she spoke, but with so little success that she must have fallen from exhaustion had not Durward supported her. With the tenderness of a mother, when she conveys her infant out of danger, the young Scot raised his precious charge in his arms, and while she encircled his neck with one arm, lost to every other thought save the desire of escaping, he would not have wished one of the risks of the night unencountered, since such had been the conclusion.

The honest Burgomaster was, in his turn, supported and dragged forward by his faithful counsellor Peter, and another of his clerks, and thus, in breathless haste, they reached the banks of the river, encountering many strolling bands of citizens, who were eager to know the event of the siege, and the truth of certain rumours already afloat that the conquerors had quarrelled among themselves.

Evading their curiosity as they best could, the exertions of Peter and some of his companions at length procured a boat for the use of the company, and with it an opportunity of enjoying some repose, equally welcome to Isabelle, who continued to lie almost motionless in the arms of her deliverer, and to the worthy Burgomaster, who, after delivering a broken string of thanks to Durward, whose mind was at the time too much occupied to answer him, began a long harangue, which he addressed to Peter, upon his own courage and benevolence, and the dangers to which these virtues had exposed him, on this and other occasions.

“Peter, Peter,” he said, resuming the complaint of the preceding evening, “if I had not had a bold heart, I would never have stood out against paying the burghers twentieths, when every other living soul was willing to pay the same.—Ay, and then a less stout heart had not seduced me into that other battle of Saint Tron, where a Hainault man at arms thrust me into a muddy ditch with his lance, which neither heart nor hand that I had could help me out of till the battle was over.—Ay, and then, Peter, this very night my courage seduced me, moreover, into too strait a corselet, which would have been the death of me, but for the aid of this gallant young gentleman, whose trade is fighting, whereof I wish him heartily joy. And then for my tenderness of heart, Peter, it has made a poor man of me, that is, it would have made a poor man of me, if I had not been tolerably well to pass in this wicked world—and Heaven knows what trouble it is likely to bring on me yet, with ladies, countesses, and keeping of secrets, which, for aught I know, may cost me half my fortune, and my neck into the bargain!”

Quentin could remain no longer silent, but assured him that whatever danger or damage he should incur on the part of the young lady now under his protection should be thankfully acknowledged, and, as far as was possible, repaid.

“I thank you, young Master Squire Archer, I thank you,” answered the citizen of Liege “but who was it told you that I desired any repayment at your hand for doing the duty of an honest man? I only regretted that it might cost me so and so, and I hope I may have leave to say so much to my lieutenant, without either grudging my loss or my peril.”

Quentin accordingly concluded that his present friend was one of the numerous class of benefactors to others, who take out their reward in grumbling, without meaning more than, by showing their grievances, to exalt a little the idea of the valuable service by which they have incurred them, and therefore prudently remained silent, and suffered the Syndic to maunder on to his lieutenant concerning the risk and the loss he had encountered by his zeal for the public good, and his disinterested services to individuals, until they reached his own habitation.

The truth was, that the honest citizen felt that he had lost a little consequence, by suffering the young stranger to take the lead at the crisis which had occurred at the castle hall of Schonwaldt, and, however delighted with the effect of Durward's interference at the moment, it seemed to him, on reflection, that he had sustained a diminution of importance, for which he endeavoured to obtain compensation by exaggerating the claims which he had upon the gratitude of his country in general, his friends in particular, and more especially still, on the Countess of Croye, and her youthful protector.

But when the boat stopped at the bottom of his garden, and he had got himself assisted on shore by Peter, it seemed as if the touch of his own threshold had at once dissipated those feelings of wounded self opinion and jealousy, and converted the discontented and obscured demagogue into the honest, kind, hospitable, and friendly host. He called loudly for Trudchen, who presently appeared, for fear and anxiety would permit few within the walls of Liege to sleep during that eventful night. She was charged to pay the utmost attention to the care of the beautiful and half fainting stranger, and, admiring her