The Lances of Lynwood by Charlotte Mary Yonge (read 50 shades of grey txt) 📖

It was still very early, and the narrow line of sky seen from the turret window was gilded by the bright pale-green light of morning, when Sir Eustace awoke. All around was perfectly still, and he could have believed himself waking merely from a dream of tumult and disturbance, but for his feelings of pain and weakness. At some little distance lay, on a softly-dressed sheepskin, the oriental figure of the Jewish mediciner, and, at the foot of his own bed, the unexpected form of little Arthur reclined, half sitting, half lying, with his head resting on his crossed arms, and his long curls floating over them. All was a riddle to his misty remembrance, clouded by weakness; and, in vague uncertain recollections and conjectures, the time rolled away, till the sounds of awakening and calls of the warders within the Castle betokened that it was occupied by no small number of persons. Still Arthur slept on, and Eustace abstained from the slightest movement that could disturb him, till a step stole quietly to the door, and Gaston’s head was seen cautiously and anxiously looking in. Eustace, raising his hand, beckoned him, and made a sign of silence.

“How is with you, Sir Eustace? It must needs be better. I see a light in your eye once more.”

“I am another man since yesterday, Gaston; but be careful—see there.”

“Little fear of breaking such sleep as that,” said Gaston. “‘Tis a noble-hearted little fellow, and if matters go better with us henceforth, it will be his work.”

“What is become of Clisson?”

“He was riding off headlong when Master Henry Neville last beheld him, gaining thereby a sound rating from old Chandos.”

“Sir John Chandos here?”

“Fast asleep in your own carved chair, with his feet on the oaken settle.”

“Sir John Chandos!” again exclaimed Eustace.

“Even so. All thanks to the brave young damoiseau who—”

Here Gaston’s ardour had the effect of awakening the doctor, who immediately began to grumble at his patient’s admitting visitors without permission. By the time he had examined Eustace’s wounds and pronounced him to be progressing favourably, the whole Castle was up and awake, and Arthur, against his will, was sent down to attend on Sir John Chandos at breakfast, when scarce satisfied that his uncle could speak to him.

In process of time he came up to announce a visit from Chandos himself, and close on his steps followed the stalwart old warrior. Pausing at the door, he looked around him, struck with the aspect of the dungeon-like apartment, still more rugged in the morning light than in the evening gloom—the bare rough walls, an arrow sticking between the stones immediately above the Knight’s head, the want of furniture, the Knight’s own mantle and that of Gaston both called into requisition to protect him from the damp chill night air, their bright hues and rich embroidery contrasting with the squalid appearance of all around, as, indeed, did the noble though pale features of the wounded man himself, and the graceful attire and shining hair of the fair young boy who stood over him. But Sir John beheld all with no dissatisfaction.

“Well, my brave young Sir,” said he, advancing, “how is it with you this morning? You look cheerily; I trust we shall soon have you on horseback again.”

“Thanks to the blessed Saints and to you, Sir John,” replied Eustace. “I fear you fared ill last night for,”—and he looked round with a smile—“you see, I occupy the state bed-chamber.”

“The better, Sir Eustace,” said Chandos. “It does my heart good to see such a chamber as this—none of the tapestry and hangings which our young Knights nowadays fence themselves with, as if they kept out the foe—this is what it is meant for—a stronghold, and not a bower. I’ll have my dainty young Master Neville up here, to see how a good Knight should be lodged.”

“I fear he would scarce consider it as an example,” said Eustace, smiling, “since all our simplicity would not have availed to protect us, but for your coming. We little dreamt to see this morning’s light.”

“True, but where should I look for a garrison to make such a defence as you and your Squire have done? When I saw the spot, and looked at the numbers, and heard how long you had held out, methought I was returned once more to the good old days of Calais. And here this youth of mine, not yet with his spurs, though I dare say full five years older than you, must needs look sour upon it, because he has to sleep on a settle for one night—and that, too, when he has let Oliver de Clisson slip through his fingers, without so much as a scratch taken or given on either side! It grieves my very soul to think on it! But all has gone to rack and ruin since the Prince has been unable to set the example.”

“Is the Prince better in health?”

“Yes—so they say—but his looks tell another tale, and I never expect to see him on horseback again,” said the old warrior, with a deep sigh. “But I have to do his bidding here, and have much to ask of you, Sir Eustace; and I do it the more willingly, that I rejoice to see a brave man righted.”

“Has the Prince, then, commanded an inquiry into my conduct?” exclaimed Eustace, joyfully. “It is what I have ever most warmly desired.”

“And know you whom you have to thank?” said Sire John. “That youngster who stands at your feet—‘twas he that, with little Prince Edward, burst into the council, and let not another word be said till he had told your need, given Fulk Clarenham the lie direct, and challenged him to prove his words. Pray when is the defiance to be fought out, Sir Page?”

Arthur coloured crimson, and looked down; then raising his glowing face, said firmly, “To-morrow, if need were, Sir—for God would defend the right!”

“Roundly spoken, Master Page! But let not your early years be all talk, nothing worth.”

“The same warning that you gave to me, Sir John,” said Eustace.

“When you thought I looked coldly and churlishly on your new-won honours,” said Sir John. “I own I thought the Prince was bestowing knighthood over lightly—and so do I say still, Sir Eustace. But I saw, afterwards, that you