The Little Duke by Charlotte Mary Yonge (e book reading free .txt) 📖

CHAPTER IV

Richard of Normandy was very anxious to know more of the little boy

whom he had seen among his vassals.

 

“Ah! the young Baron de Montemar,” said Sir Eric. “I knew his father

well, and a brave man he was, though not of northern blood. He was

warden of the marches of the Epte, and was killed by your father’s

side in the inroad of the Viscount du Cotentin, {10} at the time when

you were born, Lord Richard.”

 

“But where does he live? Shall I not see him again?”

 

“Montemar is on the bank of the Epte, in the domain that the French

wrongfully claim from us. He lives there with his mother, and if he

be not yet returned, you shall see him presently. Osmond, go you and

seek out the lodgings of the young Montemar, and tell him the Duke

would see him.”

 

Richard had never had a playfellow of his own age, and his eagerness

to see Alberic de Montemar was great. He watched from the window,

and at length beheld Osmond entering the court with a boy of ten

years old by his side, and an old grey-headed Squire, with a golden

chain to mark him as a Seneschal or Steward of the Castle, walking

behind.

 

Richard ran to the door to meet them, holding out his hand eagerly.

Alberic uncovered his bright dark hair, bowed low and gracefully, but

stood as if he did not exactly know what to do next. Richard grew

shy at the same moment, and the two boys stood looking at each other

somewhat awkwardly. It was easy to see that they were of different

races, so unlike were the blue eyes, flaxen hair, and fair face of

the young Duke, to the black flashing eyes and olive cheek of his

French vassal, who, though two years older, was scarcely above him in

height; and his slight figure, well-proportioned, active and agile as

it was, did not give the same promise of strength as the round limbs

and large-boned frame of Richard, which even now seemed likely to

rival the gigantic stature of his grandfather, Earl Rollo, the

Ganger.

 

For some minutes the little Duke and the young Baron stood surveying

each other without a word, and old Sir Eric did not improve matters

by saying, “Well, Lord Duke, here he is. Have you no better greeting

for him?”

 

“The children are shame-faced,” said Fru Astrida, seeing how they

both coloured. “Is your Lady mother in good health, my young sir?”

 

Alberic blushed more deeply, bowed to the old northern lady, and

answered fast and low in French, “I cannot speak the Norman tongue.”

 

Richard, glad to say something, interpreted Fru Astrida’s speech, and

Alberic readily made courteous reply that his mother was well, and he

thanked the Dame de Centeville, a French title which sounded new to

Fru Astrida’s ears. Then came the embarrassment again, and Fru

Astrida at last said, “Take him out, Lord Richard; take him to see

the horses in the stables, or the hounds, or what not.”

 

Richard was not sorry to obey, so out they went into the court of

Rollo’s tower, and in the open air the shyness went off. Richard

showed his own pony, and Alberic asked if he could leap into the

saddle without putting his foot in the stirrup. No, Richard could

not; indeed, even Osmond had never seen it done, for the feats of

French chivalry had scarcely yet spread into Normandy.

 

“Can you?” said Richard; “will you show us?”

 

“I know I can with my own pony,” said Alberic, “for Bertrand will not

let me mount in any other way; but I will try with yours, if you

desire it, my Lord.”

 

So the pony was led out. Alberic laid one hand on its mane, and

vaulted on its back in a moment. Both Osmond and Richard broke out

loudly into admiration. “Oh, this is nothing!” said Alberic.

“Bertrand says it is nothing. Before he grew old and stiff he could

spring into the saddle in this manner fully armed. I ought to do

this much better.”

 

Richard begged to be shown how to perform the exploit, and Alberic

repeated it; then Richard wanted to try, but the pony’s patience

would not endure any longer, and Alberic said he had learnt on a

block of wood, and practised on the great wolf-hound. They wandered

about a little longer in the court, and then climbed up the spiral

stone stairs to the battlements at the top of the tower, where they

looked at the house-tops of Rouen close beneath, and the river Seine,

broadening and glittering on one side in its course to the sea, and

on the other narrowing to a blue ribbon, winding through the green

expanse of fertile Normandy. They threw the pebbles and bits of

mortar down that they might hear them fall, and tried which could

stand nearest to the edge of the battlement without being giddy.

Richard was pleased to find that he could go the nearest, and began

to tell some of Fru Astrida’s stories about the precipices of Norway,

among which when she was a young girl she used to climb about and

tend the cattle in the long light summer time. When the two boys

came down again into the hall to dinner, they felt as if they had

known each other all their lives. The dinner was laid out in full

state, and Richard had, as before, to sit in the great throne-like

chair with the old Count of Harcourt on one side, but, to his

comfort, Fru Astrida was on the other.

 

After the dinner, Alberic de Montemar rose to take his leave, as he

was to ride half way to his home that afternoon. Count Bernard, who

all dinner time had been watching him intently from under his shaggy

eyebrows, at this moment turned to Richard, whom he hardly ever

addressed, and said to him, “Hark ye, my Lord, what should you say to

have him yonder for a comrade?”

 

“To stay with me?” cried Richard, eagerly. “Oh, thanks, Sir Count;

and may he stay?”

 

“You are Lord here.”

 

“Oh, Alberic!” cried Richard, jumping out of his chair of state, and

running up to him, “will you not stay with me, and be my brother and

comrade?”

 

Alberic looked down hesitating.

 

“Oh, say that you will! I will give you horses, and hawks, and

hounds, and I will love you—almost as well as Osmond. Oh, stay with

me, Alberic.”

 

“I must obey you, my Lord,” said Alberic, “but—”

 

“Come, young Frenchman, out with it,” said Bernard,—“no buts! Speak

honestly, and at once, like a Norman, if you can.”

 

This rough speech seemed to restore the little Baron’s self-possession, and he looked up bright and bold at the rugged face of

the old Dane, while he said, “I had rather not stay here.”

 

“Ha! not do service to your Lord?”

 

“I would serve him with all my heart, but I do not want to stay here.

I love the Castle of Montemar better, and my mother has no one but

me.”

 

“Brave and true, Sir Frenchman,” said the old Count, laying his great

hand on Alberic’s head, and looking better pleased than Richard

thought his grim features could have appeared. Then turning to

Bertrand, Alberic’s Seneschal, he said, “Bear the Count de Harcourt’s

greetings to the noble Dame de Montemar, and say to her that her son

is of a free bold spirit, and if she would have him bred up with my

Lord Duke, as his comrade and brother in arms, he will find a ready

welcome.”

 

“So, Alberic, you will come back, perhaps?” said Richard.

 

“That must be as my mother pleases,” answered Alberic bluntly, and

with all due civilities he and his Seneschal departed.

 

Four or five times a day did Richard ask Osmond and Fru Astrida if

they thought Alberic would return, and it was a great satisfaction to

him to find that every one agreed that it would be very foolish in

the Dame de Montemar to refuse so good an offer, only Fru Astrida

could not quite believe she would part with her son. Still no Baron

de Montemar arrived, and the little Duke was beginning to think less

about his hopes, when one evening, as he was returning from a ride

with Sir Eric and Osmond, he saw four horsemen coming towards them,

and a little boy in front.

 

“It is Alberic himself, I am sure of it!” he exclaimed, and so it

proved; and while the Seneschal delivered his Lady’s message to Sir

Eric, Richard rode up and greeted the welcome guest.

 

“Oh, I am very glad your mother has sent you!”

 

“She said she was not fit to bring up a young warrior of the

marches,” said Alberic.

 

“Were you very sorry to come?”

 

“I dare say I shall not mind it soon; and Bertrand is to come and

fetch me home to visit her every three months, if you will let me go,

my Lord.”

 

Richard was extremely delighted, and thought he could never do enough

to make Rouen pleasant to Alberic, who after the first day or two

cheered up, missed his mother less, managed to talk something between

French and Norman to Sir Eric and Fru