CHAPTER 9. BALCHENBURG
'In these wylde deserts where she now abode There dwelt a salvage nation, which did live On stealth and spoil, and making nightly rade Into their neighbours' borders.'--SPENSER.
A terrible legacy of the Hundred Years' War, which, indeed, was not yetentirely ended by the Peace of Tours, was the existence of bands of mentrained to nothing but war and rapine, and devoid of any other means ofsubsistence than freebooting on the peasantry or travellers, whence theywere known as routiers--highwaymen, and ecorcheurs--flayers. They werea fearful scourge to France in the early part of the reign of CharlesVII., as, indeed, they had been at every interval of peace ever sincethe battle of Creci, and they really made a state of warfare preferableto the unhappy provinces, or at least to those where it was not actuallyraging. In a few years more the Dauphin contrived to delude many ofthem into an expedition, where he abandoned them and left them to bemassacred, after which he formed the rest into the nucleus of a standingarmy; but at this time they were the terror of travellers, who onlydurst go about any of the French provinces in well-armed and largeparties.
The domains of King Rene, whether in Lorraine or Provence, were,however, reckoned as fairly secure, but from the time the little troop,with the princesses among them, had started from Nanci, Madame de Ste.Petronelle became uneasy. She looked up at the sun, which was shiningin her face, more than once, and presently drew the portly mule she wasriding towards George Douglas.
'Sir,' she said, 'you are the ladies' squire?'
'I have that honour, Madame.'
'And a Scot?'
'Even so.'
'I ask you, which way you deem that we are riding?'
'Eastward, Madame, if the sun is to be trusted. Mayhap somewhat to thesouth.'
'Yea; and which side lies Chalons?'
This was beyond George's geography. He looked up with open mouth andshook his head.
'Westward!' said the lady impressively. 'And what's yon in thedistance?'
'Save that this land is as flat as a bannock, I'd have said 'twasmountains.'
'Mountains they are, young man!' said Madame de Ste. Petronelleemphatically--'the hills between Lorraine and Alsace, which we should beleaving behind us.'
'Is there treachery?' asked George, reining up his horse. 'Ken ye who isthe captain of this escort?'
'His name is Hall; he is thick with the Dauphin. Ha! Madame, is he sibto him that aided in the slaughter of Eastern's Eve night?'
'Just, laddie. 'Tis own son to him that Queen Jean made dae sic afearful penance. What are ye doing?'
'I'll run the villain through, and turn back to Nanci while yet there istime,' said George, his hand on his sword.
'Hold, ye daft bodie! That would but bring all the lave on ye. There'snothing for it but to go on warily, and maybe at the next halt we mightescape from them.'
But almost while Madame de Ste. Petronelle spoke there was a cry, andfrom a thicket there burst out a band of men in steel headpieces andbuff jerkins, led by two or three horsemen. There was a confused outcryof 'St. Denys! St. Andrew!' on one side, 'Yield!' on the other. Madame'srein was seized, and though she drew her dagger, her hand was caughtbefore she could strike, by a fellow who cried, 'None of that, you oldhag, or it shall be the worse for thee!'
'St. Andrew! St. Andrew!' screamed Eleanor. 'Scots, to the rescue ofyour King's sisters!'
'Douglas--Douglas, help!' cried Jean. But each was surrounded by a swarmof the ruffians; and as George Douglas hastily pushed down some withhis horse, and struck down one or two with his sword, he was felled by amighty blow on the head, and the ecorcheurs thronged over him, dragginghim off his horse, any resistance on the part of the Scottish archers,their escort, they could not tell; they only heard a tumult of shoutsand cries, and found rude hands holding them on their horses anddragging them among the trees. Their screams for help were answered bya gruff voice from a horseman, evidently the leader of the troop. 'Holdthat noise, Lady! No ill is meant to you, but you must come with us. No;screams are useless! There's none to come to you. Stop them, or I must!'
'There is none!' said Madame de Ste. Petronelle's voice in her owntongue; 'best cease to cry, and not fash the loons more.'
The sisters heard, and in her natural tone Eleanor said in French, 'Sir,know you who you are thus treating? The King's daughter--sisters of theDauphiness!'
He laughed. 'Full well,' he answered, in very German-sounding French.
'Such usage will bring the vengeance of the King and Dauphin on you.'
He laughed yet more loudly. His face was concealed by his visor, but theill-fitting armour and great roan horse made Jean recognise the knightwhose eyes had dwelt on her so boldly at the tournament, and she addedher voice.
'Your Duke of the Tirol will punish this.'
'He has enough to do to mind his own business,' was the answer.
'Come, fair one, hold your tongue! There's no help for it, and the lesstrouble you give us the better it will be for you.'
'But our squire!' Jean exclaimed, looking about her. 'Where is he?'
Again there was a rude laugh.
'Showed fight. Disposed of. See there!' and Jean could not but recognisethe great gray horse from the Mearns that George Douglas had alwaysridden. Had she brought the gallant youth to this, and without word orlook to reward his devotion? She gave one low cry, and bowed her head,grieved and sick at heart. While Eleanor, on her side, exclaimed,
'Felon, thou hast slain a nobleman's brave heir! Disgrace toknighthood!'
'Peace, maid, or we will find means to silence thy tongue,' growled theleader; and Madame de Ste. Petronelle interposed, 'Whisht--whisht, mybairn; dinna anger them.' For she saw that there was more dispositionto harshness towards Eleanor than towards Jean, whose beauty seemed tocommand a sort of regard.
Eleanor took the hint. Her eyes filled with tears, and her bosom heavedat the thought of the requital of the devotion of the brave young man,lying in his blood, so far from his father and his home; but she wouldnot have these ruffians see her weep and think it was for herself,and she proudly straightened herself in her saddle and choked down therising sob.
On, on they went, at first through the wood by a tangled path, then overa wide moor covered with heather, those mountains, which had at firstexcited the old lady's alarm, growing more distinct in front of them;going faster, too, so that the men who held the reins were half running,till the ground began to rise and grow rougher, when, at an order inGerman from the knight, a man leapt on in front of each lady to guideher horse.
Where were they going? No one deigned to ask except Madame de Ste.Petronelle, and her guard only grunted, 'Nicht verstand,' or somethingequivalent.
A thick mass of wood rose before them, a stream coming down from it, andhere there was a halt, the ladies were lifted down, and the party, whonumbered about twelve men, refreshed themselves with the provisions thatthe Infanta Yolande had hospitably furnished for her guests. The knightawkwardly, but not uncivilly, offered a share to his captives, butEleanor would have moved them off with disdain, and Jean sat with herhead in her hands, and would not look up.
The old lady remonstrated. 'Eat--eat,' she said. 'We shall need all ourspirit and strength, and there's no good in being weak and spent withfasting.'
Eleanor saw the prudence of this, and accepted the food and wine offeredto her; but Jean seemed unable to swallow anything but a long draught ofwine and water, and scarcely lifted her head from her sister's shoulder.Eleanor held her rosary, and though the words she conned overwere Latin, all her heart was one silent prayer for protection anddeliverance, and commendation of that brave youth's soul to bis Maker.
The knight kept out of their way, evidently not wishing to beinterrogated, and he seemed to be the only person who could speak Frenchafter a fashion. By and by they were remounted and led across somemarshy ground, where the course of the stream was marked by tall fernsand weeds, then into a wood of beeches, where the sun lighted thedelicate young foli
age, while the horses trod easily among the brownfallen leaves. This gave place to another wood of firs, and though thedays were fairly long, here it was rapidly growing dark under the heavybranches, so that the winding path could only have been followed bythose well used to it. As it became steeper and more stony the treesbecame thinner, and against the eastern sky could be seen, dark andthreatening, the turrets of a castle above a steep, smooth-looking,grassy slope, one of the hills, in fact, called from their shape by theFrench, ballons.
Just then Jean's horse, weary and unused to mountaineering, stumbled.The man at its head was perhaps not attending to it, for the sudden pullhe gave the rein only precipitated the fall. The horse was up again in amoment, but Jean lay still. Her sister and the lady were at her sidein a moment; but when they tried to raise her she cried out, at firstinarticulately, then, 'Oh, my arm!' and on another attempt to lift hershe fainted away. The knight was in the meantime swearing in German atthe man who had been leading her, then asking anxiously in French howit was with the maiden, as she lay with her head on her sister's lap,Madame answered,
'Hurt--much hurt.'
'But not to the death?'
'Who knows? No thanks to you.' He tendered a flask where only a fewdrops of wine remained, growling something or other about the Schelm;and when Jean's lips had been moistened with it she opened her eyes, butsobbed with pain, and only entreated to be let alone. This, of course,was impossible; but with double consternation Eleanor looked up at what,in the gathering darkness, seemed a perpendicular height. The knightmade them understand that all that could be done was to put thesufferer on horseback and support her there in the climb upwards, andhe proceeded without further parley to lift her up, not entirely withoutheed to her screams and moans, for he emitted such sounds as those withwhich he might have soothed his favourite horse, as he placed her on theback of a stout, little, strong, mountain pony. Eleanor held her there,and he walked at its head. Madame de Ste. Petronelle would fain havekept up on the other side, but she had lost her mountain legs, andcould not have got up at all without the mule on which she was replaced.Eleanor's height enabled her to hold her arm round her sister, and resther head on her shoulder, though how she kept on in the dark, draggedalong as it were blindly up and up, she never could afterwardsrecollect; but at last pine torches came down to meet them, there wasa tumult of voices, a yawning black archway in front, a light or twoflitting about. Jean lay helplessly against her, only groaning now andthen; then, as the arch seemed to swallow them up, Eleanor was aware ofan old man, lame and rugged, who bawled loud and seemed to be thehighly displeased master; of calls for 'Barbe,' and then of an elderly,homely-looking woman, who would have assisted in taking Jean off thepony but that the knight was already in the act. However, he resignedher to her sister and Madame de Ste. Petronelle, while Barbe led theway, lamp in hand. It was just as well poor Jeanie remained unconsciousor nearly so while she was conveyed up the narrow stairs to a roundchamber, not worse in furnishing than that at Dunbar, though very unliketheir tapestried rooms at Nanci.
It was well to be able to lay her down at all, and old Barbe was notonly ready and pitying, but spoke French. She had some wine ready, andhad evidently done her best in the brief warning to prepare a bed. Thetone of her words convinced Madame de Ste. Petronelle that at any rateshe was no enemy. So she was permitted to assist in the investigationof the injuries, which proved to be extensive bruises and a dislocatedshoulder. Both had sufficient experience in rough-and-ready surgery,as well as sufficient strength, for them to be able to pull in theshoulder, while Eleanor, white and trembling, stood on one side with thelamp, and a little flaxen-haired girl of twelve years old held bandagesand ran after whatever Barbe asked for.
This done, and Jean having been arranged as comfortably as might be,Barbe obeyed some peremptory summonses from without, and presently cameback.
'The seigneur desires to speak with the ladies,' she said; 'but I havetold him that they cannot leave la pauvrette, and are too much spent tospeak with him to-night. I will bring them supper and they shall rest.'
'We thank you,' said Madame de Ste. Petronelle, 'Only, de grace, tell uswhere we are, and who this seigneur is, and what he wants with us poorwomen.'
'This is the Castle of Balchenburg,' was the reply; 'the seigneur is theBaron thereof. For the next'--she shrugged her shoulders--'it must beone of Baron Rudiger's ventures. But I must go and fetch the ladies somesupper. Ah! the demoiselle surely needs it.'
'And some water!' entreated Eleanor.
'Ah yes,' she replied; 'Trudchen shall bring some.'
The little girl presently reappeared with a pitcher as heavy asshe could carry. She could not understand French, but looked muchinterested, and very eager and curious as she brought in several of thebundles and mails of the travellers.
'Thank the saints,' cried the lady, 'they do not mean to strip us of ourclothes!'
'They have stolen us, and that is enough for them,' said Eleanor.
Jean lay apparently too much exhausted to take notice of what was goingon, and they hoped she might sleep, while they moved about quietly. Theroom seemed to be a cell in the hollow of the turret, and there were twoloophole windows, to which Eleanor climbed up, but she could see nothingbut the stars. 'Ah! yonder is the Plough, just as when we looked out atit at Dunbar o'er the sea!' she sighed. 'The only friendly thing I cansee! Ah! but the same God and the saints are with us still!' and sheclasped her rosary's cross as she returned to her sister, who wassighing out an entreaty for water.
By and by the woman returned, and with her the child. She made a lowreverence as she entered, having evidently been informed of the rank ofher captives. A white napkin was spread over the great chest that servedfor a table--a piece of civilisation such as the Dunbar captivity hadnot known--three beechen bowls and spoons, and a porringer containing anot unsavoury stew of a fowl in broth thickened with meal. They triedto make their patient swallow a little broth, but without much success,though Eleanor in the mountain air had become famished enough to make ahearty meal, and feel more cheered and hopeful after it. Barbe's evidentsympathy and respect were an element of comfort, and when Jean revivedenough to make some inquiry after poor Skywing, and it was translatedinto French, there was an assurance that the hawk was cared for--hopeseven given of its presence. Barbe was not only compassionate, but readyto answer all the questions in her power. She was Burgundian, but herhome having been harried in the wars, her husband had taken service asa man-at-arms with the Baron of Balchenburg, she herself becoming thebower-woman of the Baroness, now dead. Since the death of the good lady,whose influence had been some restraint, everything had become muchrougher and wilder, and the lords of the castle, standing on thefrontier as it did, had become closely connected with the feuds ofGermany as well as the wars in France. The old Baron had been lamed in araid into Burgundy, since which time he had never left home; and Barbe'shusband had been killed, her sons either slain or seeking their fortuneelsewhere, so that nothing was left to her but her little daughterGertrude, for whose sake she earnestly longed to find her way down tomore civilised and godly life; but she was withheld by the difficultiesin the path, and the extreme improbability of finding a maintenanceanywhere else, as well as by a certain affection for her two Barons,and doubts what they would do without her, since the elder was in brokenhealth and the younger had been her nursling. In fact, she was thehighest female authority in the castle, and kept up whatever semblanceof decency or propriety remained since her mistress's death. All thiscame out in the way of grumbling or lamentation, in the satisfaction ofhaving some woman to confide in, though her young master had made heraware of the rank of his captives. Every one, it seemed, had beentaken by surprise. He was in the habit of making expeditions on hisown account, and bringing home sometimes lawless comrades or followers,sometimes booty; but this time, after taking great pains to furbish upa suit of armour brought home long ago, he had set forth to thefestivities at Nanci. The lands and castle were so situated, that theold Baron had done
homage for the greater part to Sigismund as Duke ofElsass, and for another portion to King Rene as Duke of Lorraine, aswhose vassal the young Baron had appeared. No more had been heard of himtill one of his men hurried up with tidings that Herr Rudiger had takena bevy of captives, with plenty of spoil, but that one was a lady muchhurt, for whom Barbe must prepare her best.
Since this, Barbe had learnt from her young master that the injured ladywas the sister of the Dauphiness, and a king's daughter, and that everycare must be taken of her and her sister, for he was madly in love withher, and meant her to be his wife.
Eleanor and Madame de Ste. Petronelle cried out at this with horror, ina stifled way, as Barbe whispered it.
'Too high, too dangerous game for him, I know,' said the old woman. 'Sosaid his father, who was not a little dismayed when he heard who theseladies were.'
'The King, my brother, the Dauphin, the Duke of Brittany--' beganEleanor.
'Alas! the poor boy would never have ventured it but for encouragement,'sighed Barbe. 'Treacherous I say it must be!'
'I knew there was treachery, 'exclaimed Madame de Ste. Petronelle, 'sosoon as I found which way our faces were turned.'
'But who could or would betray us?' demanded Eleanor.
'You need not ask that, when your escort was led by Andrew Hall,'returned the elder lady. 'Poor young George of the Red Peel had onlyjust told me so, when the caitiffs fell on him, and he came to hisbloody death.'
'Hall! Then I marvel not,' said Eleanor, in a low, awe-struck voice. 'Mybrother the Dauphin could not have known.'
The old Scotswoman refrained from uttering her belief that he knew onlytoo well, but by the time all this had been said Barbe was obliged toleave them, having arranged for the night that Eleanor should sleep inthe big bed beside her sister, and their lady across it at their feet--anot uncommon arrangement in those days.
Sleep, however, in spite of weariness, was only to be had in snatches,for poor Jean was in much pain, and very feverish, besides being greatlyterrified at their situation, and full of grief and self-reproach forthe poor young Master of Angus, never dozing off for a moment withoutfancying she saw him dying and upbraiding her, and for the most parttossing in a restless misery that required the attendance of one orboth. She had never known ailment before, and was thus all the morewretched and impatient, alarming and distressing Eleanor extremely,though Madame de Ste. Petronelle declared it was only a matter ofcourse, and that the lassie would soon be well.
'Ah, Madame, our comforter and helper,' said Elleen.
'Call me no French names, dearies. Call me the Leddy Lindsay or DameElspeth, as I should be at home. We be all Scots here, in one sorestour. If I could win a word to my son, Ritchie, he would soon have usout of this place.'
'Would not Barbe help us to a messenger?'
'I doubt it. She would scarce bring trouble on her lords; but we mightbe worse off than with her.'
'Why does she not come? I want some more drink,' moaned Jean. Barbe didcome, and, moreover, brought not only water but some tisane of herbsthat was good for fever and had been brewing all night, and she waswonderfully good-humoured at the patient's fretful refusal, thoughbetween coaxing and authority 'Leddy Lindsay' managed to get it takenat last. After Margaret's experience of her as a stern duenna, hertenderness in illness and trouble was a real surprise.
No keys were turned on them, but there was little disposition to gobeyond the door which opened on the stone stair in the gray wall. Theview from the windows revealed that they were very high up. There wasa bit of castle wall to be seen below, and beyond a sea of forest, thedark masses of pine throwing out the lighter, more delicate sweeps ofbeech, and pale purple distance beyond--not another building withinview, giving a sense of vast solitude to Eleanor's eyes, more drearythan the sea at Dunbar, and far more changeless. An occasional bird wasall the variety to be hoped for.
By and by Barbe brought a message that her masters requested the ladies'presence at the meal, a dinner, in fact, served about an hour beforenoon. Eleanor greatly demurred, but Barbe strongly advised consent, 'Ormy young lord will be coming up here,' she said; 'they both wish to havespeech of you, and would have been here before now, if my old lord werenot so lame, and the young one so shy, the poor child!'
'Shy,' exclaimed Eleanor, 'after what he has dared to do to us!'
'All the more for that very reason,' said Barbe.
'True,' returned Madame; 'the savage who is most ferocious in his actsis most bashful in his breeding.'
'How should my poor boy have had any breeding up here in the forests?'demanded Barbe. 'Oh, if he had only fixed his mind on a maiden of hisown degree, she might have brought the good days back; but alas, nowhe will be only bringing about his own destruction, which the saintsavert.'
It was agreed that Eleanor had better make as royal and imposing anappearance as possible, so instead of the plain camlet riding kirtlesthat she and Lady Lindsay had worn, she donned a heraldic sort ofgarment, a tissue of white and gold thread, with the red lion rampingon back and breast, and the double tressure edging all the hems, partof the outfit furnished at her great-uncle's expense in London, but toogaudy for her taste, and she added to her already considerable height bythe tall, veiled headgear that had been despised as unfashionable.
Jean from her bed cried out that she looked like Pharaoh's daughter inthe tapestry, and consented to be left to the care of little Trudchen,since Madame de Ste. Petronelle must act attendant, and Barbe evidentlythought her young master's good behaviour might be the better secured byher presence.
So, at the bottom of the narrow stone stair, Eleanor shook out herplumes, the attendant lady arranged her veil over her yellow hair, anddrew out her short train and long hanging sleeves, a little behind thefashion, but the more dignified, as she swept into the ball, and thoughher heart beat desperately, holding her head stiff and high, and lookingevery inch a princess, the shrewd Scotch lady behind her flatteredherself that the two Barons did look a little daunted by the bearing ofthe creature they had caught.
The father, who had somewhat the look of an old fox, limped forwardwith a less ungraceful bow than the son, who had more of the wolf. Somegreeting was mumbled, and the old man would have taken her hand to leadher to the highest place at table, but she would not give it.
'I am no willing guest of yours, sir,' she said, perhaps alarmed at herown boldness, but drawing herself up with great dignity. 'I desire toknow by what right my sister and I, king's daughters, on our way to KingCharles's Court, have thus been seized and detained?'
'We do not stickle as to rights here on the borders, Lady,' said theelder Baron in bad French; 'it would be wiser to abate a little of thatoutre-cuidance of yours, and listen to our terms.'
'A captive has no choice save to listen,' returned Eleanor; 'but asto speaking of terms, my brothers-in-law, the Dauphin and the Duke ofBrittany, may have something to say to them.'
'Exactly so,' replied the old Baron, in a tone of some irony, which shedid not like. 'Now, Lady, our terms are these, but understand first thatall this affair is none of my seeking, but my son here has been backedup in it by some whom'--on a grunt from Sir Rudiger--'there is no needto name. He--the more fool he--has taken a fancy to your sister, though,if all reports be true, she has nought but her royal blood, not so muchas a denier for a dowry nor as ransom for either of you. However, this Iwill overlook, dead loss as it is to me and mine, and so your sister,so soon as she recovers from her hurt, will become my son's wife, andI will have you and your lady safely conducted without ransom to theborders of Normandy or Brittany, as you may list.'
'And think you, sir,' returned Eleanor, quivering with indignation,'that the daughter of a hundred kings is like to lower herself bylistening to the suit of a petty robber baron of the Marches?'
'I do not think! but I know that though I am a fool for giving in to myson's madness, these are the only terms I propose; and if you, Lady, sodeal with her as to make her accept them, you are free without ransom togo where you w
ill.'
'You expect me to sell my sister,' said Eleanor disdainfully.
'Look you here,' broke in Rudiger, bursting out of his shyness. 'She isthe fairest maiden, gentle or simple, I ever saw; I love her with all myheart. If she be mine, I swear to make her a thousand times more caredfor than your sister the Dauphiness; and if all be true your Scottisharchers tell me, you Scottish folk have no great cause to disdain anElsass forest castle.'
An awkward recollection, of the Black Knight of Lorn came acrossEleanor, but she did not lose her stately dignity.
'It is not the wealth or poverty that we heed,' she said, 'but thenobility and princeliness.'
'There is nothing to be done then, son,' said the old Baron, 'but towait a day or two and see whether the maiden herself will be less proudand more reasonable. Otherwise, these ladies understand that there willbe close imprisonment and diet according to the custom of the bordertill a thousand gold crowns be paid down for each of these sisters of aScotch king, and five hundred for Madame here; and when that is like tobe found, the damoiselle herself may know,' and he laughed.
'We have those who will take care of our ransom,' said Eleanor, thoughher heart misgave her. 'Moreover, Duke Sigismund will visit such anoffence dearly!' and there was a glow on her cheeks.
'He knows better than to meddle with a vassal of Lorraine,' said the oldman.
'King Rene--' began Eleanor.
'He is too wary to meddle with a vassal of Elsass,' sneered the Baron.'No, no, Lady, ransom or wedding, there lies your choice.'
With this there appeared to be a kind of truce, perhaps in consequenceof the appearance of a great pie; and Eleanor did not refuse to sitdown to the table and partake of the food, though she did not choose toconverse; whereas Madame de Ste. Petronelle thought it wiser to be asagreeable as she could, and this, in the opinion of the Court of theDauphiness, was not going very far.
Long before the Barons and their retainers had finished, little Trudchencame hurrying down to say that the lady was crying and calling for hersister, and Eleanor was by no means sorry to hasten to her side, thoughonly to receive a petulant scolding for the desertion that had lasted sovery long, according to the sick girl's sensations.
Matters remained in abeyance while the illness continued; Jean had anight of fever, and when that passed, under the experienced managementof Dame Elspie, as the sisters called her more and more, she was veryweak and sadly depressed. Sometimes she wept and declared she should diein these dismal walls, like her mother at Dunbar, and never see Jamieand Mary again; sometimes she blamed Elleen for having put this madscheme into her head; sometimes she fretted for her cousins Lilias andAnnis of Glenuskie, and was sure it was all Elleen's fault for havinglet themselves be separated from Sir Patrick; while at others shedeclared the Drummonds faithless and disloyal for having gone aftertheir own affairs and left the only true and leal heart to die forher; and then came fresh floods of tears, though sometimes, as shepassionately caressed Skywing, she declared the hawk to be the onlyfaithful creature in existence.
Baron Rudiger was evidently very uneasy about her; Barbe reported howgloomy and miserable he was, and how he relieved his feelings by beatingthe unfortunate man who had been leading the horse, and in a wisermanner by seeking fish in the torrent and birds on the hills forher refreshment, and even helping Trudchen to gather the mountainstrawberries for her. This was, however, so far from a recommendation toJean, that after the first Barbe gave it to be understood that all wereTrudchen's providing.
They suspected that Barbe nattered and soothed 'her boy,' as she termedhim, with hopes, but they owed much to the species of authority withwhich she kept him from forcing himself upon them. Eleanor sometimestried to soothe her sister, and while away the time with her harp. TheScotch songs were a great delight to Dame Elspie, but they made Jeanweep in her weakness, and Elleen's great resource was King Rene'sparting gift of the tales of Huon de Bourdeaux, with its wonderfulchivalrous adventures, and the appearances of the dwarf Oberon; and shegreatly enjoyed the idea of the pleasure it would give Jamie--if evershe should see Jamie again; and she wondered, too, whether the Duke ofthe Tirol knew the story--which even at some moments amused Jean.
There was a stair above their chamber, likewise in the thickness ofthe wall, which Barbe told them they might safely explore, andthence Eleanor discovered that the castle was one of the small butregularly-built fortresses not uncommon on the summit of hills. It wasan octagon--as complete as the ground would permit--with a huge wall anda tower at each angle. One face, that on the most accessible side, wasoccupied by the keep in which they were, with a watch-tower raising itsfinger and banner above them, the little, squat, round towers around notlifting their heads much above the battlements of the wall. The descenton most of the sides was almost precipitous, on two entirely so, whilein the rear another steep hill rose so abruptly that it seemed to frownover them though separated by a ravine.
Nothing was to be seen all round but the tops of trees--dark pines,beeches, and chestnuts in the gay, light green of spring, a hopeless andoppressive waste of verdure, where occasionally a hawk might be seen tosoar, and whence the howlings of wolves might be heard at night.
Jean was, in a week, so well that there was no cause for deferring theinterview any longer, and, indeed, she was persuaded that Elleen had notbeen half resolute or severe enough, and that she could soon show thetwo Barons that they detained her at their peril. Still she looked whiteand thin, and needed a scarf for her arm, when she caused herself to bearrayed as splendidly as her sister had been, and descended to the hall,where, like Eleanor, she took the initiative by an appeal against thewrong and injustice that held two free-born royal ladies captive.
'He who has the power may do as he wills, my pretty damsel,' replied theold Baron. 'Once for all, as I told your sister, these threats are ofno avail, though they sound well to puff up your little airs. Your ownkingdom is a long way off, and breeds more men than money; and as toour neighbours, they dare not embroil themselves by meddling with usborderers. You had better take what we offer, far better than aught yourbarbarous northern lords could give, and then your sister will be free,without ransom, to depart or to stay here till she finds another boldbaron of the Marches to take her to wife. Ha, thou Rudiger! why doststand staring like a wild pig in a pit? Canst not speak a word forthyself?'
'She shall be my queen,' said Rudiger hoarsely, bumping himself down onhis knees, and trying to master her hand, but she drew it away from him.
'As if I would be queen of a mere nest of robbers and freebooters,' shesaid. 'You forget, Messires, that my sister is daughter-in-law to theKing of France. We must long ago have been missed, and I expect everyhour that my brother, the Dauphin, will be here with his troops.'
'That's what you expect. So you do not know, my proud demoiselle, thatmy son would scarce have been rash enough to meddle with such loftygear, for all his folly, if he had not had a hint that maidens withroyal blood but no royal portions were not wanted at Court, and might behad for the picking up!'
'It is a brutal falsehood, or else a mere invention of the traitorHall's, our father's murderer!' said Jean, with flashing eyes. 'I wouldhave you to know, both of you, my Lords, that were we betrayed andforsaken by every kinsman we have, I will not degrade the blood royal ofScotland by mating it with a rude and petty freebooter. You may keep uscaptives as you will, but you will not break our spirit.'
So saying, Jean swept back to the stairs, turning a deaf ear to theBaron's chuckle of applause and murmur, 'A gallant spirited dame shewill make thee, my junker, and hold out the castle well against allfoes, when once she is broken in.'
Jean and Eleanor alike disbelieved that Louis could have encouraged thisaudacious attempt, but they were dismayed to find that Madame de Ste.Petronelle thought it far from improbable, for she believed him capableof almost any underhand treachery. She did, however, believe that thoughthere might be some delay, a stir would be made, if only by her ownson, which would end in their situation being pu
blicly known, and finalrelease coming, if Jean could only be patient and resolute.
But to the poor girl it seemed as if the ground were cut from under herfeet; and as her spirits drooped more and more, there were times whenshe said, 'Elleen, I must consent. I have been the death of the one trueheart that was mine! Why should I hold out any longer, and make thee andDame Elspie wear out your days in this dismal forest hold? Never shall Ibe happy again, so it matters not what becomes of me.'
'It matters to me,' said Elleen. 'Sister, thinkest thou I could go awayto be happy, leaving thee bound to this rude savage in his donjon? Fie,Jean, this is not worthy of King James's daughter; he spent all thoseyears of patience in captivity, and shall we lose heart in a few days?'
'Is it a few days? It is like years!'
'That is because thou hast been sick. See now, let us dance and sing, sothat the jailers may know we are not daunted. We have been shut up erenow, God brought us out, and He will again, and we need not pine.'
'Ah, then we were children, and had seen nothing better; and--and therewas not his blood on me!'
And Jean fell a-weeping.
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