The Little Duke: Richard the Fearless

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER VIII

  It was a fine summer evening, and Richard and Carloman were playing atball on the steps of the Castle-gate, when a voice was heard frombeneath, begging for alms from the noble Princes in the name of theblessed Virgin, and the two boys saw a pilgrim standing at the gate,wrapt in a long robe of serge, with a staff in his hand, surmounted by aCross, a scrip at his girdle, and a broad shady hat, which he had takenoff, as he stood, making low obeisances, and asking charity.

  "Come in, holy pilgrim," said Carloman. "It is late, and you shall supand rest here to-night."

  "Blessings from Heaven light on you, noble Prince," replied the pilgrim,and at that moment Richard shouted joyfully, "A Norman, a Norman! 'tis myown dear speech! Oh, are you not from Normandy? Osmond, Osmond! hecomes from home!"

  "My Lord! my own Lord!" exclaimed the pilgrim, and, kneeling on one kneeat the foot of the steps, he kissed the hand which his young Duke heldout to him--"This is joy unlooked for!"

  "Walter!--Walter, the huntsman!" cried Richard. "Is it you? Oh, how isFru Astrida, and all at home?"

  "Well, my Lord, and wearying to know how it is with you--" beganWalter--but a very different tone exclaimed from behind the pilgrim,"What is all this? Who is stopping my way? What! Richard would beKing, and more, would he? More insolence!" It was Lothaire, returningwith his attendants from the chase, in by no means an amiable mood, forhe had been disappointed of his game.

  "He is a Norman--a vassal of Richard's own," said Carloman.

  "A Norman, is he? I thought we had got rid of the robbers! We want norobbers here! Scourge him soundly, Perron, and teach him how to stop myway!"

  "He is a pilgrim, my Lord," suggested one of the followers.

  "I care not; I'll have no Normans here, coming spying in disguise.Scourge him, I say, dog that he is! Away with him! A spy, a spy!"

  "No Norman is scourged in my sight!" said Richard, darting forwards, andthrowing himself between Walter and the woodsman, who was preparing toobey Lothaire, just in time to receive on his own bare neck the sharp,cutting leathern thong, which raised a long red streak along its course.Lothaire laughed.

  "My Lord Duke! What have you done? Oh, leave me--this befits you not!"cried Walter, extremely distressed; but Richard had caught hold of thewhip, and called out, "Away, away! run! haste, haste!" and the words wererepeated at once by Osmond, Carloman, and many of the French, who, thoughafraid to disobey the Prince, were unwilling to violate the sanctity of apilgrim's person; and the Norman, seeing there was no help for it,obeyed: the French made way for him and he effected his escape; whileLothaire, after a great deal of storming and raging, went up to hismother to triumph in the cleverness with which he had detected a Normanspy in disguise.

  Lothaire was not far wrong; Walter had really come to satisfy himself asto the safety of the little Duke, and try to gain an interview withOsmond. In the latter purpose he failed, though he lingered in theneighbourhood of Laon for several days; for Osmond never left the Dukefor an instant, and he was, as has been shown, a close prisoner, in allbut the name, within the walls of the Castle. The pilgrim had, however,the opportunity of picking up tidings which made him perceive the truestate of things: he learnt the deaths of Sybald and Henry, the alliancebetween the King and Arnulf, and the restraint and harshness with whichthe Duke was treated; and with this intelligence he went in haste toNormandy.

  Soon after his arrival, a three days' fast was observed throughout thedukedom, and in every church, from the Cathedral of Bayeux to thesmallest and rudest village shrine, crowds of worshippers were kneeling,imploring, many of them with tears, that God would look on them in Hismercy, restore to them their Prince, and deliver the child out of thehands of his enemies. How earnest and sorrowful were the prayers offeredat Centeville may well be imagined; and at Montemar sur Epte the anxietywas scarcely less. Indeed, from the time the evil tidings arrived,Alberic grew so restless and unhappy, and so anxious to do something,that at last his mother set out with him on a pilgrimage to the Abbey ofJumieges, to pray for the rescue of his dear little Duke.

  In the meantime, Louis had sent notice to Laon that he should return homein a week's time; and Richard rejoiced at the prospect, for the King hadalways been less unkind to him than the Queen, and he hoped to bereleased from his captivity within the Castle. Just at this time hebecame very unwell; it might have been only the effect of the life ofunwonted confinement which he had lately led that was beginning to tellon his health; but, after being heavy and uncomfortable for a day or two,without knowing what was the matter with him, he was one night attackedwith high fever.

  Osmond was dreadfully alarmed, knowing nothing at all of the treatment ofillness, and, what was worse, fully persuaded that the poor child hadbeen poisoned, and therefore resolved not to call any assistance; he hungover him all night, expecting each moment to see him expire--ready totear his hair with despair and fury, and yet obliged to restrain himselfto the utmost quietness and gentleness, to soothe the suffering of thesick child.

  Through that night, Richard either tossed about on his narrow bed, or,when his restlessness desired the change, sat, leaning his aching head onOsmond's breast, too oppressed and miserable to speak or think. When theday dawned on them, and he was still too ill to leave the room,messengers were sent for him, and Osmond could no longer conceal the factof his sickness, but parleyed at the door, keeping out every one hecould, and refusing all offers of attendance. He would not even admitCarloman, though Richard, hearing his voice, begged to see him; and whena proposal was sent from the Queen, that a skilful old nurse should visitand prescribe for the patient, he refused with all his might, and when hehad shut the door, walked up and down, muttering, "Ay, ay, the witch!coming to finish what she has begun!"

  All that day and the next, Richard continued very ill, and Osmond waitedon him very assiduously, never closing his eyes for a moment, butconstantly telling his beads whenever the boy did not require hisattendance. At last Richard fell asleep, slept long and soundly for somehours, and waked much better. Osmond was in a transport of joy: "Thanksto Heaven, they shall fail for this time and they shall never haveanother chance! May Heaven be with us still!" Richard was too weak andweary to ask what he meant, and for the next few days Osmond watched himwith the utmost care. As for food, now that Richard could eat again,Osmond would not hear of his touching what was sent for him from theroyal table, but always went down himself to procure food in the kitchen,where he said he had a friend among the cooks, who would, he thought,scarcely poison him intentionally. When Richard was able to cross theroom, he insisted on his always fastening the door with his dagger, andnever opening to any summons but his own, not even Prince Carloman's.Richard wondered, but he was obliged to obey; and he knew enough of theperils around him to perceive the reasonableness of Osmond's caution.

  Thus several days had passed, the King had returned, and Richard was somuch recovered, that he had become very anxious to be allowed to go downstairs again, instead of remaining shut up there; but still Osmond wouldnot consent, though Richard had done nothing all day but walk round theroom, to show how strong he was.

  "Now, my Lord, guard the door--take care," said Osmond; "you have no lossto-day, for the King has brought home Herluin of Montreuil, whom youwould be almost as loth to meet as the Fleming. And tell your beadswhile I am gone, that the Saints may bring us out of our peril."

  Osmond was absent nearly half an hour, and, when he returned, brought onhis shoulders a huge bundle of straw. "What is this for?" exclaimedRichard. "I wanted my supper, and you have brought straw!"

  "Here is your supper," said Osmond, throwing down the straw, andproducing a bag with some bread and meat. "What should you say, my Lord,if we should sup in Normandy to-morrow night?"

  "In Normandy!" cried Richard, springing up and clapping his hands. "InNormandy! Oh, Osmond, did you say in Normandy? Shall we, shall wereally? Oh, joy! joy! Is Count Bernard come? Will the King let us go?"

  "Hush! hush, sir
! It must be our own doing; it will all fail if you arenot silent and prudent, and we shall be undone."

  "I will do anything to get home again!"

  "Eat first," said Osmond.

  "But what are you going to do? I will not be as foolish as I was whenyou tried to get me safe out of Rollo's tower. But I should like to wishCarloman farewell."

  "That must not be," said Osmond; "we should not have time to escape, ifthey did not still believe you very ill in bed."

  "I am sorry not to wish Carloman good-bye," repeated Richard; "but weshall see Fru Astrida again, and Sir Eric; and Alberic must come back!Oh, do let us go! O Normandy, dear Normandy!"

  Richard could hardly eat for excitement, while Osmond hastily made hisarrangements, girding on his sword, and giving Richard his dagger to putinto his belt. He placed the remainder of the provisions in his wallet,threw a thick purple cloth mantle over the Duke, and then desired him tolie down on the straw which he had brought in. "I shall hide you in it,"he said, "and carry you through the hall, as if I was going to feed myhorse."

  "Oh, they will never guess!" cried Richard, laughing. "I will be quitestill--I will make no noise--I will hold my breath."

  "Yes, mind you do not move hand or foot, or rustle the straw. It is noplay--it is life or death," said Osmond, as he disposed the straw roundthe little boy. "There, can you breathe?"

  "Yes," said Richard's voice from the midst. "Am I quite hidden?"

  "Entirely. Now, remember, whatever happens, do not move. May Heavenprotect us! Now, the Saints be with us!"

  Richard, from the interior of the bundle heard Osmond set open the door;then he felt himself raised from the ground; Osmond was carrying himalong down the stairs, the ends of the straw crushing and sweepingagainst the wall. The only way to the outer door was through the hall,and here was the danger. Richard heard voices, steps, loud singing andlaughter, as if feasting was going on; then some one said, "Tending yourhorse, Sieur de Centeville?"

  "Yes," Osmond made answer. "You know, since we lost our grooms, the poorblack would come off badly, did I not attend to him."

  Presently came Carloman's voice: "O Osmond de Centeville! is Richardbetter?"

  "He is better, my Lord, I thank you, but hardly yet out of danger."

  "Oh, I wish he was well! And when will you let me come to him, Osmond?Indeed, I would sit quiet, and not disturb him."

  "It may not be yet, my Lord, though the Duke loves you well--he told meso but now."

  "Did he? Oh, tell him I love him very much--better than any onehere--and it is very dull without him. Tell him so, Osmond."

  Richard could hardly help calling out to his dear little Carloman; but heremembered the peril of Osmond's eyes and the Queen's threat, and heldhis peace, with some vague notion that some day he would make CarlomanKing of France. In the meantime, half stifled with the straw, he felthimself carried on, down the steps, across the court; and then he knew,from the darkness and the changed sound of Osmond's tread, that they werein the stable. Osmond laid him carefully down, and whispered--"All rightso far. You can breathe?"

  "Not well. Can't you let me out?"

  "Not yet--not for worlds. Now tell me if I put you face downwards, for Icannot see."

  He laid the living heap of straw across the saddle, bound it on, then ledout the horse, gazing round cautiously as he did so; but the whole of thepeople of the Castle were feasting, and there was no one to watch thegates. Richard heard the hollow sound of the hoofs, as the drawbridgewas crossed, and knew that he was free; but still Osmond held his armover him, and would not let him move, for some distance. Then, just asRichard felt as if he could endure the stifling of the straw, and hisuncomfortable position, not a moment longer, Osmond stopped the horse,took him down, laid him on the grass, and released him. He gazed around;they were in a little wood; evening twilight was just coming on, and thebirds sang sweetly.

  "Free! free!--this is freedom!" cried Richard, leaping up in thedelicious cool evening breeze; "the Queen and Lothaire, and that grimroom, all far behind."

  "Not so far yet," said Osmond; "you must not call yourself safe till theEpte is between us and them. Into the saddle, my Lord; we must ride forour lives."

  [Picture: Escape from captivity]

  Osmond helped the Duke to mount, and sprang to the saddle behind him, setspurs to the horse, and rode on at a quick rate, though not at fullspeed, as he wished to spare the horse. The twilight faded, the starscame out, and still he rode, his arm round the child, who, as nightadvanced, grew weary, and often sunk into a sort of half doze, consciousall the time of the trot of the horse. But each step was taking himfurther from Queen Gerberge, and nearer to Normandy; and what recked heof weariness? On--on; the stars grew pale again, and the first pinklight of dawn showed in the eastern sky; the sun rose, mounted higher andhigher, and the day grew hotter; the horse went more slowly, stumbled,and though Osmond halted and loosed the girth, he only mended his pacefor a little while.

  Osmond looked grievously perplexed; but they had not gone much furtherbefore a party of merchants came in sight, winding their way with a longtrain of loaded mules, and stout men to guard them, across the plains,like an eastern caravan in the desert. They gazed in surprise at thetall young Norman holding the child upon the worn-out war-horse.

  "Sir merchant," said Osmond to the first, "see you this steed? Betterhorse never was ridden; but he is sorely spent, and we must make speed.Let me barter him with you for yonder stout palfrey. He is worth twiceas much, but I cannot stop to chaffer--ay or no at once."

  The merchant, seeing the value of Osmond's gallant black, accepted theoffer; and Osmond removing his saddle, and placing Richard on his newsteed, again mounted, and on they went through the country which Osmond'seye had marked with the sagacity men acquire by living in wild, unsettledplaces. The great marshes were now far less dangerous than in thewinter, and they safely crossed them. There had, as yet, been nopursuit, and Osmond's only fear was for his little charge, who, nothaving recovered his full strength since his illness, began to suffergreatly from fatigue in the heat of that broiling summer day, and leantagainst Osmond patiently, but very wearily, without moving or looking up.He scarcely revived when the sun went down, and a cool breeze sprang up,which much refreshed Osmond himself; and still more did it refresh theSquire to see, at length, winding through the green pastures, a blueriver, on the opposite bank of which rose a high rocky mound, bearing acastle with many a turret and battlement.

  "The Epte! the Epte! There is Normandy, sir! Look up, and see your owndukedom." "Normandy!" cried Richard, sitting upright. "Oh, my ownhome!" Still the Epte was wide and deep, and the peril was not yetended. Osmond looked anxiously, and rejoiced to see marks of cattle, asif it had been forded. "We must try it," he said, and dismounting, hewaded in, leading the horse, and firmly holding Richard in the saddle.Deep they went; the water rose to Richard's feet, then to the horse'sneck; then the horse was swimming, and Osmond too, still keeping his firmhold; then there was ground again, the force of the current was less, andthey were gaining the bank. At that instant, however, they perceived twomen aiming at them with cross-bows from the castle, and another standingon the bank above them, who called out, "Hold! None pass the ford ofMontemar without permission of the noble Dame Yolande." "Ha! Bertrand,the Seneschal, is that you?" returned Osmond. "Who calls me by my name?"replied the Seneschal. "It is I, Osmond de Centeville. Open your gatesquickly, Sir Seneschal; for here is the Duke, sorely in need of rest andrefreshment."

  "The Duke!" exclaimed Bertrand, hurrying down to the landing-place, andthrowing off his cap. "The Duke! the Duke!" rang out the shout from themen-at-arms on the battlements above and in an instant more Osmond hadled the horse up from the water, and was exclaiming, "Look up, my Lord,look up! You are in your own dukedom again, and this is Alberic'scastle."

  "Welcome, indeed, most noble Lord Duke! Blessings on the day!" cried theSeneschal. "What joy for my Lady and my young Lo
rd!"

  "He is sorely weary," said Osmond, looking anxiously at Richard, who,even at the welcome cries that showed so plainly that he was in his ownNormandy, scarcely raised himself or spoke. "He had been very sick ere Ibrought him away. I doubt me they sought to poison him, and I vowed notto tarry at Laon another hour after he was fit to move. But cheer up, myLord; you are safe and free now, and here is the good Dame de Montemar totend you, far better than a rude Squire like me."

  "Alas, no!" said the Seneschal; "our Dame is gone with young Alberic on apilgrimage to Jumieges to pray for the Duke's safety. What joy for themto know that their prayers have been granted!"

  Osmond, however, could scarcely rejoice, so alarmed was he at the extremeweariness and exhaustion of his charge, who, when they brought him intothe Castle hall, hardly spoke or looked, and could not eat. They carriedhim up to Alberic's bed, where he tossed about restlessly, too tired tosleep.

  "Alas! alas!" said Osmond, "I have been too hasty. I have but saved himfrom the Franks to be his death by my own imprudence."

  "Hush! Sieur de Centeville," said the Seneschal's wife, coming into theroom. "To talk in that manner is the way to be his death, indeed. Leavethe child to me--he is only over-weary."

  Osmond was sure his Duke was among friends, and would have been glad totrust him to a woman; but Richard had but one instinct left in all hisweakness and exhaustion--to cling close to Osmond, as if he felt him hisonly friend and protector; for he was, as yet, too much worn out tounderstand that he was in Normandy and safe. For two or three hours,therefore, Osmond and the Seneschal's wife watched on each side of hisbed, soothing his restlessness, until at length he became quiet, and atlast dropped sound asleep.

  The sun was high in the heavens when Richard awoke. He turned on hisstraw-filled crib, and looked up. It was not the tapestried walls of hischamber at Laon that met his opening eyes, but the rugged stone and tallloop-hole window of a turret chamber. Osmond de Centeville lay on thefloor by his side, in the sound sleep of one overcome by long watchingand weariness. And what more did Richard see?

  It was the bright face and sparkling eyes of Alberic de Montemar, who wasleaning against the foot of his bed, gazing earnestly, as he watched forhis waking. There was a cry--"Alberic! Alberic!" "My Lord! my Lord!"Richard sat up and held out both arms, and Alberic flung himself intothem. They hugged each other, and uttered broken exclamations andscreams of joy, enough to have awakened any sleeper but one so weariedout as Osmond.

  "And is it true? Oh, am I really in Normandy again?" cried Richard.

  "Yes, yes!--oh, yes, my Lord! You are at Montemar. Everything here isyours. The bar-tailed hawk is quite well, and my mother will be herethis evening; she let me ride on the instant we heard the news."

  "We rode long and late, and I was very weary," said Richard! "but I don'tcare, now we are at home. But I can hardly believe it! Oh, Alberic, ithas been very dreary!"

  "See here, my Lord!" said Alberic, standing by the window. "Look here,and you will know you are at home again!"

  Richard bounded to the window, and what a sight met his eyes! The Castlecourt was thronged with men-at-arms and horses, the morning sun sparklingon many a burnished hauberk and tall conical helmet, and above them wavedmany a banner and pennon that Richard knew full well. "There! there!" heshouted aloud with glee. "Oh, there is the horse-shoe of Ferrieres! andthere the chequers of Warenne! Oh, and best of all, there is--there isour own red pennon of Centeville! O Alberic! Alberic! is Sir Eric here?I must go down to him!"

  "Bertrand sent out notice to them all, as soon as you came, to come andguard our Castle," said Alberic, "lest the Franks should pursue you; butyou are safe now--safe as Norman spears can make you--thanks be to God!"

  "Yes, thanks to God!" said Richard, crossing himself and kneelingreverently for some minutes, while he repeated his Latin prayer; then,rising and looking at Alberic, he said, "I must thank Him, indeed, for hehas saved Osmond and me from the cruel King and Queen, and I must try tobe a less hasty and overbearing boy than I was when I went away; for Ivowed that so I would be, if ever I came back. Poor Osmond, how soundlyhe sleeps! Come, Alberic, show me the way to Sir Eric!"

  And, holding Alberic's hand, Richard left the room, and descended thestairs to the Castle hall. Many of the Norman knights and barons, infull armour, were gathered there; but Richard looked only for one. Heknew Sir Eric's grizzled hair, and blue inlaid armour, though his backwas towards him, and in a moment, before his entrance had been perceived,he sprang towards him, and, with outstretched arms, exclaimed: "SirEric--dear Sir Eric, here I am! Osmond is safe! And is Fru Astridawell?"

  The old Baron turned. "My child!" he exclaimed, and clasped him in hismailed arms, while the tears flowed down his rugged cheeks. "Blessed beGod that you are safe, and that my son has done his duty!"

  "And is Fru Astrida well?"

  "Yes, right well, since she heard of your safety. But look round, myLord; it befits not a Duke to be clinging thus round an old man's neck.See how many of your true vassals be here, to guard you from the villainFranks."

  Richard stood up, and held out his hand, bowing courteously andacknowledging the greetings of each bold baron, with a grace andreadiness he certainly had not when he left Normandy. He was taller too;and though still pale, and not dressed with much care (since he hadhurried on his clothes with no help but Alberic's)--though his hair wasrough and disordered, and the scar of the burn had not yet faded from hischeck--yet still, with his bright blue eyes, glad face, and upright form,he was a princely, promising boy, and the Norman knights looked at himwith pride and joy, more especially when, unprompted, he said: "I thankyou, gallant knights, for coming to guard me. I do not fear the wholeFrench host now I am among my own true Normans."

  Sir Eric led him to the door of the hall to the top of the steps, thatthe men-at-arms might see him; and then such a shout rang out of "Longlive Duke Richard!"--"Blessings on the little Duke!"--that it echoed andcame back again from the hills around--it pealed from the old tower--itroused Osmond from his sleep--and, if anything more had been wanting todo so, it made Richard feel that he was indeed in a land where everyheart glowed with loyal love for him.

  Before the shout had died away, a bugle-horn was heard winding before thegate; and Sir Eric, saying, "It is the Count of Harcourt's note," sentBertrand to open the gates in haste, while Alberic followed, as Lord ofthe Castle, to receive the Count.

  The old Count rode into the court, and to the foot of the steps, where hedismounted, Alberic holding his stirrup. He had not taken many stepsupwards before Richard came voluntarily to meet him (which he had neverdone before), held out his hand, and said, "Welcome, Count Bernard,welcome. Thank you for coming to guard me. I am very glad to see youonce more."

  "Ah, my young Lord," said Bernard, "I am right glad to see you out of theclutches of the Franks! You know friend from foe now, methinks!"

  "Yes, indeed I do, Count Bernard. I know you meant kindly by me, andthat I ought to have thanked you, and not been angry, when you reprovedme. Wait one moment, Sir Count; there is one thing that I promisedmyself to say if ever I came safe to my own dear home.Walter--Maurice--Jeannot--all you of my household, and of Sir Eric's--Iknow, before I went away, I was often no good Lord to you; I waspassionate, and proud, and overbearing; but God has punished me for it,when I was far away among my enemies, and sick and lonely. I am verysorry for it, and I hope you will pardon me; for I will strive, and Ihope God will help me, never to be proud and passionate again."

  "There, Sir Eric," said Bernard, "you hear what the boy says. If hespeaks it out so bold and free, without bidding, and if he holds to whathe says, I doubt it not that he shall not grieve for his journey toFrance, and that we shall see him, in all things, such a Prince as hisfather of blessed memory."

  "You must thank Osmond for me," said Richard, as Osmond came down,awakened at length. "It is Osmond who has helped me to bear my troubles;and as to saving me, why he flew away with me even like an old
eagle withits eaglet. I say, Osmond, you must ever after this wear a pair of wingson shield and pennon, to show how well we managed our flight." {15}

  "As you will, my Lord," said Osmond, half asleep; "but 'twas a good longflight at a stretch, and I trust never to have to fly before your foes ormine again."

  What a glad summer's day was that! Even the three hours spent in councildid but renew the relish with which Richard visited Alberic's treasures,told his adventures, and showed the accomplishments he had learnt atLaon. The evening was more joyous still; for the Castle gates wereopened, first to receive Dame Yolande Montemar, and not above a quarterof an hour afterwards, the drawbridge was lowered to admit the followersof Centeville; and in front of them appeared Fru Astrida's own high cap.Richard made but one bound into her arms, and was clasped to her breast;then held off at arm's-length, that she might see how much he was grown,and pity his scar; then hugged closer than ever: but, taking anotherlook, she declared that Osmond left his hair like King HaraldHorrid-locks; {16} and, drawing an ivory comb from her pouch, began topull out the thick tangles, hurting him to a degree that would once havemade him rebel, but now he only fondled her the more.

  As to Osmond, when he knelt before her, she blessed him, and sobbed overhim, and blamed him for over-tiring her darling, all in one; andassuredly, when night closed in and Richard had, as of old, told hisbeads beside her knee, the happiest boy in Normandy was its little Duke.