The Little Duke: Richard the Fearless
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CHAPTER XI
As the Baron had said, there was more peace now that Lothaire had learntto know that he must submit, and that no one cared for his threats of hisfather's or his mother's vengeance. He was very sulky and disagreeable,and severely tried Richard's forbearance; but there were no freshoutbursts, and, on the whole, from one week to another, there might besaid to be an improvement. He could not always hold aloof from one sogood-natured and good-humoured as the little Duke; and the fact of beingkept in order could not but have some beneficial effect on him, aftersuch spoiling as his had been at home.
Indeed, Osmond was once heard to say, it was a pity the boy was not to bea hostage for life; to which Sir Eric replied, "So long as we have notthe training of him."
Little Carloman, meanwhile, recovered from his fears of all the inmatesof the Castle excepting Hardigras, at whose approach he always shrank andtrembled.
He renewed his friendship with Osmond, no longer started at the entranceof Sir Eric, laughed at Alberic's merry ways, and liked to sit on FruAstrida's lap, and hear her sing, though he understood not one word; buthis especial love was still for his first friend, Duke Richard.Hand-in-hand they went about together, Richard sometimes lifting him upthe steep steps, and, out of consideration for him, refraining from roughplay; and Richard led him to join with him in those lessons that FatherLucas gave the children of the Castle, every Friday and Sunday evening inthe Chapel. The good Priest stood on the Altar steps, with the childrenin a half circle round him--the son and daughter of the armourer, thehuntsman's little son, the young Baron de Montemar, the Duke of Normandy,and the Prince of France, all were equal there--and together they learnt,as he explained to them the things most needful to believe; and thusCarloman left off wondering why Richard thought it right to be good tohis enemies; and though at first he had known less than even the littleleather-coated huntsman, he seemed to take the holy lessons in fasterthan any of them--yes, and act on them, too. His feeble health seemed tomake him enter into their comfort and meaning more than even Richard; andAlberic and Father Lucas soon told Fru Astrida that it was asaintly-minded child.
Indeed, Carloman was more disposed to thoughtfulness, because he wasincapable of joining in the sports of the other boys. A race round thecourt was beyond his strength, the fresh wind on the battlements made himshiver and cower, and loud shouting play was dreadful to him. In oldtimes, he used to cry when Lothaire told him he must have his hair cut,and be a priest; now, he only said quietly, he should like it very much,if he could be good enough.
Fru Astrida sighed and shook her head, and feared the poor child wouldnever grow up to be anything on this earth. Great as had been thedifference at first between him and Richard, it was now far greater.Richard was an unusually strong boy for ten years old, upright andbroad-chested, and growing very fast; while Carloman seemed to dwindle,stooped forward from weakness, had thin pinched features, and sallowcheeks, looking like a plant kept in the dark.
The old Baron said that hardy, healthy habits would restore the punychildren; and Lothaire improved in health, and therewith in temper; buthis little brother had not strength enough to bear the seasoning. Hepined and drooped more each day; and as the autumn came on, and the windwas chilly, he grew worse, and was scarcely ever off the lap of the kindLady Astrida. It was not a settled sickness, but he grew weaker, andwasted away. They made up a little couch for him by the fire, with thehigh settle between it and the door, to keep off the draughts; and therehe used patiently to lie, hour after hour, speaking feebly, or smilingand seeming pleased, when any one of those he loved approached. He likedFather Lucas to come and say prayers with him; and he never failed tohave a glad look, when his dear little Duke came to talk to him, in hischeerful voice, about his rides and his hunting and hawking adventures.Richard's sick guest took up much of his thoughts, and he never willinglyspent many hours at a distance from him, softening his step and loweringhis voice, as he entered the hall, lest Carloman should be asleep.
"Richard, is it you?" said the little boy, as the young figure came roundthe settle in the darkening twilight.
"Yes. How do you feel now, Carloman; are you better?"
"No better, thanks, dear Richard;" and the little wasted fingers were putinto his.
"Has the pain come again?"
"No; I have been lying still, musing; Richard, I shall never be better."
"Oh, do not say so! You will, indeed you will, when spring comes."
"I feel as if I should die," said the little boy; "I think I shall. Butdo not grieve, Richard. I do not feel much afraid. You said it washappier there than here, and I know it now."
"Where my blessed father is," said Richard, thoughtfully. "But oh,Carloman, you are so young to die!"
"I do not want to live. This is a fighting, hard world, full of cruelpeople; and it is peace there. You are strong and brave, and will makethem better; but I am weak and fearful--I could only sigh and grieve."
"Oh, Carloman! Carloman! I cannot spare you. I love you like my ownbrother. You must not die--you must live to see your father and motheragain!"
"Commend me to them," said Carloman. "I am going to my Father in heaven.I am glad I am here, Richard; I never was so happy before. I should havebeen afraid indeed to die, if Father Lucas had not taught me how my sinsare pardoned. Now, I think the Saints and Angels are waiting for me."
He spoke feebly, and his last words faltered into sleep. He slept on;and when supper was brought, and the lamps were lighted, Fru Astridathought the little face looked unusually pale and waxen; but he did notawake. At night, they carried him to his bed, and he was roused into ahalf conscious state, moaning at being disturbed. Fru Astrida would notleave him, and Father Lucas shared her watch.
At midnight, all were wakened by the slow notes, falling one by one onthe ear, of the solemn passing-bell, calling them to waken, that theirprayers might speed a soul on its way. Richard and Lothaire were soon atthe bedside. Carloman lay still asleep, his hands folded on his breast,but his breath came in long gasps. Father Lucas was praying over him,and candles were placed on each side of the bed. All was still, the boysnot daring to speak or move. There came a longer breath--then they heardno more. He was, indeed, gone to a happier home--a truer royalty thanever had been his on earth.
Then the boys' grief burst out. Lothaire screamed for his mother, andsobbed out that he should die too--he must go home. Richard stood by thebed, large silent tears rolling down his cheeks, and his chest heavingwith suppressed sobs.
Fru Astrida led them from the room, back to their beds. Lothaire sooncried himself to sleep. Richard lay awake, sorrowful, and in deepthought; while that scene in St. Mary's, at Rouen, returned before hiseyes, and though it had passed nearly two years ago, its meaning and itsteaching had sunk deep into his mind, and now stood before him morecompletely.
"Where shall I go, when I come to die, if I have not returned good forevil?" And a resolution was taken in the mind of the little Duke.
Morning came, and brought back the sense that his gentle little companionwas gone from him; and Richard wept again, as if he could not beconsoled, as he beheld the screened couch where the patient smile wouldnever again greet him. He now knew that he had loved Carloman all themore for his weakness and helplessness; but his grief was not likeLothaire's, for with the Prince's was still joined a selfish fear: hiscry was still, that he should die too, if not set free, and violentweeping really made him heavy and ill.
The little corpse, embalmed and lapped in lead, was to be sent back toFrance, that it might rest with its forefathers in the city of Rheims;and Lothaire seemed to feel this as an additional stroke of desertion.He was almost beside himself with despair, imploring every one, in turn,to send him home, though he well knew they were unable to do so.