by David Ker
CHAPTER III
A Mysterious Message
The sunset of that memorable evening, as it faded from the scene of thewolf-fight, sent its last rays streaming through the small, narrow,loophole-like window of a plainly furnished upper room in Motte-BrunCastle (which stood two miles away on the edge of the wood), lightingup the face and figure of a tall, stately, grey-bearded man of middleage--whose plumed cap and rich dress showed him to be a noble--as hepaced restlessly to and fro.
He was still strong and active for his years, and so markedly handsomethat no one could guess him to have the unenviable renown of beingfather to the ugliest lad in Brittany. Yet such was the case, for thisman was the Seigneur Du Guesclin himself, the lord of Motte-Brun.
The temper of a feudal lord of that age was usually anything but sweet;and Messire Yvon du Guesclin thought nothing of flinging a knife at hisson or wife in the middle of dinner, or knocking out the teeth of someunlucky vassal with his sword-hilt. But, on this particular evening,his bent brows, his short, fierce step, and the very strong languagethat came growling through his set teeth, told that he was in an evenworse temper than usual, or (as an observant man-at-arms of hispoetically said) "as ill at ease as a fat friar in Lent."
For this ill-humour, however, there was really some excuse. In thefirst place, Sir Yvon's bandaged right arm showed that he was, for thepresent at least, disabled from taking part in the constant fightswhich were then so recognizedly the chief amusement of a gentleman,that when no foes were to be had, men would fight their friends just tokeep their hand in. Secondly, he seemed likely to be kept waiting fordinner (no trifle to the fourteenth-century barons, who had theappetite of other wild beasts as well as their ferocity), for his wife,Lady Euphrasie du Guesclin, had not yet returned from her afternoonvisit to a neighbouring convent; and though (like most gentlemen ofthat "chivalrous" age) the good knight would have had no scruple aboutlaying his whip lustily over the shoulders of his lady-wife when shehappened to displease him, he would never have dreamed of offering hersuch an affront as sitting down to dinner without her.
But the worthy knight's third cause of complaint was of a higher andmore lasting kind.
Rumours had long been afloat (vague and doubtful at first, but growingever clearer and more defined) of an impending breach between Franceand England, and a renewal of that never-ending conflict which seemedto have become the recognized state of things betwixt the two warlikeraces. When the war did break out, the Duke of Brittany, as one of thegreat vassals of the French crown, must, of course, take the field forthe King of France with all his Breton knights and nobles, among whomSir Yvon du Guesclin, the representative of one of the oldest familiesin the Duchy, must appear with a meagre train of but thirtymen-at-arms, instead of the five hundred spears that had followed hismore fortunate ancestors.
Never had the stout old warrior so bitterly regretted the poverty anddecay of his once formidable house; and a yet keener pang shot throughhis bold heart as he looked down into the courtyard from the balconiedplatform of the bartizan, and saw his three stalwart nephews tryingtheir strength with blunted swords, amid the applauding murmurs of aring of watching men-at-arms.
"Would to Heaven," muttered the sturdy baron, clenching his unwoundedhand till the knuckles grew white, "that yon brave lads were indeedmine; so should our ancient name be worthily represented. Of what sinhave I been guilty, that Heaven should thus mock my prayers by givingme this black-avised abortion for my only son?"
This idea had been often in Sir Yvon's mind (if, indeed, it could besaid to be ever out of it) since he had given a home, a few yearsbefore, to his three orphan nephews, whose own home had been destroyedin one of the merciless wars of those "good old times." All the oldknight's friends fully expected him to adopt one of the three as hisson, and disinherit the unsightly Bertrand; and probably it was onlythe consciousness that it _was_ so universally expected, which, actingon his native Breton obstinacy, kept him from doing it at once.
"Yonder comes my lagging dame at last," growled the baron, as severalriders issued from the wood, with a female figure in their midst; "andmethinks she is in as great haste for the even-meat as I, for sherideth as if for a wager! If any churl hath dared to molest her----"
And, with a black frown on his face, the old warrior hurried down thenarrow, winding stair to meet his lady's return.
He had plenty of time to reach the inner gate ere she entered it; forin those days the admission of a lady to her own house, after even theshortest excursion outside the walls, was a work of no small time andtrouble. To begin with, it was out of the question for her to ventureforth at all without at least a dozen well-armed attendants clatteringat her heels; and when she and her train returned, drawbridge mustfall, and bolt and bar go grating back, ere she could enter her ownhome.
At the first glimpse of his wife's face, as he stepped forward to aidher to dismount, the Sire du Guesclin started in spite of himself. Whatcould it be that had broken the habitual melancholy of that sad thoughstill beautiful face with the dawn of a new and exciting hope? So mightsome prisoner look, who, doomed for life to a gloomy dungeon, should betold, after long years of weary captivity, that he was a free man oncemore.
"Husband--husband--I have heard----" she began brokenly, and thenstopped, as if unable to say more.
"What hast thou heard, dame?" cried the old baron. "No ill news, Itrust?"
"No, no! joyful news; great good news of our poor Bertrand!"
"Good of _him_?" growled Bertrand's father, with a scornful laugh."When a kite becomes an eagle, then may he prove worthy of our name!"
Four centuries later, the father of another great man was as hard ofbelief in any good coming of his "disgrace to the family." When heheard that his despised son had achieved a feat that filled the wholeworld with his renown, and changed the history of a mighty empire, hissole comment was to growl, "The booby has got something in him afterall!" For the world is ever slow to recognize its greatest; and he whotold the tale of the "Ugly Duckling" that grew into a swan, might havefound an apt illustration of it, either in Bertrand du Guesclin or inRobert Clive.
"Nay, take it not amiss, sweetheart," cried Sir Yvon, softening hisharsh tones as he saw his lady's face cloud at finding her great newsso ill received. "Go, busk thee speedily for supper, and over the goodcheer I will hear thy tale; for if it be ill talk 'twixt a full man anda fasting, 'twixt two fasting folks it must be even worse."
Then turning to his attendants, he shouted, with the full might of avoice that made the whole castle echo--
"Ho, there! bid the knave cooks be speedy, or their skins shall smart!"
The terrified cooks knew well that this was no idle threat, andbestirred themselves so briskly that ere Lady Euphrasie had completedher toilet, the evening meal was smoking on the board.
This baronial dining-room would have greatly startled any householderof our time; for in this primitive stronghold (where the refinementsthat had begun to make their way in England were still unknown) thelord and lady of the castle dined in the same hall and at the sametable with the soldiers of their garrison, the only difference beingthat the latter sat at the lower end. The ponderous rafters wereliterally coated with soot by the smoke, which seemed to go everywherebut up the chimney; and the rotting rushes that strewed the stone floorwere crusted with mud from scores of booted feet, and littered with thebones flung to the big, hairy wolf-hounds that lay round the huge fire.The harsh voices and coarse oaths of the men-at-arms were plainlyaudible at the upper end of the board; and the torches that crackledand sputtered in iron cressets along the wall (adding theircontribution of smoke to that which already filled the hall), keptquivering and flaring in the night-wind that whistled through theglassless windows.
In a word, the dirtiest and noisiest London tavern of our day wouldcompare favourably, both in cleanliness and comfort, with thedining-hall of this high-born gentleman of the good old times.
"Now, dame,"
said Sir Yvon at last, through a huge mouthful of roastbeef, "let us hear this news of thine."
And the lady, instinctively lowering her voice, began thus--
"The vesper-bell had not ceased when I drew bridle at the convent gate,and I went into the chapel to join my prayers with those of the holysisters; and when prayers were over, my cousin, the Abbess, would fainhave me tarry for the evening meal. But to that I said nay, for I knewthou wouldest be watching for my return."
A kindly look thanked her from the old castellan's keen eyes.
"But I thought it ill to depart without visiting Sister Agnes, theholiest of them all; and I craved such comfort as she could bestbestow, for my heart was exceeding heavy. So I hied me up to her cellin the rock."
Here she paused a moment, while her three nephews (who sat a littlebelow her, in order of age) bent forward in silent attention. None ofthe three, however, ventured to speak, for in that age it would havebeen the worst possible presumption for any young man (especially ifnot yet made a knight) to join unasked in the talk of his elders; andthe youths had seen enough of their good uncle's surprising readinesswith his hands in such cases, to find in it an effectual curb to theirnatural forwardness.
"Ere I passed the threshold," went on the lady, "she called me by name,and bade me enter. As I did so, she rose from her stony seat, and tookme by the hand (the like did she not for the Duchess of Brittanyherself) and said, more blithely than she was ever wont to speak,'Welcome, thou favoured of Heaven! I am sent unto thee with gladtidings. Go tell thy lord to cease his murmuring against God forsending him a son like Bertrand; for lo! that same Bertrand shall yetbe the glory of his house, and of the whole realm of France!'"
"What? what?" cried the baron, excitedly; "said she, 'the whole realmof France'?"
"That did she," said his wife, in a voice trembling with emotion;"those were her very words!"
The hearers exchanged looks of speechless amazement.
"And as she spake--whether it was but the echoes that answered her, ora choir of unseen angels sent to guard the holy place--methought Iheard many voices repeat her words: 'The glory of his house, and of thewhole realm of France!'"
She ceased, and hid her face in her hands as if overcome by emotion.
Such prophecies were then matter of implicit faith; and those of SisterAgnes, in particular, were famed through all Brittany for their exactand often immediate fulfilment. Hence neither Bertrand's scornfulfather, his desponding mother, nor his sneering cousins (utterlyastounded though they all were by this prediction) had a doubt thatthis clumsy, ill-favoured lad of whom they were so ashamed was destinedto rise above them all; but how, no one could imagine.
But ere any one could speak, a clamour of voices was heard outside, anda hurried trampling of feet.
"Ha!" cried the old baron, frowning, "who dares make such ado in _my_castle? By St. Yves of Bretagne, I will take some order with theseroisterers, be they who they may!"
But as he sprang up to make good his threat, the hall door flew open,and in came the grey-haired gate-porter.
"Woe is me, my lord, that I should bring you evil tidings! A woodmanhath come hither but now, having found in the forest Messire Bertrand'shunting-knife lying by a slain wolf; but of my young lord himself sawhe nought!"
"Oh, my son, my son!" wailed Lady Euphrasie, whose motherly heart awoketoo late.
"Peace with thy whining, wench!" said her husband, angrily; "this is notime for tears and cries. Where is this woodman, fellow? Bring himhither straightway."
A moment later a sturdy peasant, in soiled leather jerkin and leggings,slouched bashfully into the hall, and, bowing awkwardly to his lord,laid at the latter's feet the well-known hunting-knife and the deadwolf, at whose huge carcass the old Du Guesclin (a sportsman to hisvery finger-tips) looked admiringly, even in the height of his anxietyand grief.
"If the boy hath done such a deed unaided, he is my true son, uncomelythough he be. And methinks he is yet alive, for no wounded man coulddeal a blow like this; and had there been other wolves there, theycould not have borne him off so clean but what some trace of him wouldbe left. What ho! without there! Go quickly forth, knaves, some six ofye, with spear and wood-knife, and let this fellow guide ye to the spotwhere the wolf was slain; and whoso brings tidings of my son shall havefor his guerdon as many silver pennies as he can grasp in one hand."
The men obeyed with a will, for this sullen, ill-favoured, awkward lad,while hated and despised by his equals, had always been strangelypopular with those beneath him; and there was not one of his father'smen-at-arms who would not have gladly perilled life and limb for hissake.
But this time there was no need to do either, for hardly had thesearchers gone half a mile when they met the missing boy himself, andbore him home in triumph.
When Bertrand entered the hall, the expectant group started at thechange that a few hours had wrought in him. Whether from the effect ofthe wonderful revelation made to him that day, or from the encouragingsense of having achieved a feat of which the best of those who despisedhim might have been proud, he seemed to have grown all at once from arude, passionate, uncouth boy into a calm, fearless, self-reliant man.His once drooping head was now proudly erect; his heavy figure had anupright, manly bearing that half redeemed its clumsiness; and his harshfeatures wore a look of power and command that froze into wonderingsilence the jeers that rose to the lips of his handsome, scornfulcousins.
The first to speak was the old knight, who, more ashamed of hismomentary tenderness toward his lost son than of his former unjustharshness to him, relieved his feelings in the usual gentlemanly styleof that age--with a burst of oaths worthy of a street-rough.
"Honoured father and lady mother," said Bertrand, as he knelt to kissthe hands of his parents, seemingly not a whit discomposed by theverbal piquancy of his loving sire, "it grieves me much that ye havebeen ill at ease on my account. I had been here long since, had I notmissed my way in the forest."
His hearers, who had expected him to boast of having slain the wolf, orat least make some allusion to it, exchanged glances of mute surprise.
"And what of this?" asked Sir Yvon, pointing to the gaunt grey carcasson the floor.
"It was not I who slew him," said the boy, with that innate modestythat in after years set off so strikingly the great deeds which he did."He fell upon a half-crazed lad whom I met in the wood, and I, havinglet fall my knife by mischance, took him by the throat and strove tothrottle him, in which grappling the boy came to my aid, and slew thebeast with mine own knife."
There was another pause of silent amazement; and perhaps even thehaughty youths who listened felt a passing twinge of shame at thethought that they had been mocking and despising one who could facesuch a monster with his bare hands, and well-nigh master it too.
"We will hear the rest of thy tale anon," said his father at last,"for, as the old saying goes, it is ill talk between a full man and afasting. Ho, there, fellows, bring hither some food straightway!"
He was at once obeyed; and Bertrand, hungry as a hawk after his latebattle, fell to with a will, secretly pleased to find his rigid fatherrelaxing for once the strictness of his oft-quoted rule--
"They who came not at the first call Till the next meal gat nothing at all."