by David Ker
CHAPTER XXV
A Case of Conscience
The duke's herald was at once admitted by the old commandant, to whomhe announced himself as the bearer of a message to Du Guesclin from theDuke of Lancaster.
"Thou wouldst speak with Messire Bertrand thyself?" asked De Penhoen,with the ghost of a smile flickering over his iron face.
"Even so," said the herald, with a dignity befitting his office, thenone of the most important in existence.
"Go down there and thou wilt find him," said the old Breton, pointingto the courtyard with a grin that puckered his hard visage till itlooked like the carved spout of a cathedral.
Down went the herald, to find himself amid a throng of rough-looking,bare-armed fellows, who were chopping up one of the captured carts toreplenish their scanty stock of firewood. After looking in vain for anysign of Du Guesclin among the ragged, dirty gang, he was fain to applyto a short, sturdy, phenomenally ugly man in a greasy leathern jerkin(with his head and left arm bandaged), who, while directing the laboursof the rest, seemed himself to work as hard as any one.
"I pray thee, good fellow," said he condescendingly, "tell me where Imay find Sir Bertrand du Guesclin; I have to speak with him."
"Speak on, then," said the wood-chopper, wiping his face; "I am he."
"Thou?" echoed the herald, recoiling. "Thou the great Du Guesclin? Sohelp me St. George, thou look'st more like a robber!"
"Dar'st thou call our Bertrand a robber, malapert knave?" roared one ofthe wood-cutters. "Say it again, and we will strip off those gay plumesof thine, and thy own jackass hide to boot."
"Hold, lads! a herald is sacred," said Bertrand, with a jovial laugh."And, in sooth, he has hit the mark in calling me robber, since Iplundered his master's camp last night. If thou believe me not, SirHerald, look if this be like one of Du Guesclin's blows."
And one blow of his axe cut in two, as easily as if slicing a ripepear, a log as thick as the herald's own thigh.
Convinced at last that this ugly, clumsy, grimy dwarf was really thegreat leader he sought, the crestfallen herald gave his message (towhich Bertrand replied with a knightly courtesy that, with all hissoldier-like bluntness, never failed him on occasion), and retired muchabashed, and not a little scandalized, to find the greatest captain ofan age famous for ostentatious splendour dressed worse than a scarecrow.
Then Du Guesclin, having arrayed himself for his call on the duke, wentto ask after his wounded comrades, Huon and the Wolf; for, as to hisown hurts, even the entreaties of his gentle and beautiful wife (towhom he had thus cut his way through an army) could only prevail on himto bandage them hastily, though most men would have thought themserious enough.
Finding his cousin better, though still weak, Bertrand next inquiredafter the Wolf, who was being nursed by Lady Tiphaine du Guesclinherself. She met her husband at the door of the sick-room with herfinger on her lips.
"How fares he?" whispered Bertrand.
"He sleeps, thank Heaven; and if the sleep last and he wake refreshed,he shall do well, please God, though he is sore stricken. But thou, myBertrand, whither goest thou?"
"To the English camp," said her lord, with a boyish grin. "His highnessof Lancaster is so gracious as to hold my ugly visage an ornament tohis table. Methinks he had gone nearer the mark had he bidden thee inmy stead."
"To the English camp?" echoed Tiphaine, with a slight tremor in hersweet voice. "Promise me, then, my own true knight, that thou wiltfight no combat with their champions, even if they provoke thee to it.Bethink thee" (and she laid her soft hand fondly on the grim warrior'smighty arm) "that thy life belongs to the whole realm, and may not belightly perilled against every hothead who would win renown by crossingsteel with the great Du Guesclin."
"Why, what is this that thou say'st, lady mine?" quoth Bertrand, withan air of innocent surprise. "Think'st thou that I, of all men, am oneto seek causeless quarrels?"
In fact, it was good Bertrand's firm belief that he was by nature avery peaceable man, and that his countless duels were forced on him byothers, and in no way due to his own love of fighting.
"Be that as it may," said his wife, turning aside her beautiful face tohide the arch smile that flitted over it, "I have thy promise, have Inot?"
"Thou hast it, sweetheart," said Bertrand, kissing her. "Adieu tillevening. I say not, 'God be with thee,' for He is with thee evermore."
Tiphaine's precaution came just in time; for though John of Gaunt andmost of his knights welcomed Bertrand with the courtesy due to theirnoblest foe, there was one who bent on him a grim and lowering look,boding ill for the peace of the banquet.
This uncourteous knight was a tall, strong, bulky man (evidently apractised warrior), who bore himself with the haughtiness of one benton exacting from every man the deference he deemed his due. He waspresented to Du Guesclin as Sir Thomas of Canterbury, a name thatBertrand had not heard before, though history has now linked itinseparably with his own.
The moment the Breton met Canterbury's defiant look he saw that thisman meant to pick a quarrel with him, nor did the Englishman lose anytime in setting about it.
"Health and long life to our honoured guest, Sir Bertrand du Guesclin!"cried the duke, standing up with a brimming goblet in his hand.
The rest cordially echoed the toast, but Sir Thomas's voice was heardto add an unexpected postscript--
"Health and long life to Sir Bertrand du Guesclin, and may he ever haveas dark a night to aid him to foray a camp!"
The sneering tone and insulting look left no doubt of the speaker'smeaning. The duke frowned slightly, and all faces clouded at soflagrant a breach of good breeding--all the more offensive becausecouched in terms so ambiguous as to make it difficult to resent. OnlyBertrand was cool as ever.
"I thank thee for thy kind wish, good Sir Thomas," said he; "and intruth, the dark night did me good service."
So pleasant was his tone, so friendly his look, that even thequarrelsome Canterbury could find no offence in either; and thecompany, seeing a man of such proverbial courage bent on avoiding alldispute at their general's table, admired his courtesy and self-commandas much as they condemned their countryman's rudeness.
But Sir Thomas, though foiled for once, was not to be so easilybaulked; and, a few minutes later, he said pointedly to Du Guesclinhimself--
"I pray thee, good Sir Bertrand, what men were they who followed theeyester-eve? Some of my archers saw among the dead certain men whom theyheld to belong to a gang of robbers that have long haunted these woods;but I can never believe that any true knight would hold fellowship withsuch thievish scum!"
This time the affront was too direct to be mistaken; and for a momentDu Guesclin's eyes rested on his insulter with a look that made theswaggering Englishman, brave as he really was, tingle to his veryfinger-tips. But Bertrand controlled himself with a mighty effort, andreplied as calmly as ever--
"Gramercy for thy care of my fair fame, Sir Thomas; but thine archerswere in the right. The men that followed me yester-eve were the robbersof whom thou speak'st, whose chief pledged himself to me, when I hadsomewhat the better of him in single fight, to be at my command, he andhis men, and do me masterful service in war, which they did all themore because--as one of them said with that discourtesy and rudeness ofspeech that is ever the mark of a common churl" (Sir Thomas wincedvisibly)--"in this land the English let no thieves thrive butthemselves!"
The stifled laugh which ran around the board showed that, in theopinion of all present, the bully's insolence had been well requited;but Canterbury's sun-browned face glowed like heated iron, and he brokeout fiercely--
"Whoso dares speak in the same breath of thieves and Englishmen, I defyhim to----"
"Sir Thomas," said the duke, sternly, "hast thou forgot at whose tablethou sittest? Who gave thee leave to set thyself up as England'schampion, when thy king's son is here in presence? I counsel thee torein up thy brawling humour, lest I curb it for thee!"
"Nay," said Du Guesclin, "let not your highness be wroth with this goodknight, if he be minded to bid me to a friendly trial of manhood. Itgrieves me much that I cannot pleasure him, having promised my liegelady to fight no combat this day; and if any man hath a mind to thinkBertrand Du Guesclin a coward for that cause, e'en let him."
"If any man speak so of thee in my hearing, noble Sir Bertrand," criedJohn of Gaunt, "I will myself challenge him to the combat, and will sodeal with him that he shall never offend in such wise again."
"I heartily thank your highness; but lest I be held a niggard by thisgood knight, in seeming to shun the cheer he offereth me, I will prayyour courtesy to let each of us strike one blow on helm or mail in allgood fellowship, that so we may in some sort prove each other's might,even if we cannot do so blade to blade."
The duke (to whose chivalrous spirit this offer was just suited) agreedat once. Two helmets, the strongest that could be found, were placed ontwo stout blocks at the tent door; and the whole party trooped out towatch the trial.
"Strike thou the first blow, good Sir Thomas," said Bertrand; "it iswhat thou art ever wont to do."
"I thank your courtesy, fair sir," said the Englishman, who, findinghimself treated with such studied courtesy after all his rudeness, wasbeginning to feel ashamed of it.
Down came his axe, cleaving the tempered steel like paper, and bitingso deep into the hard block as well-nigh to hew it in twain. A shout ofapplause greeted the stroke, and Bertrand said with his usualfrankness--
"Well stricken, gallant sir! He who would match thee runneth sore riskof being shamed; but, for the honour of Bretagne, I will e'en try myfortune."
His wounded arm was sorely against him; but the thought of striking forhis country's honour in the presence of foes doubled his greatstrength, and the blow fell like a thunderbolt. The strong helmet flewin pieces like an egg-shell, and down went the terrible axe throughsteel and wood and all, burying itself a good foot in the hard earthbelow.
There was a pause of mute amazement (for never yet had the lookers-on,though bred where good blows were in plenty, seen such a stroke), andthen broke forth a shout of hearty, manly admiration, to which the dukehimself added the full might of his voice.
Sir Thomas himself, with all his bluster, was too brave a man not toadmire such prowess even in a foe; and he said frankly enough--
"Thou art the better man, gentle sir; and, by St. George, I have goodcause to be glad that my head was not in yon helm when thine axe smoteit."
He had cause to remember those words two years later, when, in thefamous single combat still commemorated by the conqueror's statue inDinan market-place, he was beaten to the earth by Du Guesclin'sresistless arm, and owed to the Duke of Lancaster's intercession a lifejustly forfeited by a wanton breach of truce, as dishonouring to hisown fame as to that of England.
Just then up came a single rider at full speed, and, bowing low to theduke, gave him a sealed letter, which Lancaster read with visibleemotion.
"This letter, Sir Bertrand, brings me word of a truce betwixt Franceand England, and of my royal father's command to raise this siege,"said he, not sorry, perhaps, to have so good an excuse for giving uphis now hopeless enterprise. "I can claim no merit for obeying, forthou hast already made all my labours vain. But herein lieth mydifficulty. I have vowed, as English prince and belted knight, not toturn from these walls till I plant my banner on them; and rather thanbreak my word, I would bide here as long as Messire Agamemnon and hisknights before Troy."
To Du Guesclin, as to every man of that age, such a vow was sacred,and, once made, must be carried out to the letter. For a moment helooked staggered by this new dilemma; but his ready wit soon found aremedy.
"If that be all, let it not trouble your highness. What hinders you tocome into the town in friendly wise, plant your banner on the wall, andthen take it down again and go your way in peace? So is your vowfulfilled, and your honour has no stain."
The duke laughed at the clever device, and lost no time in carrying itout. He came up to the gate with a few of his knights, was courteouslyreceived there by De Penhoen, planted his banner on the wall, solemnlytook it down again, and went back to his camp quite satisfied!
Then Bertrand, seeing that the besiegers were really breaking up theircamp and preparing to depart, went back to his quarters, at the door ofwhich his stout seneschal met him with a very gloomy face.
"I have heavy news for thee, messire. Thou art about to lose a staunchcomrade."
"Not Huon?" cried the hero, clenching his hands till the joints cracked.
"No, thank God; the Sire de St. Yvon is mending apace. But he whom theycall the Black Wolf----"
Bertrand waited to hear no more, but flew up the narrow stair,thrusting aside the strong soldier like a child.
"Lives he?" asked he of his wife, as she came forward to meet him.
"He lives as yet," she replied sadly; "but his sickness hath taken anill turn, and----"
"I could have better spared a better man," said Du Guesclin, in thevery words that Shakespeare has immortalized. "Must he die? Is there nohope?"
"None, unless God work a miracle to save him. But who are we, myBertrand, to question the will of God? In mercy, it may be, hath thisbrave man been called hence while his heart was right and his purposegood, lest he should fall back into his former sins. God's will bedone!"
But the "Amen" that Bertrand strove to utter died on his lips, and hesilently followed his lady into the chamber of death.
The Wolf's grim features were already white and sunken, and his mightyframe lay helpless as a child; but his eyes glowed with a wild light,and words of terrible meaning broke from his lips.
"They are great, and rich, and powerful, and their life is full ofpleasure. What know they of how a man feels who has had no pleasure inlife from the birth-hour to the grave? They call me 'Wolf;' but whomade me so? When a wolf tears and slays one of those who have huntedand wounded him, and driven him to lie cold and hungry in his darksomeden, what doth he but what yourselves have taught him?"
"Hear'st thou, Tiphaine?" said Du Guesclin, drawing a quick breath asif in sudden pain. "And it is all true, too!"
"Not true of thee, Bertrand; thou hast ever been good to the poor."
"But what of those who have not?" said he, gloomily. "Surely for allthese things there will one day be a heavy reckoning."
Tiphaine laid her cool, soft hand on the dying man's fevered brow, andin the haggard eyes shone a sudden gleam of joyful recognition.
"God has sent an angel to receive my soul," he murmured, "unworthythough I be of such grace; but 'tis a black soul for thy pure whitehands to touch, holy one."
"For such souls our Lord died on the cross," she replied gently. "Peacebe with thee."
"And when thou meet'st my father yonder," broke in Bertrand,vehemently, "tell him from me that never had man truer comrade than Ihave found in thee, and that----"
Here the brave man's voice failed, and--for all emotions of thatdownright age, good or evil, worked as openly as those of children--thestern eyes, that had never blenched in the face of death, let fall tearafter tear on the nerveless hand that he clasped in both his own.
"Lady," said the dying bandit, straining his failing eyes towardsTiphaine's face, "bind, I pray thee, thy sash around my neck, and letit be buried with me; for men say we shall be sore changed yonder, andI would fain have some token whereby God may know me for thy liegeman!"
And she, without a word, did as he asked.
An hour later all was over; but the rescued citizens did not forgetwhat they owed to the man who had given his life to save them. AllRennes swelled the train that bore him to his last resting-place in thechurchyard of Sainte-Melaine; and over his grave Du Guesclin set up, athis own cost, a fair tablet of hewn stone, inscribed with an epitaphthat had indeed been fully earned--
"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life forhis friends."