CHAPTER VIII
Two years had passed since the fight of Navaretta, when Sir EustaceLynwood received, by the hands of a Knight newly arrived from England,a letter from Father Cyril, praying him to return home as soon aspossible, since his sister-in-law, Dame Eleanor, was very sick, anddesired to see him upon matters on which more could not be disclosed byletter.
Easily obtaining permission to leave Bordeaux, he travelled safelythrough France, and crossing from Brittany, at length found himselfonce more in Somersetshire. It was late, and fast growing dark, whenhe rode through Bruton; but, eager to arrive, he pushed on, thoughtwilight had fast faded into night, and heavy clouds, laden with briefbut violent showers, were drifting across the face of the moon. Onthey rode, in silence, save for Gaston's execrations of the Englishclimate, and the plashing of the horses' feet in the miry tracks, alongwhich, in many places, the water was rushing in torrents.
At length they were descending the long low hill, or rather undulation,leading to the wooded vale of Lynwood, and the bright lights of theKeep began to gleam like stars in the darkness--stars indeed to theeager eyes of the young Knight, who gazed upon them long andaffectionately, as he felt himself once more at home. "I wonder," saidhe, "to see the light strongest towards the east end of the Castle! Iknew not that the altar lights in the chapel could be seen so far!"Then riding on more quickly, and approaching more nearly, he soon lostsight of them behind the walls, and descending the last little risingground, the lofty mass of building rose huge and black before him.
He wound his bugle and rode towards the gate, but at the moment heexpected to cross the drawbridge, Ferragus suddenly backed, and heperceived that it was raised. "This is some strange chance!" said he,renewing the summons, but in vain, for the echoes of the surroundingwoods were the only reply. "Ralph must indeed be deaf!" said he.
"Let him be stone deaf," said Gaston; "he is not the sole inhabitant ofthe Castle. Try them again, Sir Eustace."
"Hark!--methought I heard the opening of the hall door!" said Eustace."No! What can have befallen them?"
"My teeth are chattering with cold," said Gaston, "and the horses willbe ruined with standing still in the driving rain. Cannot we betakeourselves to the village hostel, and in the morning reproach them withtheir churlishness?"
"I must be certified that there is nothing amiss," said Sir Eustace,springing from his saddle; "I can cross the moat on one of the supportsof the bridge."
"Have with you then, Sir Knight," said Gaston, also leaping to theground, while Eustace cautiously advanced along the narrow frame ofwood on which the drawbridge had rested, slippery with the wet, andrendered still more perilous by the darkness. Gaston followed,balancing himself with some difficulty, and at last they safely reachedthe other side. Eustace tried the heavy gates, but found them fastenedon the inside with a ponderous wooden bar. "Most strange!" mutteredhe; "yet come on, Gaston, I can find an entrance, unless old Ralph bemore on the alert than I expect."
Creeping along between the walls and the moat, till they had reachedthe opposite side of the Keep, Eustace stopped at a low doorway; aslight click was heard, as of a latch yielding to his hand, the dooropened, and he led the way up a stone staircase in the thickness of thewall, warning his follower now and then of a broken step. After a longsteep ascent, Gaston heard another door open, and though still in totaldarkness, perceived that they had gained a wider space. "The passagefrom the hall to the chapel," whispered the Knight, and feeling by thewall, they crept along, until a buzz of voices reached their ears, andlight gleamed beneath a heavy dark curtain which closed the passage.Pausing for an instant, they heard a voice tremulous with fear andeagerness: "It was himself! tall plume, bright armour! the verycrosslet on his breast could be seen in the moonlight! Oh! it was SirReginald himself, and the wild young French Squire that fell with himin Spain!"
There was a suppressed exclamation of horror, and a sound of crowdingtogether, and at that moment, Eustace, drawing aside the curtain,advanced into the light, and was greeted by a frightful shriek, whichmade him at first repent of having alarmed his sister, but the nextglance showed him that her place was empty, and a thrill of dismay madehim stand speechless and motionless, as he perceived that the curtainhe grasped was black, and the hall completely hung with the same colour.
The servants remained huddled in terror round the hearth, and the pausewas first broken by a fair-faced boy, who, breaking from the tremblingcircle, came forward, and in a quivering tone said, "Sir, are you myfather's spirit?"
Gaston's laugh came strangely on the scene, but Eustace, bending down,and holding out his hand, said, "I am your uncle Eustace, Arthur.Where is your mother?"
Arthur, with a wild cry of joy, sprung to his neck, and hid his face onhis shoulder; and at the same moment old Ralph, with uplifted hands,cried, "Blessing on the Saints that my young Lord is safe, and thatmine eyes have seen you once again."
"But where, oh! where is my sister?" again demanded Eustace, as his eyemet that of Father Cyril, who, summoned by the screams of the servants,had just entered the hall.
"My son," replied the good Father, solemnly, "your sister is where thewicked may trouble her no more. It is three days now since shedeparted from this world of sorrow."
"Oh, had she but lived to see this day," said Ralph Penrose, "her careswould have been over!"
"Her prayers are answered," said Father Cyril. "Come with me, my sonEustace, if you would take a last look of her who loved and trusted youso well."
Eustace followed him to the chamber where the Lady Eleanor Lynwood layextended on her bed. Her features were pinched and sharpened, and boretraces of her long, wasting sufferings, but they still looked lovely,though awful in their perfect calmness. Eustace knelt and recited theaccustomed prayers, and then stood gazing on the serene face, with afull heart, and gathering tears in his eyes, for he had loved thegentle Eleanor with the trusting affection of a younger brother. Hethought of that joyous time, the first brilliant day of his lonelychildhood, when the gay bridal cavalcade came sweeping down the hill,and he, half in pleasure, half in shyness, was led forth by his motherto greet the fair young bride of his brother. How had she brightenedthe dull old Keep, and given, as it were, a new existence to himself, adreamy, solitary boy--how patiently and affectionately had she tendedhis mother, and how pleasant were the long evenings when she hadunwearily listened to his beloved romances, and his visions ofsurpassing achievements of his own! No wonder that he wept for her asa brother would weep for an elder sister.
Father Cyril, well pleased to perceive that the kindly tenderness ofhis heart was still untouched by his intercourse with the world, lethim gaze on for some time in silence, then laying his hand on his armsaid, "She is in peace. Mourn not that her sorrows are at an end, hertears wiped away, but prepare to fulfil her last wishes, those prayersin answer to which, as I fully believe, the Saints have sent you at thevery moment of greatest need."
"Her last wishes?" said Eustace. "They shall be fulfilled to theutmost as long as I have life or breath! Oh! had I but come in time tohear them from herself, and give her my own pledge."
"Grieve not that her trust was not brought down to aught of earth,"said Father Cyril. "She trusted in Heaven, and died in the sure beliefthat her child would be guarded; and lo, his protector is come, if, asI well believe, my son Eustace, you are not changed from the boy whobade us farewell three years ago."
"If I am changed, it is not in my love for home, and for all who dwellthere," said Eustace, "or rather, I love them better than before.Little did I dream what a meeting awaited me!" Again there was a longpause, which Eustace at length broke by saying, "What is the need youspoke of? What danger do you fear?"
"This is no scene for dwelling on the evil deeds of wicked menotherwise than to pray for them," said the Priest; "but return with meto the hall, and you shall hear."
Eustace lingered a few moments longer, before, heaving a deep sigh hereturned to the hall, where he found Gaston and Ingram, jus
t come infrom attending to the horses, and Ralph hurrying the servants insetting out an ample meal for the travellers.
"My good old friend," said Eustace, holding out his hand as he entered,"I have not greeted you aright. You must throw the blame on thetidings that took from me all other thought, Ralph; for never was thereface which I was more rejoiced to see.
"It was the blame of our own reception of you, Sir Eustace," said oldPenrose. "I could tear my hair to think that you should have met withno better welcome than barred gates and owlet shrieks; but did you butknow how wildly your bugle-blast rose upon our ear, while we sat overthe fire well-nigh distraught with sorrow, you would not marvel that wedeemed that the spirit of our good Knight might be borne upon themoaning wind."
"Yet," said Arthur, "I knew the note, and would have gone to the turretwindow, but that Mistress Cicely held me fast; and when they sentJocelyn to look, the cowardly knave brought back the tale which youbroke short."
"Boast not, Master Arthur," said Gaston; "you believed in our ghostshipas fully as any of them."
"But met us manfully," said Eustace. "But why all these precautions?Why the drawbridge raised? That could scarce be against a ghost."
"Alas! Sir Eustace, there are bodily foes abroad!" said Ralph. "Byyour leave, Master d'Aubricour," as Gaston was about to assist hisKnight in unfastening his armour, "none shall lay a hand near SirEustace but myself on this first night of his return; thanks be to St.Dunstan that he has come!" Eustace stood patiently for several minuteswhile the old man fumbled with his armour, and presently came theexclamation, "A plague on these new-fangled clasps which a man cannotundo for his life! 'Twas this low corselet that was the death of goodSir Reginald. I always said that no good would come of these fashions!"
In process of time, Eustace was disencumbered of his heavy armour; butwhen he stood before him in his plain dress of chamois leather, oldRalph shook his head, disappointed that he had not attained the heightor the breadth of the stalwart figures of his father and brother, butwas still slight and delicate looking. The golden spurs and the swordof Du Guesclin, however, rejoiced the old man's heart, and touchingthem almost reverentially, he placed the large arm-chair at the head ofthe table, and began eagerly to invite him to eat.
Eustace was too sorrowful and too anxious to be inclined for food, andlong before his followers had finished their meal, he turned from thetable, and asked for an account of what had befallen in his absence;for there was at that time no more idea of privacy in conversation thansuch as was afforded by the comparative seclusion of the party roundthe hearth, consisting of the Knight, his arm around his little nephew,who was leaning fondly against him; of Father Cyril, of Gaston, and oldRalph, in his wonted nook, his elbow on his knee, and his chin on hishand, feasting his eyes with the features of his beloved pupil. Inanswer to the query, "Who is the enemy you fear?" there was but oneanswer, given in different tones, "The Lord de Clarenham!"
"Ha!" cried Eustace, "it was justly then that your father, Arthur, bademe beware of him when he committed you to my charge on the battle-fieldof Navaretta."
"Did he so?" exclaimed Father Cyril. "Did he commit the boy to yourguardianship? Formally and before witnesses?"
"I can testify to it, good Father," said Gaston. "Ay! and you, Ingram,must have been within hearing--to say nothing of Du Guesclin."
"And Leonard Ashton," said Ingram.
"It is well," said Father Cyril; "he will be here to-morrow to beconfronted with Clarenham. It is the personal wardship that is ofchief importance, and dwelt most on my Lady's mind."
"Clarenham lays claim then to the guardianship?" asked Eustace.
Father Cyril proceeded with a narrative, the substance of which was asfollows:--Simon de Clarenham, as has been mentioned, had obtained fromKing Edward, in the days of the power of Isabel and Mortimer, a grantof the manor of Lynwood, but on the fall of the wicked Queen, therightful owner had been reinstated, without, however, any formalrevocation of the unjust grant. Knowing it would cost but a word ofSir Reginald to obtain its recall, both Simon and Fulk de Clarenham haddone their best to make him forget its existence; but no sooner did thenews of his death reach England, than Fulk began to take an ungenerousadvantage of the weakness of his heir. He sent a summons for the duespaid by vassals to their Lord on a new succession, and on Eleanor'sindignant refusal, followed it up by a further claim to the wardship ofthe person of Arthur himself, both in right of his alleged feudalsuperiority, and as the next of kin who was of full age. Again was hisdemand refused, and shortly after Lady Lynwood's alarms were brought toa height by an attempt on his part to waylay her son and carry him offby force, whilst riding in the neighbourhood of the Castle. The plothad failed, by the fidelity of the villagers of Lynwood, but the shockto the lady had increased the progress of the decay of her health,already undermined by grief. She never again trusted her son beyondthe Castle walls; she trembled whenever he was out of her sight, andmany an hour did she spend kneeling before the altar in the chapel. Onher brother-in-law, Sir Eustace, her chief hope was fixed; on him shedepended for bringing Arthur's case before the King, and, above all,for protecting him from the attacks of the enemy of his family,rendered so much more dangerous by his relationship. She did notbelieve that actual violence to Arthur's person was intended, butFulk's house had of late become such an abode of misrule, that hismother and sister had been obliged to leave it for a Convent, and thetales of the lawlessness which there prevailed were such that she wouldhave dreaded nothing more for her son than a residence there, even ifFulk had no interest in oppressing him.
That Eustace should return to take charge of his nephew before herdeath was her chief earthly wish, and when she found herself rapidlysinking, and the hope of its fulfilment lessening, she obtained apromise from Father Cyril that he would conduct the boy to the Abbey ofGlastonbury, and there obtain from the Abbot protection for him untilhis uncle should return, or the machinations of Fulk be defeated by anappeal to the King.
This was accordingly Father Cyril's intention. It was unavoidable thatFulk, the near kinsman of the deceased, should be present at thefuneral, but Father Cyril had intended to keep Arthur within thesanctuary of the chapel until he could depart under the care of twelvemonks of Glastonbury, who were coming in the stead of the Abbot--hebeing, unfortunately, indisposed. Sir Philip Ashton had likewise beeninvited, in the hope that his presence might prove a check uponClarenham.
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