The Caged Lion

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Caged Lion


Queen Catherine and her ladies joined the funeral march at Rouen, or
rather followed it at a mile's interval; but the two trains kept apart,
and only occasional messages were sent from one to the other. Some of
the gentlemen, who had a wife or sister in the Queen's suite, would ride
at nightfall to pay her a hasty visit; but Malcolm--though he longed to
be sent--durst not intrude upon Esclairmonde; and the Duke of Bedford was
not only forced to spend all the evening and half the night in business,
but was not loth to put off the day of the meeting with his dear sister
Catherine--to say nothing of the 'Woman of Hainault.'

Therefore it was not until all had arrived at Calais, where a fleet was
waiting to meet them, that any visits were openly made by the one party
to the other.

Bedford and James went together to the apartments of the Queen, and while
they saw her in private, Malcolm came blushing towards Esclairmonde, and
was welcomed by her with a frank smile, outstretched hand, and kind
inquiry after his recovery.

She treated him indeed as a brother, as one on whom she depended, and had
really wished to see and arrange with. She told him that Alice Montagu
and her husband were returning to England, and that her little friend had
so earnestly prayed her to abide with her at Middleham for the present,
that she had consented--'until such time as the way be open,' said
Esclairmonde, with her steady patient smile.

Malcolm bowed his head. 'I am glad you will not be forced to be with
your Countess,' he said.

'My poor lady! Maybe I have spoken too plainly. But I owe her much. I
must ever pray for her. And you, my lord?'

'I,' said Malcolm, 'shall go to study at Oxford. Dr. Bennet intends
returning thither to continue his course of teaching, and my king has
consented to my studying with him. It will not cut me off, lady, from
that which you permit me to be. King Henry and his brothers have all
been scholars there.'

'I understand,' said Esclairmonde, slightly colouring. 'It is well. And
truly I trust that matters may be so guided, that care for me may not
long detain you from more lasting vows--be they of heaven or earth.'

'Lady,' said Malcolm, earnestly, 'none who had been plighted to you
_could_ pledge himself to aught else save One above!'

Then, feeling in himself, or seeing in Esclairmonde's face, that he was
treading on dangerous ground, he asked leave to present to her his
cousin, Patrick Drummond: and this was accordingly done; the lady
comporting herself with so much sweet graciousness, that the good knight,
as they left the hall, exclaimed: 'By St. Andrew, Malcolm, if you let
that maiden escape you now she is more than half-wedded to you, you'll be
the greatest fool in broad Scotland. Why, she is a very queen for
beauty, and would rule Glenuskie like a princess--ay, and defend the
Castle like Black Agnes of Dunbar herself! If you give her up, ye'll be
no better than a clod.'

Malcolm and Patrick had been borne off by James's quitting the Castle;
Bedford remained longer, having affairs to arrange with the Queen. As he
left her, he too turned aside to the window where Esclairmonde sat as
usual spinning, and Lady Montagu not far off, but at present absorbed by
her father, who was to remain in France.

One moment's hesitation, and then Bedford stepped towards the Demoiselle
de Luxemburg, and greeted her. She looked up in his face, and saw its
settled look of sad patient energy, which made it full ten years older in
appearance than when they had sat together at Pentecost, and she marked
the badge that he had assumed, a torn-up root with the motto, 'The root
is dead.'

'Ah! my lord, things are changed,' she could not help saying, as she felt
that he yearned for comfort.

'Changed indeed!' he said; 'God's will be done! Lady,' he added, 'you
wot of that which once passed between us. I was grieved at first that
you chose a different protector in your need.'

'You _could_ not, my lord,' faltered Esclairmonde, crimson as she never
had been when speaking to Malcolm.

'No, I _could_ not,' said Bedford; 'and, lady, my purpose was to thank
you for the generous soul that perceived that so it is. You spared me
from a cruel case. I have no self any longer, Esclairmonde; all I am,
all I have, all I can, must be spent in guarding Harry's work for his
boy. To all else I am henceforth dead; and all I can do is to be
thankful, lady, that you have spared me the sorest trial of all, both to
heart and honour.'

Esclairmonde's eyes were downcast, as she said, 'Heaven is the protector
of those of true and kind purpose;' and then gathering courage, as being
perfectly aware to whom Bedford must give his hand if he would conciliate
Burgundy, she added, 'And, verily, Sir, the way of policy is this time a
happy one. Let me but tell you how I have known and loved gentle Lady
Anne.'

Bedford shook his head with a half smile and a heavy sigh. 'Time fails
me, dear lady,' he said; 'and I cannot brook any maiden's praise, even
from you. I only wait to ask whether there be any way yet left wherein I
can serve you. I will strive to deal with your kinsmen to restore your
lands.'

'Hold!' said Esclairmonde. 'Never for lands of mine will I have your
difficulties added to. No--let them go! It was a vain, proud dream when
I thought myself most humble, to become a foundress; and if I know my
kinsmen, they will be too much angered to bestow on me the dower required
by a convent. No, Sir; all I would dare to inquire would be, whether you
have any voice in choosing the bedeswomen of St. Katharine's Hospital?'

'The bedeswomen! They come chiefly from the citizens, not from princely
houses like yours!' said John, in consternation.

'I have done with princely houses,' said Esclairmonde. 'A Flemish maiden
would be of no small service among the many whom trade brings to your
port from the Netherlands, and my longing has ever been to serve my Lord
through His poor and afflicted.'

'It is my father's widow who holds the appointments,' said John. 'Between
her and me there hath been little good-will, but my dear brother's last
act towards her was of forgiveness. She may wish to keep well with us of
the Regency--and more like still, she will be pleased that one of so
great a house as yours should sue to her. I will give you a letter to
her, praying her to remember you at the next vacancy; and mayhap, if the
Lady Montagu could take you to visit her, you could prevail with her!
But, surely, some nunnery more worthy of your rank--'

'There is none that I should love so well,' said Esclairmonde, smiling.
'Mayhap I have learnt to be a vagabond, but I cannot but desire to toil
as well as pray.'

'And you are willing to wait for a vacancy?'

'When once safe from my kinsmen, in England, I will wait under my kind
Alice's wing till--till it becomes expedient that yonder gentleman be set
free.'

'You trust him?' said Bedford.

'Entirely,' responded Esclairmonde, heartily.

'Happy lad!' half sighed the Duke; but, even as he did so, he stood up to
bid the lady adieu--lingering for a moment more, to gaze at the face he
had longed for permission to love--and thus take leave of all his youth
and joy, addressing himself again to that burthen of care which in
thirteen years laid him in his grave at Rouen.

As he left the Castle and came out into the steep fortified street, Ralf
Percy came up to him, laughing. 'Here, my lord, are those two honest
Yorkshire knights running all over Calais to make a petition to you.'

'What--Trenton and Kitson! I thought their year of service was up, and
they were going home!'

'Ay, my lord,' said Kitson, who with his comrade had followed close in
Percy's wake, 'we were going home to bid Mistress Agnes take her choice
of us; but this morn we've met a pursuivant that is come with Norroy King-
at-arms, and what doth he but tell us that no sooner were our backs
turned, than what doth Mistress Agnes but wed--ay, wed outright--one Tom
of the Lee, a sneaking rogue that either of us would have beat black and
blue, had we ever seen him utter a word to her? A knight's lady--not to
say two--as she might have been! So, my lord, we not being willing to go
home and be a laughing-stock, crave your license to be of your guard as
we were of King Harry's, and show how far we can go among the French.'

'And welcome; no good swords can be other than welcome!' said Bedford,
not diverted as his brother would have been, but with a heartiness that
never failed to win respectful affection.

Long did James and Bedford walk up and down the Castle court together,
while the embarkation was going on. The question weighed on them both
whether they should ever meet more, after eighteen years of youth spent
together.

'Youth is gone,' said Bedford. 'We have been under a mighty master, and
now God help us to do his work.'

'You!' said James; 'but for me--it is like to be the library and the
Round Tower again.'

'Scarcely,' said Bedford, 'the Beauforts will never rest till Joan is on
a throne.'

James smiled.

'Ay,' said Bedford, 'the Bishop of Winchester will be no small power, you
will find. Would that I could throw up this France and come home, for he
and Humfrey will clash for ever. James, an you love me, see Humfrey
alone, and remind him that all the welfare of Harry's child may hang on
his forbearance--on union with the Bishop. Tell him, if he ever loved
the noblest brother that ever lived, to rein himself in, and live only
for the child's good, not his own. Tell him that Bedford and Gloucester
must be nothing henceforth--only heads and hands doing Harry's will for
his babe. Oh, James, what can you tell Humfrey that will make him put
himself aside?'

'You have writ to him Harry's words as to Dame Jac?'

'The wanton! ay, I have; and if you can whisper in his ear that matter of
Malcolm and the signet, it might lessen his inclination. But,' he
sighed, 'I have little hope, James; I see nothing for Lancaster but that
which the old man at York invoked upon us!'

'Yet, when I look at you and Humfrey, and think of the contrast with my
own father's brethren, I see nothing but hope and promise for England,'
said James.

'We must do our best, however heavy-hearted,' said John of Bedford,
pausing in his walk, and standing steadfast. 'The rod becomes a palm to
those who do not freshly bring it on themselves. May this poor child of
Harry's be bred up so that he may be fit to meet evil or good!'

'Poor child,' repeated James. 'Were he not there, and you--'

'Peace, James,' said Bedford; 'it is well that such a weight is not
added! While I act for my nephew, I know my duty; were it for myself,
methinks I should be crazed with doubts and questions. Well,' as a
messenger came up with tidings that all was ready, 'fare thee well,
Jamie. In you I lose the only man with whom I can speak my mind, or take
counsel. You'll not let me gain a foe, as well as lose a friend, when
you get home?'

'Never, in heart, John!' said the King. 'As to hand--Scotland must be to
England what she will have her. Would that I saw my way thither! Windsor
will have lost all that made captivity well-nigh sweet. And so farewell,
dear brother. I thank you for the granting to me of this sacred charge.'

And so, with hands clasped and wrung together, with tears raining from
James's eyes, and a dry settled melancholy more sad than tears on John's
countenance, the two friends parted, never again to meet; each to run a
course true, brave, and short--extinguished the one in bitter grief, the
other in blood.

On All Saints' Day, while James stood with Humfrey of Gloucester at the
head of the grave at Westminster, where Henry's earthly form was laid to
rest amid the kings his fathers, amid the wail of a people as sorrowful
as if they knew all the woes that were to ensue, Bedford was in like
manner standing over a grave at the Royal Abbey of St. Denis. He, the
victor's brother, represented all the princely kindred of Charles VI. of
France, and, with his heart at Westminster, filled the chief mourner's
place over the king who had pined to death for his conqueror.

The same infant was proclaimed king over each grave--heir to France and
England, to Valois and Lancaster. Poor child, his real heirloom was the
insanity of the one and the doom of the other! Well for him that there
was within him that holy innocence that made his life a martyrdom!




CHAPTER XVI: THE CAGE OPEN


More than a year had passed, and it was March when Malcolm was descending
the stone stair that leads so picturesquely beneath the archway of its
tower up to the hall of the college of St. Mary Winton, then _really_ New
College. He had been residing there with Dr. Bennet, associating with
the young members of the foundation educated at Winchester, and studying
with all the freshness of a recent institution. It had been a very happy
time for him, within the gray stone walls that pleasantly recalled
Coldingham, though without Coldingham's defensive aspect, and with ample
food for the mind, which had again returned to its natural state of
inquiring reflection and ardour for knowledge.

Daily Malcolm woke early, attended Matins and Mass in the chapel, studied
grammar and logic, mastered difficult passages in the Fathers, or copied
out portions for himself in the chamber which he as a gentleman commoner,
as we should call him, possessed, instead of living in a common dormitory
with the other scholars. Or in the open cloister he listened and took
notes of the lectures of the fellows and tutors of the college, and
seated on a bench or walking up and down received special instructions.
Then ensued the meal, spread in the hall; the period of recreation, in
the meadows, or in the licensed sports, or on the river; fresh studies,
chapel, and a social but quiet evening over the supper in the hall. All
this was varied by Latin sermons at St. Mary's, or disputations and
lectures by notable doctors, and public arguments between scholars, by
which they absolutely fought out their degrees. There were few colleges
as yet, and those resident in them were the _elite_; beyond, there was a
great mob of scholars living in rooms as they could, generally very poor,
and often very disorderly; but they did not mar the quiet semi-monastic
stillness within the foundations, and to Malcolm it seemed as if the
truly congenial home was opened.

The curriculum of science began to reveal itself to him with all the
stages so inviting to a mind conscious of power and longing for
cultivation. The books, the learned atmosphere, the infinite
possibilities, were delightful to him, and opened a more delightful
future. His metaphysical Scottish mind delighted in the scholastic
arguments that were now first set before him, and his readiness,
appreciation, and eager power of acquiring surprised his teachers, and
made him the pride of New College.

When he looked back at his year of court and camp, he could only marvel
at having ever preferred them. In war his want of bodily strength would
make real distinction impossible; here he felt himself excelling; here
was absolute enjoyment, and of a kind without drawback. Scholarship must
be his true element and study: the deep universal study of the sisterhood
of science that the University offered was his veritable vocation. Surely
it was not without significance that the ring that shone on his finger
betrothed him to Esclairmonde, the Light of the World; for though in
person the maiden was never to be his own, she was the emblem to him of
the pure virgin light of truth and wisdom that he would be for ever
wooing, and winning only to see further lights beyond. Human nature felt
a pang at the knowledge that he was bound to deliver up the ring and
resign his connection with that fair and stately maiden; but the pain
that had been sore at first had diminished under the sense that he stood
in a post of generous trust, and that his sacrifice was the passport to
her grateful esteem. He knew her to be with Lady Montagu, awaiting a
vacancy at St. Katharine's, and this would be the signal for dissolving
the contract of marriage, after which his present vision was to bestow
Lilias upon Patrick, make over his estates to them, take minor orders,
and set forth for Italy, there to pursue those deeper studies in theology
and language for which Padua and Bologna were famous. It was many months
since he had heard of Lilias; but this did not give him any great
uneasiness, for messengers were few, and letter-writing far from being a
common practice. He had himself written at every turning-point of his
life, and sent his letters when the King communicated with Scotland; but
from his sister he had heard nothing.

He had lately won his first degree as Bachelor of Arts, and was
descending the stair from the Hall after a Lenten meal on salt fish, when
he saw below him the well-known figure of King James's English servant,
who doffing his cap held out to him a small strip of folded paper,
fastened by a piece of crimson silk and the royal seal. It only bore the
words:--

'_To our right trusty and well-beloved Cousin the Lord Malcolm Stewart
of Glenuskie this letter be taken_.

'DEAR COUSIN,

'We greet you well, and pray you to come to us without loss of time,
having need of you, we being a free man and no captive.

'Yours,
'JAMES R.

'Written at the Castle of Windsor this St. David's Day, 1424.'

'A free man:' the words kept ringing in Malcolm's ears while he hastened
to obtain license from Warden John Bonke, and to take leave of Dr.
Bennet. He had not left Oxford since the beginning of his residence
there. Vacations were not general dispersions when ways and means of
transit were so scarce and tardy, and Malcolm had been long without
seeing his king. Joy on his sovereign's account, and his country's,
seemed to swallow up all other thoughts; as to himself, when he bade his
friends and masters farewell, he declared it was merely for a time, and
when they shook their heads and augured otherwise, he replied: 'Nay,
think you I could live in the Cimmerian darkness yonder, dear sirs? Our
poor country hath nothing better than mere monastery schools, and light
of science having once shone on me, I cannot but dwell in her courts for
ever! Soon shall I be altogether her son and slave!'

Nevertheless, Malcolm was full of eagerness, and pressed on rapidly
through the lanes between Oxford and Windsor, rejoicing to find himself
amid the noble trees of the forest, over which arose in all its grandeur
the Castle and Round Tower, as beautiful though less unique than now, and
bearing on it the royal standard, for the little King was still nursed
there.

Under the vaulted gateway James--with Patrick and Bairdsbrae behind
him--met Malcolm, and threw his arms round him, crying: 'Ay, kiss me,
boy; 'tis a king and no caitiff you kiss now! Another six weeks, and
then for the mountain and the moor and the bonnie north countree.'

'And why not for a month?' was Malcolm's question, as hand and eye and
face responded heartily.

'Why? Why, because moneys must be told down, and treaties signed; ay,
and Lent is no time for weddings, nor March for southland roses to travel
to our cold winds. Ay, Malcolm, you see a bridegroom that is to be! Did
you think I was going home without her?'

'I did not think you would be in such glee even at being free, my lord,
if you were.'

'And now, Malcolm, ken ye of ony fair Scottish lassie--a cousin of mine
ain, who could be had to countenance my bride at our wedding, and ride
with us thereafter to Scotland?'

'I know whom your Grace means,' said Malcolm, smiling.

'An if you do, maybe, Malcolm, sin she bides not far frae the border,
ye'd do me the favour of riding with Sir Patrick here, and bringing her
to the bridal,' said the King, making his accent more home-like and
Scottish than Malcolm had ever heard it before.

The happiness of that spring afternoon was surpassing. The King linked
his arm into Malcolm's, and walked up and down with him on the slopes,
telling him all that had led to this consummation; how Walter Stewart and
his brothers had become so insolent and violent as to pass the endurance
of their father the Regent, as well as of all honest Scots; and how,
after secret negotiations and vain endeavours to obtain from him a pledge
of indemnity for all that had happened, the matter had been at length
opened with Gloucester, Beaufort, and the Council. The Scottish nation,
with Albany at the head, was really recalling the King. This was the
condition on which Henry V. had always declared that he should be
liberated; these were the terms on which he had always hoped to return;
and his patience was at last rewarded. Bedford had sent his joyful
consent, and all was now concluded. James was really free, and waited
only for his marriage.

'I would not tell you, Malcolm, while there might yet be a slip between
cup and lip,' said the King; 'it might have hindered the humanities; and
yet I needed you as much when I was glad as when all seemed like to
fail!'

'You had Patrick,' said Malcolm.

'Patrick's a tall and trusty fellow,' said the King, 'with a shrewd wit,
and like to be a right-hand man; but there's something in you, Malcolm,
that makes a man turn to you for fellow-feeling, even as to a wife.'

Nevertheless, the King and Patrick had grown much attached to each other,
though the latter, being no lover of books, had wearied sorely of the
sojourn at Windsor, which the King himself only found endurable by much
study and reflection. Their only variety had been keeping Christmas at
Hertford with Queen Catherine; 'sorry pastime,' as Drummond reported it
to him, though gladdened to the King by Joan Beaufort's presence, in all
her charms.

'The Demoiselle of Luxemburg was there too, statelier than ever,' said
James. 'She is now at Middleham Castle, with the Lady Montagu, and you
might make it your way northward, and lodge a night there. If you can
win her consent, it were well to be wedded when we are.'

'Never shall I, my lord. I should not dare even to speak of it.'

'It is well; but, Malcolm, you merit something from the damsel. You are
ten times the man you were when she flouted you. If women were not
mostly witless, you would be much to be preferred to any mere Ajax or
Fierabras; and if this damsel should have come to the wiser mind that it
were pity to be buried to the world--'

'Sir, I pray you say no more. I were forsworn to ask such a thing.'

'I bid you not, only I would I were there to see that all be not lost for
want of a word in season; and it is high time that something be done.
Here be letters from my Lord of Therouenne, demanding the performance of
the contract ere our return home.'

'He cannot reach her here,' said Malcolm.

'No; but his outcry can reach your honour; and it were ill to have such a
house as that of Luxemburg crying out upon you for breach of faith to
their daughter.'

Malcolm smiled. 'That I should heed little, Sir. I would fain bear
something for her.'

'Why, this is mere sublimated devoir, too fine for our gross
understandings,' said James, ironically. 'Mayhap the sight of the soft
roseate cheek may bring it somewhat down to poor human flesh and blood
once more.'

'Once I was tempted, Sir,' said Malcolm, blushing deeply; 'but did I not
know that her holiness is the guardian of her earthly beauty, I would not
see her again.'

'Nay, there I command you,' said the King; 'soon I shall have subjects
enough; but while I have but half a dozen, I cannot be disobeyed by them!
I bid you go to Middleham, and there I leave all to the sight.'

The King spoke gaily, and with such kind good-humour that Malcolm,
humiliated by the thought of the past, durst not make fresh
asseverations. James, in the supreme moment of the pure and innocent
romance of which he was the hero, looked on love like his own as the
highest crown of human life, and distrusted the efforts after the
superhuman which too often were mere simulation or imitation; but a
certain recollection of Henry's warnings withheld him from pressing the
matter, and he returned to his own joys and hopes, looking on the
struggles he expected with a strong man's exulting joy, and not even
counting the years of his captivity wasted, though they had taken away
his first youth.

'What should I have been,' he said, 'bred up in the tumults at home? What
could I have known better than Perth? Nay, had I been sent home when I
came to age, as a raw lad, how would one or other by fraud or force have
got the upper hand, so as I might never have won it back. No, I would
not have foregone one year of study--far less that campaign in France,
and the sight of Harry in war and in policy.'

James also took Malcolm to see the child king, his little master. This,
the third king of James's captivity, was now a fair creature of two years
old. He trotted to meet his visitor, calling him by a baby name for
brother, and stretching out his arms to be lifted up and fondled; for, as
Dame Alice Boteller, his _gouvernante_, muttered, he knew the King of
Scots better than he did his own mother.