The Caged Lion

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


Malcolm smiled and brightened, holding his head high and joyously, and
handling his sword. Then came the misgiving--'But Lilias, Sir, and
Patrick Drummond.'

'We will provide for them, boy. You know Drummond is bent on carving his
own fortune rather than taking yours, and that your sister only longs to
see you a gallant knight.'

It was true, but Malcolm sighed.

'You have not spoken to the lady yourself?' asked the King.

'No, Sir. Oh, how can I?' faltered Malcolm, shamefaced and frightened.

James laughed. 'Let that be as the mood takes you, or occasion serves,'
he said, wondering whether the lad's almost abject awkwardness and shame
would be likely to create the pity akin to love or to contempt, and
deciding that it must be left to chance.

Nor did Malcolm find boldness enough to do more than haunt Esclairmonde's
steps, trembling if she glanced towards him, and almost shrinking from
her gaze. He had now no doubts about going on the campaign, and was in
full course of being prepared with equipments, horses, armour, and
attendants, as became a young prince attending on his sovereign as an
adventurer in the camp. It was not even worth while to name such
scruples to the English friar who shrived him on the last day before the
departure, and who knew nothing of his past history. He knew all priests
would say the same things, and as he had never made a binding vow, he saw
no need of consulting any one on the subject; it would only vex him
again, and fill him with doubts. The suspicion that Dr. Bennet was aware
of his previous intention made him shrink from him. So the last day had
come, and all was farewell. King Henry had persuaded the Queen to
seclude herself for one evening from Madame of Hainault, for his sake.
King James was pacing the gardens on the Thames banks, with Joan
Beaufort's hand for once allowed to repose in his; many a noble gentleman
was exchanging last words with his wife--many a young squire whispering
what he had never ventured to say before--many a silver mark was
cloven--many a bright tress was exchanged. Even Ralf Percy was in the
midst of something very like a romp with the handsome Bessie Nevil for a
knot of ribbon to carry to the wars.

Malcolm felt a certain exaltation in being enough like other people to
have a lady-love, but there was not much comfort otherwise; indeed, he
could so little have addressed Esclairmonde that it was almost a
satisfaction that she was the centre of a group of maidens whose lovers
or brothers either had been sent off beforehand, or who saw their
attentions paid elsewhere, and who all alike gravitated towards the
Demoiselle de Luxemburg for sympathy. He could but hover on the
outskirts, conscious that he must cut a ridiculous figure, but unable to
detach himself from the neighbourhood of the magnet. As he looked back
on the happy weeks of unconstrained intercourse, when he came to her as
freely as did these young girls with all his troubles, he felt as if the
King had destroyed all his joy and peace, and yet that these flutterings
of heart and agonies of shame and fits of despair were worth all that
childish calm.

He durst say nothing, only now and then to gaze on her with his great
brown wistful eyes, which he dropped whenever she looked towards him;
until at last, when the summer evening was closing in, and the last
signal was given for the break-up of the party, Malcolm ventured on one
faltering murmur, 'Lady, lady, you are not offended with me?'

'Nay,' said Esclairmonde, kindly; 'nothing has passed between us that
should offend me.'

His eye lighted. 'May I still be remembered in your prayers, lady?'

'As I shall remember all who have been my friends here,' she said.

'And oh, lady, if I should--should win honour, may I lay it at your
feet?'

'Whatever you achieve as a good man and true will gladden me,' said
Esclairmonde, 'as it will all others that wish you well. Both you and
your sister in her loneliness shall have my best prayers. Farewell, Lord
Malcolm; may the Saints bless and guard you, whether in the world or the
Church.'

Malcolm knew why she spoke of his sister, and felt as if there were no
hope for him. Esclairmonde's grave kindness was a far worse sign than
would have been any attempt to evade him; but at any rate she had spoken
with him, and his heart could not but be cheered. What might he not do
in the glorious future? As the foremost champion of a crusading king,
bearing St. Andrew's cross through the very gates of Jerusalem, what
maiden, however saintly, could refuse him his guerdon?

And he knew that, for the present, Esclairmonde was safe from retiring
into any convent, since her high birth and great possessions would make
any such establishment expect a large dower with her as a right, and few
abbesses would have ventured to receive a runaway foreigner, especially
as one of her guardians was the Bishop of Therouenne.




CHAPTER VII: THE SIEGE OF MEAUX


Wintry winds and rains were sweeping over the English tents on the banks
of the Marne, where Henry V. was besieging Meaux, then the stronghold of
one of those terrible freebooters who were always the offspring of a
lengthened war. Jean de Gast, usually known as the Bastard de Vaurus,
nominally was of the Armagnac or patriotic party, but, in fact, pillaged
indiscriminately, especially capturing travellers on their way to Paris,
and setting on their heads a heavy price, failing which he hung them upon
the great elm-tree in the market-place. The very suburbs of Paris were
infested by the forays of this desperate _routier_, as such highway
robbers were called; the supplies of previsions were cut off, and the
citizens had petitioned King Henry that he would relieve them from so
intolerable an enemy.

The King intended to spend the winter months with his queen in England,
and at once attacked the place in October, hoping to carry it by a _coup
de main_. He took the lower city, containing the market-place and
several large convents, with no great difficulty; but the upper city, on
a rising ground above the river, was strongly fortified, well victualled,
and bravely defended, and he found himself forced to invest it, and make
a regular siege, though at the expense of severe toil and much sickness
and suffering. Both his own prestige in France and the welfare of the
capital depended on his success, and he had therefore fixed himself
before Meaux to take it at whatever cost.

The greater part of the army were here encamped, together with the chief
nobles, March, Somerset, Salisbury, Warwick, and likewise the King of
Scots. James had for a time had the command of the army which besieged
and took Dreux while Henry was elsewhere engaged, but in general he acted
as a sort of volunteer aide-de-camp to his brother king, and Malcolm
Stewart of Glenuskie was always with him as his squire. A great change
had come over Malcolm in these last few months. His feeble, sickly
boyhood seemed to have been entirely cast off, and the warm genial summer
sun of France to have strengthened his frame and developed his powers. He
had shot up suddenly to a fair height, had almost lost his lameness, and
gained much more appearance of health and power of enduring fatigue. His
nerves had become less painfully sensitive, and when after his first
skirmish, during which he had kept close to King James, far too much
terrified to stir an inch from him, he had not only found himself
perfectly safe, but had been much praised for his valour, he had been so
much pleased with himself that he quite wished for another occasion of
displaying his bravery; and, what with use, and what with the increasing
spirit of pugnacity, he was as sincere as Ralf Percy in abusing the
French for never coming to a pitched battle. Perhaps, indeed, Malcolm
spoke even more eagerly than Ralf, in his own surprise and gratification
at finding himself no coward, and his fear lest Percy should detect that
he ever had been supposed to be such.

So far the King of Scots had succeeded in awakening martial fire in the
boy, but he found him less the companion in other matters than he had
intended. When at Paris, James would have taken him to explore the
learned hoards of the already venerable University of Paris, where young
James Kennedy--son to Sir James Kennedy of Dunure, and to Mary, an elder
sister of the King--was studying with exceeding zeal. Both James and Dr.
Bennet were greatly interested in this famous abode of hearing--the King,
indeed, was already sketching out designs in his own mind for a similar
institution in Scotland, designs that were destined to be carried out
after his death by Kennedy; and Malcolm perforce heard many inquiries and
replies, but he held aloof from friendship with his clerkly cousin
Kennedy, and closed his ears as much as might be, hanging back as if
afraid of returning to his books. There was in this some real dread of
Ralf Percy's mockery of his clerkliness, but there was more real distaste
for all that appertained to the past days that he now despised.

The tide of vitality and physical vigour, so long deficient, had, whom it
had fairly set in, carried him away with it: and in the activity of body
newly acquired, mental activity had well-nigh ceased. And therewith went
much of the tenderness of conscience and devout habits of old. They
dropped from him, sometimes for lack of time, sometimes from false shame,
and by and by from very weariness and distaste. He was soldier now, and
not monk--ay, and even the observances that such soldiers as Henry and
James never failed in, and always enforced, were becoming a burthen to
him. They wakened misgivings that he did not like, and that must wait
till his next general shrift.

And Esclairmonde? Out of her sight, Malcolm dreamt a good deal about
her, but more as the woman, less as the saint; and the hopes, so low in
her presence, burnt brighter in her absence as Malcolm grew in
self-confidence and in knowledge of the world. He knew that when he
parted with her he had been a miserable little wretch whom any woman
would despise, yet she had shown him a sort of preference; how would it
be when he returned to her, perhaps a knight, certainly a brave man like
other men!

Of Patrick Drummond he had as yet heard nothing, and only believed him to
be among the Scots who fought on the French side under the Earls of
Buchan and Douglas. Indeed, James especially avoided places where he
knew these Scots to be engaged, as Henry persisted in regarding them as
rebels against him, and in hanging all who were made prisoners; nor had
Malcolm, during the courtesies that always pass between the outposts of
civilized armies, made much attempt to have any communication with his
cousin, for though his own abnegation of his rights had never been
permitted by his guardian, or reckoned on by his sister or her lover,
still he had been so much in earnest about it himself, as, while
regarding it as a childish folly, to feel ill at ease in the remembrance,
and, though defiant, willing to avoid all that could recall it.

Meantime he, with his king, was lodged in a large old convent, as part of
the immediate following of King Henry. Others of the princes and nobles
were quartered in the market hall and lower town, but great part of thine
troops were in tents, and in a state of much discomfort, owing to the
overflowings of the Marne. Fighting was the least of their dangers,
though their skirmishes were often fought ankle-deep in mud and mire;
fever and ague were among them, and many a sick man was sent away to
recover or die at Paris. The long dark evenings were a new trial to men
used to summer campaigning, and nothing but Henry's wonderful personal
influence and perpetual vigilance kept up discipline. At any hour of the
day or night, at any place in the camp, the King might be at hand, with a
cheery word of sympathy or encouragement, or with the most unflinching
sternness towards any disobedience or debauchery--ever a presence to be
either loved or dreaded. An engineer in advance of his time, he was
persuaded that much of the discomfort might be remedied by trenching the
ground around the camp; but this measure proved wonderfully distasteful
to the soldiery. How hard they laboured in the direct siege operations
they cared not, but to be set to drain French fields seemed to them
absurd and unreasonable, and the work would not have proceeded at all
without constant superintendence from one of the chiefs of the army,
since the ordinary knights and squires were as obstinately prejudiced as
were the men.

Thus it was that, on a cold sleety December day, James of Scotland rode
along the meadows, splashing through thin ice into muddy water, and
attended by his small personal suite, excepting Sir Nigel Baird, who was
gone on a special commission to Paris. Both he and Malcolm were plainly
and lightly armed, and wore long blue cloaks with the St. Andrew's cross
on the shoulder, steel caps without visors, and the King's merely
distinguished by a thread-hike circlet of gold. They had breastplates,
swords, and daggers, but they were not going to a quarter where fighting
was to be expected, and bright armour was not to be exposed to rust
without need. A visit of inspection to the delvers was not a congenial
occupation, for though the men-at-arms had obeyed James fairly well when
he was in sole command at Dreux, yet whenever he was obliged to enforce
anything unpopular, the national dislike to the Scot was apt to show
itself, and the whole army was at present in a depressed condition which
made such manifestations the more probable.

But King Henry was not half recovered from a heavy feverish cold, which
he had not confessed or attended to, and he had also of late been
troubled with a swelling of the neck. This morning, too, much to his
inconvenience and dismay, he had missed his signet-ring. The private
seal on such a ring was of more importance than the autograph at that
time, and it would never have left the King's hand; but no doubt, in
consequence of his indisposition, his finger, always small-boned, had
become thin enough to allow the signet to escape unawares, he was
unwilling to publish the loss, as it might cast doubt on the papers he
despatched, and he, with his chamberlain Fitzhugh, King James, Malcolm,
Percy, and a few more, had spent half the morning in the vain search,
ending by the King sending his chamberlain, Lord Fitzhugh, to carry to
Paris a seal already bearing his shield, but lacking the small private
mark that authenticated it as his signet. Fitzhugh would stand over the
lapidary and see this added, and bring it back. Ralf Percy had meantime
been sent to bring a report of the diggers, but he was long in returning;
and when Henry became uneasy, James had volunteered to go himself, and
Henry had consented, not because the air was full of sleety rain or snow,
but because his hands were full of letters needing to be despatched to
all quarters.

The air was so thick that it was not easy to see where were the sullen
group of diggers presided over by the quondam duellists of Thirsk, Kitson
and Trenton, now the most inseparable and impracticable of men; but James
and his companions had ridden about two miles from the market-place, when
Ralf Percy came out of the mist, exclaiming, 'Is it you, Sir King? Maybe
you can do something with those rascals! I've talked myself blue with
cold to make them slope the sides of their dyke, but the owl Kitson says
no Yorkshireman ditcher ever went but by one fashion, and none ever
shall; and when I lifted my riding-rod at the most insolent of the
rogues, what must Trenton do but tell me the lot were free yeomen, and
I'd best look out, or they'd roll me in the mire if I meddled with a soul
of them.'

'You didn't threaten to strike Trenton?'

'No, no; the sullen cur is a gentleman. 'Twas one of those lubberly men-
at-arms! I told them they should hear what King Harry would say to their
mood. I would it were he!'

'So would I,' said James. 'Little chance that they will hearken to a
Scot when you have put them in such a mood. Hold, Ralf, do not go for
the King; he has letters for the Emperor mattering more than this dyke.'

He rode on, and did his best by leaping into the ditch, taking the spade,
and showing the superior security of the angle of inclination traced by
the King, but all in vain; both Trenton and Kitson silently but
obstinately scouted the notion that any king should know more about
ditches than themselves.

'See,' cried Percy, starting up, 'here's other work! The fellows, whence
came they?'

Favoured by the fog and the soft soil of the meadows, a considerable body
of the enemy were stealing on the delvers with the manifest purpose of
cutting them off from the camp. They were all mounted, but the only
horses in the English party were those of James, Percy, Malcolm, and the
half-dozen men of his escort. James, assuming the command at once, bade
these to be all released; they would be sure to find their way to the
camp, and that would bring succour. Meantime he drew the whole of the
men, about thirty in number, into a compact body. They were, properly,
archers, but their bows had been left behind, and they had only their
pikes and bills, which were, however, very formidable weapons against
cavalry as long as they continued in an unbroken rank; and though the
bogs, pools, sunken hedges, and submerged stumps made it difficult to
keep close together as they made their way slowly with one flank to the
river, these obstacles were no small protection against a charge of
horsemen.

For a quarter of a mile these tactics kept them unharmed, but at length
they reached a wide smooth meadow, and the enemy seemed preparing to
charge. James gave orders to close up and stand firm, pikes outwards.
Malcolm's heart beat fast; it was the most real peril he had yet seen;
and yet he was cheered by the King's ringing voice, 'Stand firm, ye merry
men. They must soon be with us from the camp.'

Suddenly a voice shouted, 'The Scots! the Scots! 'Tis the Scots!
Treachery! we are betrayed. Come, Sir' (to Percy), 'they'll be on you.
Treason!'

'An' it were, you fool, would a Percy turn his back?' cried Ralf,
striking at the man; but the panic had seized the whole body; all were
shouting that the false Scots king had brought his countrymen down on
them; they scattered hither and thither, and would have fallen an easy
prey if they had been pursued. But this did not seem to be the purpose
of the enemy, who merely extended themselves so as to form a hedge around
the few who stood, sword in hand, disdaining to fly. These were, James,
somewhat in advance, with his head high, and a lion look on his brow;
Malcolm, white with dismay; Ralf, restless with fury; Kitson and Trenton,
apparently as unmoved as ever; Brewster, equally steady: and Malcolm's
follower, Halbert, in a glow of hopeful excitement.

'Never fear, friends,' said James, kindly; 'to you this can only be
matter of ransom.'

'I fear nothing,' sharply answered Ralf.

'We'll stand by you, Sir,' said Kitson to Ralf; 'but if ever there were
foul treason--'

'Pshaw! you ass,' were all Percy's thanks; for at that moment a horseman
came forward from among the enemy, a gigantic form on a tall white horse,
altogether a 'dark gray man,' the open visor revealing an elderly face,
hard-featured and grim, and the shield on his arm so dinted, faded, and
battered, as scarce to show the blue chief and the bleeding crowned
heart; but it was no unfamiliar sight to Malcolm's eyes, and with a
slight shudder he bent his head in answer to the fierce whisper, 'Old
Douglas himself!' with which Hotspur's son certified himself that he had
the foe of his house before him. King James, resting the point of his
sword on his mailed foot, stood erect and gravely expectant; and the
Scot, springing to the ground, advanced with the words, 'We greet you
well, my liege, and hereby--' he was bending his knee as he spoke, and
removing his gauntlet in preparation for the act of homage.

'Hold, Earl Douglas,' said James, 'homage is vain to a captive.'

'You are captive no longer, Sir King,' said Earl Archibald. 'We have
long awaited this occasion, and will at once return to Scotland with you,
with the arms and treasure we have gained here, and will bear down the
craven Albany.'

Kitson and Trenton looked at one another and grasped their swords, as
though doubting whether they ought not to cut down their king's prisoner
rather than let him be rescued; and meanwhile the cry, 'Save King James!'
broke out on all sides, knights leapt down to tender their homage, and
among the foremost Malcolm knew Sir Patrick Drummond, crying aloud, 'My
lord, my lord, we have waited long for you. Be a free king in free
Scotland! Trust us, my liege.'

'Trust you, my friends!' said James, deeply touched; 'I trust you with
all my heart; but how could you trust me if I began with a breach of
faith to the King of England?'

Ralf Percy held up his finger and nodded his head to the Yorkshire
squires, who stood open-mouthed, still believing that a Scot must be
false. There was an angry murmur among the Scots, but James gazed at
them undauntedly, as though to look it down.

'Yes, to King Harry!' he said, in his trumpet voice. 'I belong to him,
and he has trusted me as never prisoner was trusted before, nor will I
betray that trust.'

'The foul fiend take such niceties,' muttered old Douglas; but, checking
himself, he said, 'Then, Sir, give me your sword, and we'll have you home
as my prisoner, to save this your honour!'

'Yea,' said James, 'that is mine own, though my body be yours, and till
England put me to ransom you would have but a useless captive.'

'Sir,' said Sir John Swinton, pressing forward, 'if my Lord of Douglas be
plain-spoken, bethink you that it is no cause for casting aside this one
hope of freedom that we have sought so long. If you have the heart to
strike for Scotland, this is the time.'

'It is not the time,' said James, 'nor will I do Scotland the wrong of
striking for her with a dishonoured hand.'

'That will we see when we have him at Hermitage Castle,' quoth Douglas to
his followers. 'Now, Sir King, best give your sword without more
grimace. Living or dead you are ours.'

'I yield not,' said James. 'Dead you may take me--alive, never.' Then
turning his eyes to the faces that gazed on him so earnestly in
disappointment, in affection, or in scorn, he spoke: 'Brave friends, who
may perchance love me the better that I have been a captive half my life
and all my reign, you can believe how sair my heart burns for my bonnie
land's sake, and how little I'd reck of my life for her weal. But broken
oaths are ill beginnings. For me, so notably trusted by King Henry, to
break my bonds, would shame both Scots and kings; and it were yet more
paltry to feign to yield to my Lord of Douglas. Rescue or no rescue, I
am England's captive. Gentles, kindly brother Scots, in one way alone
can you free me. Give up this wretched land of France, whose troubles
are but lengthened by your valour. Let me gang to King Harry and tell
him your swords are at his service, so soon as I am free. Then am I your
King indeed; we return together, staunch hearts and strong hands, and the
key shall keep the castle, and the bracken bush keep the cow, though I
lead the life of a dog to bring it about.'

His tawny eye flashed with falcon light; and as he stood towering above
all the tall men around, there were few who did not in heart own him
indeed their king. But his picture of royal power accorded ill with the
notions of a Black Douglas, in the most masterful days of that family;
and Earl Archibald, who had come to regard kings as beings meant to be
hectored by Douglases, resentfully exclaimed, 'Hear him, comrades; he has
avouched himself a Southron at heart. Has he reckoned how little it
would cost to give a thrust to the caitiff who has lost heart in his
prison, and clear the way for Albany, who is at least a true Scot?'

'Do so, Lord Earl,' said James, 'and end a long captivity. But let these
go scatheless.'

With one voice, Percy, Kitson, Trenton, and Brewster, shouted their
resolve to defend him to the last; and Malcolm, flinging himself on
Patrick Drummond, adjured him to save the King.

'Thou here, laddie!' said Patrick, amazed; and while several more knights
exclaimed, 'Sir, Sir, we'll see no hand laid on you!' he thrust forward,
'Take my horse, Sir, ride on, and I'll see no scathe befall you.'

'Thanks,' said James; 'but my feet will serve me best; we will keep
together.'

The Scottish force seemed dividing into two: Douglas and his friends and
retainers, mounted and holding together, as though still undecided
whether to grapple with the King and his half-dozen companions; while
Drummond and about ten more lances were disposed to guard him at all
risks.

'Now,' said James to his English friends; and therewith, sword in hand,
he moved with a steady but swift stride towards the camp, nor did Douglas
attempt pursuit; some of the other horsemen hovered between, and Patrick
Drummond, with a puzzled face, kept near on foot. So they proceeded till
they reached a bank and willow hedge, through which horses could hardly
have pursued them.