CHAPTER XXVI

THE EVE OF BATTLE

It was the evening of Friday, the 16th of October, 1346, when, in the company of Copeland, the Northumbrian esquire, I reached Durham, and first beheld the city associated with the memory of St. Cuthbert.

And fine and picturesque, I did confess, was the appearance which the place presented at the close of that October day, when threatened by the Scottish foe. The eye of my comrade gleamed with provincial pride as he marked the impression produced on me by the sight; and he exclaimed, in a tone of triumph--

"A fair city."

"Passing fair," I replied; and, not unwilling to display the little knowledge I possessed, I added, "and it seems to me to be, like Rome, built on seven hills."

"God's truth," said Copeland, "I know not on how many hills Rome may be built; but I have heard men say that whoso hath seen the situation of Durham has seen the map of Zion, and may save himself the trouble of a journey to Jerusalem."

About seventeen miles to the south of Newcastle, and sixty-seven miles to the north-west of York, in the centre of the shire of Durham, the river Wear, in one of its windings, makes a curve in the shape of a horse-shoe, and incloses a lofty peninsula, or promontory. On this promontory, which is formed of seven hills, surrounded by hills still higher than themselves, stands the city of Durham, with its castle, its abbey, its churches and buildings, mirrored in the clear waters of the river, whose steep banks are clothed with hanging woods.

At a distance of some miles to the south of Durham is the castle of Auckland, the seat of the bishop, with a park abounding in deer and wild cattle; while three miles to the north-west is Beaurepaire, another fair park, in which stands the house to which the prior is wont, on occasions, to retreat for quiet and contemplation. At this crisis both of these parks were camps, and their silence and privacy were broken by the noise of arms and the tramp of warriors; for the English army lay at Auckland, awaiting orders to march, and the King of Scots lay at Beaurepaire, awaiting the coming of the enemy, and treating with great disdain, as I have written, the proposal made by some of his nobles to make for the woods, and retreat without risking an engagement.

Such was the position of the two armies when having entered Durham, I proceeded to the castle, and craved an audience of the Queen of England. At first it appeared doubtful whether it would be granted; but a hint as to my being charged with letters of importance from France opened the doors, and I was conducted to the presence of the royal lady on whose energy and presence of mind the fate of England, at that moment, in a great measure depended.

At the time when Philippa of Hainault was first brought to England and wedded to King Edward, at York, she was a girl of seventeen, with a brilliant complexion, and a tall, graceful figure, whom minstrels praised in verse for her "roseate hue and beauty bright." Eighteen years, however, had passed over her head, during which she had become the mother of ten children, and she retained little of that youthful beauty which minstrels had celebrated.

But what Philippa had lost in juvenile brilliance she had gained in matronly dignity; and at thirty-five, what with her still comely features, her serene aspect, and her stately, though kindly manners, she looked every inch a queen, of whom Englishmen might have said, as they did of her predecessor, Eleanor of Castile, that "to our nation she was a loving mother, the column and pillar of the whole realm."

And never, perhaps, had the Queen of England appeared to greater advantage than when, at this crisis, and in the hour of dismay, she, in the absence of her hero-husband and hero-son, defied all dangers, and ran all risks, to do her duty to the country over which her husband reigned, and the kingdom to which her son was heir.

As I knelt and presented the epistle with which I had been intrusted by the Governor of La Broyes, she looked at me with something like surprise, and, taking the letter from my hand, said gently--

"Rise, sir page; how is this? I thought you were lost."

"Yes, madam," replied I, in some confusion; "but you see I am found again."

"And how came you by this?"

"There, madam, hangs a long tale, with which, mayhap, it were better not to weary your highness at present."

"I will hear it," said the queen.

And taking this expression of her wish as a command, I, with the utmost brevity, related my adventures, and the circumstances under which I had undertaken the duty of messenger. Having listened attentively, and questioned me as to what I remembered about the battle of Cressy, and the bearing of her son on that great day, the queen expressed her approval of my conduct, and immediately gave a proof of her confidence in my fidelity and discretion.

"My lord the king," said she, "will naturally be all anxiety to hear the result of the battle which is about to be fought; and I must needs, without a moment of unnecessary delay, despatch a messenger to him with the tidings, whether of weal or woe."

"Madam," said I, "do not fear--or, rather, I should say, do not doubt--under the eyes of so gracious a lady, that the English soldiery will do their duty, and the beams of victory will rest on St. George's cross."

A frown and a smile passed over the queen's face as showers and sunshine succeed each other on an April day. My audacity caused the frown; my enthusiasm caused the smile. But she quickly gained her serenity.

"You are too young to have any title to express opinions so boldly," she said; "and yet I deny not that much must be overlooked in the case of those who have fought by my son's side. However, hold yourself in readiness to proceed to Calais at a moment's notice."

"Madam," urged I earnestly, and like a condemned man begging for mercy, "I would fain hope that the prospect of so high an honour as carrying a message to my lord the king may not be inconsistent with my drawing my sword against the Scots, and striking a blow for his honour and the safety of the kingdom."

"Better not," replied the queen. "It may be cruel to gainsay you. But you are too young to die, sir page, and will live, please God, to win distinction some other day."

I bowed low, but my countenance indicated my disappointment.

"But," continued she, "the Lords D'Eyncourt and Ogle, with a body of cavalry selected for the duty, are to attend me as a guard during the battle. I accord to you the honour of being one of the party; and it is an honour which I trust that you, as a disciple of chivalry, in the service of the Prince of Wales, will not fail highly to value. You are dismissed."

As she spoke, the queen began to read the epistle of the Countess of Hainault, over which she had already glanced; and, having bent my knee, I retired, not without a feeling of disappointment. Indeed, I must frankly confess that, however high the distinction of attending the Queen of England on such an occasion, I should have relinquished it without a sigh; for so completely had Copeland's stories of adventures and contests with Scottish warriors taken possession of my imagination, that I would gladly, at that moment, have resigned all ambition, and all hopes of rising in life, under the patronage of royal personages, for the privilege of riding to battle with the brave Northumbrian, and charging, sword in hand, by his side into the ranks of foemen, wherever the excitement was highest and the conflict keenest.

I sought Copeland, and, having hastily communicated the result of my audience, expressed the regret I felt at being deprived of the gratification of drawing my sword in his company.

"I grieve to hear it," observed the Northumbrian; "for, between ourselves, I have formed a scheme for acquiring fame and fortune at a grasp."

"By St. George!" exclaimed I. "Tell me, I implore you, how that is to be accomplished. It may serve me on another occasion."

"Breathe not a word on the subject to living mortal," said he. "Hark--in thine ear--I know this King of Scots by head mark. In the battle I will track him as the russet bloodhound does a marauder; and ere to-morrow's sun sets, he shall yield himself my prisoner, rescue or no rescue."

"A most noble enterprise, on my faith," exclaimed I admiringly, "and one, I ween, that will bring both honour and profit, if brought to a successful termination. But you must hold me excused if I remind you that he is not likely to yield, even to you, on easy terms. I have heard something of this King David at the English court, and I gather that, albeit he lacks the mind and subtlety which made his father great, he lacks not the courage or the prowess in war which has so long been associated with the name of Bruce."