CHAPTER XXXI

PEDRO THE PAGE

The position of Pedro the page at Chas-Chateil was much endangered by the feat of horsemanship which he had performed. A general impression prevailed in the castle that he was an emissary of the powers of darkness, and that the wild boar, the black steed, the outlandish boy, and the Devil were all in league to bring some misfortune on the inmates. Moreover, the lady, who was already tiring of the page, was inclined to take this view of the case; but Father Peter, having again subjected the suspected person to examination, gave it as his deliberate opinion that he was in reality what he professed to be--one of a band of musicians from Burgos.

The good chaplain had considered the matter gravely, and made use of the intelligence he drew from Oliver Icingla to test the youngster’s veracity. He asked Pedro the name of the King of Castile, and Pedro answered, King Alphonso. He asked who was Alphonso’s chief enemy, and Pedro answered, the Moorish King of Granada. He asked what great event had happened before he left his own country, and Pedro told him about the battle of Muradel, and how the king, in gratitude to the saints for his victory, was about to convert his palace in the gardens of La Huelgas into a convent. He asked what was the sin on King Alphonso’s part which had brought such dangers on the kingdom, and Pedro very innocently related the well-known story of the beautiful Jewess whom the royal Castilian loved too well. The holy man was satisfied. How could he be otherwise? And Sir Anthony was satisfied also, for he had taken a notion into his head that the page’s songs and musical instrument were necessary to his existence.

In fact, the nerves of the knight required music to soothe them. Since his encounter with the wild boar in the wood at Donnington, Sir Anthony Waledger had never been quite himself, and, as he continued his daily potations, and ran into excess oftener than of yore by day, his condition did not improve during the winter; and ere spring came strange stories were abroad as to his habits by night. Still matters went on about the castle as of old, and no particular notice was taken of the governor’s eccentricities till about Easter, when Richard de Moreville became so alarmed that he made some excuse for leaving, and embarked for Paris to intimate to his uncle that the knight who had the custody of Chas-Chateil was beside himself.

“My lord,” said the Norman squire when he presented himself to his astonished kinsman about a month before that May-day when Hugh de Moreville had persuaded Prince Louis to vow on the heron, “Sir Anthony is crazy--in truth, he is mad. He has got into a custom of rising in the night-time when he is asleep; of arming himself, drawing his sword, and beginning to fight as if he were in battle!”

“By St. Moden,” said De Moreville with a sneer, “I never knew the good knight so fond of fighting when blows were going. But, nephew, proceed, for this touches me nearly.”

“Well,” continued the squire, “the servants who sleep in his chamber to watch him on hearing him rise go to him, and next morning tell him what he has been doing, but he forgets all about it, and cries out that they lie. Sometimes they leave neither sword nor arms in his chamber, but when he rises and finds them gone he makes such a noise as if all the fiends were there. They therefore think it best to leave his sword and arms, and sometimes he remains quietly in his bed, but only sometimes. Seldom a night passes without a scene.”

“Ha!” exclaimed De Moreville, thoughtfully, “I little expected such tidings, and it behoves me to hasten my return to England and put matters on a better footing at Chas-Chateil. It is no time for a man who has lost his senses to be in command of a fortress.”

However, in the thirteenth century the time required to pass from the banks of the Seine to the banks of the Kennet was considerable, and April was speeding on without De Moreville having appeared at the castle or giving any intimation that he was likely to come; and Sir Anthony became worse rather than better, declaring that nothing soothed him but the music of Pedro the page, and insisting more strongly than ever that Pedro had been sent to him by St. Anthony and St. Hubert at the very instant he had cried out to them for protection.

By this time Pedro’s equestrian feat was all but forgotten. It had been a nine days’ wonder and nothing more. Yet one person had neither forgotten nor forgiven--namely, Clem the Bold Rider. In fact, Clem, feeling certain that there was some mystery in the business, and blaming Pedro for his mishap, had, under the influence of mortified vanity, vowed revenge, and continued to watch Pedro wherever he went when outside the castle as a cat watches a mouse it has destined as a victim. No matter at what hour he went forth or in what direction he turned, he was sure to meet Clem hanging about the courtyard, or the stable-yard, or the drawbridge talking the slang of the age to one person or another, but never without a sharp eye on Pedro’s movements. This was, doubtless, annoying. Pedro certainly looked much too innocent to have any evil intention. Still, one likes not to be watched every time he moves out to take the air.

Now Pedro, since his reception into Chas-Chateil, had been quite free to go about wherever he liked. But there was one place from which he was strictly excluded, and that place was “the ladies’ walk,” which was strictly guarded by a sentinel. It was wonderful, by-the-bye, how this fact used to slip out of Pedro’s memory, and how many efforts he made by hook or by crook to reach that battlement. But his efforts were unavailing.

At length he seemed to think that a view from a distance was better than no view at all, and after singing a Spanish song he clambered up a parapet, and strained his eyes towards the prohibited region. As he descended Clem stood before him, seized him by the collar, and administered a hearty buffet on the cheek. But he little calculated the consequences. Pedro’s frame shook with rage, his eyes flashed fire, and he turned savagely on his assailant.

“Son of a theorve!” said he in very good English, “hadst thou known how I can return that blow, thou hadst never had the courage to deal it. This is the way I requite such courtesy, as chevaliers phrase it.”

As the page spoke, his clenched fist avenged the wrong he had suffered, and the Bold Rider lay sprawling by the parapet. But he rose instantly from the ground, not, indeed, to renew the attack--of that he had had enough, and more than enough. But he retreated several paces, and then looked his adversary in the face.

“Master page,” said he, glowering with malice, “thy speech has betrayed thee. Ere half an hour passes the governor shall know that a spy is within the castle, and the dule tree is your sure doom;” and Clem ran off to take measures for insuring his revenge.

Pedro did not seem quite easy under the influence of this threat. But perhaps he had heard that to pause at the crisis of one’s fate is to lose all, and he did not hesitate. It was the hour when he was in the habit of singing to Sir Anthony Waledger in the chamber so vigilantly guarded against intrusion that the inmates of the castle believed it contained De Moreville’s treasury. Pedro entered, and found Sir Anthony seated at a table with his wine-cup before him. Pedro having purposely left the door half-open, sat down on a low footstool, and prepared to sing. Sir Anthony rose and moved slowly to close the door, and Pedro, quick as thought, drew forth a little bag, and shook some powder into the wine. Sir Anthony resumed his seat and drained the wine-cup, and Pedro began to sing. Sir Anthony gradually fell sound asleep, and Pedro, rising from the footstool, went to the panel on which the battle of Hastings was depicted, examined it minutely, and pressed his finger on a knob that caught his eye. As he did so it flew open with a spring, and Pedro, entering, closed it as gently as he could, and, descending a stair that lay before him, found himself in a dark but broad and high passage, along which he walked with what speed he could, not without stumbling as he went.

It was not, however, until he had travelled full half a mile and taken several turns that he at last began to descry something like daylight. It was, indeed, only a glimmer. But he proceeded, pushed through a cleft of a rock, and going head-foremost through some brushwood, found himself to his great joy in a thicket close by the Kennet. Pedro, indeed, leapt for joy as he reflected on the discovery he had made, but did not in his excitement forget to leave such marks as to insure his being able to find the place on his return, for to return he intended. Cunningly he set marks on the trees around, measured the distance to the margin of the river, impressed on his memory the various objects around, and then, turning his face southward, made for the neighbourhood of London as fast as he could, to obviate the chance of being recaptured in case of pursuit.

But he was in no danger in that respect. At Chas-Chateil his disappearance was heard of with superstitious awe, and the inmates told each other that the goblin who had been figuring as a lady’s page, and whose spells and devices had driven the governor half-crazy and caused him to walk while asleep, had been suddenly carried off by his master who sent him. Only one person dissented--it was Clem the Bold Rider, who gave his reasons for believing the page to have been a spy. But Clem’s character for veracity did not rank high, and he did not improve it by the story which he told on this occasion.

As for Sir Anthony Waledger, he woke up before sunset, much refreshed with his sleep. It was the first sound sleep the knight had enjoyed for months. Of course he could give no account as to how and where the mysterious page had gone, only he very much missed the music and the song.

Meanwhile, Hugh de Moreville was leaving Paris, resolved on placing Chas-Chateil in safer custody. The Norman baron was destined to reach the castle five hours too late for his purpose.