Part 8

"Sir Ralph de Beauchamp," called out the plucky little judge, trying to lean over the battlements, "I prithee, convey to the king, my royal master, that his servant will never consent to any reversal of judgments given in concert with the learned Thomas de Muleton and the learned Martin de Pateshulle, at the bidding of the unlearned--

"Peace!" cried De Breaute, pushing the little man back violently; "I brought thee not hither to speak, but to be seen.--Soho, warder! take the justice back again to the dungeon, and see that his supper be somewhat more scanty than was his dinner. Those who bend not must starve."

And the warder led away the little justice, remonstrating and quoting legal Latin anent wrongful imprisonment and detention.

Fulke de Breaute again looked over the parapet.

"Yet another prisoner have I here, Sir Ralph," he said; "but she is entertained in the lady's bower, as befits a damsel who is shortly to be the bride of the brother to the lord of the castle. Even now our new chaplain, Bertram de Concours, he who anon served the chapel on Bromham Bridge, prepares our long-disused chapel for the marriage rites."

Ralph could bear it no longer. He gnashed his teeth, and whirling his sword round his head in impotent fury, flung it at the speaker. The good blade shivered in two against the stone wall, and Fulke resumed his banter.

"Little boots it sending thy sword where thou thyself darest not follow," said he; "but methinks thou hast tarried long enow beneath our walls. Get thee gone ere thy churlishness be returned with usury."

Ralph sprang from his horse. Unarmed though he was, he made for the gate, as if he would tear it down with his bare hands.

Fulke coolly signed to the sentinel who stood at his post over the gate-house, with cross-bow ready strung and quarrel fitted in the slot. The man took aim and released his string. The missile struck Ralph in a spot where his hastily-donned armour was imperfectly fastened, and he fell wounded to the ground.

At the same moment two female figures reached the western end of the walk which ran along the top of the long wall bordering the river side of the castle, at right angles to the gate-house.

One of them, a damsel of inquisitive disposition, hearing the twang of the cross-bow, sprang on to the parapet to see what was happening. From the angle she could look down upon the level space outside the gate.

"What see you, Beatrice, that you watch so closely?" inquired a girl's voice from the wall beneath the former's vantage-ground.

"My lady," exclaimed Beatrice Mertoun, "the archer hath struck some knight below, for I see the townsfolk carrying off a wounded man clad in armour. His helmet hath rolled from his head. What curly hair! How pale he looks, alas, poor youth! Ah, I see my lord pointing to the helmet. There goes a man from the wicket-gate. He has picked it up; he is bringing it in. Marry, how the burghers shrank back when he appeared! Methought they were like to drop the wounded man. But no; they have borne him off."

"I wot not what this may mean," said Lady Aliva; for she was the speaker from below. "There is no attack on the castle? There come no more armed men?"

"Nay, none but the wounded one," replied Beatrice. "But stay, my lady; I will to the gate-house. Perchance I may learn somewhat."

Impelled by curiosity, the girl made her way down from the wall, and quickly crossed the yard.

Fulke, when the helmet had been brought him, glanced at it and then threw it contemptuously on one side. Then, when the burghers carrying Ralph had disappeared into a neighbouring house, he turned away and went to another part of the castle.

No sooner had he vanished than Beatrice Mertoun, standing below, called up in her most bewitching tones to the archer who had shot the quarrel.

"Ho, Hubert--Hubert of Provence! Wilt do me a favour?"

The man-at-arms was one of her most ardent admirers. He looked down on the pretty upturned face.

"A thousand, Mistress Beatrice! You have but to ask, pardie."

"Then throw me down yon helmet your lord cast away anon."

The man hesitated. He glanced round; but Sir Fulke was out of sight. Beatrice pouted deliciously.

"I said not a thousand, but one favour, Hubert. By my troth, Arnoul or Denis would have given it me in a trice. Methinks you set less store on my words than--"

"Be not so cruel, fair one," exclaimed the admiring archer. "I obey your slightest wish. Here!"

The helmet fell at her feet. Beatrice picked it up, and then, without so much as a look at the archer, ran back with it to Aliva.

"See, my lady," she cried, "thou canst read these riddles of the heralds."

Aliva recognized on the helmet the crest of the De Beauchamps.

*CHAPTER XVI.*

_*WITHIN THE CASTLE WALLS.*_

The Lady Aliva had been carried off to Bedford in a half-unconscious state; for though she had awoke from her sleep refreshed and restored--thanks to the kind care of Mistress Hodges--the treacherous priest had so arranged that nothing should hinder him from carrying out his part of the shameful contract.

After the departure of the lay-brother he returned to the chapel.

"Daughter," he said to Aliva, through the half-open door of the sacristy, "thou hast done well in seeking the protection of Mother Church, and I, the humble minister of this altar, will see that thou art well guarded if thou remainest here."

"Thanks, reverend father," replied the maiden; "but a short time since, towards dawn of day, methinks (but I have slept since), this faithful woman's son offered to set off to my father's house at Bletsoe and warn the household there of my whereabouts."

"Thy messenger will be yet some time ere he returneth," answered the priest, "and if thou art minded to depart at once, we needs must find some other means of conveyance for thee, lady. I have looked round about since it grew light, and thy pursuers have departed," he added, revolving in his mind how best to induce Aliva to enter the horse-litter from Bedford, which he guessed would by now not be far off.

"Thanks for the hospitality of this holy sanctuary," Aliva replied, "but I would fain depart as speedily as may be," she added, not caring to occupy the sacristy of a chapel as her apartment any longer than was necessary, and with an indefinable dislike, if not distrust, of the speaker.

"So be it, lady," Bertram hastened to answer. "I will myself to Bedford. Doubtless from some of the burghers can I procure a conveyance suited to thy rank. Moreover, thou art doubtless weak in body, and I have taken upon myself to order food to be brought thee."

So saying he moved to the door and beckoned to some one without. A woman from the village entered, bringing such food and wine as the hostelry could supply.

"Thou mayest eat yonder in the sacristy, my daughter, for it is not consecrated to holy purposes."

He followed the woman into the priest's room and then dismissed her. This left him alone for a few moments, for Aliva had entered the chapel to kneel down before the rude altar, and offer up a heartfelt thanksgiving for her preservation.

Father Bertram took a small vial from within his robe and poured some drops from it into the wine-flask.

He had not studied the art of drug-concocting in the infirmary of his late monastery in vain.

Then he passed out of the chapel, saying that he was going to Bedford.

Aliva rose from her knees and went into the sacristy and found the food awaiting her. But she could not swallow, famished though she was, the rough village fare copiously seasoned with garlic.

"Alack!" exclaimed Goody Hodges. "But thou wilt die of weakness. See the wine-flask, lady! Drink, if thou canst not stomach the food."

Aliva did as she advised; and when the priest shortly returned, having brought the litter which he had found waiting on the bridge, and having received back again the pledge of the crucifix, he found the maiden in a half-unconscious state.

"Alack, alack! father, she hath swooned again!" cried the deluded peasant woman.

"She is overwrought with her hardships," replied the priest. "We must get her home with all speed. I have found a litter on the road, and it is in readiness. Help me to bear her to it."

The fresh morning air outside the chapel door partially revived Aliva. Opening her eyes she moaned,--

"Where am I? where are you taking me?"

"Home, daughter, to Bletsoe. Let me lay you in the litter!" exclaimed Bertram hurriedly, and rudely pushing back Dame Hodges, who had stopped short when she too recognized the De Breaute livery, and saw that she had been deceived.

Aliva sank back languidly on the cushions, and her eyes closed again. She was deaf to a well-known voice imploring her to stay, and unaware of the lay-brother's gallant attempt to detain her.

When she recovered her senses again, the litter was jolting fearfully, for the horses were going at the top of their speed. Bertram rightly conjectured that Aliva had taken but little of the drugged wine, and was alarmed lest its numbing influence should wear off ere his captive was safely secured. So he urged the postillion along, galloping by his side.

With returning consciousness Aliva drew aside the curtains of the litter and looked out. They were certainly not on the road to Bletsoe; she saw that at once. They were swinging through streets, and curious burgesses came to their house doors, marvelling what brought the litter of the Lady Margaret out so early.

While she was doubting whether she should cry for help or fling herself from the litter, it turned under an echoing gateway, and stopped in a courtyard before the entrance of a castle keep.

A girl of about her own age came down the steps.

"Lady, please to alight and follow me to the apartment prepared for you."

Aliva descended from the litter and looked around her, bewildered. A group of men-at-arms were drawn up at a respectful distance, and the grooms who had brought her stood silent by their horses. The priest had vanished as soon as he had seen her safe into the castle.

Aliva turned to the girl beside her.

"Where am I?" she murmured, still half dazed. "Is this not Bedford Castle? There has been treachery--treachery by that ill-looking priest! This is more of De Breaute's doings, damsel."

"Nay, lady, I can tell thee naught, save that my lord Sir Fulke bade me prepare a lodging in the keep for a lady who was to arrive in my lady's litter. Thy chamber is ready on the floor above the great hall, next to my lady's bower. Prithee, let me lead thee thither."

Aliva felt somewhat reassured by this reception. At least she found herself in the care of women.

Silently she allowed her conductress to show her the way across the hall and up a turret stair to her apartment, where she sank wearily on a couch.

The pretty waiting-woman bustled about, offering the unhappy girl various attentions. She brought her articles of dress from her mistress's coffer, and assisted Aliva to remove her travel-stained garments and clothe herself in becoming attire.

The latter eyed her curiously.

"And who art thou, maiden?" she inquired.

"My name is Beatrice Mertoun. I am the waiting-woman of the Lady Margaret, the wife of Sir Fulke. And thou, lady, if I might make so bold?"

"I am Aliva de Pateshulle from Bletsoe," returned Aliva.

"From Bletsoe!" echoed Beatrice. "Methought I remembered your face and figure as one of the nuns at Elstow when I attended my mistress to the retreat there. We returned but yesterday. But thou art no nun--no sister of an abbey?"

"Nay," replied Aliva, "but I wore the habit of a novice as a penitent during the retreat. Doubtless," she added, sighing, "this trouble which hath come upon me is the reward of my sins."

"Fair lady," said Beatrice gently, "you look sad;" and she came and knelt down at her feet.

"Sad!" exclaimed Aliva, raising herself on her elbow and gazing down at the waiting-maid with horror-stricken face; "I am miserable--betrayed--undone! Ah, I see it all now--this foul plot! William de Breaute hath encompassed my ruin!"

"William de Breaute!" cried Beatrice. "It is he who is at the bottom of this, forsooth! By my halidom, _I_ see daylight now! I overheard him speaking of you with his brother--and then the chapel, repaired and cleaned. That was what Sir Fulke meant as he watched the men at work and said in jesting mood that from his own experience an unwilling bride was all the sweeter for the trouble of snaring and catching her, and William de Breaute answered that for his part he cared not for a ripe plum that fell into one's mouth without the picking."

"The chapel--an unwilling bride!" gasped poor Aliva. "The Lady Margaret was such! I see it all, alas! Does my father know of this? Does he give his consent?"

"Alas, fair lady, I know naught! It pains me to see thee in such grief, and in good sooth I mind me well of the stories I have heard of the unwilling wooing, the hasty bridal of my mistress. But, lady, cheer thee. Thou art weary and mazed. Rest here awhile, and talk no more, and I will watch by thee."

The bright spring afternoon was already waning when, some hours after the events related above, the two maidens walked out upon the south wall of the castle. Beatrice had persuaded Aliva to come thither, hoping that the fresh air might revive her drooping spirits; and Sir Fulke had given permission that his prisoner might repair thither when she pleased, though the precincts of the castle were forbidden.

As they paced up and down the terrace the fertile brain of Mistress Beatrice, already a warm partisan of the fair young prisoner, began to weave plans of escape.

"Canst swim, fair lady?" she inquired. "'Twould be naught to leap into Ouse water from yon turret! Or, better still, that thy knight (she took it for granted that Aliva had a knight) should bring hither a skiff some dark night, beneath the walls!"

At that moment they heard the twang of an archer's bow sounding from the gate-house hard by.

*CHAPTER XVII.*

_*THE KING IN COUNCIL.*_

For some time Ralph lay in a precarious state in the house of one of the burgesses of Bedford. The bolt from the cross-bow had given him a nasty wound, which it required all the skill of the leech to heal. Moreover, he lay fretting and fuming at the thought that his Aliva was a prisoner in the hands of his enemy, and his mental anxiety seriously interfered with his bodily recovery.

As he got better, however, he received visits from many of the principal townspeople, who were much attached to the house of De Beauchamp, and full of pity for the young knight.

"Sir Ralph," quoth one of these grave personages, as he sat solemnly stroking his beard by the pallet where the young man still lay, "if one richer in the experience of years than thou art may be permitted to advise thee, I would show thee how useless a waste of life and blood would be any attempt of thine, unaided, to rescue thy fair lady from her direful plight."

"Marry, but have I not learned that lesson already!" ejaculated Ralph irritably; "but whither then to get aid? for get aid I must. This emprise is of more worth to me than a dozen lives! Speak you on behalf of your kind, Gilbert the Clothier, the other traders and craftsmen of the town? Are ye ready to strike a blow against this tyrant?"

"I crave thy pardon, Sir Knight, but we are men of peace, unused to warlike weapons, and we have much to lose. With one swoop Fulke de Breaute could burn about our ears all the amassed gain of a lifetime!"

Ralph shrugged his shoulders impatiently.

"'Tis vain to speak to barn-door fowls of the liberty of the hawk's flight!" replied Ralph, somewhat ungraciously. "But, Sir Merchant, if the only weapons ye can use be your tools and your measuring-yards, yet methinks ye have store of wisdom in your heads, in full measure above us who spend all our wits upon our sinews!" he added laughingly. "Prithee, counsel me."

"There are none in all the county round, in these days when so many of our gentlefolks are impoverished with the wars and disturbances of these last years, who can hope to lift a spear successfully against this rich Frenchman," the merchant began. "We must e'en seek aid further afield. Anon I had word brought me that the churchmen brook ill that the learned brother of Martin de Pateshulle and Thomas de Muleton lies in the keeping of the enemy of the Church, and are minded to stir in this matter with the king."

"The king!" exclaimed Ralph, half raising himself. "That is in good sooth good news!"

"The king holds a council shortly at Northampton, as ye know," Gilbert went on, "and it is there they purport to lay our case before him and his barons and bishops assembled."

"I will to Northampton, then," cried Ralph eagerly. "Certes, I was even purposing to go thither ere this unlucky scratch detained me. I sought the king's favour to give me some command in this army which is about to inarch for the north."

"Better turn your lance-point nearer home, Sir Knight," the merchant replied. "There will be work enow and glory enow to be gotten for all who list in pulling down this robber Frenchman's stronghold!"

"I will to Northampton as soon as this leech who holds me in his clutches gives me leave to buckle on my armour again," Ralph added.

And so it came about that, not many days later, our hero rode over to Northampton, where he found the king in council with the bishops, abbots, barons, and justices.

The youthful Henry III. was at this time only seventeen years old, though he had been declared to be of age two years before. His trusted guardian and adviser, Hubert de Burgh, was, however, still with him, and was present at the council. The old chronicler tells how, while the monarch and his advisers were thus assembled, deliberating on the affairs of state, news was brought of the raid upon the judges, and of the capture of Henry de Braybrooke by William de Breaute.

Here was an unbearable insult to the royal supremacy. The attention of the council was instantly turned from the banks of the Tweed to those of the Ouse.

In the storm of indignation which was aroused by the Robber Baron's latest misdeed the voice of the Church made itself heard. The judges of the land were at that period mostly ecclesiastics. Could they put up with this indignity to their learned brother? Was not Fulke also a destroyer of abbeys and churches? Had he not pulled down St. Paul's Church at Bedford? and had not that impious raid upon St. Alban's Abbey been but poorly atoned for by the discipline in the chapter-house? Had any restitution been made?

Further, doubtless, the great barons called to their master's council--they whose sires had forced his father to sign Magna Charta on the field of Runnymede, and who had spilt their blood for the liberties of England--had somewhat to say against this French upstart, De Breaute, this bastard soldier of fortune, who had ensconced himself in a fortress where one of the old Norman families had been established ever since the days of the Conqueror.

Prelate and lord both agreed that the most pressing question of the day was the overthrow of this robber chief.

When Ralph rode into the ancient town of Northampton, now crowded with the magnates of the land, he had no difficulty in finding men of position and weight who were willing to introduce him, as a scion of the De Beauchamp family, to the council.

Henry and his advisers, in earnest discussion over this business of Bedford, were not sorry to find one who was well acquainted with the castle and its fortifications. Accordingly, when Ralph was presented to the council, he was received by the young king with much cordiality. Henry III., though one of the few weak-minded monarchs of the strong Plantagenet line, was still so young that his character could hardly be said to be yet formed, and any mistakes he might make were naturally set down to his youth and inexperience. This affair of Bedford Castle, however, was an undertaking in which he exhibited all the promptitude and energy of his predecessors upon the throne. He resolved to attend the siege in person, and ordered his council to suspend all other business and direct their attention solely to the means of carrying it out.

The council of war, or committee, to whom were confided the necessary preparations, took Ralph into their confidence. They were presided over by no less a personage than Hubert de Burgh himself, who summoned the young knight to appear before them in the chamber in Northampton Castle, where they held their conclave.

Ralph's feelings, as he found himself in the presence of one so renowned, formerly the governor of Dover Castle, and the custodian in Brittany of King John's luckless nephew Arthur, and the late guardian of the king, were those of some shyness. He was a plain, country-born youth, unused to courts and dignitaries, and even of late years a landless, penniless knight, one of an outcast family. But the great justiciary's manner reassured him.

"Sir Ralph," he said, "we understand that thou wast brought up in Bedford Castle, and art well acquainted with all its parts."

"Certes, noble Hugh," replied Ralph, "always excepting those portions where Fulke de Breaute may have made alterations and additions during the last few years."

"Well answered, and with a caution exceeding thy years, Sir Knight. Say on--what alterations?"

"By my faith, I can scarcely tell! But he hath pulled down and well-nigh destroyed the church of St. Paul, and the stones thereof have been used in the castle walls."

"For new work, mean you, or for the strengthening of old work?" inquired the justiciary.

"That cannot I rightly say," answered Ralph, "for since my uncle was driven forth, or rather surrendered to Fulke acting in his sovereign's name, I have not set foot within the castle walls."

But he added beneath his breath: "Would I were within at this moment!"

De Burgh overheard him, and with some surprise.

"So shalt thou be, and that shortly, and with stout men-at-arms at thy back, an I mistake not. But for the nonce we must learn more about these walls. How sayest thou the castle lieth?"

"Along the banks of the Ouse, and on the north side of the stream."

"And its defences--what be they? All say that the keep was indeed built by thy ancestor Pain de Beauchamp, and is strong and not easily to be assaulted."

"The keep is indeed strong and well built," Ralph replied, "and round it run a high wall and a deep moat. On the west side only might an attack be made with any hope of victory, for there lie the bailey yards, the gate-house, and the barbican. Moreover, between the outer and the inner bailey there standeth a tower, which we call the old tower, the like of which, I have heard tell, is not to be found in many castles, and which commands the bridge."

As he spoke Ralph made a sort of rough drawing.

"Here," he said, "is the keep, upon a lofty mound. On this side only is an entrance possible. We must e'en break through all the outer defences, and pass on from west to east. But it will be no light emprise."

A gleam of pleasure came over the face of the veteran.

"By the bones of St. Thomas," he exclaimed, "thou showest no mean knowledge or skill, fair sir. Where hast thou learned the art of war?"