CHAPTER XIII

A Red Stain

The king’s banquet was over, and night had fallen upon Calais; and the Black Prince, having himself made the rounds to see that all was safe in the fortress which had so narrowly escaped capture, was on the way to his own quarters, when a sudden burst of clamorous cries from the gate he had just left (the one facing the sea) made him stop short to listen, with a stern frown at such a breach of discipline.

“Go quickly, Simonson,” said he to one of his attendants, “and see what means this unseemly clamour at a post guarded by English soldiers.”

The man was absent but a minute or two, and the report he brought back was given in a few words; but as Prince Edward heard them, he changed colour as he had never done amid the crashing spears of Crecy.

“It cannot be!” he cried, with an excitement very rare in him. “Thou art distraught, man, or the fellow hath lied. It cannot be!”

“Not so, an it like your highness,” said the other firmly. “All they who kept the gate are in one tale of what he had said; and, for the man himself, he was in no case to lie, for he had fallen down in a swoon!”

“How, then, told he his tale so deftly?” asked the Prince of Wales, still doubting.

“He had but strength to gasp out those few words—being sore spent with the haste he had made to come hither and the fright he had had—and then down he fell as he lies now.”

“Go see him cared for,” said the prince, hastily; “and, hark ye! as soon as he is able to speak, bring him to me straightway, and let no man know it. I will look into this matter myself; and if it be as thou say’st, then must the Evil One himself be abroad upon the earth.”

An hour later, back came Simonson with the man he was sent to bring—a stout Hampshire archer of the Claremont train, whose bravery had been conspicuous in the recent fight. But now the daring man seemed wholly mastered by terror. Thick beads of moisture hung on his tanned brow, his bold brown face was pale as death, and his lips quivered as if in a fit.

“Sit thee down, good fellow—thou art in no plight to stand,” said the prince, kindly, as he pointed to a rude wooden settle in a corner of his plainly furnished room; for, like a true soldier, he scorned to bring city luxuries into the camp. “Sit, and speak plainly all thou hast to tell.”

The great captain’s cool, firm tone seemed to steady the scared man’s shaken nerves, and he told his dismal tale more clearly than might have been expected.

In obedience to the prince’s orders, he and his comrades had gone forth to patrol the beach against a descent of the hovering rovers; but hardly had they left the town, when they were joined by Sir Simon Harcourt and a score of his men.

At Harcourt’s name the prince’s look waxed graver, and the close attention with which he was listening seemed redoubled.

Sir Simon, so the archer said, had ridden to the head of the party, and, greeting his young nephews, stated his intention to share their duty that day, saying it would ill befit him to cower behind walls when they were in the field, and that, in a service of such peril, his experience might be of use.

“Ha!” said the prince, with peculiar emphasis. “What said thy young lords to that?”

“Methought it liked them ill, for Sir Alured looked passing grim, and Sir Hugo muttered somewhat of his being now of age to go abroad without a nurse; but I heard nought more, my place being in the rear with them that guarded our prisoner, the Flanderkin.”

Then he went on to tell how, having broken up into many small parties in order to patrol as wide a space as possible, they had scouted along the shore till late in the afternoon, without seeing any sign of mischief. At last he and three or four of his comrades caught sight of a suspicious-looking craft hovering in the offing, as if watching their movements.

“And then, an’t please your highness, we took her for one of the sea-rovers for whom we were watching, and deemed it best to leave two of our band to mark what she would do, while I and other two made haste back to tell what we had seen. But when we neared the spot where we had left our young lords and the prisoner, on a sudden we heard voices raised as in anger, and lo! Sir Alured and Sir Hugo face to face on the sand-beach at hot words, each with hand on hilt as if in high wrath; and beyond them their Uncle Simon, riding fast away toward the town, having said (as we learned later) that he must go make his report to your highness, and crave your further orders.”

“A wise engineer!” said the prince, with a bitter smile. “Having lit the match, he drew back warily ere the mine should explode. Well?”

“Then,” faltered the stout bowman, “in a moment both swords were out, and the fray began. We all ran like madmen to part them; but——”

Here the brave man’s overtasked firmness fairly gave way, and the fatal words that he tried to utter were lost in a convulsive gasp.

“Enough, good friend. I understand thee,” said Prince Edward, kindly. “It was Sir Hugo, then, who fell. But what of the unhappy Sir Alured, whom God pity and forgive?”

“He dashed away as if pursued by the Evil One himself; and just then back came Sir Simon, who had seen from afar, belike, what had befallen.”

“Ha!” cried the prince again, in the same peculiar tone as before.

“Then shouted Sir Simon to us, ‘What do ye, knaves, letting yon felon knight escape?’ And he pointed after the traitor Flanderkin, who, seeing none left to guard him, was making his escape like a false rogue as he was, in spite of his plighted word. ‘After him speedily, and see he escape ye not. I will follow my nephew.’

“As he spake thus, he turned and rode off after Sir Alured, while we chased the Fleming and caught him; for we must needs obey Sir Simon’s command, though certain of us had our own thoughts of the matter.”

“And what were thy thoughts of it?” asked Prince Edward, turning suddenly on him, and looking him full in the face.

The rough soldier replied only by shuffling uneasily with his feet, and twisting his fingers nervously into each other, while his eyes shrank away from the piercing glance fixed on him.

“I ask thee, friend,” repeated the prince, in a tone which there was no gainsaying, “what were thy thoughts on this matter? And I charge thee, as thou art loyal subject and true Englishman, to answer me truly.”

“Well, if your highness will have it,” blurted out the yeoman, in sheer desperation, “I thought, as did others beside me (may God forgive us if we were wrong!), that Sir Simon, being next heir to the broad lands of Claremont, had bred a quarrel ’twixt his nephews, hoping that if they slew each other, lands and goods should be his without more ado.”

A gloomy silence followed the utterance of this ghastly suspicion, broken at last by the Black Prince himself.

“Be not troubled, good fellow,” said he, laying his hand kindly on the other’s shoulder. “Thou hast spoken what thou holdest to be the truth, as every man is bound to do; and if thou art mistaken, why, so might any man be in like case. But what befell next?”

“We caught the rogue Flanderkin and brought him back with us, as we were bidden; and then, knowing no better counsel, it seemed best to our esquire that while he mustered the men as they came back from their scouting, I should hie me to the town and tell what had chanced.”

“Thou hast done well, and thy service shall not be forgotten. Go now and rest thee, for thou must have need of it. Take this from me, and let what thou hast said be a secret betwixt us.”

The archer was hardly gone, when a messenger came to report the return of the Claremont men-at-arms from their patrol under their oldest esquire, who had taken the command in default of his three superior officers.

Prince Edward at once summoned the esquire to his presence, but only to learn fresh details that made the dark story gloomier than ever.

Sir Simon had never come back from seeking his lost nephew. Nothing had since been heard either of him or the wretched fratricide; and when the men returned to the spot where the slain Sir Hugo’s corpse had been left, there was no sign of it but a red stain on the cold, grey sand, whence a trail of dark drops led down to the water’s edge, showing but too plainly that the pirate crew in the offing must have landed on seeing the coast clear, stripped the dead man of his rich armour, and then flung him into the sea!

“An ill end for so young and brave a knight!” said the Black Prince, with a sigh. “May God rest his soul, and have mercy on him who slew him!”