Chapter VIII

by Charlotte M. Yonge

　　It was a fine summer evening, and Richard and Carloman were playingat ball on the steps of the Castle-gate, when a voice was heard frombeneath, begging for alms from the noble Princes in the name of theblessed Virgin, and the two boys saw a pilgrim standing at the gate,wrapt in a long robe of serge, with a staff in his hand, surmountedby a Cross, a scrip at his girdle, and a broad shady hat, which hehad taken off, as he stood, making low obeisances, and askingcharity.

　　"Come in, holy pilgrim," said Carloman. "It is late, and you shallsup and rest here to-night."

　　"Blessings from Heaven light on you, noble Prince," replied thepilgrim, and at that moment Richard shouted joyfully, "A Norman, aNorman! 'tis my own dear speech! Oh, are you not from Normandy?Osmond, Osmond! he comes from home!"

　　"My Lord! my own Lord!" exclaimed the pilgrim, and, kneeling on oneknee at the foot of the steps, he kissed the hand which his youngDuke held out to him--"This is joy unlooked for!"

　　"Walter!--Walter, the huntsman!" cried Richard. "Is it you? Oh, howis Fru Astrida, and all at home?"

　　"Well, my Lord, and wearying to know how it is with you--" beganWalter--but a very different tone exclaimed from behind the pilgrim,"What is all this? Who is stopping my way? What! Richard would beKing, and more, would he? More insolence!" It was Lothaire,returning with his attendants from the chase, in by no means anamiable mood, for he had been disappointed of his game.

　　"He is a Norman--a vassal of Richard's own," said Carloman.

　　"A Norman, is he? I thought we had got rid of the robbers! We wantno robbers here! Scourge him soundly, Perron, and teach him how tostop my way!"

　　"He is a pilgrim, my Lord," suggested one of the followers.

　　"I care not; I'll have no Normans here, coming spying in disguise.Scourge him, I say, dog that he is! Away with him! A spy, a spy!"

　　"No Norman is scourged in my sight!" said Richard, darting forwards,and throwing himself between Walter and the woodsman, who waspreparing to obey Lothaire, just in time to receive on his own bareneck the sharp, cutting leathern thong, which raised a long redstreak along its course. Lothaire laughed.

　　"My Lord Duke! What have you done? Oh, leave me--this befits younot!" cried Walter, extremely distressed; but Richard had caught holdof the whip, and called out, "Away, away! run! haste, haste!" and thewords were repeated at once by Osmond, Carloman, and many of theFrench, who, though afraid to disobey the Prince, were unwilling toviolate the sanctity of a pilgrim's person; and the Norman, seeingthere was no help for it, obeyed: the French made way for him and heeffected his escape; while Lothaire, after a great deal of stormingand raging, went up to his mother to triumph in the cleverness withwhich he had detected a Norman spy in disguise.

　　Lothaire was not far wrong; Walter had really come to satisfy himselfas to the safety of the little Duke, and try to gain an interviewwith Osmond. In the latter purpose he failed, though he lingered inthe neighbourhood of Laon for several days; for Osmond never left theDuke for an instant, and he was, as has been shown, a close prisoner,in all but the name, within the walls of the Castle. The pilgrimhad, however, the opportunity of picking up tidings which made himperceive the true state of things: he learnt the deaths of Sybaldand Henry, the alliance between the King and Arnulf, and therestraint and harshness with which the Duke was treated; and withthis intelligence he went in haste to Normandy.

　　Soon after his arrival, a three days' fast was observed throughoutthe dukedom, and in every church, from the Cathedral of Bayeux to thesmallest and rudest village shrine, crowds of worshippers werekneeling, imploring, many of them with tears, that God would look onthem in His mercy, restore to them their Prince, and deliver thechild out of the hands of his enemies. How earnest and sorrowfulwere the prayers offered at Centeville may well be imagined; and atMontemar sur Epte the anxiety was scarcely less. Indeed, from thetime the evil tidings arrived, Alberic grew so restless and unhappy,and so anxious to do something, that at last his mother set out withhim on a pilgrimage to the Abbey of Jumieges, to pray for the rescueof his dear little Duke.

　　In the meantime, Louis had sent notice to Laon that he should returnhome in a week's time; and Richard rejoiced at the prospect, for theKing had always been less unkind to him than the Queen, and he hopedto be released from his captivity within the Castle. Just at thistime he became very unwell; it might have been only the effect of thelife of unwonted confinement which he had lately led that wasbeginning to tell on his health; but, after being heavy anduncomfortable for a day or two, without knowing what was the matterwith him, he was one night attacked with high fever.

　　Osmond was dreadfully alarmed, knowing nothing at all of thetreatment of illness, and, what was worse, fully persuaded that thepoor child had been poisoned, and therefore resolved not to call anyassistance; he hung over him all night, expecting each moment to seehim expire--ready to tear his hair with despair and fury, and yetobliged to restrain himself to the utmost quietness and gentleness,to soothe the suffering of the sick child.

　　Through that night, Richard either tossed about on his narrow bed,or, when his restlessness desired the change, sat, leaning his achinghead on Osmond's breast, too oppressed and miserable to speak orthink. When the day dawned on them, and he was still too ill toleave the room, messengers were sent for him, and Osmond could nolonger conceal the fact of his sickness, but parleyed at the door,keeping out every one he could, and refusing all offers ofattendance. He would not even admit Carloman, though Richard,hearing his voice, begged to see him; and when a proposal was sentfrom the Queen, that a skilful old nurse should visit and prescribefor the patient, he refused with all his might, and when he had shutthe door, walked up and down, muttering, "Ay, ay, the witch! comingto finish what she has begun!"

　　All that day and the next, Richard continued very ill, and Osmondwaited on him very assiduously, never closing his eyes for a moment,but constantly telling his beads whenever the boy did not require hisattendance. At last Richard fell asleep, slept long and soundly forsome hours, and waked much better. Osmond was in a transport of joy:"Thanks to Heaven, they shall fail for this time and they shall neverhave another chance! May Heaven be with us still!" Richard was tooweak and weary to ask what he meant, and for the next few days Osmondwatched him with the utmost care. As for food, now that Richardcould eat again, Osmond would not hear of his touching what was sentfor him from the royal table, but always went down himself to procurefood in the kitchen, where he said he had a friend among the cooks,who would, he thought, scarcely poison him intentionally. WhenRichard was able to cross the room, he insisted on his alwaysfastening the door with his dagger, and never opening to any summonsbut his own, not even Prince Carloman's. Richard wondered, but hewas obliged to obey; and he knew enough of the perils around him toperceive the reasonableness of Osmond's caution.

　　Thus several days had passed, the King had returned, and Richard wasso much recovered, that he had become very anxious to be allowed togo down stairs again, instead of remaining shut up there; but stillOsmond would not consent, though Richard had done nothing all day butwalk round the room, to show how strong he was.

　　"Now, my Lord, guard the door--take care," said Osmond; "you have noloss to-day, for the King has brought home Herluin of Montreuil, whomyou would be almost as loth to meet as the Fleming. And tell yourbeads while I am gone, that the Saints may bring us out of ourperil."

　　Osmond was absent nearly half an hour, and, when he returned, broughton his shoulders a huge bundle of straw. "What is this for?"exclaimed Richard. "I wanted my supper, and you have brought straw!"

　　"Here is your supper," said Osmond, throwing down the straw, andproducing a bag with some bread and meat. "What should you say, myLord, if we should sup in Normandy to-morrow night?"

　　"In Normandy!" cried Richard, springing up and clapping his hands."In Normandy! Oh, Osmond, did you say in Normandy? Shall we, shallwe really? Oh, joy! joy! Is Count Bernard come? Will the King letus go?"

　　"Hush! hush, sir! It must be our own doing; it will all fail if youare not silent and prudent, and we shall be undone."

　　"I will do anything to get home again!"

　　"Eat first," said Osmond.

　　"But what are you going to do? I will not be as foolish as I waswhen you tried to get me safe out of Rollo's tower. But I shouldlike to wish Carloman farewell."

　　"That must not be," said Osmond; "we should not have time to escape,if they did not still believe you very ill in bed."

　　"I am sorry not to wish Carloman good-bye," repeated Richard; "but weshall see Fru Astrida again, and Sir Eric; and Alberic must comeback! Oh, do let us go! O Normandy, dear Normandy!"

　　Richard could hardly eat for excitement, while Osmond hastily madehis arrangements, girding on his sword, and giving Richard his daggerto put into his belt. He placed the remainder of the provisions inhis wallet, threw a thick purple cloth mantle over the Duke, and thendesired him to lie down on the straw which he had brought in. "Ishall hide you in it," he said, "and carry you through the hall, asif I was going to feed my horse."

　　"Oh, they will never guess!" cried Richard, laughing. "I will bequite still--I will make no noise--I will hold my breath."

　　"Yes, mind you do not move hand or foot, or rustle the straw. It isno play--it is life or death," said Osmond, as he disposed the strawround the little boy. "There, can you breathe?"

　　"Yes," said Richard's voice from the midst. "Am I quite hidden?"

　　"Entirely. Now, remember, whatever happens, do not move. May Heavenprotect us! Now, the Saints be with us!"

　　Richard, from the interior of the bundle heard Osmond set open thedoor; then he felt himself raised from the ground; Osmond wascarrying him along down the stairs, the ends of the straw crushingand sweeping against the wall. The only way to the outer door wasthrough the hall, and here was the danger. Richard heard voices,steps, loud singing and laughter, as if feasting was going on; thensome one said, "Tending your horse, Sieur de Centeville?"

　　"Yes," Osmond made answer. "You know, since we lost our grooms, thepoor black would come off badly, did I not attend to him."

　　Presently came Carloman's voice: "O Osmond de Centeville! is Richardbetter?"

　　"He is better, my Lord, I thank you, but hardly yet out of danger."

　　"Oh, I wish he was well! And when will you let me come to him,Osmond? Indeed, I would sit quiet, and not disturb him."

　　"It may not be yet, my Lord, though the Duke loves you well--he toldme so but now."

　　"Did he? Oh, tell him I love him very much--better than any onehere--and it is very dull without him. Tell him so, Osmond."

　　Richard could hardly help calling out to his dear little Carloman;but he remembered the peril of Osmond's eyes and the Queen's threat,and held his peace, with some vague notion that some day he wouldmake Carloman King of France. In the meantime, half stifled with thestraw, he felt himself carried on, down the steps, across the court;and then he knew, from the darkness and the changed sound of Osmond'stread, that they were in the stable. Osmond laid him carefully down,and whispered--"All right so far. You can breathe?"

　　"Not well. Can't you let me out?"

　　"Not yet--not for worlds. Now tell me if I put you face downwards,for I cannot see."

　　He laid the living heap of straw across the saddle, bound it on, thenled out the horse, gazing round cautiously as he did so; but thewhole of the people of the Castle were feasting, and there was no oneto watch the gates. Richard heard the hollow sound of the hoofs, asthe drawbridge was crossed, and knew that he was free; but stillOsmond held his arm over him, and would not let him move, for somedistance. Then, just as Richard felt as if he could endure thestifling of the straw, and his uncomfortable position, not a momentlonger, Osmond stopped the horse, took him down, laid him on thegrass, and released him. He gazed around; they were in a littlewood; evening twilight was just coming on, and the birds sangsweetly.

　　"Free! free!--this is freedom!" cried Richard, leaping up in thedelicious cool evening breeze; "the Queen and Lothaire, and that grimroom, all far behind."

　　"Not so far yet," said Osmond; "you must not call yourself safe tillthe Epte is between us and them. Into the saddle, my Lord; we mustride for our lives."

　　Osmond helped the Duke to mount, and sprang to the saddle behind him,set spurs to the horse, and rode on at a quick rate, though not atfull speed, as he wished to spare the horse. The twilight faded, thestars came out, and still he rode, his arm round the child, who, asnight advanced, grew weary, and often sunk into a sort of half doze,conscious all the time of the trot of the horse. But each step wastaking him further from Queen Gerberge, and nearer to Normandy; andwhat recked he of weariness? On--on; the stars grew pale again, andthe first pink light of dawn showed in the eastern sky; the sun rose,mounted higher and higher, and the day grew hotter; the horse wentmore slowly, stumbled, and though Osmond halted and loosed the girth,he only mended his pace for a little while.

　　Osmond looked grievously perplexed; but they had not gone muchfurther before a party of merchants came in sight, winding their waywith a long train of loaded mules, and stout men to guard them,across the plains, like an eastern caravan in the desert. They gazedin surprise at the tall young Norman holding the child upon the worn-out war-horse.

　　"Sir merchant," said Osmond to the first, "see you this steed?Better horse never was ridden; but he is sorely spent, and we mustmake speed. Let me barter him with you for yonder stout palfrey. Heis worth twice as much, but I cannot stop to chaffer--ay or no atonce."

　　The merchant, seeing the value of Osmond's gallant black, acceptedthe offer; and Osmond removing his saddle, and placing Richard on hisnew steed, again mounted, and on they went through the country whichOsmond's eye had marked with the sagacity men acquire by living inwild, unsettled places. The great marshes were now far lessdangerous than in the winter, and they safely crossed them. Therehad, as yet, been no pursuit, and Osmond's only fear was for hislittle charge, who, not having recovered his full strength since hisillness, began to suffer greatly from fatigue in the heat of thatbroiling summer day, and leant against Osmond patiently, but verywearily, without moving or looking up. He scarcely revived when thesun went down, and a cool breeze sprang up, which much refreshedOsmond himself; and still more did it refresh the Squire to see, atlength, winding through the green pastures, a blue river, on theopposite bank of which rose a high rocky mound, bearing a castle withmany a turret and battlement.

　　"The Epte! the Epte! There is Normandy, sir! Look up, and see yourown dukedom." "Normandy!" cried Richard, sitting upright. "Oh, myown home!" Still the Epte was wide and deep, and the peril was notyet ended. Osmond looked anxiously, and rejoiced to see marks ofcattle, as if it had been forded. "We must try it," he said, anddismounting, he waded in, leading the horse, and firmly holdingRichard in the saddle. Deep they went; the water rose to Richard'sfeet, then to the horse's neck; then the horse was swimming, andOsmond too, still keeping his firm hold; then there was ground again,the force of the current was less, and they were gaining the bank.At that instant, however, they perceived two men aiming at them withcross-bows from the castle, and another standing on the bank abovethem, who called out, "Hold! None pass the ford of Montemar withoutpermission of the noble Dame Yolande." "Ha! Bertrand, the Seneschal,is that you?" returned Osmond. "Who calls me by my name?" repliedthe Seneschal. "It is I, Osmond de Centeville. Open your gatesquickly, Sir Seneschal; for here is the Duke, sorely in need of restand refreshment."

　　"The Duke!" exclaimed Bertrand, hurrying down to the landing-place,and throwing off his cap. "The Duke! the Duke!" rang out the shoutfrom the men-at-arms on the battlements above and in an instant moreOsmond had led the horse up from the water, and was exclaiming, "Lookup, my Lord, look up! You are in your own dukedom again, and this isAlberic's castle."

　　"Welcome, indeed, most noble Lord Duke! Blessings on the day!" criedthe Seneschal. "What joy for my Lady and my young Lord!"

　　"He is sorely weary," said Osmond, looking anxiously at Richard, who,even at the welcome cries that showed so plainly that he was in hisown Normandy, scarcely raised himself or spoke. "He had been verysick ere I brought him away. I doubt me they sought to poison him,and I vowed not to tarry at Laon another hour after he was fit tomove. But cheer up, my Lord; you are safe and free now, and here isthe good Dame de Montemar to tend you, far better than a rude Squirelike me."

　　"Alas, no!" said the Seneschal; "our Dame is gone with young Albericon a pilgrimage to Jumieges to pray for the Duke's safety. What joyfor them to know that their prayers have been granted!"

　　Osmond, however, could scarcely rejoice, so alarmed was he at theextreme weariness and exhaustion of his charge, who, when theybrought him into the Castle hall, hardly spoke or looked, and couldnot eat. They carried him up to Alberic's bed, where he tossed aboutrestlessly, too tired to sleep.

　　"Alas! alas!" said Osmond, "I have been too hasty. I have but savedhim from the Franks to be his death by my own imprudence."

　　"Hush! Sieur de Centeville," said the Seneschal's wife, coming intothe room. "To talk in that manner is the way to be his death,indeed. Leave the child to me--he is only over-weary."

　　Osmond was sure his Duke was among friends, and would have been gladto trust him to a woman; but Richard had but one instinct left in allhis weakness and exhaustion--to cling close to Osmond, as if he felthim his only friend and protector; for he was, as yet, too much wornout to understand that he was in Normandy and safe. For two or threehours, therefore, Osmond and the Seneschal's wife watched on eachside of his bed, soothing his restlessness, until at length he becamequiet, and at last dropped sound asleep.

　　The sun was high in the heavens when Richard awoke. He turned on hisstraw-filled crib, and looked up. It was not the tapestried walls ofhis chamber at Laon that met his opening eyes, but the rugged stoneand tall loop-hole window of a turret chamber. Osmond de Centevillelay on the floor by his side, in the sound sleep of one overcome bylong watching and weariness. And what more did Richard see?

　　It was the bright face and sparkling eyes of Alberic de Montemar, whowas leaning against the foot of his bed, gazing earnestly, as hewatched for his waking. There was a cry--"Alberic! Alberic!" "MyLord! my Lord!" Richard sat up and held out both arms, and Albericflung himself into them. They hugged each other, and uttered brokenexclamations and screams of joy, enough to have awakened any sleeperbut one so wearied out as Osmond.

　　"And is it true? Oh, am I really in Normandy again?" cried Richard.

　　"Yes, yes!--oh, yes, my Lord! You are at Montemar. Everything hereis yours. The bar-tailed hawk is quite well, and my mother will behere this evening; she let me ride on the instant we heard the news."

　　"We rode long and late, and I was very weary," said Richard! "but Idon't care, now we are at home. But I can hardly believe it! Oh,Alberic, it has been very dreary!"

　　"See here, my Lord!" said Alberic, standing by the window. "Lookhere, and you will know you are at home again!"

　　Richard bounded to the window, and what a sight met his eyes! TheCastle court was thronged with men-at-arms and horses, the morningsun sparkling on many a burnished hauberk and tall conical helmet,and above them waved many a banner and pennon that Richard knew fullwell. "There! there!" he shouted aloud with glee. "Oh, there is thehorse-shoe of Ferrieres! and there the chequers of Warenne! Oh, andbest of all, there is--there is our own red pennon of Centeville! OAlberic! Alberic! is Sir Eric here? I must go down to him!"

　　"Bertrand sent out notice to them all, as soon as you came, to comeand guard our Castle," said Alberic, "lest the Franks should pursueyou; but you are safe now--safe as Norman spears can make you--thanksbe to God!"

　　"Yes, thanks to God!" said Richard, crossing himself and kneelingreverently for some minutes, while he repeated his Latin prayer;then, rising and looking at Alberic, he said, "I must thank Him,indeed, for he has saved Osmond and me from the cruel King and Queen,and I must try to be a less hasty and overbearing boy than I was whenI went away; for I vowed that so I would be, if ever I came back.Poor Osmond, how soundly he sleeps! Come, Alberic, show me the way toSir Eric!"

　　And, holding Alberic's hand, Richard left the room, and descended thestairs to the Castle hall. Many of the Norman knights and barons, infull armour, were gathered there; but Richard looked only for one.He knew Sir Eric's grizzled hair, and blue inlaid armour, though hisback was towards him, and in a moment, before his entrance had beenperceived, he sprang towards him, and, with outstretched arms,exclaimed: "Sir Eric--dear Sir Eric, here I am! Osmond is safe! Andis Fru Astrida well?"

　　The old Baron turned. "My child!" he exclaimed, and clasped him inhis mailed arms, while the tears flowed down his rugged cheeks."Blessed be God that you are safe, and that my son has done hisduty!"

　　"And is Fru Astrida well?"

　　"Yes, right well, since she heard of your safety. But look round, myLord; it befits not a Duke to be clinging thus round an old man'sneck. See how many of your true vassals be here, to guard you fromthe villain Franks."

　　Richard stood up, and held out his hand, bowing courteously andacknowledging the greetings of each bold baron, with a grace andreadiness he certainly had not when he left Normandy. He was tallertoo; and though still pale, and not dressed with much care (since hehad hurried on his clothes with no help but Alberic's)--though hishair was rough and disordered, and the scar of the burn had not yetfaded from his check--yet still, with his bright blue eyes, gladface, and upright form, he was a princely, promising boy, and theNorman knights looked at him with pride and joy, more especiallywhen, unprompted, he said: "I thank you, gallant knights, for comingto guard me. I do not fear the whole French host now I am among myown true Normans."

　　Sir Eric led him to the door of the hall to the top of the steps,that the men-at-arms might see him; and then such a shout rang out of"Long live Duke Richard!"--"Blessings on the little Duke!"--that itechoed and came back again from the hills around--it pealed from theold tower--it roused Osmond from his sleep--and, if anything more hadbeen wanting to do so, it made Richard feel that he was indeed in aland where every heart glowed with loyal love for him.

　　Before the shout had died away, a bugle-horn was heard winding beforethe gate; and Sir Eric, saying, "It is the Count of Harcourt's note,"sent Bertrand to open the gates in haste, while Alberic followed, asLord of the Castle, to receive the Count.

　　The old Count rode into the court, and to the foot of the steps,where he dismounted, Alberic holding his stirrup. He had not takenmany steps upwards before Richard came voluntarily to meet him (whichhe had never done before), held out his hand, and said, "Welcome,Count Bernard, welcome. Thank you for coming to guard me. I am veryglad to see you once more."

　　"Ah, my young Lord," said Bernard, "I am right glad to see you out ofthe clutches of the Franks! You know friend from foe now, methinks!"

　　"Yes, indeed I do, Count Bernard. I know you meant kindly by me, andthat I ought to have thanked you, and not been angry, when youreproved me. Wait one moment, Sir Count; there is one thing that Ipromised myself to say if ever I came safe to my own dear home.Walter--Maurice--Jeannot--all you of my household, and of Sir Eric's--I know, before I went away, I was often no good Lord to you; I waspassionate, and proud, and overbearing; but God has punished me forit, when I was far away among my enemies, and sick and lonely. I amvery sorry for it, and I hope you will pardon me; for I will strive,and I hope God will help me, never to be proud and passionate again."

　　"There, Sir Eric," said Bernard, "you hear what the boy says. If hespeaks it out so bold and free, without bidding, and if he holds towhat he says, I doubt it not that he shall not grieve for his journeyto France, and that we shall see him, in all things, such a Prince ashis father of blessed memory."

　　"You must thank Osmond for me," said Richard, as Osmond came down,awakened at length. "It is Osmond who has helped me to bear mytroubles; and as to saving me, why he flew away with me even like anold eagle with its eaglet. I say, Osmond, you must ever after thiswear a pair of wings on shield and pennon, to show how well wemanaged our flight." {15}

　　"As you will, my Lord," said Osmond, half asleep; "but 'twas a goodlong flight at a stretch, and I trust never to have to fly beforeyour foes or mine again."

　　What a glad summer's day was that! Even the three hours spent incouncil did but renew the relish with which Richard visited Alberic'streasures, told his adventures, and showed the accomplishments he hadlearnt at Laon. The evening was more joyous still; for the Castlegates were opened, first to receive Dame Yolande Montemar, and notabove a quarter of an hour afterwards, the drawbridge was lowered toadmit the followers of Centeville; and in front of them appeared FruAstrida's own high cap. Richard made but one bound into her arms,and was clasped to her breast; then held off at arm's-length, thatshe might see how much he was grown, and pity his scar; then huggedcloser than ever: but, taking another look, she declared that Osmondleft his hair like King Harald Horrid-locks; {16} and, drawing anivory comb from her pouch, began to pull out the thick tangles,hurting him to a degree that would once have made him rebel, but nowhe only fondled her the more.

　　As to Osmond, when he knelt before her, she blessed him, and sobbedover him, and blamed him for over-tiring her darling, all in one; andassuredly, when night closed in and Richard had, as of old, told hisbeads beside her knee, the happiest boy in Normandy was its littleDuke.