"Poor fellow! And what became of him?" asked Richard of Woodville; "I have known some of his family in England."

"Oh, he is in a shop at the corner of the market, close to the castle gate," replied the Prince, "and drives a thriving trade; so that he has gained by the exchange--I hope, both in pocket and in prudence. I have not heard any charge against him lately; and I do believe it was but a silly jest, which none but an Englishman would have ventured."

Richard of Woodville smiled, but made no reply; and in a few minutes after, they reached the gates of the palace, from which he followed the Count of Charolois straight to the presence of Margaret of Bavaria, d.u.c.h.ess of Burgundy, whom they found in an inner chamber, surrounded by a small party of young dames and elderly knights, devising, as the term was in those days, upon some motto which had been laid before them.

Amongst faint traces of what had once been great beauty, the countenance of the Princess displayed deep lines of thought and anxiety. She smiled kindly upon the young stranger, and seemed to him to examine his face with more attention than was ordinary, or, perhaps, altogether pleasant. She made no remark, however, but spoke of the Court of England with better information than her son had displayed, and, somewhat to the surprise of the young Englishman, evinced some knowledge of his own family and history; for, although the Court of Burgundy at this time held the place which that of the Count of Foix had formerly filled, and was the centre of all the news, and, we may say, of all the gossip in Europe--though its heralds and its minstrels made it their business, day and night, to collect all the tales, anecdotes, and rumours of every eminent person throughout the chivalrous world, Richard of Woodville was not aware of ever having done anything to merit such sort of notice.

The conversation was soon turned to other subjects, and the d.u.c.h.ess was in the act of giving her son an account, in a jesting tone, of some visits which she had made that morning to several of the religious inst.i.tutions of the town, when a page entered hastily, bearing a packet in his hand. Approaching direct to the Count of Charolois, he presented it on his knee, saying, "From my lord the Duke. The messenger sought you at the castle, sir, in haste, and then came hither."

The Prince took it with an eager and anxious look, tore off the silk and seal without stopping to cut the cord that bound it, and then read the contents, with a countenance which expressed rather preconceived apprehension, perhaps, than emotion caused by the intelligence which the despatch contained. The d.u.c.h.ess of Burgundy remained seated, but gazed upon her son's face with a look more sad than alarmed; and it seemed to Richard of Woodville that, internally, she was meditating on the future course of that fair and n.o.ble youth, amidst all the many perils, cares, and griefs, which surrounded, in those days, the paths of princes, rather than even on the present dangers which might affect her husband.

There is a tender timidity in the love of woman for her offspring, which is generated by none of the other relations of life. The husband, or the brother, or the father, is her stay and support--he is there to protect and to defend; and though she may tremble at his danger, or weep for his misfortune, there may be, and often is, some shade of selfish feeling in the dread and in the sorrow. Such is not the case with the child: it is for him she fears, not for herself,--for him entirely, with emotions unmixed, with devotion unalloyed. To save any other dear one, she might readily sacrifice life--from duty, from enthusiasm, from love. But it would still be a sacrifice, in any other case than that of her child: to save him, it would be an impulse.

The d.u.c.h.ess gazed upon the young Count's face then with calm but sad consideration; and perhaps her own memories supplied somewhat too abundantly the materials for fancy to raise up, without aid, a sad model of the future. She knew that honour, or goodness, or even courage, cannot bring security; that innocence cannot escape malice; that virtue cannot insure peace; that wealth, and power, and a high name, are but as b.u.t.ts whereon to hang the targets at which the arrows of the world are aimed; and she feared for her son, seeing, with prophetic eye, the life of turmoil and contention and peril that lay before him.

As soon as he had read the letter, the Count suffered his hand to drop by his side, and gazed upward for a moment or two in thought;--then, turning gracefully to his mother, he took her hand with a smile, from which was banished every trace or indication of the thoughts that he did not choose to communicate to those around, and saying, "Dear lady mother, we must take counsel," he led her away through a door which those who were acquainted with the palace knew must conduct them to the private cabinet of the d.u.c.h.ess.

The party which remained behind was soon separated into different groups, some of the young n.o.bles who had accompanied the Count taking advantage of the absence of the persons to whom they owed most reverence, for the purpose of saying sweet, whispered things to the fair dames of the Court; some gathering together to inquire of each other, and conjecture amongst themselves, what might be the nature of the tidings received; and two or three others, of either kinder or more pliant dispositions than the rest, seizing the opportunity of cultivating the friendship of the young Englishman. No great time was spent on these occupations, however; for before the d.u.c.h.ess and her son had been gone more than five minutes, the Count returned, and, looking round the circle, said, "Bad tidings scatter good company, my lords. I must ride this very night towards Lille. We will not strip our mother's court here of all her gallant knights and gentlemen, especially in this wise but somewhat turbulent city of Ghent. You, therefore, my lords of Croy, Joigny, St. George, Thyan, and Vergier, with what men are most ready of your trains, I beseech you to give me your fair company ere four of the clock; and you, Master Richard of Woodville, my good friend, if you be so minded, hasten your preparation, and join me at the castle by that hour. You may have occasion," he continued, in a low tone, taking the young Englishman by the arm, "to win the golden spurs, of which we have heard you were disappointed, by no fault of your own, at the battle of Bramham Moor. We shall be back in Ghent before the week be out--so you can leave your baggage here, if you so please. Away then, n.o.ble lords!--away!--for we have a long march before us, and, perhaps, a busy day to-morrow."

All was in a moment the bustle and confusion of departure. The young Count turned and went back to the cabinet of his mother, as soon as he had spoken; the ladies of the d.u.c.h.ess rose; and, though some of them paused for an instant, to speak a word in private to those who were about to leave them, retired one by one. The old knights, and those who were to remain in Ghent, walked out to see their friends and comrades mount; and in less than five minutes the hall was cleared, and the court-yard nearly vacant.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE DEPARTURE.

"We must to horse without delay, Ned," said Richard of Woodville, as he entered the inn.

"Why, you have been to horse already, master of mine," replied Ned Dyram, in a somewhat sullen tone.

"And must mount again, ere two hours be over," rejoined Woodville; "but where and how can I leave the baggage?"

"Ay, who can tell that?" said the other. "See what it is to march loaded like a carrier's pack-horse, with more things than you can carry!--You are coming back soon, then, to Ghent?"

"Ere the week be out," answered his lord; "so the Count tells me."

"Pray, sir, never mind what Counts tell you," exclaimed Ned Dyram.

"Mind what your own senses tell you. If you know where you are going, you can judge as well as a King when you may be back."

"But that I do not know," replied Woodville, somewhat impatiently. "No more words, Master Dyram; but gather everything together into one chamber, and I will speak to the host as to its security."

"Little security for a traveller's baggage in a foreign hotel,"

rejoined Ned Dyram, "unless some one stays to take charge of it."

"Then, by my honour, you shall be the man to do so," cried his master, thinking by leaving him behind when activity and enterprise were before him, to punish him sufficiently for his saucy tone.

But Ned Dyram seemed not at all disappointed, and replied with an indifferent air, "I am very willing to stay. I am one who does not love journeys I know not whither, and expeditions I know not for what."

"Well, then, you remain," answered his master. "Gather the things together, as I have said, and you shall be left like a trader's drudge, to look after the goods. Where is Ella Brune?"

"In her own chamber, I fancy," replied Ned Dyram. "She has shut herself up there, ever since you were gone, like a nun."

"Call her down hither to the eating-room," was his lord's reply; and Ned Dyram hastened away.

The fair girl did not make her young protector wait long; and ere he had finished his directions to his train, to prepare all things for immediate departure, she was by his side. Taking her hand kindly, he led her into the common hall of the inn, and told her what he had discovered regarding her kinsman, adding, that as he was about to set out in a few hours with the young Count de Charolois, he would at once accompany her to the house of Nicholas Brune, in order to ascertain if she could have shelter and protection there.

"I know not, my poor Ella," he said, "whether that dwelling may be one where you can safely and happily stop long; for this good man has been somewhat rash in his words, and is under suspicion of leaning to those heretical notions that are so rife; but I shall be back in a week, or less; and then you can tell me all that you think of the matter. You would not wish, I know, to remain with people who would seek to pervert you from the true Catholic faith."

"And you are sure to return in a week?" asked the poor girl, her cheek, which had turned somewhat pale before, resuming its warm hue.

"So the Count a.s.sures me," answered Woodville; "and I doubt it not, Ella; but, at all events, I will care for you, be a.s.sured, poor thing."

"You tell me to put all the baggage in one room," said Ned Dyram, thrusting in his head; "and the men tell me that they are to have each his harness, and you yours. Two contrary orders, master of mine! Which is to be obeyed?"

"Your wit is strangely halting just now, Ned," answered his master.

"Put all, but what I have ordered to be taken, into the room, and see that it be arranged rightly, and quickly too. Now, Ella, cast something over your head, and come with me to your kinsman's shop.

What wait you for, sir?"

"To know which suit you are pleased to have," replied Ned Dyram; while Ella pa.s.sed him to seek the wimple which she had cast off in the house.

"I have given orders on that score to others," answered his master; and as the man retired, he murmured to himself, "I shall have to send that fellow back to the King. He does not please me."

With a rapid step Richard of Woodville led the way, as soon as Ella joined him, to the wide open s.p.a.ce which then, as since, was used as a market, before the old castle of the Counts of Flanders; and, as none of the shops or stalls bore their masters' names inscribed, he entered the first they came to, and inquired which was the house of Nicholas Brune?

"His house," replied the man to whom he had addressed himself in French, "is at the other end of the town; but his shop is yonder," and he pointed with his hand from the door to one of the projecting cases, covered with a network of iron wire, under which the goldsmiths of Ghent at that period exposed some of their larger goods for sale. "The last stall but one," added the trader; and Woodville and his fair companion sped on towards the spot.

At the unglazed window, behind this booth, stood a man of middle age, grey headed, but with a fresh and cheerful countenance, who, as soon as he saw the two approach, demanded, in the common terms of the day, what they sought in his trade. The next instant, however, his eye rested upon Ella's face, which wore a faint smile, and he exclaimed in his native tongue,--"Mesaunter! if there be not my cousin Ella! How art thou, la.s.s? Welcome to Ghent! What news of the good old man? My dame will be right glad to see you both again."

"She will never see him more," replied Ella Brune, in a sad tone; "but of that I will tell you hereafter, kinsman; for I must not stay this n.o.ble gentleman, who has befriended me on the way. What I seek to know is, if you can give me shelter at your dwelling for a week, till I can look around me? I will pay for my abiding, Nicholas," she added, perhaps knowing that her cousin, dealing in gold, had somewhat too great a fondness for the pure metal.

But Nicholas Brune was in a generous mood; and he replied, "Shelter shalt thou have, fair Ella, and meat and drink, with right good will, for a week and a day, without cost or payment. If thou stayest with us longer, which G.o.d send, we will talk about purveyance. In the meantime I will thank this gentleman for his goodness to you. Why, by my tongs, I think I saw him riding this morning with my n.o.ble lord, the Count."

"You did, most likely," replied Richard of Woodville, "for we pa.s.sed by your door: but I have farther to ride to-night, Master Nicholas; and now, having seen this fair maiden safe under your protection, I will leave her there. But you had better send up some of your lads with speed to my hostel for the coffer that we brought, as, perchance, Ned Dyram would not let you have it, Ella, when I am gone."

Ella Brune smiled, with an effort to keep up the light cheerfulness which she had lately a.s.sumed, and replied, "I think, n.o.ble sir, that Master Dyram is not a carl to refuse me aught I ask him; but yet if my kinsman can spare a boy, he had better go at once."

"I will soon find one," answered the stout goldsmith; and, turning to a furnace-room, which lay behind his shop, he called one of his men forth, and bade him follow the gentleman back.

The parting then came between Ella Brune and Richard of Woodville; and bitter was the moment to the poor minstrel girl. She had learned a world of new sensations since she first saw him;--that clinging attachment, which made her long never to be absent from his side for a whole day; that tender regard which made her dread to see him depart, lest evil should befal him by the way; that love which is full of fears for the beloved that we never feel for ourselves. But no one could have told that there were any emotions in her bosom but respect and grat.i.tude, unless the transitory look of deep grief that crossed her face, as she bent down her head to kiss the hand he gave her, could have been seen. It was gone as soon as she raised her eyes again; and her countenance was bright and cheerful, when he said--

"Again my will although I wende, I may not alway dwellen here, For everything shall have an ende, And frendes are not ay ifere:"

and, skilled in all the lore of old ballads, almost as much as himself, she answered at once, from that beautiful song of the days of the Black Prince--