"He said that Richard, by his conduct, deserved only the death of a traitor, but--"

John's brow darkened as he seized Ralph's arm, and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "But what? did he yield? Speak!"

"But for the sake of peace he would receive him back to the heart which he by his disobedience had wellnigh broken, and make him heir to his crown."

"He said so, did he?" almost shouted the prince, his face livid with fury.

"I am told so by one who knows," replied the other.

"And did he say more?"

"He blessed heaven before them all that he had one son left him who was true to him, and in whose love he might end the shattered remnant of his life."

Loud and cruelly laughed Prince John at those words, till the woods echoed again. "Is it thus you comfort yourself, my father?" he exclaimed. "Ralph," added he, in tones thick with pa.s.sion, "all my life till now I served my father, and never failed in my duty to him. Henry, my brother, rebelled, and died in his rebellion while I was a child.

Geoffrey rebelled too, and is dead. Richard for years has been in arms against his parent. I, of all his sons, have never lifted hand against him. Had not I a right to look for my reward? Had not I a right to count upon the crown which my brothers' disobedience had forfeited? Had not--"

He stopped, unable from the vehemence of his pa.s.sion to proceed, and Ralph Leroche answered calmly: "Obedience is its own reward, and worth more than a kingdom. It is not obedience that calculates on profit.

But you know not, prince, what your father may yet have in store for you."

"Speak not to me of my father," exclaimed John; "I hate him!"

"Heaven forgive you that word!" replied the fearless knight. "Be advised, I entreat; and repent--"

"Dotard!" exclaimed the prince, as in blind rage he struck him in the mouth with his clenched fist. "Keep thy advice for dogs, and not for princes!"

How the scene would have ended, one cannot say. At that moment a flourish of trumpets raised the echoes of the wood, and a gay procession pa.s.sed down the forest road towards Tours.

Alas, for Prince John! He recognised in the two men who rode at its head, Philip of France, his father's enemy, and Richard, his own rebel elder brother. Goaded by pa.s.sion, burning with resentment towards his father for the supposed injustice he had suffered, he rushed recklessly into the arms of this sudden temptation. Striding through the thickets, and heedless of the warnings of the loyal Ralph, he emerged on to the road in front of the cavalcade.

The leaders halted their horses in sudden surprise.

"What brave lad have we here?" asked Philip, perplexed.

John stepped forward, and answered for himself.

"I am John Plantagenet, once son of the King of England, but now va.s.sal to the King of France!"

Great was the astonishment on every face, and on none more than on those of Philip and Richard.

The latter flushed, half in anger, half in shame, as he exclaimed, "Boy, thou art mad!"

"Nay," said Philip, "the lad is a lad of sense, and bears a worthy name that will serve our cause exceedingly."

So saying, he summoned one of his knights, and bidding him dismount, gave the young prince his horse, and made him ride beside him.

"But tell us, lad," he said, when they had proceeded a little way, "how is it thy father's dutiful and cherished son (for so I have heard him speak of thee) comes thus among the ranks of his foemen, and that at a time like this, when peace has been almost completed?"

"Ask me no questions," replied the prince, gloomily; "I am here because I choose."

And so they rode into Tours.

A few days later, a silent group was standing round the sickbed of the King of England, listening to the broken utterances which fell from the lips of that old and wellnigh worn-out warrior. Those who thus stood round him were his favourite knights and barons, not a few of whom were moved to tears as he spoke.

"I have sinned, and I have had my punishment. My kingdom is gone, and my glory. Henceforward Henry Plantagenet will be the name but of a vanquished and feeble old man. The one whom I loved, and would have forgiven as many times as they had asked forgiveness, have all, save one, left me and turned against me. I am like a man, wrecked and tempest-tossed, clinging for hope to a single spar. Yet I bless Heaven for that. Ruin I can submit to, dishonour I can survive, defeat I can endure, while yet there is one child left to me of whom it can be said, `He loved his father to the end.' And such a son is John. I charge you all, honour him as you honour me, for though I have sworn to yield the crown of England to his brother, Normandy, and all I possess besides, belongs to _him_. But where is he? Why tarries he? A week has pa.s.sed since he was here. Where stays he?"

Before any of the attendants could reply, a knocking was heard without, and entrance demanded for the messengers of Philip of France. "We are come," said they, "from our sovereign with the articles of treaty between yourself and him, arranged at your late conference, and which now await your ratification."

Henry motioned to them to proceed to business; and as each article was read--declaring his allegiance to the crown of France and his cession of his own crown to Richard--he inclined his head mechanically in token of his a.s.sent, manifesting little or no interest in the proceeding. But his attention became more fixed when the article was read which provided for the free pardon of all who had in any way, secretly or openly, been engaged in the cause of his rebel son.

He turned in his bed towards the reader, and said: "A king must know the names of his enemies before he can pardon them. Read me, therefore, the list of those who have rebelled, that I may forgive them each and all, beginning with the n.o.blest, down to the meanest."

He lay back on his bed, and half closed his eyes as he listened.

The messenger of Philip then said, "The first and foremost of your majesty's enemies is John Plantagenet, your youngest son."

He sprang with a sudden cry of pain into a sitting posture, and trembling in every fibre, and with a voice half choked, cried, "Who says that?" Then glaring wildly at the envoy, he whispered, "Read it again!"

"The first and foremost of your majesty's enemies is John Plantagenet, your youngest son."

"Can it be true?" gasped the poor father, in helpless despair. "Has he also deserted me? Then let everything go as it will; I care no more for myself, nor for the world."

So saying, with his heart broken, he sank back upon the bed, from which he never rose again.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

ARTHUR OF BRITTANY, THE BOY WHO SHOULD HAVE BEEN KING OF ENGLAND.

The fierce storm beats down on the gloomy Norman Castle of Falaise, in a deep dungeon of which lies imprisoned the boy Prince Arthur, lawful heir to the crown of England, but now, alas! a helpless victim of the cruelty and injustice of his bad uncle, John Plantagenet, the usurper of his throne. The thunder peals so loudly, and the wind rages so angrily, that Hubert de Burgh, the warden, does not for a long time distinguish the sound of a knocking and shouting at the outer gate of the castle.

Presently, however, in a lull of the wind, his ears catch the noisy summons, and he instantly gives orders to his men to let down the drawbridge, and admit the new-comers. These were three in number: one attired as a king's messenger, and mounted on a richly caparisoned horse; the other two in the garb of common men, and on foot. When they had come into the presence of the warden, the king's messenger said--

"I am charged by His Majesty King John of England to deliver to you this letter, and require your faithful discharge of its commands."

So saying, he handed to Hubert de Burgh a sealed letter, which the latter eagerly broke open and read. As he read, his face clouded. It was a long letter, and couched in vague terms, but its substance was this. That whereas the peace of England and of King John's possessions in France was constantly being disturbed by the partisans of the young Prince Arthur, desiring to see him king instead of his uncle, and taking up arms to enforce their claim, it was necessary, in order to put an end to this rebellion, that the young prince should be rendered unfit for governing; and as no people would be likely to choose a blind boy for their king, Hubert de Burgh was instructed to have Arthur's eyes put out; and the two men who had arrived with the king's messenger were come, so the letter said, to carry out this design.

Hubert de Burgh said nothing as he put by the letter, and dismissed his three visitors from his presence. Cruel man as he had been, his heart had still some pity left, and he shrank from obeying his master by so brutal an act of cruelty upon the innocent boy in his charge.

However, the order of the king was peremptory; and if the deed must be done, thought he, the sooner the better.

So he ordered the two villains to get ready their instruments, and follow him to the dungeon.

"Stay here," said he, as they reached the young prince's door, "while I enter alone and prepare him for his fate."

So those two set down their fire and the red-hot irons, and waited outside for their summons.

When Hubert entered the dungeon, the poor boy was just waking from a sleep. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, being dazzled by the light which Hubert carried in his hand.

"You are welcome," said he (for Arthur, with so few to love him, loved even his surly, though not unkind, jailor). "I have been in my dreams away in merry England, where I thought I was living in a beautiful palace, with food and servants, and rich clothing, and that there was a crown on my head. And so it shall be some day, Hubert, when I get my rights; and then because you have not been as unkind to me as some in my adversity, you shall be a great and rich man. But why look you so solemn? What ails you?"