Two Penniless Princesses

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Two Penniless Princesses

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And he had nearly precipitated himself into the hands of the
sturdy rustics, who shouted with exultation, but with two
strides Geordie caught him up. 'Peace, Ringan! They shall no
more hang thee than me,' and he stood with one hand on Ringan's
shoulder and his sword in the other, looking defiant.

'If he be a young gentleman masking, I am not bound to know it,'
said Suffolk impatiently to Drummond; 'but if he will give up
that rascal, and make compensation, I will overlook it.'

'Who touches my fellow does so at his peril,' shouted George,
menacing with his sword.

'Peace, young man!' said Sir Patrick. 'Look here, my Lord of
Suffolk, we Scots are none of your men. We need no favour of
you English with our allies. There be enough of us to make our
way through these peasants to the French border, so unless you
let us settle the matter with a few crowns to these rascallions,
we part company.'

'The ladies were entrusted to my charge,' began Lord Suffolk.

At that instant, however, both Jean and Eleanor came on the
scene, riding fast, having in truth been summoned by Malcolm,
who shrewdly suspected that thus an outbreak might be best
averted.

It was Eleanor who spoke first. In spite of all her shyness,
when her blood was up, she was all the princess.

What is this, my Lord of Suffolk?' she said. 'If one of our
following have transgressed, it is the part of ourselves and of
Sir Patrick Drummond to see to it, as representing the King my
brother.'

'Lady,' replied Suffolk, bowing low and doffing his cap, 'yonder
ill-nurtured knave hath been robbing the country-folk, and the--
the man-at-arms there not only refuses to give him up to
justice, but has hurt, well-nigh slain, some of them in
violently taking him from them. They ride in my train and I am
responsible.'

Jean broke in: 'He only served the cowardly loons right. A
whole crowd of the rogues to hang one poor laddie for one goose!
Shame on a gentleman for hearkening to the foul-mouthed villains
one moment. Come here, Ringan. King Jamie's sister will never
see them harm thee.'

Perhaps Suffolk was not sorry to see a way out of the perplexity.
'Far be it from a knight to refuse a boon to a fair lady in her
selle, farther still to _two_ royal damsels. The lives are
granted, so satisfaction in coin be made to yon clamorous
hinds.'

'I do not call it a boon but a right, said Eleanor gravely;
'nevertheless I thank you, my Lord Marquis.'

George would have thrown himself at their feet, but Jean coldly
said, 'Spare thanks, sir. It was for my brother's right,' and
she turned her horse away, and rode off at speed, while Eleanor
could not help pausing to say, 'She is more blithe than she
lists to own! Sir Patrick, what the fellows claim must come
from my uncle's travelling purse.'

George's face was red. This was very bitter to him, but he
could only say, 'It shall be repaid so soon as I have the
power.'

The peasants meanwhile were trying to make the best bargain they
could by representing that they were tenants of an abbey, so that
the death of the gander was sacrilegious on that account as well
as because it was in Lent. To this, however, Sir Patrick turned
a deaf ear: he threw them a couple of gold pieces, with which,
as he told them, they were much better off than with either the
live goose or the dead Ringan.

Suffolk had halted for the mid-day rest and was waiting for him
till this matter was disposed of. 'Sir Patrick Drummond,' he
said with some ceremony, 'this company of yours may be Scottish
subjects, but while they are riding with me I am answerable for
them. It may be the wont in Scotland, but it is not with us
English, to let unnamed adventurers ride under our banner.'

'The young man is not unnamed,' said Sir Patrick, on his mettle.

'You know him?'

'I'll no say, but I have an inkling. My son David kenn'd him
and answered for him when he joined himself to my following; nor
has he hitherto done aught to discredit himself.'

'What is his name, or the name he goes by?'

'George Douglas.'

'H'm! Your Scottish names may belong to any one, from your
earls down to your herdboys; and they, forsooth, are as like as
not to call themselves gentlemen.'

'And wherefore not, if theirs is gentle blood?' said Sir
Patrick.

'Nay, now, Sir Patrick, stand not on your Scotch pride.
Gentlemen all, if you will, but you gave me to understand that
this was none of your barefoot gentlemen, and I ask if you can
tell who he truly is?'

'I have never been told, my Lord, and I had rather you put the
question to himself than to me.'

'Call him then, an' so please you.'

Sir Patrick saw no alternative save compliance; and he found
Ringan undergoing a severe rating, not unaccompanied by blows
from the wood of his master's lance. The perfect willingness to
die for one another was a mere natural incident, but the having
transgressed, and caused such a serious scrape, made George very
indignant and inflict condign punishment. 'Better fed than he
had ever been in his life, the rogue' (and he looked it, though
he muttered, 'A bannock and a sup of barley brose were worth the
haill of their greasy beeves!'). 'Better fed than ever before.
Couldn't the daft loon keep the hands of him off poor folks' bit
goose? In Lent, too!' (by far the gravest part of the offence).

George did, however, transfer Ringan's explanation to Sir
Patrick, and make some apology. A nest of goose eggs apparently
unowned had been too much for him, incited further by a couple
of English horseboys, who were willing to share goose eggs for
supper, and let the Scotsman bear the wyte of it. The goose had
been nearer than expected, and summoned her kin; the gander had
shown fight; the geese had gabbled, the gooseherd and his kind
came to the rescue, the horseboys had made off; Ringan, impeded
by his struggle with the ferocious gander, was caught; and
Geordie had come up just in time to see him pricked with goads
and axes to a tree, where a halter was making ready for him.
Of course, without asking questions, George hurried to save him,
pushing his horse among the angry crew, and striking right and
left, and equally of course the other Scots came to his
assistance.

Sir Patrick agreed that he could not have done otherwise, though
better things might have been hoped of Ringan by this time.

'But,' said he, 'there's not an end yet of the coil. Here has
my Lord of Suffolk been speiring after your name and quality,
till I told him he must ask at you and not at me.'

'Tell'd you the dour meddling Englishman my name?' asked George.

'I told him only what ye told me yerself. In that there was no
lie. But bethink you, royal maidens dinna come to speak for
lads without a cause.'

George's colour mounted high in his sunburnt, freckled cheek.

'Kens--ken they, trow ye, Sir Pate?'

'Cannie folk, even lassies, can ken mair than they always tell,'
said the knight of Glenuskie. 'Yonder is my Lord Marquis, as
they ca' him; so bethink you weel how you comport yerself with
him, and my counsel is to tell him the full truth. He is a dour
man towards underlings, whom he views as made not of the same
flesh and blood with himself, but he is the very pink of
courtesy to men of his own degree.'

'Set him up,' quoth the heir of the Douglas, with a snort. 'His
own degree, indeed! scarce even a knight's son!'

'What he deems his own degree, then,' corrected Sir Patrick;
'but he holds himself full of chivalry to them, and loves a
spice of the errant knight; ye may trust his honour. And mind
ye,' he added, laughing, 'I've never been told your name and
quality.'

Which the Master of Angus returned with an equally canny laugh.
The young man, as he approached the Marquis, drew his head up,
straightened his tall form, brushed off the dust that obscured
the bloody heart on his breast, and altogether advanced with a
step and bearing far more like the great Earl's son than the
man-at-arms of the Glenuskie following; his eyes bespoke
equality or more as they met those of William de la Pole, and
yet there was that in the glance which forbade the idea of
insolence, so that Suffolk, instead of remaining seated rose to
meet him and took him aside, standing as they talked.

'Sir Squire,' he said, 'for such I understand your degree in
chivalry to be.'

'I have not won my spurs,' said George.

'It is not our rule to take to foreign courts gentlemen from
another realm unknown to us,' proceeded Suffolk, with much
civility; 'therefore, unless any vow of chivalry binds you, I
should be glad to know who it is who does my banner the honour
of riding in its company for a time. If a secret, it is safe
with me.'

George gave his name.

'That is the name of one of the chief nobles in Scotland,' said
Suffolk. 'Do I see before me his son?' George bowed.

'Then, my Lord Douglas, am I permitted to ask wherefore this
mean disguise? Is it for some vow of chivalry, or for that
which is the guerdon of chivalry?' the Marquis added in a lower,
softer tone, which, however, extremely chafed the proud young
Scot, all the more that he felt himself blushing.

'My Lord,' he said, 'I am not bound to render a reason to any
save my father, from whom I hope for letters shortly.'

To his further provocation Suffolk smiled meaningly, and
answered--

'I understand. But if my Lord Douglas would honour my suite by
assuming the place that befits him, I should be happy that aught
of mine should serve--'

'I am beholden to you, my Lord, for the offer,' replied George,
somewhat roughly. 'Whatever I make use of must be my father's
or my own. All I crave of you is to keep my secret, and not
make me the common talk. Have I your licence to depart?'

Wherewith, tall, irate, and shamefaced, the Master of Angus
stalked away to meet David Drummond, to whom he confided his
disgusts.

'The parlous fulebody! As though I were like to make myself a
mere sport for ballad-mongers, such as Lady Elleen is always
mooning after; or as if I would stoop to borrow a following of
the English blackguard, to bolster up my state like King Herod
in a mystery play. If my father lists, he may send me out a
band, but the Douglas shall have Douglas's men, or none at all.'

David approved the sentiment, but added--

'Ye could win to Jeanie if ye took your right place.'

'What good would that do me while she is full of her fine
daffing, singing, clacking, English knights, that would only
gibe at the red-haired Scot? Let her wait to see what the Red
Douglas's hand can do in time of need! But, Davie, you that can
speak to her, let her know how deeply I thank her for what she
did even now on my behalf, or rather on puir Ringan's, and that
I am trebly bound to her service though I make no minstrel
fule's work.'

David delivered his message, but did not obtain much by it for
his friend's satisfaction, for Jeanie only tossed her head and
answered--

'Does the gallant cock up his bonnet because he thinks it was
for his sake. It was Elleen's doing there, firstly; and next,
wadna we have done the like for the meanest of Jamie's
subjects?'

'Dinna credit her, Davie,' said Eleanor. 'Ye should have seen
her start in her saddle, and wheel round her palfrey at
Malcolm's first word.'

'It wasna for him,' replied Jean hotly. 'They dinna hang the
like of him for twisting a goose's neck; it was for the puir
leal laddie; and ye may tak' that to him.'

'Shall I, Elleen?' asked David, with a twinkle in his eye of
cousinly teasing.

'An' ye do not, I shall proclaim ye in the lists at Nanci as a
corbie messenger and mansworn squire, unworthy of your spurs,'
threatened Jeanie, in all good humour however.

Suffolk, baffled in his desire to patronise the young Master of
Angus, examined both Sir Patrick and Lady Drummond as far as
their caution would allow, telling that the youth had confessed
his rank and admitted the cause--making inquiry whether the
match would be held suitable in Scotland, and why it had not
taken place there--a matter difficult to explain, since it did
not merely turn upon the young lady's ambition--which would have
gone for nothing--but on the danger to the Crown of offending
rival houses. Suffolk had a good deal about him of the flashy
side of chivalry, and loved its brilliance and romance; he was
an honourable man, and the weak point about him was that he never
understood that knighthood should respect men of meaner birth.
He was greatly flattered by the idea of having the eldest son of
the great Earl of Angus riding as an unknown man-at-arms in his
troop, and on the way likewise to the most chivalrous of kings.
His scheme would have been to equip the youth fully with horse
and arms, and at some brilliant tourney see him carry all before
him, like Du Gueselin in his boyhood, and that the eclat of the
affair should reflect itself upon his sponsor. But there were
two difficulties in the way--the first that the proud young Scot
showed no intention of being beholden to any Englishman, and
secondly, that the tall, ungainly youth did not look as if he
had attained to the full strength or management of his own
limbs; and though in five or ten years' time he might be a giant
in actual warfare, he did not appear at all likely to be a match
for the highly-trained champions of the tilt-yard. Moreover, he
was not a knight as yet, and on sounding Sir Patrick it was
elicited that he was likely to deem it high treason to be dubbed
by any hand save that of his King or his father.

So the Marquis could only feel sagacious, and utter a hint or
two before the ladies which fell the more short, since he was
persuaded, by Eleanor's having been the foremost in the defence,
that she was the object of the quest; and he now and then
treated her to hints which she was slow to understand, but which
exasperated while they amused her sister.

The journey was so slow that it was not until the fourth week in
Lent that they were fairly in Lorraine. It had of course been
announced by couriers, and at Thionville a very splendid herald
reached them, covered all over with the blazonry of Jerusalem
and the Two Sicilies, to say nothing of Provence and Anjou. He
brought letters from King Rene, explaining that he and his
daughters were en route from Provence, and he therefore
designated a nunnery where he requested that the Scottish
princesses and their ladies would deign to be entertained, and a
monastery where my Lord Marquis of Suffolk and his suite would
be welcomed, and where they were requested to remain till Easter
week, by which time the King of France, the Dauphin, and
Dauphiness would be near at hand, and there could be a grand
entrance into Nanci. Of course there was nothing to be done but
to obey though the Englishmen muttered that the delay was in
order to cast the expense upon the rich abbeys, and to muster
all the resources of Lorraine and Provence to cover the poverty
of the many-titled King.

The Abbey where the gentlemen were lodged was so near Nanci that
it was easy to ride into the city and make inquiries whether any
tidings had arrived from Scotland; but nothing had come from
thence for either the princesses, Sir Patrick, or Geordie of the
Red Peel, so that the strange situation of the latter must needs
continue as long as he insisted on being beholden for nothing to
the English upstart, as he scrupled not to call Lord Suffolk,
whose new-fashioned French title was an offence in Scottish
ears.

The ladies on their side had not the relaxation of these
expeditions. The Abbey was a large and wealthy one, but
decidedly provincial. Only the Lady Abbess and one sister could
speak 'French of Paris,' the others used a dialect so nearly
German that Lady Suffolk could barely understand them, and the
other ladies, whose French was not strong, could hold no
conversation with them.

To insular minds, whether Scottish or English, every deviation
of the Gallican ritual from their own was a sore vexation. If
Lady Drummond had devotion enough not to be distracted by the variations, the young ladies certainly had not, and Jean very
decidedly giggled during some of the most solemn ceremonies,
such as the creeping to the cross--the large carved cross in the
middle of the graveyard, to which all in turn went upon their
knees on Good Friday and kissed it.

Last year, at this season, they had been shut up in their prison-
castle, and had not shared in any of these ceremonies; and
Eleanor tried to think of King Henry and Sister Esclairmonde,
and how they were throwing their hearts into the great thoughts
of the day, and she felt distressed at being infected by Jean's
suppressed laughter at the movements of the fat Abbess, and at
the extraordinary noises made by the younger nuns with clappers,
as demonstrations against Judas on the way to the Easter
Sepulchre.

She was so much shocked at herself that she wanted to confess;
but Father Romuald had gone with the male members of the party,
and the chaplain did not half understand her French, though he
gave her absolution.

Meantime all the nuns were preparing Easter eggs, whereof there
was a great exchange the next day, when the mass was as splendid
as the resources of the Abbey could furnish, and all were full
of joy and congratulation, the sense of oneness for once
inspiring all.

Moreover, after mass, Sir Patrick and an Englishman rode over
with tidings that King Rene had sent a messenger, who was on the
Tuesday to guide them all to a glade where the King hoped to
welcome the ladies as befitted their rank and beauty, and
likewise to meet the royal travellers from Bourges, so that all
might make their entry into Nanci together.

The King himself, it was reported, did nothing but ride
backwards and forwards between Nanci and the convent where he
had halted, arranging the details of the procession, and of the
open-air feast at the rendezvous upon the way.

'I hope,' said Lady Suffolk, 'that King Rene's confections will
not be as full of rancid oil as those of the good sisters. I
know not which was more distasteful--their Lenten Fast or their
Easter Feast. We have, certes, done our penance this Lent!'

To which the rest of the ladies could not but agree, though Lady
Drummond felt it somewhat treasonable to the good nuns, their
entertainers; and both she and Eleanor recollected how
differently Esclairmonde would have felt the matter, and how
little these matters of daily fare would have concerned her.

'To-day we shall see her!' exclaimed Eleanor, springing to the
floor, as, early on a fine spring morning, the ladies in the
guest-chamber of the nunnery began to bestir themselves at the
sound of one of the many convent bells. 'They are at Toul, and
we shall meet this afternoon. I have not slept all night for
thinking of it.'

'No, and hardly let me sleep,' said Jean, slowly sitting up in
bed. 'Thou hast waked me so often that I shall be pale and
heavy-eyed for the pageant.'

'Little fear of that, my bonnie bell,' said old Christie,
laughing.

'Besides,' said Eleanor, 'nobody will fash themselves to look at
us in the midst of the pageant. There will be the King to see,
and the bride. Oh, I wish we were not to ride in it, and could
see it instead at our ease.'

'Thou wast never meant for a princess,' said Jean; 'Christie,
Annis, for pity's sake, see till her. She is busking up her
hair just as was gude enough for the old nuns, but no for kings
and queens.'

'I hate the horned cap, in which I feel like a cow, and
methought Meg wad feel the snood a sight for sair een,' said
Eleanor.

'Meg indeed! Thou must frame thy tongue to Madame la Dauphine.'

'Before the lave of them, but not with sweet Meg herself.'

'Our sister behoves to have learnt what suits her station, and
winna bide sic ways from an ower forward sister. Dinna put us
all to shame, and make the folk trow we came from some selvage
land,' said Jean, tossing her head.

'Hast ever seen me carry myself unworthy of King James's
daughter?' proudly demanded Eleanor.

'Nay, now, bairnies, fash not yoursells that gate,' interfered
old Christie; 'nae fear but Lady Elleen will be douce and canny
enow when folks are there to see. She kens what fits a king's
daughter.'

Jean made a little hesitation over kirtles and hoods, but
fortunately ladies, however royal, had no objection to wearing
the same robes twice, and both she and her sister were objects
to delight the eyes of the crowding and admiring nuns when they
mounted their palfreys in the quadrangle, and, attended by the
Lady of Glenuskie and her daughter, rode forth with the
Marchioness of Suffolk at the great gateway to join the
cavalcade, headed by Suffolk and Sir Patrick.

After about two miles' riding on a woodland road they became
aware of fitful strains of music and a continuous hum of voices,
heard through the trees and presently a really beautiful scene
opened before them, as the trees seemed to retreat, so as to
unfold a wide level space, further enclosed by brilliant
tapestry hangings, their scarlet, blue, gold and silver hues
glittering in an April sun, and the fastenings concealed by
garlands of spring flowers. An awning of rich gold embroidery
on a green ground was spread so as to shelter a cloth glittering
with plate and bestrewn with flowers; horses, in all varieties
of ornamental housings, were being led about; there was a
semicircle of musicians in the rear; and, as soon as the guests
came in sight, there came forward, doffing his embroidered and
jewelled cap, a gentleman of middle stature and of exceeding
grace and courtesy, whose demeanour, no less than the attendance
around him, left no doubt that this was no other than Rene, Duke
of Anjou and of Lorraine, Count of Provence, and King of the Two
Sicilies and of Jerusalem.

'Welcome,' he exclaimed in French, 'welcome, fair and royal
maidens; welcome, noble lord, the representative of our dear
brother and son of England. Deign on your journey to partake of
the humble and rural fare of the poor minstrel shepherd.'

Wherewith the music broke out in strains of welcome from the
grove, with voices betweenwhiles Rene himself assisted each
princess to dismount, and respectfully kissed her on the cheek
as she stood on the ground. Then, taking a hand of each, he led
them to a great chestnut tree, the shade of whose branches was
assisted by hangings of blue embroidered with white, beneath
which cushions, mantles, and seats were spread, and a bevy of
ladies in bright garments stood. From these came forward two
beautiful young girls, with fair complexions and flowing golden
hair, scarcely confined by the bands whence transparent veils
descended. King Rene presented them as his two daughters,
Yolande and Margaret, to the two Scottish maidens, and there
were kindly as well as courtly embraces on either side. The
Lady of Glenuskie, as a king's grand-daughter, with Annis and
Lady Suffolk, had likewise been led up to take their places; the
four royal maidens were seated together. Yolande, the most
regularly beautiful, but with an anxious look on her face,
talked to Eleanor of her journey; Margaret, who had one of those
very simple, innocent-looking child-faces that sometimes form
the mask of immense energy of character, was more absent and
inattentive to her duties as hostess; moreover, she and Jean did
not understand one another's language so well as did the other
two. Delicate little cakes, and tall Venice glasses, spirally
ornamented, and containing light wines, were served to them on
the knee by a tall, large, fair-haired youth, who was named to
them as the Duke Sigismund, of Alsace and the Tyrol.

Jean had time to look about, and heartily wish that her beautiful flaxen hair was loose, and not encumbered with the rolled
headgear with two projecting horns, against which Elleen had
rebelled; since York and even London were evidently behind the
fashion. Margaret's hair was bound with a broad band of daisies,
and Yolande's with violets, both in allusion to their names,
Yolande being the French corruption of Violante, her Provencal
name, in allusion to the golden violet. Jean thought of the
Scottish thistle, and studied the dresses, tight-fitting 'cotte
hardis' of bright, deep, soft, rose colour, edged with white fur,
and white skirts embroidered with their appropriate flowers.
She wondered how soon this could be imitated, casting a few
glances at Duke Sigismund, who stood waiting, as if desirous of
attracting Yolande's attention. Eleanor, on the other hand,
even while answering Yolande, had a feeling as if she had
arrived at the completion of the very vision which she had
imagined on the dreary tower of Dunbar. Here was the warm
spring sun, shining on a scene of unequalled beauty and
brilliancy, set in the spring foliage and blossom, whence, as if
to rival the human performers, gushes of nightingales' song came
in every interval. Hearing Eleanor's eager question whether
that were the nightingale whose liquid trillings she heard, King
Rene realised that the Scottish maidens knew not the note, and
signed to the minstrels to cease for a time, then came and sat
on a cushion beside the young lady, and enjoyed her admiration.

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