Philip Augustus, or, The brothers in arms

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PHILIP AUGUSTUS;

OR,

THE BROTHERS IN ARMS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "DARNLEY," "DE L'ORME,"

&c.

" Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."— Henry IV.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.

LONDON :

HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY,

NEW BURLINGTON STREET.

1831.

LONDON :

PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENT LEY.

Dorset Street, Fleet Street.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

CHAPTER I.

Gloom and consternation spread over the
face of France : — the link seemed cut between it
and the other nations of the earth. Each man
appeared to stand alone : each one brooded over
his new situation with a gloomy despondency.
No one doubted that the curse of God was
upon the land ; and the daily, — nay, hourly
deprivation of every religious ceremony, was
constantly recalling it to the imaginations of all.

The doors of the churches were shut and
barred ; the statues of the saints were covered

VOL. II. B

a PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

with black ; the crosses on the high roads were
veiled. The bells which had marked the various
hours of the day, calling all classes to pray to
one beneficent God, were no longer heard swing-
ing slowly over field and plain. The serf re-
turned from the glebe, and the lord from the
wood, in gloomy silence, missing all those ap-
pointed sounds that formed the pleasant inter-
ruption to their dull toil, or duller amusements.

All old accustomed habits, — those grafts in
our nature, which cannot be torn out without
agony, were entirely broken through. The
matin, or the vesper prayer, was no longer said ;
the sabbath was unmarked by its blessed dis-
tinctness ; the fetes, whether of penitence or
rejoicing, were unnoticed and cold in the hideous
gloom that overspread the land, resting like the
dead amidst the dying.

Every hour, every moment served to impress
the awful effects of the interdict more and more
deeply on the minds of men. Was a child
born, a single priest, in silence and in secrecy,

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 3

as if the very act were a crime, sprinkled the
baptismal water on its brow. Marriage, with
all its gay ceremonies and feasts, was blotted,
with other happy days, from the calendar of
life. The dying died in fear, without prayer
or confession, as if mercy had gone by ; and the
dead, cast recklessly on the soil, or buried in
unhallowed ground, were exposed, according to
the credence of the day, to the visitation of
demons and evil spirits. Even the doors of the
cemeteries were closed ; and the last fond com-
mune between the living and the dead — that
beautiful weakness which pours the heart out
even on the cold, unanswering grave, — was
struck out from the solaces of existence.

The bishops and clergy, in the immediate
neighbourhood of Dijon, first began to observe
the interdict ; and gradually, though steadily,
the same awful privation of all religious form
spread itself over France. Towards the north,
however, and in the neighbourhood of the capi-
tal, the ecclesiastics were more slow in putting
B 2

4 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

it in execution ; and long ere it had reached
the borders of the Seine, many a change had
taken place in the fate of Guy de Coucy.

Having ascertained that the Cotereaux had
really left his woods, De Coucy gave his whole
thoughts to the scheme which had been proposed
to him by his squire, Hugo de Barre, for sur-
prising Sir Julian of the Mount and his fair
daughter, and bringing them to his castle, with-
out letting them know, till after their arrival,
into whose hands they had fallen.

Such out of the way pieces of gallantry were
very common in that age ; but there are diffi-
culties of course in all schemes ; and the diffi-
culty of the present one was, so to surprise the
party, that no bloodshed or injury might en-
sue ; for certainly, if ever there was an under-
taking to which the warning against jesting
with edged tools might be justly applied, it was
this.

The brain, however, of Hugo de Barre,
which for a great part of his life had been

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 5

Sterile, or at least lain fallow, seemed to have
become productive of a sudden ; and he con-
trived a plan by which the page, who, from
many a private reason of his own, was very
willing to undertake the task, was to meet Sir
Julian's party, disguised as a peasant, and,
mingling with the retinue, to forewarn the male
part thereof, of the proposed surprisal, enjoining
them, at the same time, for the honour of the
masculine quality of secrecy, not to reveal their
purpose to the female part of the train. *' For,''
observed Hugo de Barre, " a woman's head, as
far as ever I could hear, is just like a funnel :
whatever you pour into her ear, is sure to run
out at her mouth."

De Coucy stayed not to controvert this un-
gallant position of his squire, but sent off in
all haste to Gisors, for the purpose of preparing
his chateau for the reception of such guests, as
far as his scanty means would permit. His
purse, however, was soon exhausted ; and yet
no great splendour reigned within his halls

6 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

The air of absolute desolation, however, was
done away ; and, though the young Knight had
ever had that sort of pride in the neatness of his
horse, his arms, and his dress, which perhaps
amounted to foppery, he valued wealth too
little himself, to imagine that the lady of his
love would despise him for the want of it. He
could not help wishing, however, that the King
had given another tournament, where, he doubt-
ed not, his lance would have served him to
overthrov^^ five or six antagonists, the ransom of
whose horses and armour might have served to
complete the preparations he could now only
commence. It was a wish of the thirteenth
century ; and though perhaps not assimilating
very well with our ideas at present, it was quite
in harmony with the character of the times,
when many a knight lived entirely by his prow-
ess in the battle or the lists, and when the ran-
som of his prisoners, or of the horses and arms
of his antagonists, was held the most honourable
of all revenues.

PHILIP A.UGUSTUS. 7

As the period approached in which De Coucy
had reason to believe Count Julian and his
train would pass near his castle, a warder was
stationed continually in the beffroy, to keep a
constant watch upon the country around ; and
many a time would the young Knight himself
climb into the high tower, and gaze over the
country spread out below.

Such was the position of the castle, and the
predominating height of the watch-tower, that
no considerable party could pass within many
miles, without being seen in some part of their
way. In general, the principal roads lay open
beneath the eye, traced out, clear and distinct,
over the bosom of the country, as if upon a wide
map : and with more eagerness and anxiety did
De Coucy gaze upon the way, and track each
group that he fancied might contain the form of
Isadore of the Mount, than he had ever watched
for Greek or Saracen. At length, one evening,
as he was thus employing himself, he saw, at
some distance, the dust of a cavalcade rise over

8 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

the edge of a slight hill that bounded his view
to the north-east. Then came a confused group
of persons on horseback ; and, with a beating
heart, De Coucy strained his eyes to see whether
there were any female figures amongst the rest.
Long before it was possible for him to ascertain,
he had determined twenty times, both that there
were, and that there were not ; and changed his
opinion as often. At length, however, some-
thing light seemed to be caught by the wind,
and blown away to a little distance from the
party, while one of the horsemen galloped out
to recover it, and bring it back.

" 'Tis a woman's veil !*" cried De Coucy.
" 'Tis she ! by the sword of my father !" and
darting down the winding steps of the tower,
whose turnings now seemed interminable, he
rushed into the court, called, to " The saddle !"
and springing on his horse, which stood always
prepared, he led his party into the woods, and
laid his ambush at the foot of the hill, within
a hundred yards of the road that led to Vernon.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 9

All this was done with the prompt activity
of a soldier long accustomed to quick and
harassing warfare. In a few minutes also,
the disguises, which had been prepared to ren-
der himself and his followers as like a party of
Cotereaux as possible, were assumed, and De
Coucy waited impatiently for the arrival of the
cavalcade. The moments now passed by with
all that limping impotence of march that they
ever seem to have in the eyes of expectation.
For some time the Knight reasoned himself
into coolness, by remembering the distance at
which he had seen the party, the slowness with
which they were advancing, and the rapidity
with which he himself had taken up his posi-
tion. For the next quarter of an hour, he
blamed his own hastiness of disposition, and
called to mind a thousand instances in which
he had deceived nimself in regard to time-
He then thought they must be near ; and,
after listening for a few minutes, advanced a
little to ascertain, when suddenly the sound of
B 5

10 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

a horse's feet struck on his ear, and he waited
only the first sight through the branches, to
make the signal of attack.

A moment after, however, he beheld, to his
surprise and disappointment, the figure of a
stout market-woman, mounted on a mare,
whose feet had produced the noise which had
attracted his attention, and whose passage left
the road both silent and vacant once more.
Another long pause succeeded, and De Coucy,
now almost certain that the party he had seen,
must either have halted, or turned from their
course, sent out scouts in various directions,
to gain more certain information. After a
short space, one returned, and then another:
all bringing the same news, that the roads on
every side were clear ; and that not the slight-
est sign of any large party was visible, from,
the highest points in the neighbourhood.

Evening was now beginning to fall ; and,
very sure that Count Julian would not travel
during the night, through a country infested

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 11

by plunderers of all descriptions, the young
Knight, disappointed and gloomy, emerged
with his followers from his concealment ; and
once more, bent his steps slowly towards his
solitary hall.

" Perhaps," said he mentally, as he pon-
dered over his scheme and its want of success, —
" perhaps I may have escaped more bitter dis-
appointment— perchance she might have proved
cold and heartless — perchance she might have
loved me, yet been torn from me ; — and then,
when my eye was once accustomed to see her
lovely form gliding through the halls of my
dwelling, how could I have afterwards brooked
its desolate vacancy ? When my ear had be-
come habituated to the sound of her voice in
my own home, how silent would it have seemed
when she were gone ! No, no — doubtless, I
did but scheme myseii pains. 'Tis better as
it is."

While these reflections were passing in his
mind, he had reached the bottom of the hill.

12 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

on which his castle stood, and turned his horse
up the steep path. Naturally enough, as he
did so, he raised his eyes to contemplate the
black frowning battlements that were about
to receive him once more to their stern soli-
tude ; when, to his astonishment, he saw the
flutter of a woman's dress upon the outv/ard
walls, and a gay group of youths and maidens
were seen looking down upon him from his
own castle.

De Coucy at first paused from mere surprise,
well knowing that his own household offered
nothing such as he there beheld ; but the next
moment, as the form of Isadore of the Mount
showed itself plainly to his sight, he struck his
spurs into his horse's sides, and galloped for-
ward like lightning, eager to lay himself open
to alPthe disappointments, over which he had
moralized so finely but a moment before.

On entering the court, he found a multitude
of squires stabling their horses with all the
care that promised a long stay ; and, the mo-

PHILIP A.UGUSTUS. 13

ment after he was accosted by old Sir Julian
of the Mount himself, who informed him that,
finding himself not so well as he could wish,
he had come to crave his hospitality for a
day''s lodging, during which time he might
communicate to him, he said, some important
matter for his deep consideration. This last
announcement was made in one of those low
and solemn tones intended to convey great
meaning ; and, perhaps, even Sir Julian wished
to imply, that his ostensible reason for visiting
the castle of De Coucy was but a fine political
covering, to veil the more immediate and in-
teresting object of his coming.

" But how now. Sir Guy !" added he ; " sure-
ly you have been disguising yourself! With
that sack over your armour, for a cotte d'armes,
and the elm branch twisted round your casque,
you look marvellous like a coterel."

" By my faith ! good Sir Julian," replied De
Coucy with his usual frankness, " I look but
like what I intended then. The truth is, hear-

14 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

ing of your passing, I arrayed my men like Co-
tereaux, and laid an ambush for you, intend-
ing to take you at a disadvantage, and making
you prisoner, to bring you here ; where, in all
gentle courtesy, I would have entreated your
stay for some few days, to force a boar and
hear a lay, and forget your weightier thoughts
for a short space. But, by the holy rood ! I find
I have made a strange mistake; for, while I
went to take you, it seems you have taken my
castle itself!"

" Good, good ! very good !" cried Sir Ju-
lian ; " but come with me, Sir Guy. Isadore
has found her way to the battlements already,
and is looking out at the view, which, she says,
is fine. For my part, I love no fine views but
politic ones. — Come, follow me. — Let me see,
which is the way ? — Oh, here — No, Hisn't. — This
is a marvellous stronghold. Sir Guy ! — Which
is the way ?"

Cursing Sir Julian's slow vanity, in striving
to lead the way through a castle he did not

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 15

know, with its lord at his side, Sir Guy de
Coucy stepped forward, and, with a foot of
light, mounted the narrow staircase in the wall,
that led to the outer battlements.

" Stay, stay ! Sir Guy !*" cried the old man.
" By the rood! you go so fast, 'tis impossible to
follow ! You young men forget we old men
get short of breath ; and, though our brains be
somewhat stronger than yours 'tis said, our
legs are not altogether so swift.*"

De Coucy, obliged to curb his impatience,
paused till Sir Juhan came up, and then hur-
ried forward to the spot where Isadora was gaz-
ing, or seeming to gaze, upon the prospect.

A very close observer, hoAvever, might have
perceived that — though she did not turn round
till the young Knight was close to her, — as his
clanging step sounded along the battlements, a
quick warm flush rose in her cheek ; and when
she did turn to answer his greeting, there was
that sort of glow in her countenance and sparkle
in her eye which, strangely in opposition with

16 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

the ceremonious form of her words, would have
given matter for thought to any more quick-
witted person than Count Julian of the Mount.

That worthy Baron, however, wholly pre-
occupied with his own sublime thoughts, saw
nothing to excite his surprise, but presented De
Coucy to Isadore as a noble chief of Cotereaux,
who would fain have taken them prisoner, had
they not in the first instance stormed his castle,
and " manned, or rather," said Sir Julian, '' wo-
manned, his wall,*" and the worthy old gentle-
man chuckled egregiously at his own wit. " Now
that we are here, however,'' continued Sir Julian,
" he invites us to stay for a few days, to which
I give a willing consent : — what say you, Isa-
dore ? You will find these woods even sweeter
than those of Montmorency for your mornings'
walks."

Isadore cast down her large dark eyes, as if
she was afraid that the pleasure which such a
proposal gave her, might shine out too appa-
rently. " Wherever you think fit to stay, my

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 17

dear father," replied she, " must always be
agreeable to me."

Matters being thus arranged, we shall not
particularize the passing of that evening, nor
indeed of the next day. Suffice it to say, that
Sir Julian found a moment to propose to De
Coucy, to enter into the coalition which was
then forming between some of the most power-
ful barons of France, with John King of Eng-
land in his quality of Duke of Normandy, and
Ferrand Count of Flanders at their head, to
resist the efforts which Philip Augustus was
making to recover and augment the kingly
authority.

" Do not reply. Sir Guy — do not reply
hastily," concluded the old Knight ; " I give
you two more days to consider the question in
all its bearings ; and on the third I will take
my departure for Rouen, either embracing you
as a brother in our enterprize, or thanking
you for your hospitality, and relying on your
secrecy."

18 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

De Goucy was glad to escape an immediate
reply, well knowing that the only answer he
could conscientiously make, would but serve to
irritate his guest, and perhaps precipitate his
departure from the castle. He therefore let
the matter rest, and applied himself, as far
as his limited means would admit, to entertain
Sir Julian and his suite, without derogating
from the hospitality of his ancestors.

The communication of feeling between the
young Knight and his fair Isadore made much
more rapid advances than his arrangements
with Sir Julian. During the journey from
Auvergne to Senlis, each day's march had
added something to their mutual love, and
discovered it more and more to each other. It
had shone out but in trifles, it is true ; for Sir
Julian had been constantly present, filling their
ears with continual babble, to which the one
was obliged to listen from filial duty, and the
other from respect to her he loved. It had
shone out but in trifles, but what is life but a

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 19

mass of trifles, with one or two facts of graver
import, scattered like jewels amidst the sea-
shore sands ? — and though, perhaps, it was but
a momentary smile, or a casual word, a glance,
a tone, a movement, that betrayed their love to
each other, it was the language that deep feel-
ings speak, and deep feelings alone can read,
but which, then, expresses a world more than
words can ever tell.

When Isadore arrived at De Coucy's chateau,
it wanted but one word to speak that she was
deeply loved ; and before she had been there
twelve hours, that word was spoken. We will
therefore pass over that day, — which was a day
of long, deep, sweet thought to Isadore of the
Mount, and to De Coucy one of anxious
hope, with just sufficient doubt to make it
hope, not joy, — and we will come at once to the
morning after.

'Twas in the fine old woods, in the imme-
diate proximity of the castle, towards that
hour of the morning when young lovers may

20 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

be supposed to rise, and dull guardians to
slumber in their beds. It was towards five
o'clock, and the spot, a very dangerous scene
for any one whose heart was not iron, with
some fair being near him. A deep glade of the
wood, at the one end of which might be seen
a single grey tower of the castle, here opened
out upon the very edge of a steep descent,
commanding one of those wide extensive views,
over rich and smiling lands, that make the
bosom glow and expand to all that is lovely.
The sun was shining down from beyond the
castle, chequering the grassy glade with soft
shadows and bright light ; and a clear small
stream, that welled from a rock hard by, wound
in and out amongst the roots of the trees, over
a smooth gravelly bed ; till, approaching the
brink of the descent, it leaped over, as if in
sport, and went bounding in sparkling joyous-
ness into the rich valley below. All was in
harmony — the soft air, and the birds singing
their matins, and the blue sky overhead; so

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 21

that hard must have been the heart indeed,
that did not then feel softened by the bland
smiles of Nature.

Wandering down the glade, side by side,
even at that early hour, came De Coucy and
Isadore of the Mount, alone — for the waiting-
maid, Alix, was quite sufficiently discreet, to
toy with every buttercup as she passed ; so that
the space of full an hundred yards was ever in-
terposed between the lovers and any other
human creature.

"Oh, De Coucy !" said Isadore, proceeding
with a conversation, which for various reasons
is here omitted, " if I could but believe that
your light gay heart was capable of preserving
such deep feelings as those you speak !"

" Indeed, indeed ! and in very truth !" re-
plied De Coucy, " my heart, sweet Isadore, is
very, very different from what it seems in a gay
and heartless world. I know not why, but from
my youth, I have ever covered my feelings
from the eyes of my companions. I believe it

23 PJIILIP AUGUSTUS.

was first, lest those who could not understand
should laugh ; and now it has become so much
a habit, that often do I jest when I feel deep-
est, and laugh when my heart is far from
merriment ; and though you may have deemed
that heart could never feel in any way, believe
me now, when I tell you, that it has felt often,
and deeply."

" Nay !" said Isadore, perhaps somewhat
wilful in her mistake, "if you have felt such
sensations so often, and so deeply, but little
can be left for me."

" Nay, nay l" cried De Coucy eagerly.
" You wrong my speech. I never loved but
you. My feelings in the world, the feelings
that I spoke of, have been for the sorrows and
the cares of others — for the loss of friends — the
breaking of fond ties — to see injustice, oppres-
sion, wrong ; — to be misunderstood by those I
esteemed — repelled where I would have shed
my heart's blood to serve. Here, have I felt
all that man can feel; but I never loved but

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 23

you. I never yet saw woman, before my eyes
met yours, in whose hand I could put my hope
and happiness, my hfe and honour, my peace
of mind at present, and all the fond dreams we
form for the future. — Isadore, do you believe
me?"

She cast down her eyes for a moment, then
raised them, to De Coucy's surprise, swimming
with tears. "Perhaps I do," replied she. —
" Do not let my tears astonish you, De Coucy,''
she added ; " they are not all painful ones ;
for to find oneself beloved as one would wish to
be, is very, very sweet. But still, good friend,
I see much to make us fear for the future.
The old are fond of wealth, De Coucy ; and
they forget affection. I would not that my
tongue should for a moment prove so false to
my heart, as to proffer one word against my
father ; but, I fear me, he will look for riches
in a husband to his daughter."

" And will such considerations weigh with
you, Isadore .?*' demanded De Coucy sadly.

24 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" Not for a moment !" replied she. " Did I
choose for myself, I would sooner, far sooner,
that the man I loved should be as poor a knight
as ever braced on a shield ; that I might endow
him with my wealth, and bring him something
more worthy than this poor hand. But can I
oppose my father's will, De Coucy ?''

" What !" cried the Knight ; " and will you,
Isadore, wed the first wealthy lover he chooses
to propose, and yield yourself, a cold, inani-
mate slave, to one man, while your heart is
given to another ?""

" Hush, hush !" cried Isadore, — " never, De
Coucy, never ! — I will never wed any man
against my father's will ; so far my duty as a
child compels me : — but I will never, never
marry any man — but — but — what shall I
say ? — but one I love.''

"Oh, say something more, sweet, sweet girl!"
cried the young Knight eagerly ; — " say some-
thing more, to give my heart some firm assur-
ance— let that promise be to me !"

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 25

^' Well, well !" said Isadora, speaking quick,
as if afraid the words should be stayed upon
her very lip, " no one but you — Will that con-
tent you ?"

De Coucy pressed her hand to his lips, and
to his heart, with all that transport of gratitude,
that the most invaluable gift a woman can
bestow deserves ; and yet he pressed her to
repeat her promise. He feared, he said, the
many powerful arts with which friends work on
a woman's mind, — the persuasions, the threats,
the false reports ; and he ceased not till he had
won her to repeat again and again, with all the
voAvs that could bind her heart to his, that her
hand should never be given to another.

" They may cloister me in a convent," she
said, as the very reiteration rendered her pro-
mise bolder ; and his ardent and passionate
professions made simple assurances seem cold :
" but I deem not they will do it ; for my fa-
ther, though quick in his disposition, and im-
moveable in what he determines, loves me, I

VOL. II. C

26 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

think, too well, to part with me willingly for
ever. He may threaten it ; but he will not
execute his threat. — But oh ! De Coucy, have
a care that you urge him not to such a point,
that he shall say my hand shall never be yours;
for if once 'tis saidj he will hold it a matter of
honour never to retract, though he saw us both
dying at his feet.*"

De Coucy promised to be patient, and to be
circumspect, and all that lover could promise ;
and, engaging Isadore to sit down on a mossy
seat that Nature herself had formed with the
roots of an old oak, he occupied the vacant
minutes with all those sweet pourings forth of
the heart to which love, and youth, and imagi-
nation alone dare give way, in this cold and
stony world. Isadore's eyes were bent upon him,
her hand lay in his, and each was fully occupied
with the other, when a sort of half scream from
the waiting-maid- Alixe woke them from their
dreams ; and, looking up, they found themselves
in the presence of old Sir Julian of the Mount.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 27

" Good ! good ! marvellous good !" cried
the old Knight. — " Get thee in, Isadore —
without a word ! — Get thee in too, good mis-
tress looker on !'"* he added to Alixe ; '* 'tis
well thou art not a man instead of a woman,
or I would curry thy hide for thee. Get
thee in, I say ! — I must deal with our noble
host alone."

Isadore obeyed her father's commands in
silence, turning an imploring look to De Coucy,
as if once more to counsel patience. Alixe
followed, grumbling ; and the old Knight, turn-
ing to De Coucy, addressed him in a tone of
ironical compliment, intended to be more bitter
than the most unmixed abuse.

" A thousand thanks ! a thousand thanks !
beau Sire r he said, " for your disinterested
hospitality. Good sooth, 'twas a pity your plan
for taking us prisoners did not go forward ; for
now you might have a fair excuse for keeping
us so, too. 'Twould have been an agreeable
surprise to us all — to me especially; and I
c2

2B PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

thank you for it. Doubtless, you proposed to
marry my daughter without my knowledge
also, and add another agreeable surprise. I
thank you for that, too, beau Sire r

" You mistake me, good Sir Julian," replied
De Coucy calmly : " I did not propose to wed
your daughter without your knowledge, but
hoped that your consent would follow your
knowledge of our love. I am not rich, but I
do believe that want of wealth is the only
objection you could have — "

" And enough surely," interrupted Sir Ju-
lian. " What ! Is that black castle, and half
a hundred roods of wild wood, a match for ten
thousand marks a-year, which my child is heir
to ? — Beau Sire, you do mistake. Doubtless
you are very liberal, where you give away
other people's property to receive yourself;
but I am of a less generous disposition. — Be-
sides," he added, more coolly, " to put the mat-
ter to rest for ever. Sir Guy de Coucy, know
that I have solemnly promised my daughter's

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 29

hand to the noble Guillaume de la Roche
Guyon."

" Promised her hand I" exclahned De Cou-
cy, " to Guillaume de la Roche Guyon ! —
Dissembling traitor ! By the holy rood ! he
shall undergo my challenge, and die for his
cold treachery !""

" Mark me ! — mark me ! I pray you, beau
Sire !*" cried Sir Julian of the Mount in the same
cool tone. " Should Guillaume de la Roche
Guyon fall under your lance, you shall never
have my child, — so help me, Heaven ! — except
with my curse upon her head. Ay ! and even
were he to die, or fall in the wars that are coming
— for I give her not to him till they be passed, —
you should not have her then— without,**' he add-
ed, with a sneer, " I was your prisoner chained
hand and foot ; and you could offer me acre with
acre for my own land. But perhaps you still
intend to keep me prisoner, here in your strong-
hold. Such things have been done, I know."

" They will never be done by me. Count

30 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Julian," replied De Coucy, " though it is with
pain I see you go, and would fain persuade you
to stay, and think better of my suit ; yet my
drawbridge shall fall at your command, as
readily as at my own. Yet, let me beseech
you to think — I would not boast; — and still
let me say, my name and deeds are not un-
known in the world. The wealth that once my
race possessed has not been squandered in feast-
ing and revelry, but in the wars of the blessed
cross; in the service of religion and honour.
As to this Guillaume de la Roche Guyon, I
will undertake, within a brief space, to bring you
his formal renunciation of your promise."

" It cannot be, Sir ! — it cannot be !" inter-
rupted Sir Julian. " I have told you my mind.
— What I have said is fixed as fate. If you
will let me go, within this hour I depart from
your castle. If you will not, the dishonour be
on your own head. — Make no more efforts,
Sir," he added, seeing De Coucy about to
speak. " The words once passed from my

PHILFP AUGUSTUS. 31

mouth are never recalled. Ask Giles, my
Squire, Sir, — ask my attendants all. They
will tell you the same thing. What Count
Julian of the Mount has spoken, is as immove-
able as the earth."

So saying, the old man turned, and walked
back to the castle followed by De Coucy,
mourning over the breaking of the bright day-
dream, which, like one of the fine gossamers that
glitter in the summer, had drawn one bright
shining line across his path, but had snapped
for ever with the first touch.

Sir Julian's retinue were soon prepared, and
the horses saddled in the court-yard ; and,
when all was ready, the old Knight brought
down his daughter to depart. She was closely
veiled, but still De Coucy saw that she was
weeping, and advanced to place her on horse-
back. At that moment, however, one of the
squires, evidently seeing that all was not right
between his Lord and the Lord of the castle,
thrust himself in the way.

32 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" Back, Serf !" exclaimed De Coucy, laying
his hand upon his collar, and in an instant he
was seen reeling to the other side of the court,
as if he had been hurled from a catapult. In
the mean while, De Coucy raised Isadore in his
arms, and, placing her on her horse, pressed her
slightly in his embrace, saying in a low tone,
'' Be constant, and we may win yet ;" then
yielding the place to Sir Julian, who approach-
ed, he ordered the drawbridge of the castle to
be lowered.

The train passed through the arch, and over
the bridge ; and De Coucy advanced to the
barbican to catch the last look, as they wound
down the hill. Isadore could not resist, and
waved her hand for an instant before they were
out of sight. De Coucy's heart swelled as if it
would have burst; but at that moment his
Squire approached, and put into his hand a
small packet, neatly folded and sealed, which,
he said, Alixe the waiting- woman had given him
for his lord. De Coucy eagerly tore it open.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 33

It contained a lock of dark hair, with the words
" Till death," written in the envelope. De
Coucy pressed it to his heart, and turned to
re-enter the castle.

" Ha, haw ! Ha, haw !" cried Gallon the
Fool, perched on the battlements. " Haw, haw »
haw ! Ha, haw !"

c 5

34 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

CHAPTER II.

By tardy conveyances, and over antediluvian
roads, news travelled slowly in the days we
speak of; and the interdict which we have seen
pronounced at Dijon, and unknown at De Coucy
Magny, was even some hours older before the
report thereof reached Compiegne.

We must beg the gentle reader to remember
a sunny-faced youth, for whom the fair Queen
of France, Agnes de Meranie, was, when last
we left him, working a gay coat of arms. This
garment, which it was then customary to bear
over the armour, was destined to be worn by
one whose sad place in history has caused
many a tear. — Arthur the son of that Geoffrey

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 35

Plantagenet, who was elder brother of John
Lackland, the meanest and most pitiful villain
that ever wore a crown.

How it happened that, on the death of Rich-
ard Coeur de Lion, the barons of England ad-
hered to an usurper they despised rather than
to their legitimate prince, forms no part of this
history. Suffice it, that John ruled in Eng-
land, and also retained possession of all the
feofs of his family in France, Normandy, Poi-
tou, Anjou, and Acquitaine; leaving to Ar-
thur nought but the duchy of Brittany, which
descended to him from Constance his mother.

It is not, however, to be thought that Arthur
endured with patience his uncle's usurpation
of his rights. Far from it. Brought up at
the. court of France, he clung to Philip Augus-
tus, the friend in whose arms his father had
died, and ceased not to importune him for aid
to recover his dominions. Philip's limited
means, fatigued already by many vast enter-
prises, for long prevented him from lending

36

PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

that succour to the young Prince, which every
principle of policy and generosity stimulated
him to grant. But while no national cause of
warfare existed to make the war against King
John popular with the barons of France ; and
while the vassals of the English king, though
an usurper, remained united in their attach-
ment to him, Philip felt that to attempt the
forcible assertion of Arthur's rights would be
altogether hopeless. He waited, therefore,
watching his opportunity, very certain that the
weak frivolity, or the treacherous depravity, of
John's character, would soon either alienate
some portion of his own vassals, or furnish mat-
ter of quarrel for the barons of France.

Several years thus passed after Richard's
death, drawn out in idle treaties and fruitless
negociations : — treaties which in all ages have
been but written parchments ; and negociations,
which in most instances are but concatenations
of frauds. At le^igth, as Philip had foreseen
the combination of folly and wickedness, which

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 31

formed the principal point of John's mind, laid
him open to the long meditated blow.

In one of his spurts of levity, beholding in
the midst of her attendants t-he beautiful
Isabella of Angouleme, affianced to Hugues le
Brun, de Lusignan, Comte de la Marche, the
English monarch— without the least hesitation
on the score of honour, which he never knewy
or decency, which he never practised, — ordered
her to be carried off from the midst of her
attendants, and borne to the castle of the
Gueret, where he soon induced her to forget
her former engagements with his vassal.

The barons of Poitou, indignant at the in-
sult offered to their order, in the person of one
of their noblest companions ; and to their
family, in the near relation of all the most dis-
tinguished nobles of the province,^ appealed to
the court of Philip Augustus, as John's sove-
reign for his feofs in France. Philip, glad to
establish the rights of his court, summoned
the King of England before his peers, as Count

38 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

of Anjou; and, on his refusing to appear,,
eagerly took advantage of the fresh kindled
indignation of the barons of Poitou and Anjou
to urge the rights of Arthur to the heritage of
the Plantagenets.

Already in revolt against John, a great part
of each of those provinces instantly acknow-
ledged Arthur for their sovereign ; and the
indignant nobles flocked to Paris to greet him,
and induce him to place himself at their head.
Arthur beheld himself now at the top of that
tide which knows no ebb, but leads on to ruin
or to glory : and, accepting at once the offers
of the revolted barons, he pressed Philip
Augustus to give him the belt and spurs of a
knight, though still scarcely more than a boy ;
and to let him try his fortune against his
usurping uncle in the field.

Philip saw difficulties and dangers in the
undertaking ; but, knowing the power of op-
portunity, he yielded : not, however, without
taking every precaution to ensure success to

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 39

the young Prince's enterprise. For the fes-
tivities that were to precede the ceremony of
Arthur's knighthood, he called together all
those barons who were most likely, from ancient
enmity to John, or ancient friendship for the
dead Geoffrey, or from personal regard for
himself, or general love of excitement and dan-
ger— or, in short, from any of those causes that
might move the minds of men towards his
purpose, — to aid in establishing Arthur in
the continental feofs, at least, of the House of
Plantagenet.

He took care, too, to dazzle them with splen-
dour and display, and to render the ceremonies
which accompanied the Prince's reception as a
knight, as gay and glittering as possible.

It was for this occasion that Agnes de Me-
ranie, while Philip was absent receiving the
final refusal of John to appear before his court,
employed her time in embroidering the coat
of arms which the young Knight was to wear
after his reception.

4jO PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Although the ceremony was solemn, and the
details magnificent, we will not here enter into
any account of the creation of a knight, re-
serving it for some occasion where we have not
spent so much time in description. Suffice it
that the ceremony was over, and the young
Knight stood before his godfather in chivalry
belted and spurred, and clothed in the full
armour of a knight. His beaver was up,
and his young and almost feminine face would
have formed a strange contrast with his warlike
array, had it not been for the fire of the Plan-
tagenets beaming out in his eye, and asserting
his right to the proud crest he bore, — where a
bunch of broom was supported by the triple
figure of a lion, a unicorn, and a griffin, the
ancient crest of the fabulous King Arthur.

After a few maxims of chivalry, heard with
profound respect by all the knights present,
Philip Augustus rose, and, taking Arthur by
the hand, led the way from the chapel into his
grand council-chamber, where, having seated

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 41

himself on his throne, he placed the Prince on
his right-hand ; and the barons having ranged
themselves round the council-board, the King
addressed them thus : —

" Fair Knights, and noble Barons of Anjou
and Poitou ! — for to you, amongst all the
honourable Lords and Knights here present, I
first address myself, — at your instant prayer,
that we should take some measures to free you
from the tyranny of an usurper, and restore to
you your lawful Suzerain, we are about to yield
you our well-beloved cousin and son, Arthur,
whom we tender as dearly as if he were sprung
from our own blood. Guard him, therefore,
nobly. Be ye to him true and faithful, — for
Arthur Plantagenet is your lawful Suzerain,
and none other, as son of Geoffrey, elder bro-
ther of that same John who now usurps his
rights : I, therefore, Philip, King of France,
your Sovereign and his, now command you to
do homage to him as your Liege Lord."'"'

At these words, each of the barons he ad-

42 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

dressed rose in turn, and, advancing, knelt
before the young Prince, over whose fair and
noble countenance a blush of generous embar-
rassment spread itself, as he saw some of the
best knights in France bend the knee before
him. One after another, also, the Barons pro-
nounced the formula of homage, to the. following
effect : —

" I, Hugo le Brun, Sire de Lusignan, Comte
de la Marche, do liege homage to Arthur Plan-
tagenet, my born Lord and Suzerain, — save and
except always the rights of the King of France.
I will yield him honourable service ; I will ran-
som him in captivity; and I will offer no evil to
his daughter or his wife in his house dwelling."

After this, taking the right-hand of each in
his, Arthur kissed them on the mouth, which
completed the ceremony of the homage.

"And now, fair Barons," said Philip, "though
in no degree do I doubt your knightly valour,
or suppose that, even by your own povs^ers,
together with this noble youth's good right.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 43

and God to boot, you could not chase from
Anjou, Poitou, and Normandy, the traitor John
and his plundering bands, yet it befits me not to
let my cousin and godson go, without some help
from me : — name, therefore, my fair Knight,"
he continued, turning to Arthur, " such of my
valiant Barons as, in thy good suit, thou judg-
est fit to help thee valiantly in this thy warfare ;
and, by my faith ! he that refuses to serve thee
as he would me, shall be looked upon as my
enemy ! — Yet remember," added the King, anx-
ious to prevent offence where Arthur's choice
might wo^ fall, although such selections were com-
mon in that day, and not considered invidious,
— '^ remember that it is not by worthiness and
valour alone that you must judge, — for then,
amongst the Knights of France, your decision
would be difficult; but there are, as I have
before shown you, many points which render
some of the barons more capable of assisting
you against John of England than others ; —
such as their territories lying near the war ;

44 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

their followers being horse or foot ; and many
other considerations which must guide you as
you choose."

" Oh, beau Sire,*""* replied Arthur eagerly,
" if it rests with me to choose, I name at once,
that Sir Guy de Coucy I saw at the tourna-
ment of the Champeaux. There is the lion in
his eye, and I have heard how in the battle of
Tyre he slew nineteen Saracens with his own
hand."

" He shall be sent to before the year is older
by a day," replied Philip. " His castle is but
one day's journey from this place. I doubt me
though, from what I have heard, that his re-
tinue is but small. However, we will summon
all the vassals from the lands of his aunt's hus-
band, the Lord of Tankerville, which will give
him the leading of a prince ; and, in the mean-
time, as that may take long, we will give him
command to gather a band of Braban9ois ;
which may be soon done, for the country is full
of them, unhappily. — But speak again, Arthur.
Whom name you next .?"

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 45

** I would say, Hugues de Dampierre, and
the Sire de Beaujeu," replied Arthur, looking
towards the end of the table where those two
barons sat, " if I thought they would willingly
come.''

" By my life, they will !" replied Philip.
— " What say you, Imbert de Beaujeu ? — What
say you, Hugues de Dampierre ?"

" For my part,'' replied Hugues de Dam-
pierre, "you well know, beau Sire, that I am
always ready to put my foot in the stirrup, in
any honourable cause. I must, however, have
twenty days to raise my vassals ; but I pledge
myself, on the twenty -first day from this, to be
at the city of Tours, followed by sixty as good
knights as ever couched a lance, all ready to
uphold Prince Arthur with hand and heart."

" Thanks, thanks ! beau Sire," replied
Arthur, in an ecstasy of delight. " That will
be aid, indeed !" Then, careful not to ofi'end the
barons of Poitou by seeming to place more
confidence in the strength of others than in
their efforts in his cause, he added, '' If, even

46 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

by the assistance of the noble barons of Poitou
alone, I could not have conquered my feofs in
France, such generous succour would render
my success certain ; and in truth, I think, that
if the Sire de Beaujeu, and the Count de Nevers,
who looks as if he loved me, will but hold me
out a helping hand, I will undertake to win
back my crown of England from my bad uncle^s
head."

" That will I,— that will I, boy !" said the
blunt Count de Nevers. " Hervey de Donzy
will lend you his hand willingly, and his sword
in it to boot. Ay, and if I bring thee not an
hundred good lances to Tours, at the end of
twenty days, call me recreant an' you will.
My say is said !"

" And I,'' said Imbert de Beaujeu, " will be
there also, with as many men as I can muster,
and as many friends as love me, from the other
bank of the Loire. So, set thy mind at ease,
fair Prince, for we will win thee back the feofs
of the Plantagenets, or many a war-horse shall
run masterless, and many a casque be empty."

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 47

Arthur was expressing his glad thanks, for
promises which plumed his young hope like an
eagle ; and Philip Augustus was dictating to a
clerk a summons to De Coucy to render him-
self instantly to Paris, with what servants of
arms he could collect ; if he were willing to
serve Arthur Duke of Brittany in his righte-
ous quarrel, when the seats which had remain-
ed vacant round the council-chamber were
filled by the arrival of the bishops of Paris,
the Archbishop of Rheims, and several other
bishops and mitred abbots, who had not assisted
at the ceremony of Arthur's knighthood.

" You come late, Holy Fathers," said Phi-
lip, slightly turning round. " The ceremony
is over, and the council nearly so ;"" and he pro-
ceeded with what he was dictating to the clerk.

The clergy replied not, but by a whisper
among themselves ; yet it was easy to j udge, from
their grave and wrinkled brows, and anxious
eyes, that^some matter of deep moment sat
heavily on the mind of each. The moment
after, however, the door of the council-cham-

48 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

ber again opened, and two ecclesiastics entered,
Avho, by the distinctive marks which characte-
rise national features, might at once be pro-
nounced Italians.

The clerk, who wrote from Philip's dictation,
was kneeling at the table beside the Monarch's
chair, so that, syjeaking in a low voice, the
King naturally bent his head over him, and
consequently took no notice of the two stran-
gers, till he was surprised into looking up, by
hearing a deep loud voice begin to read, in
Latin, all the most heavy denunciations of the
Church against his realm and person.

" By the Holy Virgin Mother of Our Lord !"
cried the King, his brow reddening and glow-
ing like heated iron, " this insolence is beyond
belief ! Have they then dared to put our
realm in interdict ?"

This question, though made generally, was
too evidently applied to the bishops, for them
to escape reply, and the Archbishop of Rheims,
though with a flush on his cheek, that bespoke

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 49

no small anxiety for the result, replied boldly,
at least as far as words went.

" It is but too true, Sire. Our Holy Father
the Pope, the common head of the great Chris-
tian Church, after having in vain attempted to
lead you by gentle means to religious obedience,
has at length been compelled, in some sort, to
use severity ; as a kind parent is often obliged
to chastise his — *"

" How now !'' cried Philip in a voice of thun-
der : " Dare you use such language to me ? I
marvel you sink not to the earth, Bishop,
rather than so pronounce your own condemna-
tion ! — Put those men forth !" he continued,
pointing to the two Italians, who, not under-
standing any thing that was said at the table,
continued to read aloud the interdict and ana-
thema, interrupting and drowning every other
voice, with a sort of thorough bass of curses,
that, detached and disjointed as they were,
almost approached the ridiculous. " Put them
forth !" thundered the King to his men-at-

VOL. II, , D

^ PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

arms. " If they go not willingly, cast them out
headlong ! — But no !" he added, after a moment,
" they are but instruments — use them firmly,
but courteously, Serjeant. Let me not see them
again. — And now, Archbishop, tell me, have
you dared to give your countenance and assent
to this bold insolence of the Pontiff of Rome ?^''
" Alas ! Sire, what could I do .?" demanded
the Archbishop, in a much more humble tone
than that which he had before used.

"What could you do!" exclaimed Philip.
"By the joyeuse of St. Charlemagne ! do you
ask me what you could do ? Assert the rights
of the Clergy of France ! — assert the rights of
the King ! — refuse to recognise the usurped
power of an ambitious Prelate ! Yield him
obedience in lawful things ; but stand firmly
against him, where he stretched out his hand
to seize a prerogative that belongs not to his
place ! — This could you have done, Sir Bishop !
and, by the Lord that liveth, you shall find it
the worse for you, that you have not done it !''

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 51

" But, Sire," urged one of the Prelates on the
King's right, '^ the blessed Pope is our general
and common father !"

" Is it the act of a father to invade his chil-
dren's rights ?" demanded Philip in the same
vehement tone — " is it not rather the act of a
bad stepfather, who, coming in, pillages his new
wife'*s children of their inheritance ?"

" By my life! a good likeness have you
found. Sir King !" said the blunt Count de
Nevers. " I never heard a better. The Holy
Church is the poor simple wife, who takes for
her second husband this Pope Innocent, who
tries to pillage the children — namely, the
Church of France — of their rights of decid-
ing on all ecclesiastical questions within the
realm.*"

'' It is too true, indeed!" said the King. —
" Now, mark me, Prelates of France! But you
first. Archbishop of Rheims ! Did you not so-
lemnly pronounce the dissolution of my mar-
riage with Ingerburge of Denmark, after mature
D 2

a ^f ILL UB.

52 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

consideration and consultation with a general
synod of the Clergy of France ?"

'* It is true, indeed, I did, Sire !" replied the
Archbishop. But — '''

"But me no buts ! Sir," replied the King.
" I will none of them ! You did pronounce the
divorce. I have it under your hand, and that
is enough. — And you, Bishop of Paris.? You
of Soissons .?— and you .?— and you .?— and you ?''''
he continued, turning to the Prelates, one after
the other.

No one could deny the sentence of divorce
which they had pronounced some years be-
fore, and Philip proceeded.

" Well then, by the Lord Almighty, I swear,
that you must, and shall, support your sentence!
If you were wrong, you shall bear the blame
and the punishment ; not I — no, nor one I love
better than myself. Let that Bishop in France,
who did not pronounce sentence of divorce be-
tween Ingerburge and myself, enforce the in-
terdict within his diocese if he will ; but who-

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 53

soever shall do so, Bishop or Abbot, whose
hand is to that sentence, I will cast him forth
from his diocese, and his feofs, and his lands.
I will strip him of his wealth and his rank, and
banish him from my realms for ever. Let it
be marked and remembered ! for, as I am a
crowned King, I will keep my word to the
letter !"

Philip spoke in that firm, deep, determined
tone, which gave no reason to hope or expect
that any thing on earth would make him change
his purpose. And after he had done, he laid
his hand still clasped upon the table, the rigid
sinews seeming with difficulty to relax in the
least from the tension into which the vehement
excitement of his mind had drawn them. He
glanced his eyes, too, from countenance to
countenance of the Bishops, with a look that
seemed to dare them to show one sign of
resistance.

But all their eyes were cast down in bitter
silence, each well knowing that the fault, how-

54 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

ever it arose, lay amongst themselves; and
Philip, after a moment's pause, rose from the
table, exclaiming — ''Lords and Knights, the
council is over ;" and, followed by Arthur and
the principal part of the Barons, he left the
Hall.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 5-J

CHAPTER III.

I LOVE not to see any one depart, for the
sad magic of fancy is sure to conjure up a host
of phantasm dangers, and sorrows, to fill the
space between the instant present, and that far
distant one, when the same form shall again
stand before us. We are sure too, that Time
must work his bitter commission, — that he must
impair, or cast down, or destroy ; and I know
hardly any pitch of human misery so great,
that when we see a beloved form leave us, we
may justly hope, on our next meeting, to find
all circumstances of a brighter aspect. Make
up our accounts how we will with Fate, Time
is always in the balance against us.

56 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

The last sight of Isadore of the Mount call-
ed up in the breast of Guy de Coucy as som-
bre a train of thoughts as ever invaded the
heart of man since the fall. When might he
see her again ? he asked himself, and what
might intervene ? Would she not forget him ?
would she indeed be his till death ? Would
not the slow flowing of hour after hour, with
all the obliterating circumstance of time's cur-
rent, efface his image from her memory ? and
even if her heart still retained the traces that
young affection had there imprinted, what but
misery would it bring to both ? He had spoken
hopes to her ear, that he did not feel himself;
and, when he looked up at the large, dark mass
of towers and battlements before him, as he
turned back from the barbican, it struck his
eye with the cold, dead, unhopeful aspect of a
tomb. He entered it, however, and, proceeding
direct to the inner court, approached the foot
of the watch-tower, the small, narrow door of
which opened there, without communicating
with any other building.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 57

De Coucy paced up its manifold steps, and,
stationing himself at the opening, fixed his eyes
upon the skirt of the forest, where the road
emerged, vvaiting for one more glance of her he
loved, though the distance made the sight but
a mere slave of Fancy. In about a quarter of
an hour, the train of Sir Julian appeared,
issuing from the forest ; and De Coucy gazed,
and gazed, upon the woman's form that rode
beside the chief of the horsemen, till the whole
became an indistinct mass of dark spots, as they
wound onward towards Vernon.

Feeling, he knew not why, an abhorrence to
his own solitary hall, the young Knight remain-
ed leaning his arms upon the slight balustrade
of the beffroy-tower, which, open on all sides,
was only carried up farther by four small pil-
lars supporting the roof, where hung the heavy
bell called the bancloche. As he thus con-
tinued meditating on all that was gloomy in
his situation, his eyes still strayed heedlessly
over the prospect ; sometimes turning in the
direction of Paris, as he thought of seeking
d5

58 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

fortune and honour in arms; sometimes look-
ing again towards Vernon, though the object
of his love was no longer visible.

On the road from Paris, however, two ob-
jects were to be seen, which he had not re-
marked before. The first was the figure of a
man on foot, at about half a mile's distance
from the castle, to which it was slowly ap-
proaching : the other was still so far off, that
De Coucy could not distinguish at first whether
it was a horseman, or some wayfarer on foot ;
but the rapidity with which it passed the vari-
ous rises and falls of the road, soon showed him
that, whoever it was, was not only mounted,
but proceeding at the full speed of a quick
horse.

^ For a moment or two, from old habits of
observation as a soldier, De Coucy watched its
approach ; but then again, really careless about
every thing that did not refer to his more ab-
sorbing feelings, he turned from the view, and
slowly descended the steps of the tower.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 59

His feet turned once more mechanically to
the drawbridge, and placing himself under the
arch of the barbican, he leaned his tall, graceful
figure against one of the enormous door-posts,
revolving a thousand vague schemes for his
future existence. The strong swimmer, Hope,
still struggled up through the waves that Re-
flection poured continually on his head ; and
De Coucy's dreams were still of how he might
win high fortune and Isadore of the Mount.

Should he in the first place, he asked himself,
defy Guillaume de la Roche Guyon, and make
him yield his claim ? But no — he remembered
the serious vow of the old Count ; and he saw,
that by so doing he should but cast another
obstacle on the pile already heaped up between
him and his purpose. Sir Julian had said too,
that Isadore's hand was not to be given away
till the coming wars were over. Those wars
might be long, De Coucy thought, and uncer-
tain : — and hope lives upon reprieves. He must
trust to accident, and, in the mean time, strive

60 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

manfully to repair the wrong that Fortune
had done him. But how ? was the question.
Tournaments, wars, — all required some equip-
ment, and his shrunk purse contained not a
single besant.

" Oh ! 'tis a steep and rugged ascent !" thought
De Coucj, " that same hill of Fortune ; and
the man must labour hard that would climb it,
like yon old man, toiling up the steep path
that leads hither.*"

Such was the only notice that the young
Knight at first took of the weary foot-traveller
he had seen from above ; but gradually the
figure, dressed in its long brown robe, with the
white beard streaming down to the girdle, ap-
peared more familiar to him ; and a few steps
more, as the old man advanced, called fully to
his remembrance the Hermit whose skill had so
speedily brought about the cure of his bruises
in Auvergne, and whom we have since had more
than one occasion to bring upon the scene.
De Coucy had, by nature, that true spirit of

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 61

chivalrous gallantry, even the madness of which
has been rendered beautiful by the great Spa-
niard. No sooner did he recognise the old man
than he advanced to meet him, and aided him
as carefully up the steep ascent as a son might
aid a parent.

. " Welcome, good Father Hermit !" said he,
" Come you here by accident, or come you to
rest for a while at the hold of so poor a knight
as myself?"

*^ I came to see whether thou wert alive or
dead," replied the Hermit. " I knew not whether
some new folly might not have taken thee from
the land of the living."

" Not yet," replied De Coucy with a smile :
" my fate is yet an unsealed one. But, in faith,
good Father, I am glad to see thee ; for, when
thou hast broken thy fast in my hall, I would
fain ask thee for some few words of good
counsel."

" To follow your own, after you have asked
mine ?" replied the Hermit. " Such is the way

62 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

with man, at least. — But first, as you say, my
son, I will break my fast. Bid some of the
lazy herd that of course feed on you, seek me
some cresses from the brook, and give me a
draught of water.*"

" Must such be your sole food, good Her-
mit ?" demanded De Coucy. ** Will not your
vow admit of some more nourishing repast
after so long a journey too V

" I seek nought better," replied the Hermit,
as De Coucy led him into the hall. " I am not
one of those who hold, that man was formed to
gnaw the flesh of all harmless beasts," as if he
were indeed but a more cowardly sort of tiger.
Let your men give me what I ask, — somewhat
that never felt the throb of life, or the sting of
death, — those wholesome herbs that God gave
to be food to all that live, to bless the sight
with their beauty, and the smell with their
odour, and the palate with their grateful fresh-
ness. Give me no tiger's food. — But thou
lookest sad, my son,*' he added, gazing in De

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 63

Coucy's face, from which much of the sparkling
expression of undimmed gaiety of heart that
used once to shine out in every feature, had
now passed away.

" I am sad, good Hermit,^' repUed the young
Knight. " Time holds two cups, I have heard
say, both of which each man must drink in the
course of his life: — either now the sweet, and
then the bitter ; or the bitter first, and the
sweet after ; — or else, mingling them both to^
gether, taste the mixed beverage through exist-
ence. Now, I have known much careless hap-
piness in the days past, and I am beginning to
quaff off the bitter bowl, Sir Hermit."

" There is but one resource," said the Her-
mit : — " there is but one resource, my son i"

" And what is that ?" demanded De Coucy.
" Do you mean death ?"

"• Nay," replied the old man ; " I meant
Christ's cross. There is the hope, and the
succour, and the reward for all evils suffered in
this life ! Mark me as I sit here before thee :

64 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

— didst thou ever see a thing more withered —
broken -— worn ? And yet I was once full of
green strength, and flourishing — as proud a
thing as ever trampled on his mother-earth :
rich, honoured, renowned, — I was a very giant
in my vanity ! My sway stretched over wide,
wide lands. My lance was always in the
vanward of the battle ; my voice was heard in
courts, and my council was listened to by kings.
I held in my arms the first young love of my
heart ; and, strange to say ! that love increased,
and grew to such absorbing passion, that, as
years rolled on, I quitted all for it — ambition,
strife, pride, friendship, — all !"

" Methinks, surely," said De Coucy, with all
his feelings for Isadore fresh on his heart's
surface, " such were the way to be happy!"

" As much as the way for a gambler to win,
is to stake all his wealth upon one cast," replied
the Hermit. " But, mark me ! — she died, and
left me childless — hopeless — alone! And I
went out into the world to search for something

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 65

that might refill the void her loss had left —
not in my heart, for that was as a sepulchre to
my dead love, never to be opened again — no,
but to fill the void in my thoughts — to give me
something to think of— to care for. I went
amongst men of my own age, (for I was then
unbroken,) but I found them feelingless or
brutal — sensual and voluptuous ; either plun-
derers of their neighbours, or mere eaters and
drinkers of fifty. I then went amongst the
old ; but I found them querulous and tetchy ;
brimful of their own miseries, and as selfish in
their particular pains, as the others in their par-
ticular pleasures. I went amongst the young,
and there I found generous feelings and un-
worn thoughts ; and free and noble hearts, from
which the accursed chisel of Time had never
hewn out the finer and more exquisite touches
of Nature's perfecting hand : — but then, I
found the wild, ungovernable struggling of the
war-horse for the battle- plain ; the light, thought-
less impatience of the flower-changing butter-

66 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

fly, — and I gave it all up as a hopeless search,
and sunk back into my lonehness again. My
soul withered ; my mind got twisted and awry,
like the black stumps of the acacia on the ste-
rile plains of the Desert; and 1 lived on in
murmuring grief and misanthropy, till came a
blessed light upon my mind, and I found that
peace at the foot of Christ's cross, which the
world and its things could never give. Then
it was I quitted the habitations of men, in
whose commune I had found no consolation,
and gave myself up to the brighter hopes that
opened to me from the world beyond !""

De Coucy was listening with interest, when
the sound of the warder's horn from one of the
towers announced that something was in sigh^,
of sufficient importance to call for immediate
attention.

" Where is Hugo de Barre," exclaimed the
Knight, starting up ; and, excusing this incivi-
lity to the Hermit, he proceeded to ascertain
the cause of the interruption.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 67

" Hugo de Barre is in the tower himself,
beau Sire," replied old Oiifroy the Seneschal,
whom De Coucy crossed at the hall-door,
just as he was carrying in a platter full of
herbs to the Hermit, with no small symp-
toms of respect. *' I see not why he puts
himself up there, to blow his horn, as soon
as he comes back ! He was never created
warder, I trow !"

Without staying to notice the old man's
stickling for prerogative, De Coucy hastened
to demand of the Squire wherefore he had
sounded the great warder horn, which hung
in the watch-tower.

" One of the King's serjeants-at-arms," cried
Hugo from the top of the tower, " is but now
riding up the hill to the castle, as fast as he can
come, beau Sire."

" Shut the gates !" exclaimed De Coucy.
." Up with the bridge V

These orders were just obeyed, when the
King's Serjeant, whom Hugo had seen from

68 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

above, rode up and blew his horn before the
gates. De Coucy had by this time mounted
the outer wall, and, looking down upon the
royal officer, demanded, " Whence come ye,
Sir Serjeant, and whom seek ye .?"

" I come from PhiHp King of France," re-
plied the Serjeant, *' and seek Sir Guy de
Coucy, Chatelain of De Coucy Magny."

" If you seek for no homage or man-service,
in the King's name, for these my free lands of
Magny," replied De Coucy, " my gates shall
open, and my bridge shall fall; but, if you
come to seek liege homage, return to our
Beau Sire, the King, and tell him, that of
my own hand I hold these lands; that for
them I am not his man ; but that they were
given as free share, by Clovis, to their first
possessor, from whom to me, through father
and child, they have by right descended.'"

" I come with no claim, beau Sire," repli-
ed the royal messenger, "but simply bear
you a loving letter from my Liege Lord,

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 69

Sir''*' Philip the King, with hearty greetings on
his part.''

'* Open the gates then,"" cried De Coucy,
still, however, taking the precaution to add, in
a loud voice, — " Mark, all men, that this is
not in sign or token of homage or service ; but
merely as a courtesy to the messenger of the
Lord King !" So unsettled and insecure was
the right of property in those days, and such
were the precautions necessary to guard every
act tliat might be construed into vassalage !

De Coucy descended to receive the messen-
ger; and, on entering the hall, found the old
Seneschal still busy in serving the Hermit, and

* This must not be looked upon as an expression hazard-
ed without authority, notwithstanding its homeliness. The
only titles of honour known in those days were Monseig-
neuTf My Lord ; Illu&tres Seigneurs, applied in general to
an assembly of nobles ; and Beau Sire, or Fair Sir, which
was not only bestowed upon Kings, on all occasions, but,
even as lately as the reign of St. Louis, was addressed to
God himself. Many prayers beginning Beau Sire Dieu
are still extant.

70 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

apparently bestowing on him a full, true, and
particular account of the family of the De Cou-
cys, as well as of his young lord's virtues, ex-
ploits, and adventures, with the profound and
inexhaustible garrulity of an old and favoured
servant. At the Knight's approach, however,
he withdrew ; and the King's sergeant-at-arms
was ushered into the hall.

" I was commanded to wait no answer, beau
Sire," said the man, delivering the packet into
the Chatelain's hand. " The King, trusting to
the known loyalty and valour of the Sire de
Coucy, deemed that there would be but one
reply, when he was called to high deeds and a
good cause."

" By my faith !" exclaimed the Knight, " I
hope some one has dared to touch the glove I
hung up in the Queen's good quarrel ! I will
drive my lance through his heart, if it be de-
fended with triple iron ! — But I see thou art in
haste, good friend. Drain one cup of wine, and
thou shalt depart."

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 71

De Coucy cut not the silk that tied the
packet till the messenger was gone. Then, how-
ever, he opened it eagerly, and read : —

" To our faithful and well-beloved, Sir Guy
de Coucy, these. Having undertaken, and
pledged our kingly word to Arthur Planta-
genet Duke of Brittany, our well-beloved
Cousin and Godson in arms, to aid him and
assist him, to the utmost of our power, in his
just and righteous war against John of Anjou,
calling himself King of England: and he,
Arthur, our Cousin, as aforesaid, having de-
sired us to use our best entreaty and endeavour
to prevail on you. Sir Guy de Coucy, renowned
in arms, to aid with your body and friends in
his aforesaid just wars ; we therefore, thus
moved, do beg, as a king may beg, that you
will instantly, on the reading hereof, call to-
gether your vassals and followers, knights,
squires, and servants of arms, together with all
persons of good heart and prowess in war.

72 PHILIP AUGUSTUS,

volunteers or mercenaries, as the case may be,
to join the aforesaid Arthur at our court of the
City of Paris, within ten days from the date
hereof, for the purposes hereinbefore specified.
Honour in arms — fair favour of your lady,
and the King's thanks, shall be your reward :
and, for the payment of such Braban<^ois, or
other mercenaries as you can collect to serve
under your banner in the said wars, not to
exceed five hundred men, this letter shall be
your warrant on the treasurer of our royal
domaines, at the average hire and pay, men-
sual and diurnal, given by us during the last
war. — Given at our Court of Paris, this Wed-
nesday the eve of the Nativity of the Blessed
Virgin, Queen of Heaven, to whom we com-
mend thee in all love. The King.''

A radiant flush of joy broke over De Coucy's
countenance as he read ; but before his eye
had reached the end of the letter, importunate
memory raked up the forgotten bankruptcy of

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 73

his means, and cast it in his teeth. The hand
which held the letter before his eyes dropped
to his side ; and with the fingers of the other,
he wandered thoughtfully over his brow, while
he considered and reconsidered every expedient
for raising sums sufficient to furnish him
worthily forth for the expedition to which he
was called. In the mean while, the Hermit sat
beside him, marking his every action, with a
glance that might perhaps have suited Diogenes,
had not a certain pensive shake of the head, as
he gazed on the working of human passions in
the noble form before him, showed a somewhat
milder feeling than the Cynic of the tub was
ever touched withal.

" Oh, that foul creditor. Poverty !" muttered
De Coucy. " He chains the mind and the
heart, as well as the limbs ; and pinions down
great desires and noble actions, to the dungeon
floor of this sordid world. Here, with a career
of glory before me, that might lead to riches,
to fame, to love ! I have not a besant to equip

VOL. II. E

74 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

my train ; all tattered from the wars in Pales-
tine. As for the Braban9ois, too, that the
King bids me bring, they must ever have some
money to equip, before they are fit for service.
He should have known that, at least ; but he
forgot, he wrote to a beggar, who could not
advance a crown were it to save his nearest
from starvation !""

'' You are vexed, my son,'' said the Hermit,
'* and speak aloud, though you know it not.
What is it moves thee thus .?"

"I am moved, good Hermit," replied the
Knight sadly, "that now — at the very moment
when all the dearest hopes of my heart call on
me to push forward to the highest goal of ho-
nour, and when the way is clear before me —
that the emptiness of my purse — the perfect
beggary of my fortunes, casts a bar in my way
that I cannot overleap. Read that letter, and
then know, that, instead of a Baron's train, I
can but bring ten mounted men to serve Prince
Arthur ; nor are these armed or equipped so

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 75

that I can look on them without shame. My
lodging must be in the field, my food gathered
from the earth, till the day of battle, nor dare
I join the Prince till then ; for the expenses of
the city suit not those whose purses are so
famished as mine."

" Nay, my son," replied the Hermit calmly,
" think better of thy fortunes. To win much,
one must often lose somewhat : and by a small
expense, though you may not ruffle it amongst
the proudest of the Prince's train, you may fit
yourself to grace it decently, till such time as
in the battle-field you can show how little akin
is courage to wealth. This may be surely done
at a very small expense of gold."

" A small expense of gold !" exclaimed the
young Knight impatiently. " I tell thee,
good Father, I have none ! None — no, not a
besant !"

" Nay, then," replied the Hermit, " some-
thing you must sell, to produce more hereafter.
That rare carbuncle in your thumb-ring will
e2

76 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

bring you doubtless gold enough to shine as
brightly as the best.'"

" Nay," said De Coucy, " I part not with
that. I would rather cut off the hand it hangs
upon, and coin that into gold."

" Some woman''s trinket,"" said the Hermit
with a frown ; for men attached to the Church,
by whatever ties, were not very favourable to
the idolatrous devotion of that age to the fairer
sex — a devotion which they might think some-
what trenched upon their rights. " Some
woman''s trinket, on my life !" said the Hermit.
" Thou wouldst guard no holy relic so, young
man."

^* Faith, Hermit, you do me wrong," replied
De Coucy, without flinching. " Though my love
to my lady be next to my duty to my God, yet
this is not, as you say, a woman's trinket.
""Twas the gift of a good and noble Knight, the
Count de Tanker ville, to me, then young and
going to the Holy Land, put on my finger with
many a wise and noble counsel, by which I
have striven to guide me since. Death, as thou

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 77

hast heard, good Hermit, has since placed his
cold bar between us; but I would not part
with this for worlds of ore. I am like the wild
Arab of the Desert,"*' he added with a smile, " in
this sort somewhat superstitious ; and I hold
this ring, together with the memory of the good
man who gave it, as a sort of talisman to guard
me from evil spirits."

" Well! if thou wilt not part with it, I can-
not help thee," replied the Hermit. " Yet I
know a certain jeweller would give huge sums
of silver for such a stone as that."

" It cannot be !" answered De Coucy. " But
now thou mind'stme; I have a bright smaragd,
that, in my young days of careless prosperity, I
bought of a rich Jew at Ascalon. If it were
worth the value that he gave it, 'twere now a
fortune to me.- — I pray thee, gentle Hermit,
take it with thee to the city. Give it to the
jeweller thou speakest of; and bid him, as an
honest and true man, send me with all speed
what sum he may."

The Hermit undertook the charge ; and De

78 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Coucy instantly sent his page to the chamber,
where he had left the emerald, which, being
brought down, he committed to the hands of
the old man, praying him to make no delay.
The Hermit, however, still seemed to hanker
after the large carbuncle on De Coucy's hand,
(which was also, be it remarked, engraved with
his signet,) and it was not till the young Knight
had once and again repeated his refusal, that he
rose to depart.

De Coucy conducted him to the outer gate,
followed by his page, who, when the old man had
given his blessing, and begun to descend the hill,
shook his head with a meaning look, exclaim-
ing, " Ah, beau Sire ! he has got the emerald ;
and, I fear, you will never hear more of it : but,
he has not got the carbuncle, which was what
he wanted. When first he saw you, at the time
you were hurt in Auvergne, he looked at nothing
but that ; and would have had it off your hand
too, if Hugo and I had not kept our eyes on
him all the while."

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 79

*' Nonsense, nonsense, boy !^' cried De Coiicy ;
" send me the new servant of arms Jodelle !

The Coterel was not long in obeying the
summons. " You told me," said De Coucy, as
he approached, " not many days ago, that you
had once been followed by a band of two hun-
dred Braban^ois, who were now, you heard,
roaming about, seeking service with some Ba-
ron or Suzerain who would give them employ-
ment. Have you any means of communicating
with them, should you wish it ?"

" Why, you know, beau Sire,''' replied Jo-
delle, '' and there is no use of denying it, that
we are oftentimes obliged to separate when the
wars are over, and go hither and thither to
seek food as we best may ; but we take good
care not to do so without leaving some chance
of our meeting again, when we desire it. The
ways we manage that, are part of our mystery,
which I am in no manner bound to divulge ;
but I doubt not I could soon discover, at least,
where my ancient companions are."

80 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" I seek none of your secrets, Sir Braban-
^ois," said De Coucy. " If you can find your
companions, do ; and tell them for me, that the
King calls upon me to aid the Prince Arthur
Plantagenet against bad John of Anjou, giving
me commission, at the same time, to raise a
body of five hundred free spears, to serve under
my leading ; for whose pay, at the rate of the
last war, Philip makes himself responsible. If
your companions will take service with me,
therefore, they may; but each man must have
served before, must be well trained to arms,
disciplined, and obedient ; for De Coucy is no
marauder, to pass over military faults, because
ye be free companions."

The Coterel readily undertook a task that
chimed so well with what he already purposed ;
bounding his promises, however, to endeavours ;
and striving to wring from De Coucy some
offer of present supply to equip his troop,
whom he well knew to be in a very indifferent
condition, as far as arms and habiliments went.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 81

Finding this to be out of the young Knight's
power, he left him, and proceeded, as rapidly
as possible, to seek out the hiding-place of the
wild band, with whom we have already seen
him in contact. His farther motions for the
next two days were not of sufficient interest to
be here put down ; but on the third morning
he presented himself at the young Knight's
chamber-door; as he was rising, bringing him
news that he had discovered his band, and that
they willingly agreed to follow so renowned a
knight. He added, moreover, that at mid-day
precisely, they would present themselves for
monstre, as it was called, or review, in the great
carrefour of the forest. In the mean time, he
swore faith, true service, and obedience to the
young Knight in their name, for so long as the
war should last.

The time of De Coucy and his followers had

been employed in polishing and preparing all

the old arms, offensive and defensive, that the

castle contained ; and of the former, indeed, no

E 5

82 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

small quantity had been collected ; so that in
the great hall lay many a sheaf of arrows and
a pile of spears, with swords, daggers, maces
and bows not a few; some scores of battle-
axes and partizans, together with various ano-
malous weapons, such as bills, hooks, long
knives, iron stars, and cutting pikes. But of
defensive armour, the supply was wofully
small.

At the appointed hour of mid -day, the
Knight, followed by his squire and servants,
now armed more completely than on their re-
turn from Palestine, proceeded to the great
carrefour of the forest, where, as they approach-
ed, they beheld the body of Braban^ois already
arrived on the ground, and drawn up in so
regular and soldierlike a manner, that even the
experienced eye of De Coucy was deceived at
first, and he fancied them as well-armed a body
of cavalry as ever he had seen.

When he came into the centre of the carre-
four, however, a! very different sight struck his

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 83

eye ; and he could not help striking his gaunt-
leted hand upon his thigh till the armour rang
again, with pure mortification at seeing the
hopeless state of rust and raggedness of his new
recruits.

Nor was this all : not two of the party pre-
sented the same appearance. One was in a steel
corslet, — another in a haubert, — another had
neither one nor the other. Some had brassards,
— some had cuissards, — some had splints, — some
had none at all. In short, it seemed as if they
had murdered half-a-dozen men-at-arms, and
divided their armour between two hundred ;
so that when De Coucy thought of presenting
himself, thus followed, at the court of Philip
Augustus, he was first like to give himself up
to despair, and then burst into a loud fit of
laughter.

A very slight circumstance, however, changed
the face of affairs. As he stood gazing on his
ragged troop, with a half-rueful, half-laughing
countenance, an ass, apparently loaded with

84 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

sand, and a man driving it, were seen slowly
approaching, as if intending to proceed to the
castle.

" By the Lord !" cried the young Knight,
" this is a Godsend — for, on my word, we shall
want sand enough to scrub our armour. What
hast thou there, good man ?" he added, as the
ass and his driver came near.

" Sand for the Chatelain de Coucy," replied
the man. " Be you he .?"

" Yes," answered the Knight. — '' Sand for
me ! — What mean you, good friend ? You
must mistake.*"

" Not so, beau Sire V replied the driver,
approaching and speaking low — '' 'tis a thou-
sand marks of silver !"

'' Ha ! —Who from ?''

" The price of a ring," replied the man,
" sent by the holy Bernard of St. Mande by
me, his humble penitent, to the Sire de Coucy.''

" That alters the matter !" cried the Knight.
— " that alters the matter ! Take thy sand

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 85

to the castle, good friend. — Hugo, ride with all
speed to Vernon. Bring me all the armourers
of the town, with all the arms they have ready.
Send a serf to Gisors on the same errand. — A
thousand marks of silver ! — By the Lord that
lives ! I will equip an army !"

86 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

CHAPTER IV.

The night was dark and gloomy. A thou-
sand black clouds were flitting over the sky,
borne by a quick rough breeze, which ever and
anon, with wild caprice, would scatter them
abroad, leaving the yellow moonlight to shine
bright upon their white edges, and pour a flood
of mellow radiance on the world below, and
then again would whirl some deep shadowy
mass up from the profound verge of the hori-
zon, and once more overwhelm all in gloom and
obscurity.

Amidst such occasional glimpses of moon-
light, struggled on from the village of Vin-
cennes, through the great forest of St. Mande,

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 87

a stout, short man, wrapped in an immense
cloak, and preceded by a boy holding a torch,
which the high wind threatened every moment
to extinguish.

" Art thou sure thou knowest the way,
urchin ?" cried the man, in a wearied and pant-
ing tone, which argued plainly enough, that his
corpulency loved not deeply the species of
stumbling locomotion, to which his legs sub-
jected his paunch, amidst the roots and stones
of the forest path. — " Art thou sure that thou
knowest the road ? — Jesu preserve me ! I would
not lose my way here, to be called to the con-
clave !"

" Oh, I know the way well !" replied the
boy, in a shrill treble. " 1 come here every
day, to ask the prayers of the Holy Hermit
for my grandmother, who is ninety years of
age, and sick of a hydropsy."

'' Better pray God to take her, rather than
to leave her !" replied his companion. " 'Tis a
foolish errand mine, — 'tis a foolish errand !" he

»» PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

continued, speaking peevishly to himself, as he
struggled to shake off a pertinacious branch of
withered thorn which, detached from its parent
bush, clung fondly to the tail of his robe, and
trailed solemnly on behind him. " Not the
errand itself, which is holy, just, and expe-
dient ; but the coming at night — Take care,
urchin ! The wind will blow it out, if you
flaunt it after such a fashion. — The coming at
night ! — Yet what could I do.'' The canon of
St. Berthe's said true — that if I came in the
day, folks would say I could not govern my
diocese myself. — I told you so, foolish child I
I told you so ! — Now, what are we to do ?"
continued he, raising his voice to the very
highest pitch of dismay and crossness; as a
sharp gust of wind, up one of the long glades,
extinguished completely the flame of the torch,
which had for some time been wavering with a
very undecided sort of flicker : — " now, what
are we to do ?''^

" Oh, I know the wyy, as well without the

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 89

light as with/' replied the same childish voice :
" I'll lead you right, beau Sire.''

" Ay, ay, child," said the other ; " but I
love not forests in the dark : — this one has a bad
name too — 'tis said more sorts of evil spirits
than one haunt it. The Lord be merciful
unto us ! The devil is powerful in these
hours of darkness ! And besides, there are
other dangers — '' Here he stumbled over one
of the large roots of an elm, shot across the
path, and would doubtless have fallen at full
length, had not his little guide's shoulder come
opportunely in the way of his hand, as it
sprawled forth in the act of descent, and thus af-
forded him some stay ! — " Cursed be the root !"
cried he ; — " cursed be it, above the earth,
and under the earth ! — cursed be it in this life,
and to all eternity ! Amen. — Lord have mercy
upon me ! Sinner that I am ! I am repeating
the anathema. It will never go out of my
head, that anathema — cursed be it I — Boy, is it
far off still.? — Did not you hear a noise?" he
added suddenly.

90 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" I hear the rustling of the wind," replied
the child, " but nothing more. You folks that
do not live near the forests, do not know what
sounds it makes sometimes.""

"Evil spirits, boy ! — evil spirits !" cried the
man. " Evil spirits, I tell thee, screaming in
their malice ; but I vow I hear a rushing, as if
there were some wild beasts. — Hark ! hark !"
and he grasped the boy's arm, looking round
and round in the darkness, which his fancy filled
with all the wild creation of fear.

" Ne in furore tuo arguas me, Domine, neque
in ira tua corripias me. Miserere mei, Domine,
quoniam infirmus sum !" cried the frightened
traveller ; when suddenly the clouds rolled
white away from the face of the moon, and her
beams for a moment, streaming down clear upon
them, showed the v^^ide open glade of the wood,
untenanted by any one but themselves, with the
old ruined tomb in the forest, and the rude hut
of Bernard the Hermit. "Kyrie elei'son ! Christe
ele'ison !" cried the traveller, at the sight of these

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 91

blessed rays ; and running forward to reach the
dwelling of the Hermit, before the clouds again
brought darkness over the face of the earth, he
arrived, all breathless and panting, and struck
hard with his fist against the closed door.
" Open, open ! Brother Bernard ! and let me
in,"*" he cried loudly. " Let me in, before the
moon goes behind the cloud again.*'

" Who art thou, who breakest through my
prayers .?" cried the voice of the Hermit.
" And why fearest thou the going of the moon ?
Thou wilt not be one jot wiser when she is
gone ?"

'• Nay ! 'tis I, Brother Bernard," replied
the traveller, fretting with impatience to get
in. " 'Tis I, I tell thee, man ! Thy friend
and fellow-labourer in this poor vineyard of
France !''

«' I have no friend but the Lord, and his
holy saints," said the Hermit, opening the door.
— " But how is thiSf Lord Bishop T'

" Hush ! hush !" cried the other, holding

92 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

up his hand. " Do not let the boy hear thee !
— I come in secret, upon matters of deep
import."

" Does not the text say, ' That xchich thou
doest in secret shall be proclaimed openly ?'■"
demanded the Hermit. — *'But what. dost thou
mean to do with the boy .^" continued he, lay-
ing his hand on the child's head. " If he be as
terrified as thou seemest to be, he will not love
to stay till thine errand with me is done."

" Oh, I fear not, Father," said the youth.
" I am forest bred ; and nothing evil would
come within sight of thy dwelling."

" Well, poor lad !" said the Hermit. " Sit
there by the door ; and if aught scares thee,
push it open, and come in."

The boy accordingly seated himself by the
door, which was shut upon him ; and the Her-
mit pointed a place on his bed of straw and
moss, for the Bishop"'s seat. If it had any dis-
tinction, 'twas solely that of being situated
beneath the crucifix, under which a small lamp

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 93

was burning, giving the only light which the
cell possessed.

The good Prelate — for such he was — cast
himself upon the moss, and stretching forth his
hands on his broad fat knees, employed no in-
considerable space of time in cooling himself,
and recovering his breath, after the bodily fear
and exertion he had undergone. The Hermit
seated himself also ; and waited, in grave
silence, the communication, whatever it was,
that brought so respectable a dignitary of the
Church as the Bishop of Paris to his cell at
so unsuitable an hour.

" The Lord be merciful unto me !" cried the
Bishop, after a long pause. '' What perils
and dangers have I not run this very night, for
the service of the Church, and the poor Chris-
tian souls of the French people, who are now
crying for the rites and ceremonies of the
Church, as the tribes of Israel cried for flesh in
the desert."

" But if report speaks right,"" replied the

94 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Hermit, " thy flock has no need to cry ; as the
interdict has not yet been enforced within thy
diocese, Father Bishop."

" True ! unhappily too true !" cried the Pre-
late, imagining that the Hermit imputed blame
to him for the delay. " But what could I do,
brother Bernard ? God knows — praised be his
Name! — that I have the most holy and devout
fear of the authority of the blessed Church of
Rome ; — but how can I bear to tear the food of
salvation from the mouths of the poor hungry
people ? — Besides, when I did but mention it to
the King, he cried out, in his rude and furious
way : — ' By the joyeuse of St. Charlemagne !
Bishop, take care what you do ! As long as
you eat of the fat, and drink of the strong, you
Prelates of France mind nothing ; but let me
hear no more of this interdict, or I will smite
you hip and thigh ! I will drive you forth from
your benefices ! I will deprive you of your
feofs, and I will strip you of your wealth ! — and
then you may get rosy wines and rich meats
where you can !'"

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 95

A sort of cynical smile gathered round the
Hermit's lip, as if in his heart he thought Phi-
lip's estimate of the clergy of his day was not a
bad one : and indeed their scandalous luxury
was but too fertile a theme of censure to all the
severer moralists of those times. He contented
himself, however, with demanding what the
Prelate intended to do.

*' Nay, on that subject, I came to consult
you, Brother Bernard," replied the Bishop.
" You have ever shown yourself a wise and
prudent man, since you came into this place,
some seven years ago ; and all you have recom-
mended has prospered. — Now, in truth, I know
not what to do. The King is furious. His
love for this Agnes — (If God would but please
to take her to himself, what a blessing !) — is
growing more and more. He has already cast
out half the Bishops of France for enforcing
the interdict, and seized on the lands of many
of the Barons who have permitted or encou-
raged it. — What can I do ? If I enforce it, he
will cast me out too ; and the people will be no

96 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

better. If I do not enforce it, I fall under the
heavy censure of our Holy Father the Pope V

" You know your duty, Father Bishop, far
better than I can tell it to you,"' replied the
Hermit, with what might almost be called a
malicious determination to give no assistance
whatever to the poor Prelate, who, between his
fears of Rome, and his dread of losing his dio-
cese, laboured like a ship in a stormy sea.
" Your duty must be done."

" But hearken, brother Bernard," said the
Bishop. " You know John of Arville, the
Canon of St. Berthe's — a keen, keen man,
though he be so quiet and calm, and one that
knows every thing which passes in the world,
though he be so devout and strict in his
religious exercises."

" I know him well," said the Hermit stern-
ly, as if the qualities of the worthy canon stood
not high in his esteem, — " What of him ?"

" Why, you know that now William of Al-
bert is dead, this John is head of the Canons of

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 97

St. Berthe," replied the Bishop. " Now, you
must know still farther, that a few days ago,
the young Count d'Auvergne, with his train,
came to Paris and was hospitably received by
the Canons of St. Berthe, in whose church his
father had been a great founder. As the inter-
dict is strictly kept in his own part of the coun-
try, the Count could not confess himself there ;
but, wisely and religiously, seeing that years
might elapse before he could again receive the
comforts of the Church if the interdict lasted,
and not knowing what might happen in the
mean time — for life is frail, you know. Brother
Bernard — he resolved to confess himself to
John of Arville, the Canon ; which he did. So,
then, you see, John of Arville came away to me,
and told me, that he had a great secret, which
might heal all the wounds of the State."

" How !" exclaimed the Hermit, starting up.
" Did he betray the secrets of confession ?""

" No, no ! You mistake. Brother Bernard,"
cried the Bishop peevishly. " No, no ! He

VOL. II. F

98 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

did not betray the secrets of confession; but,
in his conversations afterwards with the young
Count, he drew from him, that he loved this
Agnes de Meranie, and that she had been
promised to him by her brother as he went
to the Holy Land : and that her brother being
killed there, and her father knowing nothing
of the promise, gave her to the King Philip.
But now, hearing that the marriage is not
lawful, he — her father, the Duke of Istria — has
charged this young Count d''Auvergne, as a
knight, and one who was her dead brother's
dear friend, secretly to command her, in his
name, to quit the Court of France, and return
to his protection : and the Count has thereon
staked life and fortune, that if she will consent,
he will find means to bring her back to Istria,
in despite of the whole world. This is what he
communicated to the reverend Canon, not, as
you say, in confession, but in sundry conversa-
tions after confessions."

Bernard the Hermit gave no thought to

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 99

what, in our eyes, may appear a strange com-
mission for a parent like the Duke of Istria to
confide to so young a man as the Count d''Au-
vergne. But, in those days, we must remem-
ber, such things were nothing strange ; for
knightly honour had as yet been so rarely
violated that, to doubt it for an instant, under
such a mark of confidence, would have been
then considered as a proof of a base and dis-
honourable heart. The Hermit's mind, there-
fore, turned alone to the conduct of the
priest.

" I understand," replied he, drawing his
brows together, even more sternly than he had
heretofore done. " The reverend Canon of St.
Berthe's claims kindred in an equal degree
with the fox and the wolf. He has taken care
that the Count's secrets, first communicated
to him in confession, should be afterwards re-
peated to him without such a seal. Thinks he,
I wonder, to juggle Heaven, as well as man,
with the letter instead of the spirit ? And
f2

100 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

doubtless, now, he would gladly give the Count
d'Auvergne all easy access to persuade this
unhappy girl to return ; so that he, the Canon
of St. Berthe's, may but save his diocesan from
the unwieldy burden of the interdict, at the
expense of a civil war between the powerful
Count d'Auvergne and his liege lord Philip.
'Tis a goodly scheme, good Father Bishop ; but
'twill not succeed. Agnes loves Philip — looks
on him as her husband — refuses to part from
him — has the spirit of a hero in a woman's
bosom, and may as soon be moved by such
futile plans, as the north star by the singing of
the nightingale."

'' See what it is to be a wise man !" said the
Bishop, unable to restrain a little triumphant
chuckle, at having got the Hermit at fault. —
" See what it is to be a wise man, and not hear
a simple story out ! Besides, good Brother
Bernard, you speak but uncharitably of the
reverend Canon of St. Berthe's, who is a holy
and religious man ; though, like you yourself.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 101

somewhat too proud of worldly wisdom —
a-hem !"

" A-hem !" echoed something near ; at least,
so it seemed to the quick and timorous ears of
the worthy Prelate, who started up and lis-
tened. " Did you not hear something, Brother
Bernard ?*" demanded he in a low voice. " Did
you not hear a noise ? Cursed be it upon the
earth ! and — God forgive me — "

" I heard the roaring of the wind, and the
creaking of the wood, but nothing else,"" re-
plied the Hermit calmly. " But what wert
thou about to say, Father Bishop ? If I have
taken thee up wrongly, I am ready to acknow-
ledge my folly. All men are but as fools, and
I not amongst the least. If I have wronged
the Canon of St. Berthe^s, I am ready to ac-
knowledge the fault. All men are sinners, and
I not amongst the least. But how have I been
mistaken at present ?'*

"Why, altogether!"" replied the Prelate, after
having re-assured himself by listening several

102 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

moments without hearing any farther sound, —
" altogether. Brother Bernard. The Canon of
St. Berthe's aims at nothing you have men-
tioned. No one knows better than he the
Queen's mind, as he is her confessor ; and he
sees well, that till the King shows some sign
of willingness to part with her, she will remain
fixed to him, as if she were part of himself:
but he knows too, that if Philip does but evince
the least coldness — the least slackening of the
bonds that bind him to her, she will think he
wearies of his constancy, or fears the conse-
quences of his opposition to the Holy Church ;
and will herself demand to quit him. His
scheme therefore is, to let the King grow
jealous of the Count d'Auvergne to such a
point, as to show some chilliness to the Queen.
Agnes herself will think that he repents of
his opposition to our blessed Father the Pope,
and will propose to depart. Philip's jealousy
wiU prevent him from saying nay ; and the
reverend Canon himself, as her confessor, will

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 103

conduct her with a sufficient escort to the court
of I stria ; where, please God ! he may be re-
warded as he deserves, for the signal service he
renders France !"

" Hoo ! hoo ! hoo !" cried a voice from
without ; which sounded through the unglazed
window, as if it was in the very hut.

" Miserere mei, Domine, secundum multitu-
dinem miserationum tuarum V* exclaimed the
Bishop ; the rosy hue of his cheek, which had
returned, in the security of the hermit'^s cell, to
much the colour of the field pimpernel, now
fading away to the hue of the same flower in
an ancient herbal.

" 'Tis but an owl ! — 'tis but an owl !" cried
the Hermit ; and, fixing his eyes on the ground,
he meditated deeply for several minutes, regard-
less of the stiD unsubdued terror of the Bishop,
who, drawing a chaplet from beneath his robe,
filled up the pause with paters and aves,
strangely mixed with various very ungodly
curses from the never-forgotten anathema.

104 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

which in his fright, like prisoners in a popular
tumult, rushed forth against his will, the mo-
ment fear unbarred the door of his lips.

" It is a cruel scheme !" said the Hermit at
length, " and the man who framed it is a cruel
man ; who, for his own base ambition of gain-
ing bishoprics in Germany and credit at Rome,
scruples not to tear asunder the dearest ties of
the heart — but for you or me. Father Bishop,"
he added, turning more immediately to the
Prelate, " for you and me, who have no other
interest in this thing, than the general welfare
of our country, to prevent civil war and general
rebellion of the King'^s vassals, which will in-
evitably ensue if the interdict lasts, especially
while he bears so hard a hand upon them, —
for us, I say, it is to consider whether by the
sorrow inflicted in this instance, infinite, infinite
misery may not be spared through the whole
nation. If you come then. Father Bishop, to
ask me my opinion, I think the scheme which
this Canon of St. Berthe's proposed may be

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 105

made use of — as an evil indeed — but as the
least, infinitely the least, of two great ones.
I think, then, that it may conscientiously be
made use of; but, at the same time, I think the
worse of the man that framed it — ay ! and he
knew I should think the worse of him !"

" Why, indeed, and in truth, I believe he
did," answered the Bishop, who had somewhat
recovered his composure by the non-repetition
of the sounds. — " I believe he did, for he
mightily opposed my consulting you on the
matter ; saying that — though all the world
knows. Brother Bernard, you are a wise man,
and a holy one too; for, indeed, none but a holy
man dare inhabit such a wild place, amidst all
sorts of evil spirits — cursed be they above the
earth and under the earth ! — but saying — as I
was going to observe — that if I were seen coming
here, people would think I knew not how to
govern my own diocese ; but must needs have
your help. So I came here at night, God for-
give me and protect me ! for, if ever the sin of
F 5

106 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

pride and false shame was punished, and re-
pented of with fear and trembling, it has been
this night."

So frank a confession changed the cynical
smile that was gathering round the anchorite's
lips, into one of a blander character. " Your
coming in the day, good Father Bishop," re-
plied he, " would have honoured me, without
disgracing you. The world would but have
said, that the Holy Bishop of Paris visited the
poor Hermit of Vincennes, to consult with him
for the people's good. — But let us to the ques-
tion. If you will follow my counsel, good
Father, you will lay this scheme before that ho-
noured and noble Knight, and Reverend Bishop,
Guerin ; for, believe me, it will be necessary to
keep a careful guard over Philip ; and to watch
him well, lest, his passions being raised to a
dangerous degree, it become necessary to tell
him suddenly the whole truth. I am absent
from him. You are busied with the cares of
your flock; and the Canon of St. Berthe's

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 107

must not be trusted. But Guerin is always
near him; and, with your holy zeal and his
prudent watching, this scheme, though it may
tear the heart of the King and of the fair, unfor-
tunate girl, Agnes his wife, may also save blood-
shed, rebellion, and civil war, and raise the in-
terdict from this ill-fated kingdom."

A loud scream, like that of some ravenous
bird, but prolonged so that it seemed as if no
mortal breath could have given it utterance,
thrilled through the air as the Hermit spoke,
and vibrated round and round the hut. The
Bishop sank on his knees, and his little guide
pushed open the door and ran in. " I dare
stay out there no longer !"" cried the boy :
" there is something in the tree ! — there is
something in the tree f

" Where ?" cried the Hermit, striding to-
wards the door, his worn and emaciated figure
erecting itself, and seeming to swell out with
new-born energy. " Where is this sight ?
Were it the Prince of Evil himself, I defy

108 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

him !"— and with a firm step, he advanced into
the moonlight, between the threshold of the
hut and the ancient tomb, casting his eyes
up into the shattered oak, whose remaining
branches stretched wide and strong over the
path.

To his surprise, however, he beheld seated
on one of the large boughs, in the attitude of
an ape, a dark figure, like that of a man ; who
no sooner cast his eyes on the Hermit, than he
began to pour forth more strange and detest-
able sounds, than ever were uttered by a
human tongue, moving backwards along the
branches at the same time with superhuman
agility.

" Avoid thee, Satan ! In the Name of Jesus
thy Conqueror ! avoid thee V cried the Her-
mit, holding up the crucifix attached to his
rosary.

'' Ha, ha ! oh rare ! The interdict, the in-
terdict !"" shouted the vision, gliding along
amongst the branches. " Oh rare ! oh rare !""

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 109

And then burst forth a wild scream of unna-
tural laughter, which for a moment rang round
and round, as if echoed by a thousand voices ;
then died away fainter and fainter, and at
last was lost entirely ; while the dark figure,
from which it seemed to proceed, disappeared
amidst the gloom of the thick boughs and
leaves.

" Rise, rise. Father Bishop !" cried the Her-
mit, entering the hut. ** The Fiend is gone ;
and verily his coming, where he has never
dared to come before, seemed to show that he
is fearful of your design, and would fain
scare us from endeavouring to raise the inter-
dict : — rise, good Father, I say, and be not
frightened from your endeavour !" So saying,
the Hermit stooped and aided his reverend
visitor ; whom at his return he had found,
stretched flat on his face, at the foot of the
cross, before which the anchorite's lamp was
burning.

" Now, Jesu preserve us ! this is very dread-

110 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

ful, Brother Bernard !" cried the poor Bishop,
his teeth chattering in his head. " How you
can endure it, and go on living here, exposed
to such attacks, I know not; but I do know
that one week of such residence would wear all
the flesh off my bones.""

The Hermit glanced his eye, with somewhat
of a cold smile, from the round, well-covered
limbs of the Prelate, to his own meagre and
sinewy form. He made not, however, the
comment that sprang to his lips, but simply
replied, " I am not often subject to such visi-
tations, and, as you see, the enemy flies from
me when I appear.""

" But, for all that," answered the Bishop,
" I tell thee, good Brother Bernard, I dare as
much go home through that forest alone with
this urchin, as I dare jump off* the tower of
the Louvre !""

" Fear not : I will go with thee," replied
the Anchorite. " The boy, too, has a torch, I
see. The night is now clear, and the wind

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. Ill

somewhat gone down, so that the way will be
soon trodden."

Company of any kind, under such circum-
stances, would have been received as a blessing
by the good Bishop ; but that of so holy a man
as the Hermit was reputed to be, was doubly a
security. Clinging to him, therefore, somewhat
closer than bespoke much valour, the Prelate
suffered himself to be led out into the forest ;
while the boy, with his torch now lighted again,
accompanied them, a little indeed in advance,
but not sufficiently so as to prevent him also
from holding tight by the Anchorite^s frock.

Thus, then, they proceeded through the wind-
ing paths of the wood, now in light, and now
in shade, till the dark roofs of the village near
Vincennes, sleeping quietly in the moonshine,
met once more the delighted eyes of the Bishop
of Paris. Here the Anchorite bade God speed
him, and, turning his steps back again, took
the way to his hut.

Did we say that the Hermit, Bernard, did

112 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

not, every now and then, give a glance to the
wood on either side as he passed, or that he
did not hold his crucifix in his hand, and, from
time to time, murmur a prayer to Heaven or
his guardian Angel, we should say what was
false; but still he walked on with a firm step,
and a far more erect carriage than usual, pre-
pared to encounter the enemy of mankind,
should he appear in bodily shape, with all the
courage of a Christian and the zeal of an
enthusiast.

When he had reached his hut, however,
and fastened the door, he cast himself on his
knees before the cross, and, folding his arms
devoutly on his bosom, he exclaimed : — " O,
blessed Saviour ! pardon if I have sinned in
the counsel I have this night given. Let not
weakness of understanding be attributed to
me for wickedness of heart ; but, as thou seest
that my whole desire is to serve Thee, and do
good unto my fellow-christians, grant, O Lord !
pardon and remittance unto the faults of my

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 113

judgment! Nevertheless, if my counsel be
evil, and thou hast permitted thy conquered
enemy to show himself unto me visibly, as a
sign of thy wrath, let me beseech thee, Lord !
to turn that counsel aside that it have no effect,
and that the sorrow of my brethren lay not
heavy on my head !''

To this extempore prayer the good Hermit
added one or two from the regular ritual of the
Church; and then, casting himself on his bed
of moss, with a calmed mind, he fell into a
profound sleep.

In the mean while, day broke upon the glades
of the forest ; and, at about the distance of a
mile from the dwelling of the Hermit, dropped
down from one of the old oaks, with the first
ray of the sun, no less a person than our friend
Gallon the fool.

*' Ha, ha !" cried he, " Ha, ha, haw ! My
Lord ordered me to be shut out, if I came not
home by dusk ; and now, by my shutting out
I have heard a secret he would give his ears to

114 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

hear. — Ha, haw ! Ha, haw ! — I Ve ninety-nine
minds not to tell him — but it wants the hun-
dredth. So I will tell him. — Then he'll break
their plot, or give news of it to the King
and the Auvergne ; — and then, they '11 all be
hanged up like acorns. — Haw, haw ! and we
shall keep the sweet interdict — the dear inter-
dict — the beloved interdict. — I saw five dead
men lying unburied in the convent field. — Haw,
haw, haw ! Haw, haw ! I love the interdict —
I do ! 'Tis like my nose. It mars the face of
the country, which otherwise were a fair face.—
Ha, haw ! I love interdicts. My nose is my
interdict. — Haw, haw, haw ! But I must find
other means to spite the De Coucy, for shut-
ting me out ! I spited him finely, by sending
down the old fool Julian into the glade, where
he was cajoling his daughter ! — Haw, haw, haw !
Ha, haw !" So saying, he bounded forward,
and ran as hard as he could towards the dis-
tant city.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 115

CHAPTER V.

Let us suppose a brief lapse of time and a
slight change of scene. 'Twas the month of
September; and though the mellow hand of
autumn had already spread a rich golden tinge
over field and wood, yet not a particle of sum-
mer's sparkling brilliancy seemed gone from
the clear blue sky. 'Twas in the bright land,
too, of merry Touraine, where migratory sum-
mer seems to linger longer than any where else;
and, though the sickle had done its work, and
the brown plains told that the year's prime was
passed, yet there was a smile on the aspect of
the land, as if it would fain have promised that
the sweet days of the earth's life would be ther^
immortal.

116 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Over one of the wide open fields of that
country, swelling gently with a soft undulating
slope, and bordered, here and there, with low
scattered woods, were seen to ride a gay party
of horsemen, but few in number indeed, but
with their arms glittering in the morning sun,
theirplumes waving in the breeze, and, in short,
with all " the pomp and circumstance of war."

In faith, it was as fair a sight to see as the
world can give — a party of the chivalry of that
age. For them, were all the richest habiliments
reserved by law. Robes of scarlet, ornaments
of gold, fine furs, and finer stuffs, were all theirs
by right ; and with their banners, and pennons,
and their polished armour, their embroidered
coats of arms, and their decorated horses, they
formed a moving mass of animated splendour,
such as the present day cannot afford to show.

The group we speak of at present, wanted
nothing that chivalry could display. At its
head rode a fair youth, just in man''s opening
day ; his eye sparkling, his cheek glowing, his

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 117

lip smiling with the bursting happiness of his
heart, at finding himself freed from restraint.
Lord of himself, and entering on the brilliant
career of arms, supported by knights, by
nobles, and by kings, to strive for — not the
ordinary stake of ordinary men — but for crowns,
and thrones, and kingdoms.

Arthur Plantagenet wore his helmet still;
as if the new weight of honourable armour was '
more a delight than a burthen to him ; but the
visor being open, his face was clearly exposed,
and spoke nothing but hope and animation.
His arms were all inlaid with gold, and over
his shoulders he wore the superb surcoat of
arms, which had been worked for him by the
fair hands of Agnes de Meranie.

On the Prince's right-hand rode Guy de
Coucy, with his head still unarmed ; and mere-
ly covered by a green velvet bonnet, with a
jewel, and a plume of the feathers of the
white egret, which had been bestowed upon
him by the King on his joining the expedition

118 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

at Paris. Neither did he ride his battle-horse
— which, as when we first saw him, was led be-
hind him by a squire — but was mounted on one
of the Arabian coursers which he had brought
with him from the Holy Land. He had, how-
ever, his tremendous long sword by his side,
the tip descending to his heel, and the hilt
coming up nearly to his shoulder ; and, though
at the bow of his war-saddle, on the other
horse, hung his heavy battle-axe and mace, a
lighter axe swung by his side. His gauntlets
were on, his squires were close behind him; and
by various other signs of the same kind, it might
be inferred that the road he was now travelling
was more likely to be hostilely interrupted, than
that over which he had passed in Auvergne.

On Arthur's left-hand appeared in complete
arms the famous warrior and troubadour,
whose songs and whose deeds have descended
honourably even to our days, — Savary de Mau-
I^on. As, in the case of De Coucy, his casque
was borne behind him ; but, in other respects,
he was armed cap a pie.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 119

Of this knight one thing must be remarked,
which, though it might seem strange, was no
less true, and showed the madness of that age
for song. Between himself and the squires
who bore his casque and led his battle-horse,
rode a tiny, beautiful boy, mounted on a small
fleet Limousin jennet, and habited with all the
extravagant finery which could be devised. In
his hand, instead of shield, or lance, or imple-
ment of bloody warfare, he bore a small sort of
harp, exactly of the shape of those with which
the sculptors of that period have represented
King David, as well as sundry angels, in the rich
tympanums of many of the gothic church-door-
ways in France. This instrument, however,
was not fully displayed on the journey, being
covered with a housse, or veil of silver gauze,
from which, such coverings often being applied
to shields of arms, any one passing by might
have mistaken it for some buckler of a new and
strange form.

Behind this first group, who were followed
immediatelv by their squires, came at a little

120 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

distance a confused body of knights of lesser
fame ; in general, vassals of Savary de Mauleon,
or of his friends ; or others who, from disgust
towards King John, had come over to the increas-
ing party of his nephew. These were all well
armed and equipped ; and, though riding for
the time in a scattered and irregular manner, it
wanted but a word from their chiefs, to bring
them into line, or hedge, as it was called,
when, with their long lances, heavy armed
horses, and impenetrable persons, they would
have offered a formidable barrier against any
attack.

A group of servants of arms followed these
knights ; and behind these again, with far more
show of discipline, and covered with bright,
new armour, came two hundred Braban9ois,
with their old captain, Jodelle, at their head.
Their horses were unarmed, except by an iron
poitral, to resist the blow of a lance or sword
on the first assault. The riders also were but
lightly harnessed, with cuirass, steel cap, and

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 121

buckler ; but, being intended principally to act
either as horse-archers themselves, or against
bodies of foot, they often proved the most ser-
viceable troops in the army.

At the head of their line rode Hugo de Barre,
bearing De Coucy's banner ; while, armed some-
thing like a Braban^ois, but more heavily, with
the place of his favourite mare supplied by a
strong black horse, Gallon the Fool rode along
the ranks, keeping the greater part of the sol-
diers in continual merriment. There were, it
is true, some ten or twelve of them who knit
their brows from under their iron caps at the
jongleur as he passed ; but the generality of
the Braban^ois laughed at his jest, or gave it
him back again ; and, indeed, no one seemed
more amused, or in better harmony with the
mad juggler, than the captain Jodelle himself.

The whole party might consist of about five
hundred men ; and they moved on slowly, as if
not very certain whether they might not be
near some unseen enemy. The plain on which

VOL. II. G

122 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

we have said they were, was unbroken by any
thing in the shape of a hedge, and sufficiently
flat to give a view over its whole surface ; but,
at the same time, the low woods that bordered
it here and there might have concealed many
thousand men, and the very evenness of the
country prevented any view of what was beyond.
" Straight before you, beau Sire !" said Sava-
ry de Mauleon, pointing forward with his band.
" At the distance of three hours' march, lies
the famous city of Tours ; and even now, if you
look beyond that wood, you will catch a faint
glance of the church of the blessed St. Martin.
See you not a dark grey mass against the sky,
squarer and more stifi* in form than any of the
trees r'

" I do, I do !— And is that Tours?" cried
Arthur, each fresh object wakening in his heart
that unaccountable delight with which youth
thrills towards novelty — that dear brightness of
the mind, which, in our young days, reflects all
things presented to it, with a thousand splen-

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 123

did dazzling rays not their own ; but, alas !
which too soon gets dimmed and dull, in the
vile chafing and rubbing of the world.—" Is
that Tours ?'''' and his fancy instantly conjured
up, and combined with the image of the distant
city, a bright whirl of vague and pleasant ex-
pectations which, like a child's top, kept diz-
zily spinning before his eyes, based on an in-
visible point, and ready to fall on a touch.

" That is Tours, beau Sire,'' replied the
Knight ; " and I doubt not that there, what with
all my fair countrymen of Anjou and Poitou,
who have already promised their presence, and
others who may have come without their pro-
mise, you will find Knights enough for you to
undertake at once some bold enterprize."

Arthur looked to De Coucy, under whose
tutelage as a warrior, Philip Augustus had in
some degree placed the inexperienced Prince.
" Far be it from me," said the Knight, " to op-
pose any bold measure that has the probability
of success along with it ; but, as a general princi-
g2

124 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

pie, I think that in a war which is likely to be
of long duration, when we expect the speedy
arrival of strong reinforcements, and where no-
thing is to be lost by some delay, it is wise to
pause, so as to strike the first strokes with cer-
tainty of success ; especially where the Prince's
person may be put in danger by any rash at-
tempt."

" By the blessed St. Martin !" cried Savary
de Mauleon, " I thought not to hear the Sire
de Coucy recommend timid delay. Fame has,
as usual, belied him, when she spoke of his
courage as somewhat rash.

De Coucy had, indeed, spoken rather in op-
position to the general character of his own
mind ; but he felt that there was a degree of
responsibility attached to his situation, which
required the greatest caution, to guard against
the natural daring of his disposition. He main-
tained, therefore, the same coolness in reply to
the Poitevin Knight, although it cost him some
effort to repress the same spirit manifesting

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 125

itself in his language, which glowed warm on
his brow.

" Sir Guillaume Savary de Mauleon," replied
he, " in the present instance, my counsel to
Prince Arthur shall be to attempt nothing, till
he has such forces as shall render those first
attempts certain ; and, as to myself, I can but
say, that when you and I are in the battle-field,
my banner shall go as far, at least, as yours
into the midst of the enemies."

" Not a step farther !" said Savary de Mau-
leon quickly — " not a step farther !^'

" That shall be as God pleases," answered
De Coucy ; " but, in the mean time, we are
disputing about wind. Till we reach Tours,
we cannot at all tell what assistance may wait
us there. If there be sufficient force to jus-
tify us in proceeding to action, I will by
no means dissent ; but, if there be but few
of our friends arrived, I will say, that man
who advises the Prince to attempt any thing
yet, may be as brave as a lion, but seeks

126 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

to serve his own vanity more than Arthur
Plantagenet."'

" How his own vanity, Sir ?" demanded
Savary de Mauleon, ready to take offence on
the slightest provocation.

" By risking his Prince's fortunes," replied
De Coucy, " rather than let others have a
share in the harvest of glory before him.— Ho,
there V he continued, turning to one of his
squires, who instantly rode up. — " Bid Jo-
delle detach a score of his lightest men round
the eastern limb of that wood, and bring me
word v/hat 'tis that glittered but now above
the trees. — Go yourself too, and use your
eyes."

The man obeyed, with the promptitude of
one accustomed to serve a quick and impera-
tive Lord ; and the little manoeuvre the Knight
had commanded was performed with all the
precision he could desire. In the mean while,
he resumed the conversation with Arthur and
Savary de Mauleon, who — cooled by the momen-

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 127

tary pause, and also somewhat soothed by some-
thing flattering, he scarce knew what, in the idea
of the sort of avarice of glory De Coucy had at-
tributed to him — replied to the young Knight
with more cordiality than he had at first
evinced. In a very few minutes, the horsemen,
who had been detached, returned at full gallop.
Their report was somewhat startling. A large
body of horse, they said, whose spear-heads
De Coucy had seen above the low trees, were
skirting slowly round the wood towards them.
Full a hundred knights, with barbed horses
and party pennons, had been seen. There ap-
peared more behind ; and the whole body, with
the squires, archers, and servants of arms,
might amount to fifteen hundred. No banner,
however, was displayed ; but one of the Bra-
ban9ois declared, that he knew the foremost
to be King John's Norman knights, by the
fashion of their hauberts, and the pikes on their
horses' heads.

" Give me my lance and casque !"" cried De

128 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Coucy.— " Sir Savary de Mauleon, I leave the
Prince under your care, while I, with my
Braban9ois and followers, give these gentry
the meeting at the corner of the wood. You
would not be mad enough in this business to
risk the Prince with four hundred men and
forty knights, against one hundred knights
and fifteen hundred men !"

" Surely not," replied Savary de Mauleon ;
" but still I go with you myself, beau Sire."

" No ! as you are a Knight," cried De Coucy,
grasping his hand, '' I charge you, stay with
the Prince, cover his march to Tours ; keep all
the knights with you, for you will want them
all. You start fair with the enemy — the dis-
tance is about equal to the city ; and I promise
you, that if they pass yon turn of the wood
within this quarter of an hour, 'tis over my
dead body — let it be so, Sir Knight, in God's
name ! The honour will rest with him who
gets the Prince safe to Tours. Is not that
enough ? You have the post of honour."

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 129

" And you the post of danger," said Savary
de Mauleon, shaking his head.

" Mind not you that !" cried De Coucy,
whose casque was by this time fixed. '' If
these be Normans, there will be danger and
honour enough too, before you reach Tours;"
and grasping his lance, he fell back to the band
of Braban9ois, put himself at their head, and
galloped at full speed to the turning of the
wood.

Before coming in sight of the enemy, how-
ever, De Coucy paused, and advancing so far
alone as to gain a sight of them, he perceived
that their numbers, though they had been
somewhat exaggerated, were still too great to
admit the chance of fighting them with any
hope of success. His object therefore was to
delay them on their march as long as he could ;
and then to retreat fighting, so as to cover the
Prince's march upon Tours. Accordingly he
commanded the Cotereaux to spread out, in
such a manner that the iron of their spears
G 5

130 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

might just be seen protruding from the wood,
and by patting his horse's neck, and touching
him Avith the spur, he made him utter one or
two loud neighs, for the purpose of calling
the attention of the enemy, which the sound
of their galloping thither did not seem to have
done.

The stratagem had its effect: the whole body
of horse, who were approaching, halted ; and
after a few minutes' consultation, a reconnoi-
tring party was thrown out, who approached
in front of De Coucy's party, and fell back
again instantly on their main body. " Ground
your spears !"*' cried De Coucy ; " unsling your
bows ; have each man his arrow^ on the string,
and the string to his ear, and give them such a
flight as shall dizzy them whenever they come
near."

The Braban9ois obeyed : each man rested his
spear, which, by the way, was distinguished in
many respects from the knight's lance, — threw
his bridle over his arm, and drew his bowstring

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 131

to his ear ; while De Coucy advanced a few
paces, to observe the motions of the enemy.
To his surprise, however, he observed half a
dozen knights ride out, while the rest stood
still; and in a moment after displaying the
banner of Hugues de Lusignan, they advanced
at full speed, crying loudly, " Art us Anjou !
Artus Anjou!"" — the rallying cry which the
Knights of Anjou attached to the party of
Arthur had adopted.

" Hold ! hold !"*' cried De Coucy, waving
his hand to his archers. " Here must be some
mistake. These are friends. So, indeed, it
proved ; and, on a nearer approach, De Coucy
found that the body of troops which had caused
the alarm, had in truth come forth from Tours,
for the protection of Arthur, whom they had
long known to be approaching with but a small
force; while King John, with a considerable
army, was reported to be ravaging the county
of Maine. The cause of the mistake also was
now explained. Some knights of Normandy,

132 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

either moved by the justice of Arthur's claims,
or disgusted with the weak levity and coward-
ly baseness of John, had crossed the country;
and, joining the troops of Hugues le Brun, and
Godefroy de Lusignan, under the command of
Ruoal d'lssoudun, Count d'Eu, had come out
to give the sovereign they had determined to
acknowledge, welcome and protection.

These communications were much sooner made
than they are written ; and De Coucy, whose
banner had been seen and recognised by the re-
connoitring party, was received by the assem-
bled Knights, with no small marks of honour
and esteem. His troops had of course now to
make a retrograde motion, but no great haste
was necessary to overtake the body he had be-
fore left ; for Savary de Mauleon had taken
such good care that his retreat should not
appear like a flight, that the messenger to De
Coucy despatched to inform him of the change
of aspect which affairs had undergone, reached
the small body of Knights who had remained

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 133

with Arthur, before they had proceeded half a
mile.

The meeting of the two bands was a joyous
one on both sides, and nothing was now talked
of amongst the Knights of Anjou and Poitou
but proceeding instantly to active and energetic
operations against the enemy. De Coucy was
silent, well knowing that a council must be held
on the subject after their arrival at Tours ; and
reserving his opinion for that occasion, though
he well saw that his single voice would be
drowned amidst the many, which were all eager
to urge a course that, under any other circum-
stances, he would have been the first to follow,
but which, where the stake was a kingdom, and
the hazard great, he did not feel himself justi-
fied in approving.

While things were thus proceeding, in front
of the army, the Brabangois, who now occu-
pied a much less important station than when
they formed, as it were, the main body of the
Prince's force, followed at some little distance

134 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

in the rear. A few steps in advance of this
troop rode Jodelle, particularly affecting to
have no private communication with his men ;
but, on the contrary, sometimes riding up to
Hugo de Barre, who bore De Coucy's standard
on the right, and with whom he had become a
great favourite; and sometimes jesting with
Gallon the Fool, whose regard he strove not a
little to cultivate, though it was not less diffi-
cult to ascertain exactly which way the crack-
ed juggler's esteem turned, than it was to win
his affection at all, which was no easy task.

" Ha, ha ! Sire Jodelle !" cried Gallon,
coming close to him, as they began to move
forward towards Tours — " Haw, haw ! A
goodly body of prisoners our Lord has taken to-
day !"" and he pointed to the band of Knights
which had so lately joined their own. " And
yet," added Gallon, bringing his two eyes to
bear with a sly leer upon Jodelle's face, " our
Lord does not often make prisoners. He con-
tents himself with dashing his foemen's brains
out with his battle-axe, as he did in Auvergne."

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 135

Jodelle grasped his sword, and muttered
something to himself. Gallon's eyes, however,
were like the orbs in an orrery, for an instant
close together, and then, by some unapparent
machinery, thrown far apart; and before Jo-
delle could determine what their first expression
meant, they were straggling out again on each
side of the head in which they were placed,
and the shrewd meaning leer was changed at
once into the most broad senseless vacancy.

" Oh ! it would have done your heart good,
Sire Jodelle," continued the jongleur, " to see
how he hewed their noddles. — Haw, haw ! Oh,
rare ! — But, as I wa» saying," continued he, in
his flighty, rambling way, " your's must be a
merry trade, and a thriving."

" Our's is no trade, Maitre Gallon," replied
Jodelle, speaking calmly, to conceal no very
amicable sensations which he felt towards the
jongleur — " our's is no trade ; 'tis a profes-
sion,— the noble profession of arms."

"No trade!'' exclaimed Gallon. — "Haw,
haw ! Haw, haw ! If you make no trade of

136 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

it, with such merchandise as you have, you
are not fit to hold a sow by the ear, or soap
a cat's tail. Why ! Do you not buy and
sell ?"

" Buy and sell !" said Jodelle, pondering.
" Faith ! I am heavy this morning. What
should I buy or sell, either .?"

" Lord now ! Lord now !"" cried Gallon, hold-
ing up both his hands. '* To think that there
is another man in all the world so stupid as my
master and myself! — What should you buy and
sell.'' Why what better merchandise would
you desire to sell to King John," he added,
making his horse sidle up against the chief of
the Braban9ois, so that he could speak without
being overheard by any one else, — " what better
merchandise would you desire to sell to King
John, than that fat flock of sheep before you,
with the young ram, and his golden fleece, at
the head of them ; — and what would you de-
sire better to buy, than white English silver,
and yellow English gold .?^'

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 137

Jodelle looked in his face, to see if he could
gather any thing from that ; but all was one
flat, dead blank ; even his very nose was still
and meaningless — one might as well have ex-
pected such words of devilish cunning from a
stone wall.

" But my oath — my honour !*" cried Jodelle,
gazing on him still.

" Your oath ! — Haw, haw !" shouted Gallon,
convulsed with laughter, — '* your honour! —
Haw, haw ! haw, haw ! haw, haw !" And rolling
about, as if he would have fallen from his horse,
he galloped on, shouting, and roaring, and
laughing, and screaming, till there was not a
man in the army did not turn his head to look
at the strange being who dared to interrupt
with such obstreperous merriment their leader's
conversation.

De Coucy well knew the sounds, and turned
to chide ; but Arthur, who had been before
amused with Gallon's humour, called him to
approach for the purpose of jesting with him.

138 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

with that boyish susceptibility of absurdities
which characterised the age.

Gallon was as much at his ease amongst
princes and barons as amongst peasants and
serving men ; and, seeming to forget all that
he had just been speaking of, he dashed off into
some new strain of eccentricity better suited to
his auditors.

Jodelle, who, trembling for the result, had
so far forgot himself as to ride on to listen,
now rendered secure by the juggler's flighty
change of topic, dropped back into the rear,
and the whole cavalcade moved gently on to
Tours. •

While preparing for the Prince'^s banquet in
the evening, the place at De Coucy's elbow was
filled by Gallon the Fool, who, somewhat in a
more sane and placable humour than usual,
amused his lord with various tales and anec-
dotes, neither so disjointed nor so disfigured as
his relations usually were. The last, however,
which he thought fit to tell — what he had over-

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 139

heard through the unglazed window of the
Hermit's cell on the night before the party of
Arthur quitted Paris, caused De Coucy in-
stantly to write a few words to the Count
d'Auvergne, and putting it in the hands of his
page, he bade him ride for his life, and deliver
the letter wherever he should find the Count,
were it even in the presence of the King him-
self. The fatigued state of the horses prevented
the lad from setting out that night, but by
daylight next morning he was in the saddle,
and away upon a journey which we taay have
cause to trace more particularly hereafter.

140 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

CHAPTER VI

After a long consultation with De Coucy,
the morning following their arrival at Touis,
Arthur Plantagenet proceeded to hold his first
regular council of war. Endowed with a thou-
sand graces of person and of mind, Arthur had
still that youthful indecision of character, that
facility of yielding, which leads the lad so
often to do what the man afterwards bitterly
repents of.

Arthur entered the council room of the
Bishop's palace at Tours, fully determined to
adhere to the more prudent plan of waiting for
the large reinforcements he expected. He took
his seat with the proud dignity of a Plantage-

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 141

net ; and though his youthful countenance was
in feature and in complexion almost feminine,
and his brows were only ornamented with the
ducal coronet of Brittany, still, in port and
expression, he was every inch a king. There
was a dead silence amongst the Knights for a
moment or two after he had entered, while
Arthur spoke a few words to the Bishop of
Tours, who stood on the right-hand of the
large throne or chair, in which he was seated.
The Prince then turned towards the council ;
and, with somewhat of a heightened colour,
but with a clear tone and unembarrassed man-
ner, he spoke.

" Illustrious Lords," he said, " whose valour
and wisdom have gained Poitou and Anjou a
name with the whole world ; as your inferior,
both in age and reason, in warlike experience
and in prudent sagacity, I come to you for
advice and counsel, how to carry forward the
great enterprise I have undertaken. We are
here, not much above an hundred knights;

142 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

and our whole forces do not amount to two
thousand men ; while John, my usurping uncle,
is within a few days' march, with ten times our
number of men, and full two thousand valiant
and renowned knights. To balance this dispa-
rity, however, King Philip, my noble and boun-
tiful God-father in arms, has given me, for
my auxiliaries and allies, Hervey de Donzy,
Count de Nevers, surnamed the Blunt, the
valiant Hugues de Dampierre, with all the
Knights of Berri, and Imbert Baron de Beau-
jeur, with many a noble baron from the other
side of the Loire. These knights arrive to-day
at Orleans, and in three days will be here.
At the same time, my Duchy of Brittany, so
faithful to me in all times, sends me five hun-
dred valiant knights, and four thousand men-at-
arms, who to-morrow at the latest will be at
Nantes. It seems to me, therefore, the wisest
plan we can pursue — if you, whose wisdom and
experience are greater than mine, do not think
otherwise — to remain here at least four days.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 143

Often, a short delay produces the greatest
benefit ; and a wise man of antiquity has said,
that it is not the evils which happen that we
should struggle to avoid, but those that may
happen. Let us also remember, that — though,
Heaven knows ! no one, or old or young, shall
in open warfare more expose their person than
I will do ; or less cares for life than I do, if it
be not life with honour ; — but still let us re-
member, that it is my person alone my uncle
seeks, because I demand my kingdom, and the
freedom of my imprisoned sister.* You all
know his cruelty, and I call Heaven to witness,
that I would rather, now, each man here should
sheathe his dagger in my body, than suffer me
to fall into the hands of my bloody and unna-
tural relation.

By letters received last night from the good
King Philip, I am informed that John has just

* Eleanor Plantagenet, who was detained till her death,
to cut off all change of subsequent heirs in the line of
Geoffrey Plantagenet, John's elder brother.

144 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

seized upon the citadel of Dol, the garrison of
which he has put to death after their surrender,
the soldiers by the sword, the knights he has
crucified. The King also assures me, that the
usurper is marching hitherward, with all haste ;
and fai'ther counsels me, to conduct myself with
prudence rather than rashness ; and to wait the
arrival of the reinforcements, which will give
me a disposable force of fifteen hundred knights
and thirty thousand men/'

Arthur paused ; and Savary de INIauleon in-
stantly replied : — " Let not the counsels of any
one alarm you, beau Sire. To cowards be de-
lay ; to men of courage, action. John is march-
ing towards us. Let him come; we shall be
glad to see him for once show a spark of valour.
No, no, beau Sire, he will not come. Does he
not always fly from the face of arms ? He is a
coward himself, and the spirit of the Prince
spreads always through the army. For us, be
quick and decided action ; and, before this
weak and treacherous usurper shall know, even.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 145

that we are in the field, let us strike some blow,
that shall carry panic to his fearful heart. His
bad and wicked mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine,
is even now shut up in the town and castle of
Mirebeau. The garrison is not large, though
commanded by William Longsword, Earl of
Salisbury. Let us hasten thither instantly,
besiege the castle ; and, before John shall have
notice of our movements, his mother, the insti-
gator and abettor of one half his wickedness,
shall be in our power. Or even say that the
castle holds out, our reinforcements may join us
there, as well as here, and then success is certain."
The multitude of voices that applauded this
proposal drowned all opposition ; and though
De Coucy pressed but for the delay of a day,
to wait the arrival of his own forces, levied in
the King's name on the lands of the Count de
Tankerville, and which alone would have doubled
their present numbers, both of knights and
of servants of arms, his proposition was ne-
gatived. Arthur yielded to the current ; and,

VOL. II. H

146 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

catching the ardour of the Poitevins, his eyes
sparkled at the idea of surprising Mirebeau,
and holding captive that bad Queen, who had
been the incessant persecutor of his mother,
and had acted but the part of a stepdame, even
to her own son, his father.

De Coucy saw that farther opposition was
vain, and bent the whole energies of his mind
to ensure success, even to the scheme he had
disapproved.

The Knights and Barons of Poitou had rea-
sonably enough wondered to see a young war-
rior, whose greatest fame had been gained by
the very rashness of his courage, become the
counsellor of caution and delay ; but De Coucy
was rash only of his own person, holding
that a knight ought never even to consider his
own individual life, or that of his followers ;
but should give the whole thought and pru-
dence which he abstracted from himself, to
carry forward successfully the object of his
undertaking.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 147

He never once dreamed of personal danger ;
nor could he conceive the idea of any man
bestowing a thought upon the hazard to which
any enterprise exposed him : and thus, in con-
templating an approaching struggle, the v^^hole
powers of his mind were bent upon conquering
his enemies, and his care for himself was only
as a means to that effect.

If the wonder of the Knights of Poitou had
been excited by De Coucy's former slowness in
counselling enterprise, it was far, far more so to
behold his activity and energy now that action
had really commenced.

He became suddenly, as it were, the soul and
spirit of their enterprise : his eye was every
where ; his quick and capable mind seemed
continually acting on every side around them.
Whatever tidings was demanded of any part of
their disjointed force, it was Sir Guy de Coucy
knew ; — whatever information was required
concerning the country before them, De Coucy
had already made himself master of it ; — what-
H 2

148 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

ever movement was to be made by any body of
the troops, De Coucy saw it done ;— whatever
provision was to be brought in for the supply
of the army, De Coucy assured himself that it
was executed, as far as the brief time permitted.
He had recommended delay ; but as action had
been decided upon, he put forth the whole
energetic activity of his soul to render action
effective.

Understanding thoroughly the character and
application of all the various classes of troops
made use of in that day, De Coucy took care
that his Braban9ois should be turned to that
service for which they were best calculated.
As reconnoitring parties they were invaluable ;
and, as the army advanced upon Mirebeau, by
spreading them over the face of the country, he
gained information of every thing that was
passing around.

Two messengers from Eleanor of Aquitaine
TO her son were thus intercepted; and it was
discovered from the letters they bare, that she

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 149

had already obtained knowledge of Arthur's
movements, and beseeched John to hasten to
her relief; telling him, that though the castle
she held might be looked upon as nearly im-
pregnable, yet the suddenness of attack had
prevented her from providing for the garrison,
sufficiently, at least, for any long siege.

Such news was not lost on De Coucy ; and,
employing his Braban^ois as marauders, in
which point of duty they certainly did not fail,
he swept the whole country round about of
every sort of provisions, both to distress the
enemy, and to supply his own troops. This
service became one of danger as they approach-
ed nearer to the town, the parties of William
Longsword being also scattered about on the
same errand ; and the whole of the morning
before their arrival was spent in fierce and
continual skirmishes, — now for a drove of bul-
locks,— now for a cart of wine, — now for a load
of wheat.

At length, all the parties of Normans and

150 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

English were driven within the gates of the
town ; and the army of Arthur, sitting down
before it, invested it on all sides.

We must remember, however, that what were
called towns in those days might consider it a
high honour to be compared even to a small
English borough of the present times ; so that
it was no impossible thing for an army of two
thousand men to invest even a town and castle.
A council of war was instantly held, and De
Coucy's voice was no longer for delay. Immediate
attack of the town was his advice ; and though
many observed that only four hours of daylight
remained, he still pressed his object, declaring
that, if well seconded, he would place his stan-
dard in the market-place before dark. Those
who had before reproached him with procrasti-
nation, dared not oppose him now, and orders
were instantly issued for the attack of the walls.
The whole space occupied by the houses of
Mirebeau was encompassed by a strong curtain
of rough stone, flanked with tall round towers, at

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 151

the distance of an arrow's flight from each
other; so that every part of the wall, though
unguarded by a ditch, could be defended, not
only from its own projecting battlements, but
by the cross fire of missiles from the towers.
Both men and munition of war seemed plenty
within ; for, on the first symptoms of a general
attack, the walls became thronged with slingers
and bowmen ; and numbers of labourers might
be seen lighting fires for boiling oil or water, or
carrying up baskets of heavy stones, logs of
wood, and quantities of quick-lime, to cast down
upon the assailants' heads, and crush them, or
blind them, if the flights of arrows proved in-
sufficient to keep them from the gates or the
foot of the wall.

The defenders of the battlements, indeed,
appeared to be principally burghers mingled
with a small proportion of soldiers from the
castle ; but, although the military citizen was
but little esteemed in that day, there was a
degree of bustle and promptitude about those

152 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

who manned the wall of Mirebeau, which, at all
events, indicated zeal in its defence.

The preparations on the part of the besiegers
were not less active ; and Arthur did all that
an inexperienced youth could do, to give unity
and consistence to the efforts of his undisci-
plined and insubordinate forces. It must not,
however, be thought that we would say the
knights who accompanied him were less regular
and obedient than others of their times and
class. Far from it. But it must be remem-
bered, that discipline was almost unknown
amongst the armies of chivalry, and that the
feudal system was felt as much, or more, in
times of war, than in times of peace. Each
baron commanded the knights and men-at-arms
he brought into the field. It is true, he re-
ceived himself commands from the sovereign,
or the person who represented him for the
moment ; but whether he obeyed those com-
mands or not, depended upon a thousand cir-
cumstances ; as, whether the monarch was him-

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 153

self respected, — whether the orders he gave were
to be executed beneath his own eye, and, lastly,
whether they suited the taste, or coincided with
the opinion, of the person who received them.

In the case of Arthur, every one who followed
him thought they had a right not only to coun-
sel, but to act ; and the Prince himself, afraid
of opposing them, lest they should fall from
him before the arrival of the reinforcements
placed by Philip more absolutely under his
command, could only retain the external ap-
pearance of authority, by sanctioning what they
themselves proposed.

The tumultuary council held upon the occa-
sion, passed in rapid interjections to somewhat
of the following tenor. " Let us divide into
three bodies! — Each leader attack a gate. —
Hugues le Brun, I join myself to you. — We
will to the southern door. — I attack that pos-
tern.— Sire de Maul eon, where do you attack ?
— I undertake the great gate ; that is, if the
beau Sire Arthur so commands."
H 5

164 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" Certainly, beau Sire ! I think it will be
advisable ; but, at all events, let the various
attacks be simultaneous," replied the Prince:
'* let some signal be given when all are ready."

" True, true ! Well bethought, beau Sire !
You are an older warrior than any of us. — Sire
de Coucy, where do you attack ? I see, your
men are busy about mantlets and pavisses."

** I attack that tower," replied De Coucy,
pointing to one that, though tall and strong,
seemed somewhat more ancient than the wall.

'* Ha I you would add another tower to those
in your chief," said Savary de Mauleon, " but
you will fail. We have no ladders. Better
come with me to the gate. Well, as you will.
— Sire Geoffroy de Lusignan, speed round with
your force, and shoot up a lighted arrow when
you are ready. — Where do you bestow yourself,
beau Sire Arthur ?"

" If the Prince will follow my counsel," said
Hugues le Brun, "he will hover round with
the men-at-arms which were given him by the

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 155

King, and bestow his aid wherever he sees it
wanted."

" Or keep on that high ground," said GeofFroy
de Lusignan, " and send your commands to us,
according as you see the action turn."

Arthur bowed his head ; and all the knights
rode off towards the different points they had
chosen for their attack, except De Coucy, the
tower he had marked being exactly' opposite
the spot where they had held their council, if
such it could be called.

" They would fain prevent my fighting," said
Arthur, turning to De Coucy, and speaking
still in a low voice, as if fearful of some one
hearing, who might oppose his purpose ; " but
they will be mistaken. — Sire de Coucy, I pray
you, as good knight and true, let me fight under
your honourable banner."

" To your heart's content, my Prince," re-
plied the Knight, " By Heaven ! I would not
keep you from the noble game before us, for
very shame's sake ! — Hugo de Barre, put foot

156 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

to the ground, with all my squires, and advance
the mantlets. — Have you the pickaxes and the
piles all ready ?"

" All is ready, beau Sire," replied the Squire ;
" store of axes and of iron bars."

'• Advance then !" cried the Knight, spring-
ing to the ground. *' Captain Jodelle, dismount
your men, and cover us under your arrows as
we advance."*'

" But the signal has not been given from the
other side,'' said Arthur. " Had you not bet-
ter wait. Sir Guy ?"

" We have more to do than they have," re-
plied the Knight ; " and besides they having
left us, and we beginning the attack, the Nor-
mans will think our's a false one, and will not
repel us so vigorously, more especially as we
direct our efforts against a tower instead of a
gate; but they are deceived. I see a crevice
there in the very base of the wall, that will aid
us shrewdly. — Stay here, beau Sire, till I return,
and then we will in together."

*' Oh ! Sire de Coucy," cried the noble youth,

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 157

" you are going to fight without me. — Do not !
do not deceive me, I pray you !"

" On my honour, gallant Prince," said De
Coucy, grasping his hand, " I will not strike a
stroke, except against stone walls, till you strike
beside me;"" and he advanced to the spot where
Hugo de Barre, and three other of his men,
held up an immense heavy screen of wood-
work, just within bow-shot of the walls. Four
more of the Knight's men stood underneath this
massy defence, holding all sorts of instruments
for mining the wall, as well as several strong
piles of wood, and bundles of fagots. As soon
as De Coucy joined them, the whole began to
move on ; and Jodelle's Braban^ois, advancing
at a quick pace, discharged a flight of arrows
at the battlements of the tower, which appa-
rently, by the bustle it occasioned, was not
without some effect. An instant answer of
the same kind was given from the walls, and
missiles of all kinds fell like a thick shower
of hail.

In the mean while, Arthur stood on the

158 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

mound, with some ten or fifteen men-at-arms,
who had been placed near him as a sort of
body-guard by Philip. From thence he could
behold several points destined to be attacked,
and see the preparations of more than one of
the leaders, for forcing the gates opposite to
which they had stationed themselves. But his
chief attention still turned towards De Coucy,
who was seen advancing rapidly under the im-
mense mantlet of wood he had caused to be
constructed, on which the arrows, the bolts,
and the stones from the slings, fell in vain. On,
on, it bore to the very foot of the tower ; but
then came, on the part of the besiegers, the
more tremendous sort of defence, of hurling
down large stones and trunks of trees upon it ;
so that, more than once, the four strong men
by whom it was supported tottered under the
weight, and Hugo de Barre himself fell upon
his knee.

This last accident, however, proved benefi-
cial ; for the inclined position thus given to

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 159

the mantlet, caused the immense masses that
had been cast down upon it, to roll ofF; and
the Squire rose from his knee with a lightened
burden. In the mean time, Jodelle and his
companions did good and soldierlike service.
It was almost in vain that the defenders of the
tower shouted for fresh implements to crush the
besiegers. Not a man could show himself for
an instant on the walls^ but an arrow from the
bows of the Braban^ois struck him down, or
rattled against his armour ; and thus the sup-
ply of fresh materials was slow and interrupted.
In the mean while, De Coucy and his squires
laboured without remission at the foundation
of the tower. A large crack, with which the
sure sapping hand of Time had begun to un-
dermine the wall, greatly facilitated their pur-
pose; and, at every well-aimed and steady
blow which De Coucy directed with his pick-
axe at the joints of the mortar, some large
mass of masonry rolled out, and left a widening
breach in the very base of the tower.

160 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

At this moment, the signal for the general
assault was given, from the other side of the
town, by an arrow tipped with lighted tow
being shot straight up into the air ; and in a
moment the whole plain rang with the shouts
and cries of the attack and defence.

Arthur could not resist the desire to ride
round, for a moment, and see the progress of
the besiegers in other points; and animated
with the sight of the growing strife, the clang-
ing of the trumpets, and the war-cries of the
combatants, his very heart burned to join his
hand in the fray, and win at least some part of
the honour of the day. De Coucy, however,
was his only hope in this respect ; and galloping
back as fast as he could, after having gazed for
a moment at the progress of each of the other
parties, he approached so near the point where
the Knight was carrying on his operations, that
the arrows from the wall began to ring against
his armour. Arthur's heart beat joyfully at the
very feeling, that he was in the battle ; but a

PHILIP AUGUSTUS^. 161

sight now attracted his attention, which engross-
ed all his hopes and fears, in anxiety for the
noble Knight who was there labouring in his
behalf.

The masses of wall which De Coucy and his
followers had detached had left so large a gap
in the solid foundation of the tower, that it be-
came necessary to support it with the large
piles of wood, to prevent the whole structure
from crushing them beneath its fall, while they
pursued their labours. This had just been
done, and De Coucy was still clearing away
more of the wall, when suddenly a knight, who
seemed to have been informed of what was pass-
ing, appeared on the battlements of the tower,
followed by a number of stout yeomen, pushing
along an immense instrument of wood, some-
what like one of the cranes used in loading and
unloading vessels. From a high lever above,
hung down the whole trunk of a Targe tree,
tipped at the end with iron ; this was brought
immediately over the spot where De Coucy's

162 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

mantlet concealed himself and his followers
from the lesser weapons of the besieged, and, at
a sign from the Knight, the lever slowly raised
the immense engine in the air.

"Have a care! — have a care! Sire de
Coucy !" shouted at once the whole troop of
Braban^ois, as well as Arthur's men-at-arms.
But before their cry could well reach the Knight,
or be understood, the lever was suddenly loosed,
and the ponderous mass of wood fell with its
iron-shod point upon the mantlet, dashing it to
pieces. Hugo de Barre was struck down, with
four of the otlier squires ; but De Coucy him-
self, who was actually in the mine he had
dug, with three more of his followers, who were
close to the wall, remained untouched. Hugo,
however, instantly sprang upon his feet again,
but little injured, and three of his companions
followed his example; the fourth remained
upon the "ii eld for ever.

" Back, Hugo ! — Back to the Prince, all of
you !" cried De Coucy.—" Give me the light,
and back !"

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 163

The Squires obeyed ; and, having placed in
the Knight's hand a resin torch which was by
this time nearly burnt out, they retreated to-
wards the Braban9ois, under a shower of ar-
rows from the walls, which, sped from a good
English bow, in more than one instance pierced
the lighter armour of De Coucy's Squires, and
left marks that remained till death. In the
mean while, not a point of De Coucy's armour,
as he moved to and fro at the foot of the tower,
that was not the mark of an arrow or a quarrel ;
while the English Knight above, animated his
men to every exertion, to prevent him from
completing what he had begun.

" A thousand crowns to him who strikes him
down !" cried he. — '' Villains ! cast the stones
upon him ! On your lives, let him not fire
those fagots ! or the tower and the town is
lost. — Give me an arblast f' and as he spoke,
the Knight snatched a cross-bow from one of
the yeomen, dressed the quarrel in it, and aimed
steadily at the bars of De Coucy's helmet as he

164 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

bore forward another bundle of fagots and
jammed it into the mine.

The missile struck against one of the bars,
and bounded off. " Well aimed ! William of
Salisbury!"*' cried De Coucy, looking up. "For
ancient love, my old companion in arms, I tell,
thee to get back from the tower ! for within
three minutes it is down !'' And so saying, he
applied his torch to various parts of the pile of
wood he had heaped up in the breach, and re-
tired slowly towards Prince Arthur, with the
arrows rattling upon his armour like a heavy
shower of hail upon some well-roofed building.

" Now, my noble Lord," cried he, " down
from your horse, and prepare to rush on ! By
Heaven's grace ! you shall be the first man in
Mirebeau ; for I hear by the shouts, that the
others have not forced the gates yet. — Hugo, if
thou art not badly hurt with that arrow, range
the men behind us. — By the Lord ! William of
Salisbury will stay till the tower falls! — See!
they are trying to extinguish the fire by casting

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 165

water over, but it is in vain ; the pillars have
caught the flame. Hark, how they crack !

As De Coucy spoke, the Earl ojp Salisbury
and his men, seeing that the attempt to put out
the fire was useless, retired from the tower.
The flame gradually consumed the heaps of
loose wood and fagots with which the Knight
had filled the mine ; and the strong props of
wood with which he had supported the wall as
he worked on, caught fire, one after the other,
and blazed with intense fury. The besiegers
and the besieged watched alike in breathless
expectation, as the fire wore away the strength
of the wood. Suddenly one of the props gave
way ; but only a mass of heated masonry fol-
lowed. Another broke — the tower tottered —
the others snapped short with the weight — the
falling mass seemed to balance itself in the air,
and struggle, like an overthrown king, to stand
for but a moment longer — then down it rushed,
with a sound like thunder, and lay a mass of
smoking ruins on the plain.

166 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" On ! on !" cried De Coucy ; " charge before
the dust subsides ! A Coucy ! a Coucy ! — St.
Michael ! St. Michael !'"* and in an instant he
was standing, with Prince Arthur by his side,
in the midst of the breach which the fall of
the tower had made in the wall and half-way
up the sort of causeway formed by its ruins.
They passed not, however, unopposed, for
William Longsword instantly threw himself
before them.

" Up ! Prince Arthur! up !" cried De Coucy;
" you must be the first. — Set your foot on my
knee ;'" and he bent it to aid the young Prince in
climbing a mass of broken wall that lay before
him. Arthur sprang up, sword in hand, amidst
the smothering cloud of dust and smoke that
still hung above the ruins, and his weapon was
instantly crossed with that of his uncle, William
of Salisbury, his father's natural brother. At
the same moment, De Coucy rushed forward
and struck down two of the Norman soldiers
who opposed his passage ; but then paused, in

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 167

order not to abandon Arthur to an old and expe-
rienced knight, far more than his match in arms.
For five blows, and their return, De Coucy
suffered the Prince to maintain the combat
himself, to ivin his spurs, as he mentally termed
it. The sixth stroke, however, of William of
Salisbury's tremendous sword fell upon Ar-
thur's shoulder ; and though the noble lad
sturdily bore up, and was not even brought
upon his knee, y^t the part of his armour
where the blow fell, flew into shivers with its
force. The Earl lifted his sword again ; and
Arthur, somewhat dizzied and confused, made
a very faint movement to parry it ; but instantly
De Coucy rushed in, and received the edge of
the weapon on his shield.

"Nobly fought! my Prince!" cried he,
covering Arthur with one arm, and returning
William Longsword's blow with the other, —
" nobly fought, and knightly done ! — Push
in with your men-at-arms, and the Braban^ois,
and leave this one to me.^-Now, Salisbury, old

168 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

friend, we have stood side by side in Palestine.
I love thee as well face to face. Thou art a
noble foe. There stands my foot !"

*« Brave Coucy ! Thou shalt have thy
heart's content !" cried the Earl, dealing one
of his sweeping blows at the Knight's neck.
But he had now met with his equal ; and, in-
deed, so powerful were each of the champions,
so skilful in the use of their weapons, and so
cool in their contention, that the combat be-
tween them was Ipng and undecided. Blow
answered blow, with the rapidity of lightning':
stroke followed stroke. Their arms struck fire,
the crests were shorn from their helmets, the
bearings effaced from their shields, and their sur-
coats of arms became as tattered as a beggar's
gown.

Still, though De Coucy pressed him with
impetuous fury, William of Salisbury yielded
not a step ; and it was only when he saw his
followers driven back by the superior number
of the Braban^ois and men-at-arms, led by

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 169

Arthur, that he retired a pace or two, still
dealing blows thick and fast at De Coucy ; who
followed foot by foot, shouting his battle-cry,
and encouraging the men to advance; while,
every now and then, he addressed some word
of friendly admiration to his opponent, even in
the midst of the deadly strife that he urged so
furiously against him.

" Thou art a good Knight, on my soul,
Lord Salisbury !" cried he ; '' yet take that
for the despatch of this affair !" and he struck
him with the full sway of his blade, on the
side of his head, so that the Earl reeled as he
stood.

" Gramercy ! " cried William, recovering
his equipoise, and letting a blow fall on the
Knight's casque, not inferior in force to the one
he had received.

At that moment, however, his troops gave
way still farther before the Braban^ois ; and
at the same time a party of the burghers came
rushing from another part of the town, crying

VOL. II. I

170 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" The gate is lost ! the gate is lost ! — we saw it
dashed in !"

" Then the town is lost too,"' said Salisbury
coolly. — •■' Sound a retreat !" he continued, turn-
ing his head slightly to a squire, who stood be-
hind him, watching lest he should be struck
down, but forbidden by all the laws of war to
interpose between two knights, so long as they
could themselves maintain the combat. At the
same time, while the Squire, as he had been
bidden, sounded a retreat on his horn, William
Longsword still continued to oppose himself to
the very front of the enemy ; and not till his
men were clear, and in full retreat towards the
castle, did he seek to escape himself, though he
in a degree quitted the personal combat with
De Coucy, to cover with some of his bravest
men-at-arms the rear of the rest. Now, he
struck a blow here ; now felled a Braban9ois
there ; now, returned for an instant to De
Coucy ; and now, rushed rapidly to restore
order amongst his retreating troops.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 171

As they quitted the walls, however, and got
embarrassed in the streets of the town, the
Norman soldiers were every moment thrown
into more and more confusion, by the various
parties of the burghers who had abandoned the
walls, and were flying towards the castle for
shelter. Several knights also, and men-at-
arms, were seen retreating up the high streets,
from the gate which had been attacked by
Savary de Mauleon ; just at the moment that
De Coucy, rushing on into the market-place,
caught his standard from the hands of Hugo
de Barre, and struck it into the midst of the
great fountain of the town.

The flight of the knights showed sufficiently
to Lord Salisbury, that the gate which they
had been placed to defend had been forced also ;
and his sole care became now to get his men as
speedily and as safely within the walls of the .
castle as possible. This was not so difficult to
do ; for though De Coucy and Arthur still
hung upon his rear with the men-at-arms, and
i2

172 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

a part of the Brabaii9ois, a great majority of
the latter, giving way to their natural inclina-
tion, dispersed to pursue their ancient avocation
of plundering.

A scene of no small horror presented itself at
the gates of the castle. Multitudes of the burgh-
ers, with their women and children, had crowded
thither for safety ; but Eleonor, with the most
pitiless cruelty, ordered the garrison to drive
them back with arrows, and not to suffer one
to enter on pain of death. Their outstretched
hands, their heart-rending cries, were all in
vain ; the Queen was inexorable ; and more
than one had been wounded with the arrows,
who had dared to approach the barbican.

When Salisbury and his band came near,
however, the multitude, driven to despair by
seeing the pursuers following fiercely on his
track, made an universal rush to enter along with
him ; and it was only by using their swords
against the townsmen, and even the women,
that the soldiers could clear themselves a passage.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 173

Salisbury was of course the last who passed
himself; and as he turned to enter, while his
soldiers formed again within the barbican, two
women, of the highest class of the townspeople,
clung to his knees, entreating him by all that
may move man's heart, to let them follow with-
in the walls.

" I cannot ! — I must not !" exclaimed he
harshly ; but then, turning once more, he
shouted to De Coucy, who, seeing that farther
pursuit was vain, now followed more slowly.

" Sire de Coucy !" he exclaimed, as if he had
been speaking to his dearest friend. " If you
love me, protect this helpless crowd as much as
may be. For old friendship's sake, I pray thee !"

" I will, Salisbury !— I will !" replied De
Coucy. — " Beau Sire Arthur, have I your
permission ?"

" Do what thou wilt, dear friend and noble
Knight,'' replied the Prince. "Is there any
thing you could ask me now, that I would not
grant .?"

174 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" Stand back then, ho !" cried the Knight,
waving his hand to the Braban9ois, who were
pressing forward towards the trembling crowd
of burghers. — " Stand back ! Who passes
that mark is my foe !" and he cast his gauntlet
on the ground in the front of the line.

" We will not be balked of our spoil. The
purses of the burghers are ours !" cried several
of the free companions ; and one sprang forward
from immediately behind De Coucy, and passed
the bound he had fixed. That instant, how-
ever, the Knight, without seeing or enquiring
who he was, struck him a blow in the face with
the pommel of his sword, that laid him rolling
on the ground with the blood spouting from his
mouth and nose. No one made a movement to
follow ; and Jodelle — for it was he — rose from
the ground, and retired' silently to his com-
panions.

De Coucy then advanced with Prince Arthur
towards the multitude crowding round the
barbican. Immediately the soldiers on the

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 175

walls bent their bows ; but the voice of the
Earl of Salisbury was heard exclaiming,
"Whoever wings a shaft at him dies on the
spot !" and De Coucy proceeded to tell the
people, that they must, if they hoped to be
spared, yield whatever gold or jewels they had
about them to the soldiery ; and that all such
men as were not clerks, must agree to sur-
render themselves prisoners ; and pay a fair
ransom, such as should be determined after-
wards by the Prince's council.

This matter was soon settled ; the universal
cry from the burghers being, in their extremity
of fear, " Save our lives ! — save our women"'s
honour ! — save our children ! — and take gold, or
whatever else we possess !" Each one instantly
stripped himself of the wealth he had about
him ; and this, being collected in a heap, satis-
fied for the time the rapacity of the soldiers.
De Coucy then took measures to secure the
lives of the prisoners; and putting them, by
twos and threes, under the protection of the

176 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Prince's men-at-arms and his own squires, he
accompanied Arthur to the market-place, fol-
lowed by the Braban^ois, wrangling with each
other concerning the distribution of the spoil,
and seemingly forgetful of their disappointment
in not having been permitted to add bloodshed
to plunder.

In the market-place, beside De Coucy's stan-
dard, stood Savary de Mauleon, Geoifroy de
Lusignan, and several other barons, with three
Norman knights as prisoners. The moment
De Coucy and Arthur approached, Savary de
Mauleon advanced to meet them ; and with
that generous spirit, which formed one of the
brightest points in the ancient knightly charac-
ter, he pressed the former opponent of his coun-
sels in his mailed arms, exclaiming, " By my
faith, Sire de Coucy, thou hast kept thy word I
'There stands thy banner, an hour before sunset !'
and I proclaim thee, with the voice of all my
companions, the lord of this day's fight."

" Not so, fair Sir !" replied De Coucy,— "not

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 177

SO ! There is another, to whom the honour justly
belongs, — who first mounted the breach we
made in the wall, — who first measured swords
with the famous WiUiam Longsword, Earl of
Salisbury, and who, in short, has been the first
in all this day's achievements. — Here he stands,''
continued the Knight, turning towards the
princely youth who stood beside him, blushing
to his very brow, both with graceful embarrass-
ment and gratified pride — " here he stands !
and may this conquest of Mirebeau be but the
first of those that shall, step by step, give him
his whole dominions. — Sound trumpets, sound !
— Long life to Arthur, King of England !''

1^

178 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

CHAPTER VII.

Just six days after the events we have
related in our last chapter, Guerin, the good
Minister whom we have so often had occasion
to notice, was walking up and down under a
range of old beech-trees, which, forming the
last limit of the forest of Compiegne, approach-
ed close to the castle, and waved their wide
branches even over part of the royal garden.

Guerin, however, was not within the boun-
dary of the garden ; from which the spot he
had chosen for his walk, was separated by a
palisade and ditch covered towards the castle
by a high hedge of shrubs. There was indeed
an outlet towards the forest by means of a small
postern door, and a slight moveable bridge of

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 179

wood, but the key of that gate remained alone
with the King ; so that the Minister, to reach
the part of the wood in which he walked, must
have made a considerable circuit round the
castle, and through part of the town itself.
His object, probably, in choosing that particu-
lar spot, was to enjoy some moments of undis-
turbed thought, without shutting himself up
in the close chambers of a Gothic chateau.
Indeed, the subjects which he revolved in his
heart, were of that nature, which one loves to
deal with in the open air, where we have free
space to occupy the matter, while the mind is
differently engaged — strong contending doubts,
hesitations between right and wrong, the strug-
gles of a naturally gentle and feeling heart,
against the dictates of political necessity. — Such
were the guests of his bosom. The topic,
which thus painfully busied the Minister's
thoughts, was the communication made to him
by the good but weak Bishop of Paris, as a
consequence of his conversation with Bernard,
the hermit of St. Mande.

180 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

To tear the hearts of the King and Queen
asunder, — to cast between them so sad an apple
of discord as jealousy, especially when he felt
convinced that Agnes^s love to her husband
was as firm as adamant, was a stroke of policy
for which the mind of Guerin was hardly
framed ; and yet the misery that the interdict
had already brought, the thousand, thousand
fold that it was yet to bring, could only be
done away and averted by such a step. Philip
remained firm to resist to the last ; Agnes was
equally so to abide by his will, without making
any attempt to quit him. In a hundred parts of
the kingdom, the people were actually in revolt.
The barons were leaguing together to compel the
King to submission, or to dethronehim ; and ruin,
wretchedness, and destruction, seemed threaten-
ing France on every side. The plan proposed by
the Canon of St. Berthe's might turn away the
storm, and yet Guerin would rather have had his
hand struck off, than put it in execution.

Such were the thoughts, and such the con-

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 181

tending feelings, that warred against each other
in his breast, while he paced slowly up and
down before the palisade of the garden ; and
yet nothing showed itself upon his countenance
but deep, calm thought. He was not one of
those men whose features, or whose movements,
betray the workings of the mind. There were
no wild starts, no broken expressions, no mut-
tered sentences : his corporeal feelings were not
sufficiently exciteable for such gesticulations :
and the stern retired habits of his life had
given a degree of rigidity to his features, which,
without effort, rendered them on all ordinary
events as immoveable as those of a statue.

On the present occasion, he was followed by
a page bearing his sword ; for, as we have be-
fore said, during many years after he had been
elected to the Bishopric of Senlis, he retained
the habit of a knight hospitaller ; but the
boy, though accustomed to mark his lord's
countenance, beheld nothing there but the
usual steady gravity of profound thought.

182 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

As he passed backwards and forwards, the
voices of two persons conversing in the garden
hard by, struck his ear. At first, the speakers
were far off, and their tones indistinct ; but gra-
dually they came so near, that their words even
would have been perfectly audible, had Guerin
been one to play the eaves-dropper ; and then
again they passed on, the sounds dying away
as they pursued their walk round the garden.

'• The Queen's voice," said Guerin to himself;
" and, if I mistake not, that of the Count D'Au-
vergne. He arrived at Compiegne last night,
by Phiiip''s own invitation, who expected to
have returned from Gournay long since. Pray
God, he fail not there ! for one rebuff in war,
and all his barons would be upon him at once.
I wish I had gone myself; for he is sometimes
rash. If he were to return now, and find this
Auvergne with the Queen, his jealousy might
perchance spring from his own head. But
there is no hope of that : as he came not last
night, he will not arrive till evening."

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 183

Such was the course of Guerin's thoughts,
when a page, dressed in a bright green tunic
of silk, approached, and, addressing himself to
the follower of the Minister, asked his way to
the garden of the chateau.

" Why, you must go a mile and more round,
by the town, and in at the great gates of the
castle,'' replied Guerin's page. — " What do you
seek in the garden ?"

" I seek the Count d'Auvergne," replied the
youth, " on business of life and death ; and
they told me that he was in the garden behind
the chateau, close by the forest. — My curse
upon all misleaders !" and he turned to re-tread
his steps through the town.

Guerin had not heeded this brief conversa-
tion, but had rather quickened his pace, to
avoid hearing what was said by the Queen and
the Count d'Auvergne, who at the moment
were passing, as we have said, on the other side
of the palisade, and spoke loud, in the full con-
fidence that no human ears were near. A few

184 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

words, however, forced themselves upon his
hearing.

" And such was my father''s command and
message," said Agnes in a sorrowful tone.

" Such, indeed, it was, lady," replied the
Count d'Auvergne ; " and he bade me entreat
and conjure you, by all that is dear and sacred
between parent and child — "

Guerin, as we have said, quickened his pace ;
and what the unhappy Count d'Auvergne
added was lost, at least to him. Sufficient time
had just elapsed, to allow the speakers in the
garden to turn away from that spot and take
the sweep towards the castle, when the sound
of horse was heard approaching. Guerin
advanced to the end of one of the alleys, and
to his surprise beheld the King, followed by
about a dozen men-at-arms, coming towards
the castle in all haste.

Before he reached the spot where Guerin
stood, Philip dismounted, and gave his bridle
to one of the squires. " 1 will through the

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 185

garden,"" said he : — '* go you round to the gates
as quietly as possible — I would not have the
poor Burgesses know that I am returned, or
I shall have petitions and lamentations about
this accursed interdict, — petitions that I can-
not grant — lamentations that I would not hear.*"
The Squire took the bridle, and, in obedience
to the King's commands, turned another way
with the rest of the party ; while Philip ad-
vanced slowly, with his brow knit, and his eyes
fixed on the ground. He did not observe his
Minister ; and, as he came onward, it was easy
to read deep, powerful, painful thought in
every line of his countenance. Twice he stop-
ped, as he advanced, with his look still bent
upon the earth, and remained gazing thereon,
without word or motion, for several minutes.
It would have seemed that he paused to remark
some moss and wild flowers, gathered together
at his feet, had not his frowning forehead, and
stern, fixed eye, as well as the mournful shake
of the head, with which his pause still ended,

186 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

told that sadder and more bitter contempla-
tions were busy in his mind.

The last time he stopped was within ten
paces of Guerin, and yet he did not see him,
so deeply occupied were all his thoughts. At
length, vmclasping his arms, which had been
folded over his breast, he clenched his hands
tight, exclaiming, *' Happy, happy Saladin !
Thou hast no meddling priest to disturb thy
domestic joys ! — By Heaven ! I will embrace
thy creed and worship Mahound V

As he spoke, he raised his eyes, and they
instantly rested on the figure of his Minister.
" Ha, Guerin !^' cried the King, " has the in-
terdict driven thee forth from the city ?"

" Not so, Sire," replied the Minister. " I
came forth to meditate here in silence, over
what might be done to raise it. — Get thee
gone, boy !" he continued, turning to his page.
" Hie thee to the castle, and leave me with
the King."

"Oh! Guerin!" said Philip, pursuing his own

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 187

train of thought, — " oh ! Guerin ! think of these
base Barons ! these disloyal Knights ! — After all
their empty enthusiasm ! — after all their vain
boastings! — after all their lying promises! —
falling off from me now, in my moment of need !
like flies frightened from a dead carcase by the
wings of a raven. — And the Bishops too ! — the
goodly, saintly, fickle, treacherous pack, fright-
ened by the very hum of Rome's vulture wings !
— they leave me in the midst of the evil they
have made I — But, by the Lord above! they
shall suffer for their treason ! Bishops and Ba-
rons! they shall feel this interdict as deeply as I
do. Their treachery and cowardice shall fill my
treasury, and swell my crown's domains ; and
they shall find that Philip knows how to make
their punishment increase his power. — Gournay
has fallen, Guerin," continued the King, "with-
out the loss of a man. I cut the high sluices
and overwhelmed them in the waters of their
own artificial lake. Walls, and turrets, and
buttresses, gave way before the rushing inun-

188 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

dation, like straws before the sickle. Half
Normandy has yielded without resistance ; and
I might have come back joyful, but that in
every town as I passed, it was murmurs, and
petitions, and lamentations on the foul interdict.
— They brought out their dead," proceeded
Philip, grasping Guerin's arm, — "they brought
out their dead, and laid them at my feet !
They lined the streets with the dying, shrieking
for the aid of religion. — Oh ! Guerin ! my
friend ! 'tis very horrible ! — very, very, very
horrible !''

" It is indeed, Sire !" said Guerin solemnly,
'' most horrible ! and I am sorry to increase
your affliction by telling you, that, by every
courier that arrives, the most alarming accounts
are brought from the various provinces of your
kingdom, speaking of nothing but open rebel-
lion and revolt.''

" Where .?" cried Philip Augustus, his eyes
flashing fire. " Where ? Who dares revolt
against the will of their Liege Sovereign .?"

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 189

*' In fifty different points of the kingdom the
populace are in arms, Sire !" replied the Minis-
ter. " I will lay the details before you at your
leisure. Many of the Barons, too, remonstrate
in no humble tone."

" We will march against them, Guerin, — we
will march against them,"" replied the King
firmly, " and Serfs and Barons shall learn they
have a lord."

As he spoke, he advanced a few paces to-
wards the garden, then paused, and drawing
forth a scrap of parchment, he put it into Gue-
rin''s hand. " I found that on my table at
Gournay," said the King. " 'Tis strange !
Some enemy of the Count d''Auvergne has
done it !"

Guerin looked at the paper, and beheld, writ-
ten evidently in the hand of the canon of St.
Berthe's, which he well knew : " Sir King, be-
ware of the Count d'Auvergne !" The Minister,
however, had no time to make any reply ; for
the sound of the voices in the garden began

190 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

again to approach, and Philip instantly recog-
nised the tones of Agnes de Meranie.

'<• 'Tis the Queen;' said he, — '' 'Tis Agnes !"
and as he spoke that beloved name, all the cares
and sorrows that, in the world, had gathered
round his noble brow, like morning clouds
about the high peak of some proud mountain,
rolled away, like those same clouds before the
risen sun, and his countenance beamed with
more than usual happiness.

Guerin had by no means determined how to
act, though he decidedly leaned towards the
scheme of the canon of St. Berthe's ; but the
radiant gladness of Philip's eye at the very
name of Agnes de Meranie, strangely shook all
the Minister's conclusions, and he remained
more than ever in doubt.

" Hark !" cried Philip, in some surprise.
" There is the voice of a man ! — To whom does
she speak "^ Know you, Guerin ?"

" I believe — I believe. Sire," replied the
'Minister, really embarrassed and undecided

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 191

how to act, — "I believe it is the Count
d*Auvergne.'"

" You believe ! — you believe !" cried the
King, the blood mounting into his face, till the
veins of his temples swelled out in wavy lines
upon his clear skin. — " The Count d'Auvergne !
You hesitate — you stammer, Sir Bishop ! — you
that never hesitated in your days before. —
What means this ? — By the God of Heaven ! I
will know !" — and drawing forth the key of
the postern, he strode towards it. But at that
moment the sound of the voices came nearer
and nearer — It was irresistible — The King
paused.

Agnes was speaking, and somewhat vehement-
ly. " Once for all, beau Sire d''Auvergne," she
said, " urge me no more; for, notwithstanding
all you say — notwithstanding all my own feel-
ings in this respect, I must not — I cannot — I
will not — quit my husband. That name alone,
my husband, were enough to bind me to him by
every duty; and I will never quit him!"

192 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

What were the feelings of Philip Augustus
as he heard such words, combined with the he-
sitation of his Minister, with the warning he
had received, and with the confused memory of
former suspicions ! The thoughts that rushed
through his brain had nearly driven him to
madness. " She loves me not !" he thought.
" She loves me not — after all I have done, and
sacrificed for her ! She is coldly virtuous — but
she loves me not ; — she owns, her feelings take
part with her seducer ! — but she will not leave
me, for duty's sake ! — Hell and fury ! I, that
have adored her ! She loves me not ! — Oh God !
she loves me not! — But he, — he — shall not
escape me ! No, — I will wring his heart of its
last drop of blood ! I will trample it under
my feet !''

His wild straining eye, — the almost bursting
veins pf his temples, — the clenching of his hands,
— but more, the last words, which had found
utterance aloud — showed evidently to Guerin
the dreadfully over-wrought state of the King's

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 193

mind ; and, casting himself between Philip
and the postern as he rushed towards it, he
firmly opposed the monarch's passage, kneeling
at his feet, and clasping his knees in his still
vigorous arms.

" Some one is coming, Count d'Auvergne I''
Agnes was heard to say hastily. " Begone !
leave me ! — Never let me hear of this again !
Begone, Sir, I beg r

" Unclasp me," cried the King, struggling
to free himself from Guerin's hold. " Thou
knew'st it too, vile confidant ! Base betrayer-
of your Sovereign's honour ! — Unclasp me, or
by Heaven ! you die as you kneel ! — Away ! I
say !" and, drawing his sword, he raised his
arm over the Hospitaller's head.

" Strike, Sire !" cried Guerin undauntedly,
clasping the Monarch's knees still more firmly
in his arms — " strike your faithful servant!
His blood is yours — take it ! You cannot wound
his heart more deeply with your weapon, than
you have done with your words — Strike ! I am

VOL. II. K

194 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

unarmed ; but here will I lie, between you and
your mad passion, till you have time to think
what it is to slay a guest, whom you yourself
invited, in your own halls— before you know
whether he be guilty or not."

" Free me, Guerin !" said Philip more calm-
ly, but still with bitter sternness. " Free me,
I say ! I am the King once more ! Nay, hold
not by my haubert, man!"

Guerin rose, saying, " I beseech you, Sire,
consider !" But Philip put him aside with a
strong arm ; and, passing over the bridge,
entered the garden by the postern gate.

" Now, God forgive us all, if we have done
amiss in this matter ; and surely if I have in-
flicted pain, it has not been without suffering
it too." Such was the reflection of the good
Bishop of Senlis, when left by Philip : but
although his heart was deeply wrung to see the
agony of a man he loved, and to be thereof
even a promoter, he was not one to waste his
moments in fruitless regrets; and, passing

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 195

through the postern, which the King had neg-
lected to shut, he proceeded, as fast as possible,
towards the castle, in order to govern the cir-
cumstances, and moderate Philip's wrath, as
much as the power of man might do.

In the mean while, Philip had entered the
garden with his sword drawn, and passing
through the formal rows of flowering shrubs,
which was the taste of that day, he stood for
an instant at the top of the large square of
ground which lay between him and the castle.
Half the way down on the left side, his eye
caught the form of Agnes de Meranie; but
she was alone, save inasmuch as two of her
ladies, following at about a hundred yards'
distance, could be said to keep her compan}^
Without turning towards her, Philip passed
through a long arcade of trelHs-work which ran
along the wall to the right, and, with a pace
of light, made his way to the castle.

On the steps he paused, replaced his sword
in the sheath, and, passing through one of the
K 2

196 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

lesser towers, in a minute after, stood in the
midst of the great hall. The men-at-arms
started up from their various occupations and
amusements, and stood marvelling at the un-
announced coming of the King ; more than
one of them taxing themselves internally with
some undisclosed fault, and wondering if this
imusual visitation portended a reproof.

" Has the Count d'Auvergne been seen .?"
demanded Philip in a tone which he meant to
be calm, but which, though sufficiently rigid
— if such a term may be applied to sound —
still betrayed more agitation than he imagined
— " Has the Count d'Auvergne been seen ?''

" He passed but this instant, Sire,'' replied
one of the Serjeants, " with a page habited
in green, who has been searching for him this
hour."

" Seek him !" cried the King in a voice
that needed no repetition ; and the men-at-
arms vanished in every direction from the hall,
like dust scattered by the wind. During their

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 197

absence, Philip strode up and down the pave-
ment, his arms ringing as he trod, while the
bitter gnawing of his nether lip showed but
too plainly the burning passions that were
kindled in his bosom. Every now and then,
too, he would pause at one of the doors, throw
it wide open — look out, or listen for a moment,
and then resume his perturbed pacing in the
hall.

In a few minutes, however, the Bishop of
Senlis entered, and approached the King.
Philip passed him by, knitting his brow, and
bending his eyes on the ground, as if resolved
not to see him. Guerin, notwithstanding his
frown, came nearer, respectfully but boldly ;
and the King was obliged to look up. *' Leave
me. Sir Guerin," said he. " I will speak with
thee anon. Answer not; but leave me, for
fear of worse."

" Whatever worse than your displeasure
may happen, Sire," replied Guerin, " I must
abide it — claiming, however, the right of com-

198 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

mitting the old servant's crime, and speaking
first, if I am to be chidden after."

Philip crossed his arms upon his broad chest,
and with a stern brow looked the Minister full
in the face ; but remained silent, and suffered
him to continue.

" You have this day, my Lord,'' proceeded
Guerin, with unabated boldness, " used hard
terms towards a faithful subject and an ancient
friend ; but you have conferred the great power
upon me, of forgiving my King. My Lord, I
do forgive you, for thinking that the man who
has served you truly for twenty years, — since
when first, in the boyish hand of fifteen, you
held an unsteady sceptre, — would now betray
your honour himself, or know it betrayed
without warning you thereof. True, my Lord,
I believed the Count d'Auvergne to be at the
moment of your arrival in the castle gardens
with your royal Queen. — "

The King's hp curled, but he remained si-
lent. " Nevertheless," continued Guerin, " so

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 199

" God help me, as I did and do believe he
meant no evil towards you, beau Sire; and
nought but honourable friendship towards the
Queen.''

" Good man !" cried the King, his lip curl-
ing with a sneer, doubly bitter, because it stung
himself as well as him to whom it was ad-
dressed. " Guerin, Guerin, thou art a good
man ! — too good, as the world goes !""

" Mock me. Sire, if you will," replied the
Minister, " but hear me still. I knew the
Count d'Auvergne to be the dear friend of this
lady's father — the sworn companion in arms of
her dead brother : and 1 doubted not that, as
he lately comes from Istria, he might be charged
to enforce towards the Queen herself, the same
request that her father made to you by letter,
when first he heard that the divorce was an-
nulled by the See of Rome— namely, that his
daughter might return to his court, and not be
made both the subject and sacrifice of long
protracted disputes with the Supreme Pontiff."

200 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" Ha !'' said the King, raising his hand
thoughtfully to his brow. '* Say'st thou ?'' and
for several minutes he remained in deep medi-
tation. " Guerin, my friend," said he at length,
raising his eyes to the Minister as he compre-
hended at once the Hospitaller's motive for
gladly yielding way to siich a communication
between the Count d'Auvergne and Agnes as
that of which he spoke- " Guerin, my friend,
thou hast cleared thyself of all but judging ill.
Thy intentions — as I believe from my soul they
always are — were right. I did thee wrong.
Forgive me, good friend, in charity ; for, even
among kings, I am very, very unhappy !" and
he stretched out his hand towards his Minister.

Guerin bent his lips to it in silence ; and the
King proceeded : —

'* In clearing thyself too, thou hast mingled
a doubt with my hatred of this Thibalt d'Au-
vergne; but thou hast not taken the thorn
from my bosom. She may be chaste as ice,
Guerin. — Nay, she is. Her every word, her

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 201

every look speaks it — even her language to him
was beyond doubt — but still, she loves me not,
Guerin ! She spoke of duty — but she never
spoke of love ! She, who has been my adoration
— she, who loved me, I thought, as kings are
seldom loved — she loves me not !"

Guerin was silent. He felt that he could
not conscientiously say one word to strengthen
the King's conclusion, that Agnes did not love
him ; but for the sake of the great object he
had in view, of raising the interdict, and there-
by freeing France from all the dangers that
menaced her, he forbore to express his firm
conviction of the Queen's deep attachment to
her husband.

Fortunately for his purpose, at this moment
one or two of the King's serjeants-at-arms re-
turned, informing Philip, with no small addi-
tions of surprise, that they could find no trace
of the Count d'Auvergne.

" Let better search be made !" said the
King ; " and the moment he is found, let him
K 5

202 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

be arrested in my name, and confined, under
strict guard, in the chapel tower. Let his
usage be good, but his prison sure. Your
heads shall answer !" Thus saying, he turned
and left the hall, followed by Guerin, who
dared not urge his remonstrances farther at
the moment.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 203

CHAPTER VIII.

It may be necessary here to go back a little,
in order to show more fully what had really
been that conversation between Thibalt d'Au-
vergne and the fair Agnes de Meranie, of
which but a few words have yet reached the
reader's ears.

The Count d'Auvergne had come to the cas-
tle of Compiegne, as we have shown, upon the
direct invitation of the King himself; and,
indeed, Philip had taken more than one occa-
sion to court his powerful vassal; not alone,
perhaps, from political motives, but because
he felt within himself, without any defined
cause, a kind of doubt and dislike towards

204 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

him, which he believed to be unjust, and
knew to be impolitic ; and which, he was con-
tinually afraid, might become apparent, unless
he stretched his courtesy to its utmost extent.

D''Auvergne made no return. The frozen
rigidity of his manner was never relaxed for
an instant; and whatever warmth the King
assumed, it could never thaw him even to a
smile. Nor was this wholly the offspring of
that personal dislike which he might well be
supposed to feel to a happy and successful
rival; but he felt that, bound by his promise
to the old Duke of Istria, he had a task to
perform, whicli Philip would consider that of
an enemy, and therefore D'Auvergne resolved
never to bear towards him, for a moment, the
semblance of a friend.

Having, after his return to Paris, once more
accepted Philip's invitation to Compiegne ;
which, being made upon the plea of consult-
ing him respecting the conquest of Constanti-
nople, was complied with, without obligation.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 205

D'Auvergne proceeded on the evening appointed
to the castle ; but, finding that Philip had not
returned from the siege of Gournay, he lodged
himself and his followers, as he best might, in
the village. He felt, however, that he must
seize the moment which presented itself, of
conveying to Agnes her father^s message; and
convinced, by bitter experience, of the quick
and mortal nature of opportunity, the morning
after his arrival he proceeded to the castle, and
demanded an audience of the Queen.

No sensation on earth, perhaps, can be con-
ceived more bitter than that of seeincf the ob-
ject of one's love in the possession of another;
and Thibalt d'Auvergne's heart beat painfully
— his very lip grew pale, as he passed into
the castle hall, and bade one of the pages an-
nounce him to the Queen. A few moments
passed, after the boy's departure, in sad ex-
pectation ; the memory of former days con-
trasting their bright fancies with the dark and
gloomy hopelessness of the present. The page

206 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

speedily returned, and informed the Count
that his Lady, the Queen, would see him with
pleasure if he would follow to the garden.
D'Auvergne summoned all his courage ; for
there is more real valour in meeting and con-
quering our own feelings, when armed against
us, than in overthrowing the best paladin that
ever mounted horse. He followed the boy
towards the garden with a firm step, and, on
entering, soon perceived the Queen advancing
to meet him.

She was no longer the gay, bright girl that
he had known in I stria, on whose rosy cheek
the touch of care had withered not a flower,
whose step was buoyancy, whose eyes looked
youth, and whose arching lip breathed the very
spirit of gladness. She was no longer the same
fair girl we have seen, dreaming with her be-
loved husband over joys and hopes that royal
stations must not know — with the substantial
happiness of the present, and the fanciful de-
lights of the future, forming a beamy wreath

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 207

of smiles around her brow. — No; — she was still
fair and lovely, but with a sadder kind of
loveliness. The same sweet features remained,
— the same bland soul, shining from within —
the same heavenly eyes — the same enchanting
lip : but those eyes had an expression of pen-
sive languor, far different from former days;
and that lip, though it beamed with a sweet
welcoming smile, as her father''s and her bro-
ther's friend approached, seemed as if chained
down by some power of melancholy, so that
the smile itself was sad. The rose too had left
her cheek ; and though a very, very lovely
colour of a different hue had supplied its
place, still it was not the colour of the rose.
It was something more delicate, more tender,
more a-kin to the last blush of the sinking sun
before he stoops into the darkness.

Two of the Queen's ladies were at some dis-
tance behind, and, with good discretion, after
the Count d'Auvergne had joined their royal
mistress, they made that distance greater.

208 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

D'Auvergne advanced, and, as was the custom
of the day, bent his lips to the Queen's hand.
The one he raised it in, trembled as if it were
palsied ; but there was feverish heat in that of
Agnes, as he pressed his lip upon it, still more
fearful.

" Welcome to the Court, beau Sire D'Au-
vergne !" said the Queen with a sweet and un-
embarrassed smile. " You have heard that my
truant husband, Philip, has not yet returned,
though he promised me, with all a lover's vows,
to be back by yester-even. They tell me, you
men are all false with us women, and, in good
truth, I begin to think it.''

" May you never find it too bitterly, Madam,"
replied the Count.

" Nay, you spoke that in sad earnest, my
Lord," said Agnes, now striving with effort for
the same playful gaiety that was once natural
to her. " You are no longer what you were
in Istria, beau Sire. But we must make you
merrier before you leave our Court. Come,

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 209

you know, before the absolution, must still go
confession ;"*' and as she spoke, with a certain
sort of restlessness that had lately seized her,
she led the way round the garden, adding,
" Confess, beau Sire, what makes you sad —
every one must have something to make them
sad — so I will be your confessor. Confess, and
you shall have remission.""

She touched the Count's wound to the quick,
and he imprudently replied in a tone of sadness
bordering on reproach : " Oh ! Madam ! I fear
me, confession would come too late !"

How a single word — a single tone — a single
look, will sometimes give the key to a mystery.
There are moments when conception, awakened
we know not how, flashes like the lightning
through all space, illumining at once a world
that was before all darkness. That single
sentence, with the tone in which it was said,
touched the " electric chain " of memory, and
ran brightening along over a thousand links in
the past, which connected those words with the

210 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

days long gone by. It all flashed upon Agnes's
mind at once. She had been loved — deeply,
powerfully loved ; and, unknowing then what
love was, she had not seen it. But now^ that
love was the constant food of her mind, from
morning until night, her eyes were opened at
once, and that, with no small pain to herself.
The change in her manner, however, was in-
stant ; and she felt, that one light word, one
gay jest, after that discovery, would render her
culpable, both to her husband and to Thibalt
d'Auvergne. Her eye lost the light it had for
a moment assumed — the smile died away upon
her lip, and she became calm and cold as some
fair statue.

The Count d'Auvergne saw the change, and
felt perhaps why ; but as he did feel it, firm
in the noble rectitude of his intentions, he lost
the embarrassment of his manner, and took up
the conversation which the Queen had dropped
entirely.

" To quit a most painful subject, Madam,''

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 211

he said calmly and firmly, "allow me to say
that I should never have returned to Europe,
had not duties called me ; those duties are
over, and I shall soon go back to wear out the
frail rest of life amidst the soldiers of the cross.
I may fall before some Saracen lance, — I may
taste the cup of the mortal plague ; but my
bones shall whiten on a distant shore, after
fighting under the sign of our salvation. There
still, however, remains one task to be perform-
ed, which, however wringing to my heart, must
be completed. As I returned to France, Madam,
I know not what desire of giving myself pain,
made me visit Istria ; I there saw your noble
father, who bound me by a knightly vow to
bear a message to his child.'"*

" Indeed, Sir !" said Agnes: "let me beg you
would deliver it. — But first tell me, how is my
father?" she added anxiously, — "how looks he?
Has age, and the wearing cares of this world,
made any inroad on his vigorous strength ?
—Speak, Sir Count !"

212 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" I should say falsely, lady,'' replied D'Au-
vergne, " if I said, that since I saw him before,
he had not become, when last we met, an altered
man. But I was told by those about him,
that 'tis within the last year this change has
principally taken place.''

" Indeed !" said Agnes thoughtfully ; " and
has it been very great ? Stoops he now ? He
was as upright as a mountain pine, when I left
him. Goes he forth to hunt, as formerly ?''

" He often seeks the chase. Lady," answered
the Count, "as a diversion to his somewhat
gloomy thoughts ; but I am grieved to say,
that age has bent the pine.""

Agnes mused for several minutes ; and the
Count remained silent.

"Well, Sir," said she at length, "the message
— what is it ? Gave he no letter ?"

"None, Madam,"' said the Count; "he
thought that a message by one who had seen
him, and one whose wishes for your welfare
were undoubted, might be more serviceable to
the purpose he desired."

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 213

" My Lord, your wishes for my welfare are
as undoubted by me as they are by my father,"
replied the Queen, noticing a slight emphasis
which D'Auvergne had placed upon the word
undoubted ; " and therefore I am happy to
receive his message from the lips of his friend.'"

The Queen's words were courteous and kind,
but her manner was as cold and distant as if
she had spoken to a stranger; and D'Auvergne
felt hurt that it should be so, though he well
knew that her conduct was perhaps the wisest
for both.

After a moment's thought, however, he pro-
ceeded to deliver the message wherewith he had
been charged by the Duke of Istria and Mera-
nie. " Your father. Lady," he said, " charged
me to give you the following message ; — and let
me beg you to remember, that, as far as memo-
ry serves, I use his own words; for what might
be bold, presumptuous, or even unfeeling, in
your brother's poor companion in arms, be-
comes kind counsel and affectionate anxiety
when urged by a parent. Your father, Lady,

214 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

bade me say, that he had received a letter from
the common Father of the Christian Church,
informing him that your marriage with the
noble King Philip was not, and could not be
valid, because — ""

" Spare the reasons, Sir,'** said Agnes with a
calm voice, indeed ; but walking on, at the same
time, with that increased rapidity of pace which
showed too well her internal agitation, — "spare
the reasons, Sir ! I have heard them before —
Indeed, too, too often ! — What said my father,
more ?"

'' He said, Madam, that as the Pope assured
him, on his apostolic truth, that the marriage
never could be rendered valid," continued the
Count ; " and farther, that the realm of France
must be put in interdict — for the interdict,
Madam, had not been then pronounced ; and
Celestin, a far milder judge than the present,
sat in the chair of St. Peter. — He said, that as
this was the case, and as the daughter of the
Duke of Meranie was not formed to be an

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 215

object of discord between a king and a Chris-
tian prelate; he begged, and conjured, and
commanded you to withdraw yourself from an
alliance that he now considered, as disgraceful
as it had formerly appeared honourable ; and
to return to your father's court, and the arms
of your family, where, you well know, he said,
that domestic love, and parental affection,
would endeavour to wipe out from your heart
the memory of disappointments and sorrows
brought on you by no fault of your own."

" And such, indeed, was my father's com-
mand and message .?" said the Queen in a tone
of deep affliction.

" Such, indeed, it was, Lady," replied the
Count d'Auvergne, " and he bade me, farther,
entreat and conjure you, by all that is dear and
sacred between parent and child, not to neglect
his counsel and disobey his commands. He
said moreover that he knew — '' and Thibalt
d'Auvergne's lip quivered as if the agony of
death was struggling in his heart — " he said

162 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

that he knew how fondly you loved the noble
King your husband, and how hard it would
be to tear yourself from him. But he begged
you to remember that your house's honour
was at stake, and not to shrink from your
duty."

" Sir Count," said Agnes, in a voice that fal-
tered with emotion, '' he, nor no one else, can
tell how I love my husband — how deeply —
how fondly — how devotedly. Yet that should
not stay me ; for though I would as soon tear
out my heart, and trample it under my own
feet, as quit him ; yet I would do it, if my
honour and my duty bade me go. But my
honour and my duty bid me stay — '* She
paused, and thoughtfully followed the direction
of the walk, clasping her small hands together,
and bending down her eyes, as one whose mind,
unaccustomed to decide between contending
arguments, is bewildered by number and re-
iteration, but not convinced. She thus ad-
vanced some way in the turn towards the castle,

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 217

and then added — '^ Besides, even if I would,
how could I quit my husband's house and ter-
ritories ? How could I return to I stria with-
out his will r

" That difficulty, Madam, I would smooth
for you or die," replied the Count. " The
troops of Auvergne could and should protect
you."

" The troops of Auvergne against Philip of
France !" exclaimed Agnes, raising her voice,
while her eye flashed with an unwonted fire,
and her lip curled with a touch of scorn. " And
doubtless the Count d'Auvergne to head them,
and defend the truant wife against her angry
husband !"

" You do me wrong, Lady," replied D'Au-
vergne calmly — " you do me wrong. The
Count d'Auvergne is boon for other lands.
Nor would he do one act for worlds, that
could, even in the ill-judging eyes of men, cast

a shade over the fame and honour of one "

He paused, and broke off his sentence, adding —

VOL. II. L

218 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" But no more of that — Lady, you do me
wrong. I did but deem, that, accompanied by
your own holy confessor, and what other pre-
lates or clergymen you would, a thousand of
my armed vassals might convey you safely to
the court of your father ; while I, bound by a
holy vow, should take shipping at Marseilles,
and never set my foot on shore till I might
plant it on the burning sands of Palestine. —
Lady, may this be ?"

" No, Lord Count, no!" — replied Agnes,
her indignation at any one dreaming of oppos-
ing the god of her idolatry, still unsubdued ;
" it cannot, nor it must not be ! Did I seek
I stria at all, I would rather don a pilgrim's
weeds, and beg my way thither on foot. But
I seek it not, my Lord — I never will seek it.
Philip is my husband — France is my land.
The bishops of this realm have freed, by their
united decree, their King from all other en-
gagement than that to me ; and so long as he
himself shall look upon that engagement as

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 219

valid, I will not doubt its firmness and its
truth."

" I have then discharged me of my unplea-
sant duty, Lady," said the Count d'Auvergne.
" My task is accomplished, and my promise
to your father fulfilled. Yet, that it may be
well fulfilled, let me beg you once again to
think of your father's commands ; and knowing
the nobleness of his nature, the clearness of his
judgment, and the fearless integrity of his
heart, think if he would have urged you to
quit King Philip without he thought it your
duty to do so."

" He judged as a father ; I judge as a wife,"
replied Agnes. " I love my father — I would die
for him ; and, but to see him, I would sacrifice
crown, and dignity, and wealth. Yet, once for
all, beau Sire d'Auvergne, urge me no more ;
for, notwithstanding all you can say — notwith-
standing my own feelings in this respect, I must
not — I cannot — I will not quit my husband.
That name alone, my husband, were enough to
l2

220 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

bind me to him by every duty, and I will never
quit him."

D'Auvergne was silent ; for he saw, by the
flushed cheek and disturbed look of Agnes de
Meranie, that he had urged her as far as in
honour and courtesy he dared to go. They
had by this time turned towards the chateau,
from which they beheld a page, habited in
green, advancing rapidly towards them.

" Some one is coming. Count d'Auvergne,"
said Agnes hastily, fearful, although her women
were at a little distance behind, that any
stranger should see her discomposed look. —
" Some one is coming. — Begone ! Leave me !""
And seeing the Count about to speak again,
though it was but to take his leave, she added
— " Never let me hear of this again ! Begone,
Sir, I beg r

She then stooped down to trifle with some
flowers, till such time as the stranger should be
gone, or her own cheek lose the heated flush
with which it was overspread.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 221

In the mean while, the Count d'Auvergne
bowed low, and turned towards the castle. Be-
fore he had reached it, however, he was en-
countered by De Coucy's page, who put a paper
in his hand, one glance of which made him
hasten forward ; and passing directly through
the hall of the chateau, he issued out at the
other gate. From thence he proceeded to the
lodging where he had passed the night before —
called his retainers suddenly together, mount-
ed his horse, and rode away.

As soon as he left her, Agnes de Meranie
raised her head from the flowers over which
she had been stooping, and walked on slowly,
musing, towards the castle ; while thought —
that strange phantasmagoria of the brain — pre-
sented to her a thousand vague and incoherent
forms, called up by the conversation that had
just passed — plans, and fears, and hopes, and
doubts, crowding the undefined future ; and
memories, regrets, and sorrows, thronging
equally the past. Fancy, the quick wanderer,

222 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

had travelled far in a single moment, when the
sound of a hasty step caught her ear, passing
along under the trellis of vines that skirted the
garden wall. She could not see the figure of
the person that went by; but it needed not
that she should. The sound of that footfall
was as well known to her ear as the most fami-
liar form to her eye ; and, bending her head, she
listened again, to be sure —very sure.

" 'Tis Philip !" said she, all her other feel-
ings forgotten, and hope and joy sparkling
again in her eye — " 'tis Philip ! He sees me
not, and yet he knows that at this hour it is
my wont to walk here. But perhaps 'tis later
than I thought. He is in haste too by his step.
However, I will in, with all speed, to meet
him ;" and signing to her women to come up,
she hastened towards the castle.

" Have you seen the King ?" demanded she
of a page, who hurried to open the gates for her.

" He has just passed. Madam," replied the
youth. " He seemed to go into the great hall

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 223

in haste, and is now speaking to the sergeants-
at-arms. You may hear his voice."

" I do," said the Queen ; and proceeding to
her apartments, she waited for her husband's
coming, with all that joyful hope that seemed
destined in this world as meet prey for dis-
appointment.

224 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

CHAPTER IX.

At Tours, we have seen De Coucy despatch
his page towards the Count d'Auvergne ; and
at Compiegne we have seen the same youth de-
liver a letter to that nobleman. But we must
here pause, to trace more particularly the
course of the messenger, which, in truth, was
not near so direct as at first may be imagined.

There was, at the period referred to, a little
hostelry in the town of Chateau du Loir, which
was neat and well-furnished enough for the
time it flourished in.* It had the most com-

* I know not precisely how far back a curious antiquary
might trace the existence of such places of public reception.
I find one mentioned, however, in the Chronicle of Vezelai,
about fifty years prior to the period of which I write.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 225

fortable large hearth in the world, which, in
those days, was the next great excellence in a
house of general reception, to that of having
good wine, which always held the first place ;
and round this— on each side of the fire,
as well as behind it — was a large stone seat,
that might accommodate well fifteen or sixteen
persons on a cold evening. At the far corner
of this hearth, one night in the wane of Sep-
tember, when days are hot and evenings are
chilly, sat a fair youth of about eighteen years
of age, for whom the good hostess, an honest,
ancient dame, that always prayed God's bless-
ing on a pair of rosy cheeks, was mulling some
spiced wine, to cheer him after a long and heavy
day's riding.

'' Ah, now ! I warrant thee," said the good
lady, adjusting the wood embers carefully round
the little pipkin, on the top of which just be-
gan to appear a slight creaming foam, promis-
ing a speedy conclusion to her labours — " ay,
now ! I warrant thee, thou hast seen them all —
l5

226 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

— the fair Lady Isadore, and pretty Mistress
Alice the head maid, and little Eleonor with
her blue eyes — Ha, Sir Page, you redden ! I
have touched thee, child. God bless thee, boy !
never blush to be in love. Your betters have
been so before thee ; and I warrant little Eleo-
nor would blush too. God bless her, and St.
Luke the apostate! Oh, bless thee, my boy, I
know them all ! God wot they stayed here, mas-
ter and man, two days, while they were waiting
for news from the King John ; and old Sir
Julian himself vowed he was as well here as in
the best castle of France or England.''"*

" Well, well, Dame! I have ridden hard back,
at all events," replied the Page ; " and I will
make my horse's speed soon catch up, between
this and Paris, the day and a half I have lin-
gered here ; so that my noble Lord cannot blame
me for loitering on his errand."

" Tut, tut ! He will never know a word,"
cried the old dame, applying to the page that
sort of consolatory assurance that our faults will

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 227

rest unknown, which has damned many a one,
both man and woman, in this world — "he
will never know a word of it ; and, if- he did,
he would forgive it. Lord, Lord! being a
knight, of course he is in love himself; and
knows what love is. God bless him ! and all
true knights ! I say."

" Oh, in love— 'to be sure he is !" replied the
Page. " Bless thee, Dame ! when we came all
hot from the Holy Land, like loaves out of an
oven, my Lord no sooner clapped his eyes upon
the Lady Isadore, than he was in love up to
the ears, as they say. Ay ! and would ride as
far to see her, as I would to see little Eleonor.
— But tell me. Dame, have you- staked the door
as I asked you .?"

" Latch down, and bolt shot !" answered the
old lady ; "but what shouldst thou fear, poor
child ? Thou art not of King John's friends ;
that I well divine ; but, bless thee ! every one
who has passed, this blessed day, says they are
moving the other way ; though, in good troth,

228 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

I have no need to say God be thanked ; for
the heavy Normans, and the thirsty English,
would sit here and drink me pot after pot, and
it mattered not what wine I gave them — Loiret
was as good as Beaugency. God bless them
all, and St. Luke the Apostate ! as I said. So
what need'st thou fear, boy ?"

" Why, I'll tell thee, good Dame. If they
caught me, and knew I was the De Coucy's
man, they would hang me up, for God's beni-
gon," said the Page ; " and I narrowly escaped
on the road too. Five mounted men, with their
arms covered with soldiers' mantles, — though
they looked like knights, and rode like knights
too, — chased me for more than a mile. They
had a good score of archers at their backs ; and
I would have dodged them across the country,
but every little hill I came to, I saw a body
of horse on all sides, moving pace by pace with
them. Full five hundred men, I counted, one
way and another; and there might be five
hundred more, for aught I know.^'

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 229

" Now, St. Barbara's toe nail to St. Luke's
shoulder bone,'' exclaimed the hostess, mingling
somewhat strangely the relics which she was ac-
customed to venerate, with the profane wagers
of the soldiery who frequented her house —
" now, St. Barbara's toe nail to St. Luke's
shoulder bone, that these are the men whom
my lodger up-stairs expected to come to-
night !"

" What lodger .?" cried the Page anxiously.
" Dame, Dame, you told me, this very morning,
you had none !""

" And I told you true, Sir Chit !" replied the
old woman, bridling at the tone of reproach the
Page adopted. " I told you true. — There, drink
your wine — it is well mulled now ; — take care
you do not split the horn, pouring it in so hot.
— I told you true enough — I had no lodger
this morning, when you went ; but, half an
hour after, came one who had ridden all night,
with a great boutiau at his saddle, that would
hold four quarts. Cursed be those houtiaus !

230 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

they cut us vintners' combs. Every man car-
ries his wine with him, and never sets foot in a
hostelry but to feed his horse.*"

" But the traveller ! — the traveller ! — Good
Dame, tell me," cried the Page, " what manner
of man was he .'^"

" A goodly man, i'faith," replied the land-
lady. " Taller than thou art. Sir Page, by a
hand's breadth. He had been in a fray, I war-
rant, for his eye was covered over with a patch,
and his nose broken across. He too would fain
not be seen, and made me put him in a guest-
chamber at the end of the dormitory. He
calls himself Alberic, though that is nothing
to me or any one: and there was a Norman
came to speak with him an hour after he came;
but that is nothing to me either."

'' Hark, Dame ! hark ! I hear horses,'' cried
the Page, starting up in no small trepidation.
" Where can I hide me ? Where ?" and, even
as he asked the question, he began to climb the
stairs, that came almost perpendicularly down

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 231

into the centre of the room, with all the preci-
pitation of fear.

" Not there ! — not there !" cried the old
woman ; '' thou wilt meet that Alberic. Into
that cupboard;" and, seizing the Page by the
arm, she pushed him into a closet filled with
fagots and brushwood for replenishing the
kitchen fire. Under this heap he ensconced
himself as well as he might, paying no regard
to the skin of his hands and face, which was
very sufficiently scratched in the operation of
diving down to the bottom of the pile. The old
lady, who seemed quite familiar with all such
manoeuvres, while the sound of approaching
horses came nearer and nearer, arranged what
he had disarranged in his haste, sat down by the
fire, tossed off the remainder of the wine in the
pipkin, and began to spin quietly, while the
horses' feet that had startled the Page clattered
on through the village. In a moment after, they
stopped at the door ; and, at the same time, a
heavy footfall was heard pacing forward above,

232 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

as if some one, disturbed also by the sounds,
approached to listen at the head of the stairs.

" Ho ! Within there ! ■' cried some person
without, after having pushed the door, and
found it bolted. — "Ho! Within there! Open,
I say."

The old dame ran forward, taking care to
make her feet give audible sounds of haste upon
the floor ; and, instantly unfastening ?he door,
she stood becking and bowing to the strangers,
as they dismounted from their horses and en-
tered the kitchen.

" God save ye, fair Sir ! — God save ye, noble
gentlemen. Welcome, welcome! — Lord ! Lord !
I have not seen such a sight of noble faces
since good King John's army went ! The
blessing of God be upon him and them !
He is a right well favoured and kingly Lord !
Bless his noble eyes, and his sweet low
forehead, and send him plenty of crowns to
put upon it !"

" How, Dame ! Dost thou know King

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 233

John ?■" asked one of the strangers, laying his
hand upon the hostess's shoulders, with an air of
kindly familiarity. " But thou mistakest. I
have heard he is villanous ugly. Ha !"*'

*' Lord forgive you. Sire, and St. Luke the
apostate !" cried the old woman. " He is the
sweetest gentleman you ever set your eyes on.
Many a time have I seen him, when the army
was here ; and so handsome he is ! Lord,
Lord !''

" Ha ! methinks thou wouldst look hand-
somer thus, thyself," cried the stranger, suddenly
snatching off the old woman's quoif, and setting
it down again on her head with the wrong side
in front. " So, my lovely lass !" and he patted
the high cap with the whole strength of his
hand, so as to flatten it completely. *^ So, so !'"

His four companions burst into a loud and ap-
plauding laugh, and were proceeding to follow
up his jest upon the old woman, when the other
stopped them at once, crying, " Enough, my
masters ! no more of it. Let us to business. Guil-

234 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

laume de la Roche Guyon, you shall make love
to the old wench another time. — Now, beauti-
ful lad}^ !" he continued, mocking the chivalrous
speeches of the day. " Would those sweet lips
but deign to open the coral boundary of sound,
and inform an unhappy Knight, who has this
evening ridden five long leagues, whether one
Sir Alberic, as he is pleased to call himself,
lodges in your castle .^"

" Lord bless your noble and merry heart !'*
replied the old woman, apparently not at all
offended or discomposed by the accustomed gibes
of her guests. " How should I know Sir Al-
beric? I never ask strangers' names that do
my poor hostel the honour of putting up at it.
Not but that I may have heard the name, and
lately; but—"

" But hold thy peace, old woman !" said a
voice from above. " These persons want me,
and I want them ;" and down the staircase
came no less a person than our friend Jodelle,
the captain of De Coucy's troop of Braban9ois.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 235

One eye indeed was covered with a patch ; but
this addition to his countenance was probably
assumed less as a concealment, than for th.e
purpose of covering the marks of a tremendous
blow which we may remember the Knight
had dealt him with the pommel of his sword ;
and which, notwithstanding the patch, shone
out in a large livid swelling ail round.

" Tell me, Dame,'' cried he, advancing to
the hostess, before he exchanged one word of
salutation with the strangers. " Who was it that
stopped at your gate half an hour ago on horse-
back, and where is he gone ? He was speaking
with thee but now, for I heard two voices."

" Lord bless you. Sir, and St. Luke the
apostate, to boot!" said the old woman, " 'twas
but my nephew, poor boy ; frightened out of
his life, because he said he had met with some
of King Philip"*s horsemen on the road. So he
slipped away when he heard horses coming,
and took his beast round to the field to ride off
without being noticed, because being of the

236 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

English party, King Philip would hang him if
he caught him.'*

" King Philip's horsemen !" cried the first
stranger, turning deadly pale. " Whence did
he come, good Dame ? What road did he
travel, that he saw King Philip's horsemen ?"

" He came from Fleche, fair Sir," replied
the hostess, " and he said there were five of
them chased him ; and he saw many more
scattered about."

" Oh, nonsense !" cried one of the other
strangers. " 'Tis the youth we chased our-
selves. He has taken us for Philip's men.
— How was he dressed, Dame .^"

" In green, beau Sire," replied the ready
hostess. " He had a green cassock on, I am
well nigh sure,"

" 'Tis the same ! — 'tis the same !" said the
stranger, who had asked the last question. —
*•' Be not afraid, beau Sire," he added, speaking
in a low tone to the stranger who had entered
first. " Philip is far enough ; and were he

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 237

near, he should dine off the heads of lances,
and quaff red blood, till he were drunk, ere
he harmed a hair of your head. So, be not
afraid."

" Afraid, Sir !"" replied the other, drawing
himself up haughtily, now re-assured by the
certainty of the mistake concerning Philip's
horsemen. " How came you to suppose I am
afraid ? — Now, good fellow," he continued, turn-
ing to Jodelle, " are you that Alberic that wrote

a billet this morning to the camp at ?''"'

" By your leave, fair Sir," interrupted Jo-
delle, " we will have a clear coast. — Come, old
woman, get thee out ! We must be alone."

" What ! out of my own kitchen, Sir ?"
cried the hostess. '' That is hard allowance,
surely."

" It must needs be so, however," answered
Jodelle : " out at that door, good Dame ! Thou
shalt not be long on the other side ;" and, very
unceremoniously taking the landlady by the
arm, he put her out at the door which opened

238 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

on the street, and bolted it once more. " And
now," said he, " to see that no lurkers are
about."

So saying, he examined the diflPerent parts of
the room, and then opened the door of the
closet, in which the poor Page lay trembling
like an aspen leaf.

" Brushwood !" said Jodelle, taking a can-
dle from one of the iron brackets that lighted
the room, and advancing into the closet, he
laid his hand on one of the bundles, and rolled
it over.

The Page, cringing into the space of a pigmy,
escaped his sight, however ; and the roll of the
fagot, instead of discovering him, concealed him
still better by falling down upon his head . But
still unsatisfied, the marauder drew his sword,
and plunged it into the mass of brushwood to
make all sure. — There was in favour of the poor
Page's life but the single chance of Jodelle's
blade passing to the right or left of him. Still,
that chance was for him. The Braban9ois''

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 239

sword was aimed a little on one side, and^ leav-
ing him uninjured, struck against the wall.
Jodelle sheathed it again, satisfied, and returned
to the strangers, the chief of whom had seated
himself by the fire, and was, with strange levity,
moralizing on the empty pipkin which had held
the mulled wine.

His voice was sweet and melodious, and,
though he evidently spoke in mockery, one
might discover in his speech those tones and
accents that lead and persuade.

" Mark ! Guillaume de la Roche," said he,
'* Mark I Pembroke, and you. Sir Alberic, mark
well ! for it may happen in your sinful life, that
never again shall you hear how eloquently a
pipkin speaks to man. Look at it, as I hold it
now in my hand. No man amongst you would
buy it at half a denier ; but fill it with glorious
wine of Montrichard, and it is worth ten times
the sum. Man! man! thou art but a pipkin,
— formed of clay — baked in youth — used in
manhood — broken in age. So long as thou art

240 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

filled with spirit, thou art valuable and enno-
bled ; but the moment the spirit is out, thou art
but a lump of clay again. While thou art full,
men never abandon thee ; but when thou art
sucked empty, they give thee up, and let thee
drop as I do the pipkin;" and opening his finger
and thumb, he suffered it to fall on the floor,
where it at once dashed itself to pieces.

'' And now, Sir Alberic,*" continued he, turn-
ing to Jodelle, " what the devil do you want
with me ?""

" Beau Sire, King,'' said Jodelle, bending his
knee before the stranger, "if you are indeed, as
your words imply, John, King of England — ""

" I am but a pipkin !" interrupted the light
King. "Alas ! Sir Alberic, I am but a pipkin.
— But proceed, proceed. — I am the King."

" AVell then, my Lord," answered Jodelle,
in truth, somewhat impatient in his heart at
the King's mockery, " as I was bold to tell you
in my letter, I have heard that your heart's
best desire is to have under your safe care

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 241

and guidance your nephew, Arthur, Duke of
Brittany—.''

" Thou speakest right, fellow !" cried the
King John, wakening to animation at the
thought. " 'Tis my heart's dearest wish to
have him. — Where is the little rebel ? Produce
him ! Have you got him here ?"

*' Good God ! my Lord, you forget !" said
the Earl of Pembroke. " This fair gentleman
cannot be expected to carry your nephew about
with him, like a holy relic in a reliquary."

" Or, a white mouse in a show-box," added
Guillaume de la Roche Guyon, laughing.

" Good, good !" cried John, joining in the
laugh. — " But come, Sir Alberic, speak plainly.
Where is the white mouse? When wilt thou
open thy show-box ? We have come ourselves,
because thou wouldest deal with none but us ;
therefore, now thou hast our presence, bear
thyself discreetly in it. — Come, when wilt thou
open the box, I pray ?"

*' When it pleases you to pay the poor show-

YOL. II. M

242 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

man his price ?" said Jodelle, bowing low and
standing calmly before the King, in the attitude
of one who knows, that, for the moment at least,
he commands, where he seems to be command-
ed; and that his demands, however exorbitant,
must be complied with.

" Ha !" said John, knitting his brows ; " I
had forgot that there is not one man on all the
earth who has not his price. — Pray, what is
thine, fellow .?"

" I am very moderate, beau Sire,'' replied
Jodelle, with the most imperturbable composure,
" very moderate in regard to what I sell.—
Would you know, my Lord King, what I de-
mand for placing your nephew Arthur in your
hands, with all those who are now assisting him
to besiege the Queen, your mother, in her
chateau of Mirebeau ? — 'Tis a worthy deed,
and merits some small recompense.'*'

" Speak, speak, man !"" cried the King impa-
tiently. " Go not round and round the matter.
Speak it out plainly. What sum dost thou ask .?""

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 243

" Marry ! my Lord, there must go more than
sums to the bargain," replied Jodelle boldly.
" But if you would know justly what I do
demand, 'tis this. First, you shall pay me
down, or give me here an order on your
royal treasure for the sum of ten thousand
marks in what coin you will."

" By the Lord, and the Holy Evangelists !''
cried the King ; but, then pausing, he added,
while he turned a half smiling glance to Lord
Pembroke : — " Well, thou shalt have the order
on the royal treasury. What next .?"

" After you have given me the order, Sire,"
replied Jodelle, answering the meaning of the
King's smile, " I will find means to wring the
money out of your friends, or out of your ene-
mies, even should your treasure be as dry as
hay."

" Try my enemies first, good Alberic," said
the King ; " my friends have enough to do
already. — But what next ? for you put that
firstly, if I forget not."

M 2

244 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" Next, you must give me commission, under
your royal signet, to raise for your use, and
at your expense, one thousand free lances,"*"* re-
plied Jodelle stoutly, "engaged to serve you
for the space of ten years. Moreover, I must
have annually half the pay of Mercader ; and
you must consent to dub me Knight with your
royal hand."*"*

" Knight V cried the Earl of Pembroke,
turning fiercely upon him. — " By the Lord ! if
the King do dub so mean and pitiful a traitor,
I will either make the day of your dubbing the
last of your life ; or I will have my own scul-
lion strike off my own spurs, as a dishonour
to my heels, when such a villain wears the
same.""

*' When those spurs are on, Lord Pembroke,"
replied Jodelle boldly, " thou shalt not want
one to meet thee, and give thee back scorn for
scorn. Till then, meddle with what concerns
thee, and mar not the King's success with thy
scolding."

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 245

" Peace, Pembroke ! peace !" cried King
John, seeing his hasty Peer about to make
angry answer. *•' Who dare interfere, where
my will speaks ? — And now tell me, fellow Al-
beric," he added with an air of dignity he could
sometimes assume. " Suppose that we refuse
thine exacting demands — what follows then ?'''

" Why, that I betake myself to my beast's
back, and ride away as I came," answered
Jodelle undisturbedly.

" But suppose we do not let thee go," con-
tinued the King ; " and farther, suppose we
hang thee up to the elm before the door."

" Then you will have broken a King's honour,
to win a dead carcase," answered the Braban-
^ois. " For nothing shall you ever know from
me, that may stead you in your purpose."

" But we have tortures, Sir, would almost
make the dead speak," rejoined King John.
*' Such, at least, as would make thee wish thy-
self dead a thousand times, ere death came to
thy relief."

246 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" I doubt thee not, Sir King/'' answered
Jodelle, with the same determined tone and
manner in which he had heretofore spoken — " I
doubt thee not ; and, as I pretend to no more
love for tortures than my neighbours, 'tis more
than likely I should tell thee all I could tell,
before the thumbscrew had taken half a turn ;
but it would avail thee nothing, for nought
that I could tell thee would make my men
withdraw till they have me amongst them ;
and, until they be withdrawn, you may as
well try to surprise the sun of heaven, guard-
ed by all his rays, as catch Prince Arthur and
Guy de Coucy."

" Why wouldst thou not come to the camp,
then ?" demanded John. " If thou wert so
secure, why camest thou not when I sent for
thee ?"'

" Because, King John, I once served your
brother Richard," replied the Braban^ois,
'' and during that time I made me so many
dear friends in Mercader's band, that I thought.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 247

if I came to visit them, without two or three •
hundred men at my back, they might, out of
pure love, give me a banquet of cold steel, and
lodging with our lady mother,— the earth.""

" The fellow jests. Lords ! On my soul ! the
fellow jests !" cried John. — " Get thee back,
sirrah, a step or two ; and let me consult with
my nobles," he added. — " Look to him, Pem-
broke, that he escape not.""

John then spoke for several minutes with the
gentlemen who had attended him to this ex-
traordinary meeting ; and the conversation,
though carried on in a low tone, seemed in no
slight degree animated ; more especially on the
part of Lord Pembroke, who frequently spoke
loud enough for such words to be heard as
" disgrace to chivalry — disgust the Barons of
England — would not submit to have their order
degraded," &c.

At length, however, a moment of greater
calm succeeded ; and John, beckoning the Co-
terel forward, spoke to him thus :—

248 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" Our determination is taken, good fellow,
and thou shalt subscribe to it, or not, as thou
wilt. First, we will give thee the order upon
our treasury for the ten thousand marks of
silver ; always provided, that, within ten days'
time, the body of Arthur Plantagenet is by thy
means placed in our hands — living — or dead,"
added the King, with a fearful emphasis on
the last word. At the same time he contracted
his brows, and though his eyes still remained
fixed upon Jodelle, he half-closed the eyelids
over them, as if he considered his own counte-
nance as a mask through which his soul could
gaze out without being seen, while he insinu-
ated what he was afraid or ashamed to proclaim
openly.

Lord Pembroke gave a meaning glance to
another nobleman who stood behind the King ;
and who slightly raised his shoulder and drew
down the corner of his mouth as a reply, while
the King proceeded : —

" We will grant thee also, on the same con-

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 249

dition, that which thou demandest in regard to
raising a band of Braban9ois, and serving as
their commander, together with all the matter
of pay, and whatever else you have mentioned
on that head ; but as to creating thee a knight,
'tis what we will not, nor cannot do ; at least,
for service of this kind. If you like the terms,
well !" concluded the King ; " if not, there
stands an elm at the door, as we have before
said, which would form as cool and shady a
dangling place, as a man could wish to hang on
in a September's day."

" Nay, I have no wish of the kind," replied
the Braban9ois: "if I must hang on any thing,
let it be a king, not a stump of timber. I will
not drive my bargain hard. Sir King. Sign
me the papers now, with all the conditions you
mention ; and when I am your servant, I will
do you such good service, that yon proud Lord,
who now stands in the way of my knighthood,
shall own I deserve it as well as himself''

The Earl of Pembroke gave him a glance of
M 5

250 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

scorn, but replied not to his boast ; and writing
materials having been procured from some of
the attendants without— the whole house being
by this time surrounded with armed men, who
had been commanded to follow the King by
different roads — the papers were drawn up,
and signed by the King.

" And now, my Lord," said Jodelle, with the
boldness of a man who can render needful
service, " look upon Prince Arthur as your
own. Advance with all speed upon Mirebeau.
When you are within five leagues, halt till night.
Arthur, with the hogs of Poitou, is kinging it
in the town. — De Coucy sleeps by his watch-
fire under the castle mound. — My men keep
the watch on this side of the town. Let your
troops advance quietly in the dark, giving the
word Jodelle^ and without sign or signal, my
free fellows shall retire before you, till you are
in the very heart of the place. Arthur, with
his best knights, sleeps at the Prevot's house ;
surround that, and you have them all, without
drawing a sword. — Love you the plan ?"

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 251

" By my crown and honour !" cried the
King, his eyes sparkling with delight, " if the
plan be as well executed as it is devised, thou
wilt merit a diamond worth a thousand marks,
to weigh your silver down. Count upon me,
good Alberic ! as your best friend through life,
if thy plot succeeds. Count on me, Alberic — "

" Jodelle ! for the future, so please you,
Sire," replied the Coterel ; " Alberic was but
assumed: — and now, my Lord, I will to horse
and away ; for I must put twenty long leagues
between me and this place before the dawn of
to-morrow."

" Speed you well ! — speed you well, good
Jodelle !" replied the King, rising : "I will
away too, to move forward on Mirebeau, like
an eagle to his prey. — Come, Lords ! to horse !
— Count on me, good Jodelle !" he repeated, as
he put his foot in the stirrup, and turned away,
*' count on me — to hang you as high as the
crow builds," he muttered to himself as he
galloped oif — "ay, count on me for that!
— Well ; Lords, what think you of our night's

252 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

work ? — By heaven ! our enemies are in our
hands ! We have but to do, as I have seen a
child catch flies, — sweep the board with our
palm, and we grasp them all."

" True, my Lord," replied the Earl of Pem-
broke, who had been speaking in a low voice
with some of the other followers of the Prince.
*' But there are several things to be considered
first."

" How to be considered. Sir ?" demanded
King John, somewhat checking his horse's pace
with an impatient start. " What is it now ?
— for I know by that word, considered, that
there is some rebellion to my will, toward."

" Not so, Sire," replied the Earl of Pem-
broke firmly ; " but the Barons of England, my
Liege, have to remember, that by direct line of
descent, Arthur Plantagenet was the clear heir
to Richard Coeur de Lion. Now, though there
wants not reason or example, to show that we
have a right to choose from the royal family
which member we think most fit to bear the

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 253

sceptre ; yet we so far respect the blood of our
kings, and so far feel for the generous ardour
of a noble youth who seeks but to regain a
kingdom which he deems his of right, that we
will not march against Arthur Plantagenet,
without you. Sire, will promise to moderate
your wrath towards him, to confirm him in his
dukedom of Brittany, and to refrain from
placing either your nephew, or any of his fol-
lowers, in any strong place or prison, on pre-
text of guarding them."

John was silent for a long space, for his
habitual dissimulation could hardly master the
rage that struggled in his bosom. It con-
quered at last, however, and its triumph was
complete.

" I will own, I am grieved. Lord Pembroke,"
said he, in a hurt and sorrowful tone, " to think
that my good English Barons should so far
doubt their King as to approach the very verge
of rebellion and disobedience, to obtain what he
could never have a thought of denying. The

254 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

promises you require I give you, as freely and
as willingly as you could ask them ; and if I
fail to keep them in word and deed, let my
orders be no longer obeyed ; let my sceptre be
broken, my crown torn from my head, and let
me, by peer and peasant, be no longer regarded
as a King.*"

" Thanks ! my Lord ! thanks !" cried Lord
Bagot and one or two of the other Barons, who
followed. '' You are a free and noble Sove-
reign, and a right loyal and excellent King.
We thank you well for your free promise and
accord.'"

Lord Pembroke was silent. He knew John
profoundly, and he had never seen promises
steadily kept, which had been so easily ob-
tained.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 255

CHAPTER X.

" Now, good Dame, the reckoning," cried
Jodelle, as soon as King John was gone.

" Good Dame not me !" cried the hostess,
forgetting, in her indignation at having been put
out of her own kitchen, and kept for half an
hour in the street amidst soldiers and horse-
boys, all her habitual and universal civility.—
It might be shown by a learned dissertation,
that there are particular points of pride in
every human heart, of so inflammable a nature,
that though we may bear insult and injury,
attack and affront upon every other subject,
with the most forbearing consideration of our
self interest, yet but touch one of those points

^56 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

with the very tip of the brand of scorn, and the
whole place is in a blaze in a moment, at the
risk of burning the house down. But time is
wanting ; therefore, suffice it to say, that the
landlady, who could bear, and had in her day
borne all that woman can bear, was so indignant
at being put from her own door — that stronghold
of an inn-keeper''s heart, where he sees thou-
sands arrive and depart without stirring a foot
himself — that she vituperated the worthy Bra-
ban^ois thereupon, somewhat more than his
patience would endure.

" Come, come, old woman !"" cried he, an'
thou will not name thy reckoning, no reckoning
shalt thou have. I am not one of those who
often pay either for man''s food or horse pro-
vender, so I shall take my beast from the stall
and set out.''

" Nay, nay !" she said, more fearful of Jo-
delle discovering the Page's horse still in the
stable, than even of losing her reckoning —
" nay ! it should not be said that any one,

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 257

however uncivil, was obliged to fetch his own
horse. She had a boy for her stable, God wot !
— Ho ! boy !" she continued, screaming from
the door, " bring up the bay horse for the
gentleman. Quick ! — As to the reckoning. Sir,
it comes only to a matter of six sous."

The reckoning was paid, and before Jodelle
could reach the stable to which he was pro-
ceeding, notwithst£tnding the landlady's remon-
strance, his horse was brought up, whereupon
he mounted and set off at full speed.

The moment the clatter of his horse's feet
had passed away, the pile of fagots and brush-
wood rolled into the middle of the floor, and
the half-suffocated Page sprang out of his place
of concealment. His face and hands were
scratched and torn, and his dress was soiled to
that degree, that the old lady could not refrain
from laughing, till she saw the deadly paleness
of his countenance.

" Get me a stoup of wine, good Dame — get
me a stoup of wine — I am faint and sad — get

258 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

me some wine !" cried the youth. " Alack ! that
I, and no other, should have heard what I have
heard!"

The old lady turned away to obey, and the
Page, casting himself on a settle before the fire,
pressed his clasped hands between his knees,
and sat gazing on the embers, with a bewil-
dered and horrified stare, in which both fear
and uncertainty had no small part.

" Good God ! what shall I do ?'^ cried he at
length. "If I go back to Sir Guy, and tell
him that, though he ordered me to make all
speed to the Count d'Auvergne, I turned out
of my way to see Eleonor, because the pedlar
told me she was at La Fleche, he v^^ill surely
cleave my skull with his battle-axe for neglect-
ing the duty on which he sent me." And an
aguish trembling seized the poor youth, as he
thought of presenting himself to so dreadful a
fate.

" And if I go not," added he thoughtfully,
" what will be the consequence ? The triumph

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 259

of a traitor — the destruction of my brave and
noble master — the ruin of the Prince's enter-
prise. — I will go — Let him do his worst -^ I
will go. Little Eleonor can but lose her lover ;
and doubtless she will soon get another — and
she will forget me, and be happy, I dare say ;'''
and the tears filled his eyes, between emotion
at the heroism of his own resolution, and the
painful images his fancy called up, while think-
ing of her he loved. " But I will go," he con-
tinued— " I will go. He may kill me if he will;
but I will save his life, at least. — Come, good
Dame f give me the wine !"

The poor Page set the flagon to his lips, be-
lieving, like many another man, that if truth
lies in a well, courage and resolution make
their abode in a tankard. In the present in-
stance, he found it marvellous true ; and with-
in a few minutes his determination was so great-
ly fortified, that he repeated the experiment,
and soon drank himself into a hero.

" Now, good Dame ! — now, I will go !"

260 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

cried he. '' Bid thy boy bring me my horse.
And thank God, all your days, for putting
me in that closet ; for, owing to that, one of the
most diabolical schemes shall be thwarted that
ever the devil himself helped to fabricate.*"

" The Lord be praised ! and St. Luke and
St. Martin the apostates !" cried the hostess ;
" and their blessing be upon your handsome
face ! — Your reckoning comes to nine sous, beau
Sire, which is cheap enough in all conscience,
seeing I have nourished you as if you were my
own son, and hid you in the cupboard as if you
were my own brother.

The Page did not examine very strictly the
landlady's accounts; though be it remarked, nine
sous was in that day no inconsiderable sum ;
but, having partaken freely of the thousand
marks which De Coucy had received before
leaving Paris, he dispensed his money with the
boyish liberality that too often leaves us with
our very early years.

" Allons !" cried he, springing on his horse,

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 261

" I will go, let what may come of it. Which
way do I turn, Dame, to reach Mirebeau .?"

" To the left, beau Page,— to the left !" re-
plied the old woman. "But Lord-a-mercy on
thy sweet heart ! 'tis a far way. — Take the
second road, that branches to the right. Sir
Page," she screamed after him ; " and then,
where it separates again, keep to the left."
But long ere she had concluded her directions,
the youth was far out of hearing.

He rode on, and he rode on ; and when the
morning dawned, he found himself with a weary
horse, and a sad heart, still in the sweet plains
of bright Touraine. The world looked all gay
and happy, in the early light. There was a
voice of rejoicing in the air, and a smile in the
whole prospect, which went not well in har-
mony with the feelings of the poor youth"*s
heart. Absorbed in his own griefs, and little
knowing the universality of care, as he looked
upon the merry sunshine streaming over the
slopes and woods which laughed and sparkled in

262 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

the rays, he fancied himself the only sorrowful
thing in nature ; and, when he heard the clear-
voiced lark rise upon her quivering wings, and
fill the sky with her carolling, he dropped his
bridle upon his horse's neck, and clasped his
hand over his eyes. He was going, he thought,
to give himself up to death; — to quit the
sunshine, and the light, and the hopes of
youth, and the enjoyments of fresh existence,
for the cold charnel, — the dark, heavy grave,
— the still, rigid, feelingless torpor of the
dead !

Did his resolution waver ? Did he ever
dream of letting fate have its course with his
lord and his enterprise, and, imitating the lark,
to wing his flight afar, and leave care behind
him ? He did ! He did, indeed, more than
once ; and the temptation was the stronger, as
his secret would ever rest with himself — as nei-
ther punishment nor dishonour could ever fol-
low, and as the upbraiding voice of conscience
was all that he had to fear. The better spirit,
however, of the chivalrous age came to his aid —

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 263

that generous principle of self-devotion — that
constantly inculcated contempt of life where
opposed to honour, which raised the ancient
knight to a pitch of glory, that the most cal-
culating wisdom could never obtain, had its
effect even in the bosom of the Page; and,
though never doubting that death would be
the punishment of his want of obedience and
discipline, he still went on to save his master
and accuse himself.

It was not long, however, before the means
presented itself, as he thought, of both sparing
the confession, and circumventing the villanous
designs of the Braban9ois. As he rode slowly
into a little village, about eight o'clock in the
morning, he saw a horse tied to the lintel of a
door, by the way-side, which he instantly recog-
nised as Jodelle's, and he thanked St. Martin
of Tours, as if this rencontre was a chance
peculiarly of that Saint's contriving. The plan
of the Page smacked strongly of the thirteenth
century. " Here is the villain," said, he, " re-
freshing at that house after his night's ride.

264 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Now, may the blessed St. Martin never be
good to me again, if I do not attack him the
moment he comes forth ; and, though he be a
strong man, and twice as old as I am, I have
encountered many a Saracen in the Holy Land,
and, with God's blessing, I will kill the traitor,
and so stop him in his enterprise. Then may I
ride on merrily, to seek the Count d'Auvergne,
and never mention a word of this plot of theirs,
or of my own playing truant either."

Ermold de Marcy — for so was the Page call-
ed— had a stout heart in all matters of simple
battle, as ever entered a listed field ; and had
Jodelle been ten times as renowned a person as
he was, Ermold would have attacked him with-
out fear, though his whole heart sunk at the
bare idea of offering himself to De Coucy's
battle-axe ; so different is the prospect of con-
tention, in which death may ensue, from the
prospect of death itself.

Quietly moderating his horse's progress to
the slowest possible pace, lest the noise of his

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 265

hoofs should call Jodelle's attention, he ad-
vanced to the same cottage ; and, not to take
his adversary at an unjust disadvantage, he
dismounted, and tied his beast to a post hard
by. He then brought round his sword ready
to his hand, loosened his dagger in the sheath,
and went on towards the door; but, at that
moment, the loud neighing of the Brabangois'
courser, excited by the proximity of his fel-
low quadruped, called Jodelle himself to the
door.

The instant he appeared, Ermold, without
more ado, rushed upon him, and, striking him
with his clenched fist, exclaimed, " You are a
villain !" Then springing back into the middle
of the road, to give his antagonist free space,
he drew his sword with one hand, and his dag-
ger with the other, and waited his approach.

For his part, Jodelle, who at once recognised
De Coucy''s attendant, had no difficulty in de-
ciding on the course he had to pursue. The
Page evidently suspected him of something,

VOL. II. N

266 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

though of what, Jodelle of course could not be
fully aware. De Coucj believed him (as he
had taken care to give out) to be lying wound-
ed in one of the houses of Mirebeau. If the
Page then ever reached Mirebeau, his treachery
would be instantly discovered ; and his enter-
prise consequently fail. It therefore followed,
that without a moment's hesitation, it became
quite as much Jodelle's determination to put
the Page to death, as it was Ermold's to be-
stow the same fate on him ; and, with this san-
guinary resolution on both sides, they instantly
closed in mortal conflict.

Although, on the first view, such a struggle
between a youth of eighteen and a vigorous
man of five-and-thirty would seem most un-
equal, and completely in favour of the latter ;
yet such was not entirely the case. Having
served as page since a very early age, with so
renowned a knight as Guy de Coucy, Ermold
de Marcy had acquired not only a complete
knowledge of the science of arms, but also that

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 267

dexterity and agility in their use, which nothing
but practice can give.

Practice also certainly Jodelle did not want ;
but Ermold's had been gained in the Holy
Land, where the exquisite address of the Sara-
cens in the use of the scymitar had necessitated
additional study and exercise of the sword
amongst the crusaders and their followers.

Ermold also was as active as the wind, and
this fully compensated the want of Jodelle's
masculine strength. But the Brabangois had
unfortunately in his favour the advantage of
armour, being covered with a light haubert,*
which yielded to all the motions of his body,

* There are various differences of opinion concerning
the persons to whom the use of the haubert was confined.
Ducange implies, from a passage in Joinville, that this part
of the ancient suits of armour was the privilege of a knight.
Le Laboureur gives it also to a squire. But the Brabanpois
and other bands of adventurers did not subject themselves
to any rules and regulations respecting their arms, as might
be proved from a thousand different instances.
N 2

268 PHILIP A.UGUSTUS.

and with a steel bonnet, which defended his
head ; while the poor Page had nothing but
his green tunic, and his velvet cap and feather.
It was in vain, therefore, that he exerted his
skill and activity in dealing two blows for
every one of his adversary's ; the only ac-
cessible part of Jodelle's person was his face,
and that he took sufficient care to guard against
attack.

The noise of clashing weapons brought the
villagers to their doors ; but such things were
too common in those days, and interference
therein was too dangerous an essay for any one
to meddle; though some of the women cried
out upon the strong man in armour, for draw-
ing on the youth in the green cassock.

Ermold was nothing daunted by the disad-
vantage under which he laboured ; and after
having struck at Jodelle's face, and parried all
his blows, with admirable perseverance, for
some minutes, he actually meditated running
in upon the Braban9ois ; confident that if he

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 269

could but get one fair blow at his throat, the
combat would be at an end.

At that moment, however, it was interrupted
in a different manner ; for a party of horsemen,
galloping up into the village, came suddenly
upon the combatants, and thrusting a lance
between them, separated them for the time.

" How now, masters ! how now !" cried the
leader of the party, in rank Norman-French.
" Which is France, and which is England ? —
But fight fair ! — fight fair, i' God's name — Not a
man against a boy, — ^not a steel haubert against
a cloth jerkin. — Take hold of them, Robin, and
bring them in here. I will judge their quarrel.""

So saying, the English Knight, for such he
was who spoke, dismounted from his horse, and
entered the very cottage from which Jodelle-
had issued a few minutes before. It seemed to
be known as a place of entertainment, though
no sign nor inscription announced the calling of
its owner ; and the Knight, who bore the rough
weather-beaten face of an old bluff soldier, sat

270 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

himself down in a settle, and leaning his elbow
on the table, began to interrogate Ermold and
the Braban9ois, who were brought before him
as he had commanded.

" And now Sir with the haubert," said he,
addressing Jodelle, apparently with that sort of
instinctive antipathy, that the good sometimes
feel, they scarce know why, towards the bad.
" How came you, dressed in a coat of iron, to
draw your weapon upon a beardless youth, with
nothing to guard his limbs from your blows ?''"'

'' Though I deny your right to question me,"
replied Jodelle, " I will tell you, to make the
matter short, that I drew upon him, because he
drew on me in the first place ; but still more,
because he is an enemy to my Lord, the King
of England."

" But thou art no Englishman, nor Norman
either," replied the Knight. " Thy tongue be-
trays thee. I have borne arms here, these fifty
years, from boyhood to old age, and I know
every jargon that is spoken in the King's do-

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 271

minions, from Rouen to the mountains ; and
thou speakest none. Thou art a Frenchman,
of Provence, or thine accent hes."

" I may be a Frenchman, and yet serve the
King of England,'* replied Jodelle boldly.

" God send him better servants than thou
art, then!" replied the old Knight. — "Well,
boy, what say'st thou ? Nay, look not sad, for
that matter. We will not hurt thee, lad."

" You will hurt me, and you do hurt me,"
answered Ermold, " if you hold me here, and
do not let me either cut out that villain's heart,
or on to tell my Lord that he is betrayed."

" And who is thy Lord, boy ?" demanded the
Knight, " English or French ? — and what is his
name ?"

" French !'* answered Ermold boldly, and
with earnest pride he added : " he is the noble
Sir Guy de Coucy."

" A good knight !— a good knight !" said the
Englishman. " I have heard the heralds tell
of him. A Crusader too — young, they say,

272 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

but very bold, and full of noble prowess : I
should like to splinter a lance with him, in
faith !"

" You need not baulk your liking, Sir
Knight," answered the Page at once : " my
master will meet you on horseback, or on foot,
with what arms you will, and when : — give me
but a glove to bear him as a gage, and you
shall not be long without seeing him.*"

" Thou bearest thee like the page of such a
knight," replied the Englishman; "and, in good
truth, I have a mind to pleasure thee,'' he
added, drawing off one of his gauntlets, as if
about to send it to De Coucy ; but whether
such was his first intention or not, his farther
determinations were changed by Jodelle de-
manding abruptly — " Know you the signature
of King John, Sir Knight ?"

" Surely ! somewhat better than my own,"
answered the other, — " somewhat better than
my own, which I have not seen for these forty
years ; and which, please God ! I shall never see

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 273

again ; for my last will and testament, which
was drawn by the holy Clerk of St. Anne's, two
years and a half come St. MichaeFs, was stamped
with my sword pommel, seeing that I had forgot
how to write one-half the letters of my name,
and the others were not readable. — But as to
the King's, I'd swear to zY."

" Well then," said Jodelle, laying a written
paper before him, " you must know that ; and
by that name I require you not only to let me
pass free, but to keep yon youth prisoner as an
enemy to the King."

" 'Tis sure enough the King's name in his
own writing ; and there is the great seal too,"
said the old Knight. " This will serve your
turn, Sir, as far as going away yourself, — but
as to keeping the youth, I know nothing of
that. The paper says nothing of that, as far
as I can see."

" No ; it does not," said Jodelle ; " but
still—"

" Oh, it does not, does not it?" said the
n5

274 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Englishman, giving back the paper. " Thank
you at least for that admission ; for, as to what
the paper says, may I be confounded if I can
read a word of it !"

" Listen to me, however," said Jodelle ; and
approaching close to the English Knight, he
whispered a few words in his ear.

The old man listened for a moment, with a
grave and attentive face, bending his head and
inclining his ear to the Braban9ois' communica-
tion. Then suddenly he turned round, and
eyed him from head to foot with a glance of
severe scorn. " Open the door !" cried he to
his men loudly — " open the door ! By God
I shall be suffocated ! — I never was in a small
room with such a danjned rascal in my life
before. — Let him pass ! let him pass ! and keep
out of the way — take care his clothes do not
touch you — it may be contagious ; and, by the
Lord ! I would sooner catch the plague than
such villany as he is tainted withal."

While surprised, and at first scarce grasping

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 275

their leader's meaning, the English troopers
drew back from the Braban9ois' path, as if he
had been really a leper ; Jodelle strode to the
door of the cottage, smothering the wrath he
dared not vent. On the threshold, however, he
paused ; and, turning towards the old soldier as
if he would speak, glared on him for a moment
with the glance of a wounded tiger ; but, whe-
ther he could find no words equal to convey the
virulence of his passion, or whether prudence
triumphed over anger, cannot be told, but he
broke suddenly away, and catching his horse's
bridle, sprang into the saddle and rode off at
full speed.

" I am afraid I must keep thee, poor youth,"
said the old Knight, — "I am afraid I must keep
thee, whether I will or no. I should be blamed
if I let thee go ; though, on my knightly honour,
'tis cursed hard to be obliged to keep a good
honest youth like thee, and let a slave like that
go free ! Nevertheless, you must stay here ;
and if you try to make your escape, I do not

276 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

know what I must do to thee. — Robin," he
continued, turning to one of his men-at-arms,
" put him into the back-chamber that looks
upon the lane, and keep a good guard over him
while I go on to the other village to see that
Lord Pembroke''s quarters be prepared : — and
hark ye," he added, speaking in a lower voice,
" leave the window open, and tie his horse
under it, and there is a Gros Tournois for thee
to drink the King's health with the villagers
and the other soldiers. — Do you understand ?''*

" Ay, Sir ! ay !" answered the man-at-arms,
" I understand, and will take care that your
worship^s commands be obeyed."

" 'Tis a good youth," said the old Knight,
" and a bold, and the other was nothing but a
pitiful villain, that will be hanged yet, if there
be a tree in France to hang him on. Now,
though I might be blamed if I let this lad go,
and John might call me a hard-headed old
fool, as once he did ; yet I don't know, Robin,
— I don't know whether in knightly honour I

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 277

should keep the true man prisoner and let the
traitor go free. — I don'*t know, Robin, — I don't
know !''

So saying, the good old soldier strode to the
door ; and the man he called Robin took poor
Ermold into a small room at the back of the
house, where he opened the window, saying
something about not wishing to stifle him, and
then left him, fastening the door on the other
side.

The poor Page, however, bewildered with
disappointment and distress, and stupified by
fatigue and want of sleep, had only heard the
charge to guard him safely, without the after
whisper, which neutralized that command ; and,
never dreaming that escape was possible, he sat
down on the end of a truckle bed that occu-
pied the greater part of the chamber, and gave
himself up to his own melancholy thoughts.
He once, indeed, thought of looking from the
window, with a vague idea of freeing himself;
but as he was about to proceed thither, the

278 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

sound of a soldier whistling, together with a
horse's footsteps, convinced him that a guard
was stationed there, and he abandoned his
purpose. In this state he remained till grief
and weariness proved too heavy for his young
eyelids, and he fell asleep.

In the mean while, the old Knight, after
being absent for more than three hours, re-
turned to the village, which he had apparently
often frequented before, and riding up to his
man Robin, who was drinking with some pea-
sants in the market-place, his first question
was, " Where is the prisoner, Robin ? I hope
he has not escaped ;" while a shrewd smile
very potently contradicted the exact meaning
of his words.

" Escaped !*" exclaimed Robin : " God bless
your worship ! he cannot have escaped, with-
out he got out of the window ; for I left five
men drinking in the front room."

" Let us see, Robin, — let us see !" said the
old man. " Nothing like making sure, good

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 279

Robin;" and he spurred on to the cottage,
sprang from his horse like a lad ; and, casting
the bridle to one of his men, passed through
the front room to that where poor Ermold was
confined.

Whatever had been his expectations, when he
saw him sitting on the bed, just opening his
heavy eyes at the sound of his approach, he
could not restrain a slight movement of impa-
tience. " The boy 's a fool !" muttered he, —
*' the boy 's a fool !" But then, recovering him-
self, he shut the door, and, advancing to the
Page, he said, — " I am right glad, thou hast not
tried to escape, my boy, — thou art a good lad
and a patient ; but if ever thou shouldst escape,
while under my custody, for 'tis impossible to
guard every point, remember to do my greet-
ing to your Lord, and tell him that I, Sir
Arthur of Oakingham, will be glad to splinter
a lance with him, in all love and courtesy."

The Page opened his eyes wide, as if he
could scarce believe what he heard.

280 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" If he does not understand that," said the
old man to himself, " he is a natural fool !"
But to make all sure, he went to the narrow
window, and leaning out, after whistling for
a minute, he asked, — " Is that your horse ?
'Tis a bonny beast, and a swift doubtless. —
Well, Sir Page, fare thee well !" he added ; *' in
an hour's time I will send thee a stoup of wine,
to cheer thee !'" and, without more ado, he
turned, and left the room once more, bolting
the door behind him.

Ermold stood for a moment, as if surprise
had benumbed his sinews ; but 'twas only for
a moment ! for then, springing towards the
casement, he looked out well on each side,
thrust himself through, without much care either
of his dress or his person ; and, springing to
the ground, was in an instant on his horse's
back, and galloping away over the wide, unin-
closed country, like Tam o' Shanter with all
the witches behind him.

For long he rode on, without daring to look

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 281

behind ; but when he did so, he found that he
was certainly unpursued ; and proceeded, with
somewhat of a slackened pace, in order to save
his horse's strength. At the first cottage he
came to, he inquired for Mirebeau ; but, by
the utter ignorance of the serfs that inhabited,
it, even of the name of such a place, he found
that he must be rather going away from the
object of his journey than approaching it. At
the castles he did not dare to ask ; for the ba-
rons of that part of the country were so divided
between the two parties, that he would have
thereby run fully as much chance of being de-
tained as directed. At length, however, as the
sun began to decline, he encountered a country-
woman, who gave him some more correct in-
formation ; but told liim, at the same time, that
it would be midnight before he reached the
place he sought.

Ermold went on undauntedly; and only
stopped for half an hour, to refresh his horse
when the weary beast could hardly move its

282 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

limbs. Still he was destined to be once more
turned from his path ; for, at the moment the
sun was just going down, he beheld from the
top of one of the hills, a large body of caval-
ry moving on in the valley below ; and the
banners and ensigns which flaunted in the
horizontal rays, left no doubt that they were
English.

The Page was of course obliged to change his
direction ; but as a fine starry night came on,
he proceeded with greater ease; for the woman''s
direction had been to keep due south, and in
Palestine he had learned to travel by the stars.
A thousand difficulties still opposed themselves
to his way — a thousand times his horse's weari-
ness obliged him to halt ; but he suffered not
his courage to be shaken ; and, at last, he tri-
umphed over all. As day began to break, he
heard the ringing of a large church bell, and
in ten minutes he stood upon the heights above
Mirebeau. Banners, and pennons, and stream-
ers, were dancing in the vale below ; and, for a

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 283

moment the Page paused, and glanced his eyes
over the whole scene. As he did so, he turned
as pale as death; and, suddenly drawing his
rein, he wheeled to the right, and rode away
in another direction, as fast as his weary horse
would bear him.

284 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

CHAPTER XI.

We seldom, in life, find ourselves more un-
pleasantly situated, than when, as is often the
case, our fate and happiness are staked upon
an enterprise in which many other persons are
joined, whose errors or negligences counteract all
our best endeavours, and whose conduct how-
ever much we disapprove, we cannot command.

Such was precisely the case with De Coucy,
after the taking of the town of Mirebeau. The
castle still held out, and laughed the efforts of
their small force to scorn. Their auxiliaries
had not yet come up. No one could gain pre-
cise information of the movements of King
John's army ; and yet, the Knights of Poitou

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 285

and Anjou passed their time in revelling and
merriment in the town, pressing the siege of the
castle vigorously during the day, but giving
up the night to feasting and debauchery, and
leading Prince Arthur, in the heedlessness of
his youth, into the same improvident neglect
as themselves.

When De Coucy urged the hourly danger
to which they were exposed during the night,
with broken gates, and an unrepaired wall, and
pressed the necessity of throwing out guards
and patrols, the only reply he obtained was,
*' Let the Brabangois patrol, — they were paid
for such tedious service. They were excellent
scouts too. None better ! Let them play,
sentinel. The knights and men-at-arms had
enough to do during the day. As to King
John, who feared him ? Let him come. They
would fight him." So confident had they be-
come from their first success against Mirebeau.
De Coucy, however, shared not this confidence ;
but every night, as soon as the immediate ope-

286 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

rations against the castle had ceased, he left
the wounded in the town, and retired, with the
rest of his followers, to a small post he had
established on a mound, at the distance of a
double arrow shot from the fortress. His first
care, after this, was to distribute the least fa-
tigued of the Braban§ois,in small parties, round
the place, at a short distance from the walls ;
so that, as far as they could be relied upon, the
besiegers were secure against attack.

Still the young Knight, practised in the
desultory warfare of the crusades, and accus-
tomed to every sort of attack, both by night
and day, neglected no precaution ; and, by
establishing a patrol of his own tried attendants,
each making the complete round of the posts
once during the night ; while De Coucy him-
self never omitted to make the same tour twice
between darkness and light, he seemed to in-
sure also the faith of the Braban9ois.

The fourth night had come, after the taking
of the town ; and, wearied with the fatigues of

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 287

the day, De Coucy had slept for an hour or
two, in one of the little huts of which he had
formed his encampment. He was restless,
however, even during his sleep, and towards
eleven of the clock he rose, and proceeded to
the watch-fire, at a short distance from which,
the man who was next to make the round was
sitting waiting his companion's return. The
night was as black as ink. There was a sort
of solid darkness in the air ; but withal it was
very warm ; so that, though the light of the
fire was very agreeable, its heat was not to be
supported.

*' Has all gone well?'' demanded the Knight.

" All, beau Sire," answered the man, " ex-
cept that one of the CoterePs horses has got his
foot in a hole, and slipped his fetlock."

'' Have you heard of his captain Jodelle ?"
demanded De Coucy. " Is he better of his
hurt ? We want all the men we have."

" I have not seen him, beau Sire, because I
have not been in the town,'* replied the Squire ;

288 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

*^but one of his fellows says, that he is very
bad indeed ; — that the blow you dealt him,
has knocked one of his eyes quite out.""

" I am sorry for that,"" said De Coucy. " I
meant not to strike so heavily. I will see him
to-morrow before the attack. Bring me word,
in the morning, what house he lies at ; and now
mount, and begin your round, good Raoul.
We will keep it up quickly to-night. I know
not why, but I am not easy. I have a sort of
misgiving that I seldom feel. — Hush ! What
noise is that ?" ■■

" Oh, 'tis the folks singing in the town,
beau Sire," replied the man. " They have
been at it this hour. It comes from the Pre-
vot's garden. I heard Sir Savary de Mauleon
say, as he rode by us, that he would sing the
abbess of the convent a lay to-night, for the
love of her sweet eyes.'*"'

A gust of wind now brought the sounds
nearer ; and De Coucy heard, more distinctly,
that it was as the man-at-arms had said. The

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 289

dull tones of a rote, with some voices singing,
mingled with the merry clamour of several per-
sons laughing ; and the general hum of more
quiet conversation told that the gay nobles of
Poitou were prolonging the revel late.

De Coucy bade the man go ; and in a few
minutes after, when the other, who had been
engaged in making the rounds, returned, the
Knight himself mounted a fresh horse, and
rode round in various directions, sometimes
visiting the posts, sometimes pushing his search
into the country ; for, with no earthly reason
for suspicion, he felt more troubled and anxious,
than if some inevitable misfortune were about to
fall upon him. At about three in the morning-
he returned, and found Hugo de Barre, by the
light of the watch-fire, waiting his turn to ride
on the patrol.

" How is thy wound, Hugo ?" demanded De
Coucy, springing to the ground.

" Oh, 'tis nothing. Sir Guy !— 'tis nothing !"
replied the stout Squire. " God send me never

VOL. II. O

290 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

worse than that, and my bargain would be soon
made !"

" Has all been still ?" demanded the Knight.

" All ! save a slight rustling I thought I
heard on yonder hill," replied Hugo. " It
sounded like a far horse's feet."

*' Thou hast shrewd ears, good Hugo,"
answered his Lord. " 'Twas I rode across it
some half an hour ago or less."

*' 'Tis that the night is woundy still," re-
plied the Squire, '* one might hear a fly buzz
at a mile ; 'tis as hot as Palestine too. — Think
you, beau Sire," he added somewhat abruptly,
" that 'twill be long before this castle falls ?"

" Nine months and a day ! good Hugo,"
answered the Knight, — " nine months and a
day ! without our reinforcements come up. —
How would you have us take it ? We have no
engines. We have neither mangonel, nor cata-
pult, nor pierrier to batter the wall, nor ladders,
nor moving tower to storm it."

" I would fain be on to La Fleche, beau

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 291

Sire," said Hugo, laughing. " 'Tis that makes
me impatient."

" And why to La Fleche?" demanded De
Coucy. " Why there, more than to any other
town of Maine or Normandy ?"

*' Oh, I forgot, Sire. You were not there,""
said the Squire, " when the packman at Tours
told Ermold de Marcy and me, that Sir Julian,
and the Lady Isadore, and Mistress Alixe,
and little Eleonor, and all, are at La Fleche.''

" Ha !"' said De Coucy, " and this cursed
castle is keeping us here for ages, and those
wild knights of Poitou lying there in the
town, and spending the time in foolish revel
that would take twenty castles if well em-
ployed."

'* That is what Gallon the Fool said yester-
day," rejoined Hugo. — " God forgive me for
putting you. Sire, and Gallon together ! But
he said, ' If those Poitevins would but dine as
heartily on stone-walls as they do on cranes and
capons, and toss off as much water as they do
o2

292 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

wine, they would drink the ditch dry, and
swallow the castle, before three days were
out.' "

" On my life ! he said not amiss,"' replied De
Coucy. — " Where is poor Gallon ? I have not
seen him these two days."

" He keeps to the town, beau Sire," replied
Hugo, " to console the good wives, as he says.—
But here comes Henry Carvel from the rounds,
or I am mistaken. Yet the night is so dark,
one would see not a camel, at a yard's distance.
— Ho, stand ! Give the word !"

"Arthur!" replied the 'soldier, and dis-
mounted by the watch-fire. Hugo de Barre
sprang on his horse, and proceeded on his
round ; while De Coucy, casting himself down
in the blaze, prepared to watch out the night
by the sentinel, who was now called to the
guard.

It were little amusing to trace De Coucy's
thoughts. A knight of that day would have
deemed it almost a disgrace to divide the neces-

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 293

sary anxieties of the profession of arms, with
any other idea than that of his lady love.
However the caustic pen of Cervantes, whose
chivalrous spirit — of which I am bold to say,
no man ever originally possessed more — had
early been crushed by ingratitude and disap-
pointment— however his pen may have given
an aspect of ridicule to the deep devotion of
the ancient knights towards the object of their
love ; — however true it may be, that that devo-
tion was not always of as pure a kind as fancy
has pourtrayed it ; yet the love of the chival-
rous ages was a far, superior feeling to the cal-
culating transaction so termed in the present
day ; and if perhaps it was rude in its forms,
and extravagant in its excess, it had at least
the energy of passion, and the sublimity of
strength. De Coucy watched and listened ;
but still, while he did so, he thought of Isadore
of the Mount, and he called up her loveliness,
her gentleness, her aiFection. Every glance of
her soft dark eyes, every tone of her sweet lip.

294 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

was food for memory ; and the young Knight
deemed that surely for such glances and such
tones a brave man might conquer the world.

The night, as we have seen, had been sultry,
and the sky dark ; and it was now waxing to-
wards morning ; but no cool breeze announced
the fresh rising of the day. The air was heavy
and close, as if charged with the matter for a
thousand storms ; and the wind was as still, as
if no quickening wing had ever stirred the thick
and lazy atmosphere. Suddenly a sort of roll-
ing sound seemed to disturb the air; and De
Coucy sprang upon his feet to listen. A mo-
ment of silence elapsed, and then a bright flash
of lightning blazed across the sky, followed by
a clap of thunder : — De Coucy listened still. "It
could not be distant thunder," he thought, —
" the sound he had first heard. He had seen no
previous lightning."

He now distinctly heard a horse's feet coming
towards him; and, a moment after, the voice
of Hugo de Barre speaking to some one else :

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 295

" Come along, Sir Gallon, quick !"' cried he.
" You must tell it to my Lord himself. — By
heaven .' if 'tis a jest, you should not have made
it ; and if 'tis not a jest, he must hear it."

« Ha, haw !" cried GaUon the Fool.—" Ha,
haw ! If 'tis a jest, 'tis the best I ever made,
for it is true, — and truth is the best jest in the
calendar. — Why don't they make Truth a saint,
Hugo .? Haw, haw ! Haw, haw ! When I 'm
Pope, I '11 make St. Truth to match St. Ruth ;
and when I 've done, I shall have made the best
saint in the pack. — Haw, haw ! Haw, haw !
But, by the Lord ! some one will soon make
Saint Lie to spite me ; and no one will pray to
Saint Truth afterwards. — Haw ! haw ! haw ! —
But there's De Coucy standing by the watch-
fire, like some great Devil in armour, broiling
the souls of the damned. — Haw ! haw ! haw !"

" What is the matter, Hugo .?" cried the
Knight, advancing. " Why are you dragging
along poor Gallon so ?''''

" Because poor Gallon lets him," cried the

296 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Juggler, freeing himself from the Squire's
grasp, by one of his almost supernatural
springs. — " Haw haw ! Where 's poor Gallon
now ?" — and he bounded up to the place where
the Knight stood, and cast himself down by
the fire, exclaiming, — '* Oh rare ! 'Tis a sweet
fire, in this sultry night. — Haw, haw! Are
you cold, De Coucy T

*' I am afraid, my Lord, there is treason going
forward,'' said Hugo de Barre, riding up to
his master, and speaking in a low voice. " I
had scarce left you, when Gallon came bound-
ing up to me, and began running beside ray
horse, saying, in his wild way, he would tell
me a story. I heeded him little at first ; but
when he began to tell me that this Braban9ois,
— this Jodelle — has not been lying wounded
a-bed, but has been away these two days on
horseback, and came back into the town to-
wards dusk last night, I thought it right to
bring him hither.'"*

" You did well," cried De Coucy, — *' you

PHILrP AUGUSTUS. 297

did well ! I will speak with him— I observed
some movement amongst the Braban^ois as we
returned. — Go quietly, Hugo, and give a glance
into their huts, while I speak with the Juggler.
— Ho, good Gallon, come hither .?"

" You won't beat me .?"" cried Gallon, — " ha ?''''

" Beat thee ! no, on my honour !" replied De
Coucy ; and the mad Juggler crept up to him
on all-fours. — " Tell me. Gallon," continued
the Knight ; " is what you said to Hugo true
about Jodelle ?''

" The good King Christopher had a cat I"
replied Gallon. " You said you would not
beat me, Coucy ; but your eyes look very like
as if your fist itched to give the lie to your
honour.""

" Nay, nay, Gallon,"" said De Coucy, stri-
ving by gentleness to get a moment of serious
reason from him. " My own life— the safety
of the camp — of Prince Arthur — of our whole
party, may depend upon your answer. I have
heard you say that you are a Christian man,
o 5

298 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

and kept your faith, even while a slave amongst
the Saracens ; now answer me. 'Bo you know
for certain, that Jodelle has been absent, as
you told your friend Hugo.? Speak the truth,
upon your soul !**'

*' Not upon my soul ! — not upon my soul !"
cried Gallon. "As to my having a soul, that
is all a matter of taste and uncertainty ; but
what I said was true, upon my nose, which
no one will deny — Turk or Christian, fool or
philosopher. On my nose, it was true, Coucy —
on my nose !'^

" By heaven ! if this prove false, I will cut
it off!" cried the Knight, frowning on him.

" Do so, do so ! beau Sire," replied Gallon,
grinning; "and when you have got it, God
give you grace to wear it !"

" Now, Hugo de Barre !" cried the Knight,
as his Squire returned with a quick pace.

" As I hope for salvation. Sir Guy,""
cried Hugo, " there are not ten of the Cote-
reaux in the huts ! Those that are there are

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 299

sleeping quietly enough, but all the rest are
gone !"

'' Lord ! what a flash !'*'' cried Gallon, as the
lightning gleamed round about them, playing
on the armour of De Coucy and his Squire.

" Ha, Hugo ! did you see nothing in that
valley ?" exclaimed the Knight.

" Lances, as I live !" answered the Squire.
" We are betrayed to the English, Sire !"

" We may reach the town yet, and save the
Prince !" exclaimed the Knight. — "Wake the
vassals, and the Braban^ois that are left ! The
traitor thought them too true to be trusted :
we will think them true too. — Be quick, but
silent ! Bid them not speak a word !"

Each man started up in his armour, as he
was awoke ; for De Coucy had not permitted
them to disarm during the siege; and, being
ranged in silence behind the Knight, the small
party that were left began to descend towards
the town on foot, and unknowing what dutv
they were going upon.

300 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Between the castle and the hill on which De
Coucy had established his post was a small
ravine, the entrance of which, nearest the town,
exactly fronted the breach that he had formerly
effected in the wall. In the bottom ran a quick
but shallow stream, which, brawling amongst
some large stones, went on murmuring towards
the castle, the ditch of which it supplied with
water. Leading his men down into the hollow,
the young Knight took advantage of the stream,
and by making his soldiers advance through the
water, covered the clank of their armour with
the noise of the rivulet. The most profound
darkness hung upon their way ; but, during
the four days they had been there, each man
had become perfectly acquainted with the
ground, so that they were advancing rapidly ;
when suddenly a slight measured sound, like
the march of armed men over soft turf, caused
De Coucy to halt. "Stop!" whispered he;
" they are between us and the w^alls. We
shall have a flash presently. Down behind the
bushes, and we s^hall see !"

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 301

As he expected, it was not long before the
lightning again blazed across, and showed them
a strong body of infantry marching along in
line, between the spot where he stood and the
walls.

" Hugo," whispered the Knight, " we must
risk all. They are surrounding the town; but
the southern gate must still be open. We must
cut through them, and may still save the Prince.
Let each man remember his task is, to enter the
house of the Prevot, and carry Arthur Plan-
tagenet out, whether he will or not, by the
southern gate. A thousand marks of silver to
the man who sets him in the streets of Paris ; —
follow silently till I give the word."

This was said like lightning, and leading
onward with a quick but cautious step. De
Coucy had advanced so far, that he could hear
the footfall of each armed man in the enemy's
ranks, and the rustling of their close pressed
files against each other, when the blaze of the
lightning discovered his party also to those
against whom they were advancing. It gleamed

302 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

as brightly as if the flash had been actually be-
tween them, showing to De Coucy the corslets
and pikes and grim faces of the English sol-
diers within twenty yards of where he stood ;
while they suddenly perceived a body of armed
men approaching towards them, whose num-
bers the duration of the lightning was not
sufficient to display.

''A Coucy! a Coucy!" shouted the Knight,
giving the signal to advance, and rushing for-
ward with that overwhelming impetuosity which
always casts so much in favour of the attacking
party. Unacquainted with the ground, taken
by surprise, uncertain to whom, or to what,
they were opposed, the Norman and English
soldiers, for the moment, gave way in confusion.
Two went down in a moment before De Coucy's
sword ; a third attempted to grapple with him,
but was dashed to the earth in an instant ; a
fourth retired fighting towards the wall.

De Coucy pressed upon him as a man whose
all — honour, fortune, existence — is staked upon

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 303

his single arm. Hugo and his followers throng-
ed after, widening the breach he had hewn in
the enemy's ranks. The soldier who fronted
him struck wild, reeled, staggered under his
blows, and stumbling over the ruins of the fallen
tower, was trodden under his feet. On rushed
De Coucy towards the breach, seeing nought
in the darkness, hearing nought in the tumult,
his quick and bloody passage had occasioned.

But suddenly the bright blue lightning
flashed once more across his path. — What was
it he beheld ? The lion banner of England
planted in the breach, with a crowd of iron
forms around it, and a forest of spears shining
from beyond.

" Back! back, my Lord!" cried Hugo : "the
way is clear behind ; — back to the hill, while we
can pass r

Back like lightning De Coucy trod his steps,
but with a different order of march from what
he had pursued in advancing. Every man of
his train went now before him ; and though his

304 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

passage had been but for an instant, and the
confusion it had occasioned great, yet the Eng-
lish soldiers were now pressing in upon him on
all sides, and hard was the task to clear himself
of their ranks. The darkness, however, favoured
him, and his superior knowledge of the ground ;
and, hastening onward, contenting himself with
striking only where his passage was opposed,
he gradually fought his way out — foiled one or
two that attempted to pursue him — gained the
hill, and, mounting it with the swiftness of an
arrow sped from the bow, he at length rallied
his men in the midst of the little huts in which
he had lodged his soldiers after the taking of
the town.

" Haw, haw ! beau Sire ! Haw, haw !" cried
Gallon the Fool, who had never stirred from the
fire, although the heat was intense ; " so you
have come back again. — But I can tell you,
that if you like to go down the other way, you
may have just as good a dish of fighting ; for I
saw, but now, the postern of the castle open,

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 305

and a whole troop of spears wind down behind
us. — Haw, haw ! haw, haw !"

" Now, for the last chance, Hugo !" cried
the Knight. — " To horse, to horse !"

Each man detached his beast from the spot
where they stood ready, and sprang into the
saddle, doubting not that their daring leader
was about to attempt to cut his way through ;
but De Coucy had very different thoughts.

" There is the day breaking," cried he ; " we
must be quick. In the confusion that must
reign in the town the Prince may escape, if we
can but draw the Normans'* attention hither-
ward. — Gallon, a fitting task for you ! Take
some of those brands, and set fire to all the
huts. Quick ! the day is rising !"

" Haw, haw ! " cried Gallon, delighted.' —
" Haw, haw !'"* and in an astonishingly short
space of time he had contrived to communicate
the flame to the greater part of the hovels,
which, constructed principally of dry branches,
were easily ignited.

306 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" Now !" cried De Coucy, " each man his
horn to his lips ! and let him blow a flourish,
as if he were saluting the royal standard."

De Coucy himself set the example, and the
long, loud, united notes rang far over the town.

So far as calling the attention of the English
army below, the plan perfectly succeeded ; and
indeed, even made the greater part both of the
knights and men-at-arms believe that Arthur
was without the town.

All eyes were turned now towards the little
hill, where, clearly defined in the red light of
the burning huts, stood the small party of
horsemen, hanging a dark black spot upon the
very verge, backed by the blaze of the confla-
gration. They might easily be mistaken for
a group of Knights; and a little wood of
birches some way behind, looked not unlike a
considerable clump of spears. To such a point,
indeed, was Lord Pembroke himself deceived,
that he judged it fit to move a strong body of
horse round to the right of the hill, thus hem.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 307

ming ill the Knight between the town and the
castle.

De Coucy saw the movement, and rejoiced
in it. Nor did he move a step, as long as the
fire of the huts continued to blaze ; wishing, as
far as possible, to embarrass the enemy by the
singularity of his behaviour, in the faint hope
that every additional cause of confusion, joined
to those which must always attend a night-
attack, might in some degree facilitate the es-
cape of the Prince.

The fire however expired, and the grey light
of the morning was beginning to spread more
and more over the scene, when De Coucy
turned his rein, and, skirting round the little
birch wood we have mentioned, at last endea-
voured to force his way through the iron toils
that were spread around him. To the right,
as he wheeled round the wood, the early light
showed the strong body of cavalry Lord Pem-
broke had thrown forward. On his left now
lay the castle, and straight before him a body

308 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

of archers that had issued from thence with
the Earl of Salisbury and half-a-dozen knights
at their head. De Coucy hesitated not a mo-
ment, but laid his lance in the rest, and gal-
loped forward to the attack of the latter at
full speed.

One of the knights rode out before the rest
to meet him ; but went down, horse and man,
before his spear, and rolled on the plain, with
the iron of the lance broken off deep in his
breast. On spurred De Coucy, swinging his
battle-axe over the head of a Norman who
followed, when his horse, unfortunately, set
his foot on the carcase of the fallen man — slip-
ped— fell irrecoverably, and the Knight was
hurled to the ground.

He sprang on his feet, however, in a mo-
ment, and, catching the bridle of Lord Salis-
bury's horse, dashed the iron chamfron to
atoms with his battle-axe, and hurled the
animal reeling on his haunches. The Earl
spurred up his charger. " Yield ! yield ! De

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 309

Coucy !" cried he ; — " Good treatment ! Fair
ransom ! William's friendship ! Yield you,
or you die V

"Never!" exclaimed De Coucy, turning;
and at a single blow striking down a man on
foot that pressed upon him behind ; — " never
will I be John of England's prisoner !"

" Be Salisbury's! — be William Longs word*s !*"
shouted the Earl loudly, eager to save his no-
ble foe from the lances that were now bearing
him down on all sides. But De Coucy still
raged like a lion in the toils ; and, alone in
the midst of his enemies, — for the ranks had
closed round and cut him off even from the
aid of his little band — he continued for many
minutes to struggle with a host, displaying
that fearful courage which gained him a name
throughout all Europe.

At length, however, while pressed upon in
front by three lances, a powerful man-at-arms
behind him, raised above his head a mace, that
would have felled Goliah. The Knight turned

310 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

his head ; but to parry it was impossible ; for
both his sword and shield arm were busy in
defending himself from the spears of the enemy
in front ; and he must have gone down before
the blow like a felled ox, had not Lord Salis-
bury sprung to the ground, and interposed the
shield, which hung round his own neck, in a
slanting direction between the tremendous mace
and J)e Coucy's helmet. The blow however
fell ; and, though turned aside by William
Longsword's treble target, its descent drove
the Earl's arm down upon De Coucy's head,
and made them both stagger.

" Salisbury, I yield me !" cried De Coucy,
dropping his battle-axe: " rescue or no rescue,
generous enemy, I am thy true prisoner ; and
thereunto I give thee my faith. But as thou
art a Knight, and a noble, yield me not to thy
bad brother John. We know too well how he
treats his prisoners."

" Salisbury's honour for your surety, brave
De Coucy !" replied the Earl, clasping him in

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 311

his mailed arras, and giving a friendly shake, as
if in reproach for the long protracted struggle
he had maintained. " By the Lord ! old friend,
when you fought by ray side in Palestine, you
were but a whelp, where you are now a lion !
But know ye not yet, the town has been in our
hands this hour, and my fair nephew Arthur
taken in his bed, with all the wild revellers of
Poitou, as full of wine as leathern bottles.^"

" Alas ! I fear for the Prince !" cried De
Coucy, " in his bad uncle's hands."

" Hush ! hush !'' replied Salisbury. « John
is my brother, though I be but a bastard. He
has pledged his word too, I hear, to treat his
nephew nobly. So let us to the town, where
we shall hear more. In the raean while, how-
ever, let rae send to the Earl of Perabroke;
for, by the manoeuvres he is making, he seems
as ignorant of what has taken place in the town,
as you were. Now let us on."

312 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

CHAPTER XII.

We must change the scene once more, and
return to the palace of Philip Augustus. The
whirlwind of passion had passed by ; but the
deep pangs of disappointed expectation, with
a long train of gloomy suspicions and painful
anticipations, swelled in the bosom of the Mo-
narch, like those heavy, sweeping billows which
a storm leaves behind on the long-agitated sea.

Philip Augustus slowly mounted the stairs
of the great keep of the castle, pausing at every
two or three steps, as if even the attention
necessary to raise his foot from the one grade
to the other interrupted the deep current of his
thoughts. So profound indeed were those

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 313

thoughts, that he never even remarked the pre-
sence of Guerin, till at length, at the very door
of the Queen's apartments, the Minister be-
seeched him to collect himself.

" Remember, Sire," said the Bishop, " that
no point of the lady''s conduct is reproachable ;
and, for Heaven's sake ! yield not your noble
mind to any fit of passion that you may repent
of hereafter !"

" Fear not, Guerin," replied the King : " I
am as cool as snow ;" and opening the door, he
pushed aside the tapestry and entered.

Agnes had heard the step, but it was so differ-
ent from her husband's general pace, that she
had not believed it to be his. When she beheld
him, however, a glow of bright, unspeakable
joy, which in itself might have convinced the
most suspicious, spread over her countenance.

Philip was not proof against it ; and as she
sprang forward to meet him, he kissed her
cheek, and pressed her in the wonted embrace
But there is nought so pertinacious on earth as

VOL. n. p

314 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Suspicion. 'Tis the fiend's best, most perse-
vering servant. Cast it from us with what force
we will — crush it under what weight of reasoning
we may, once born in the human heart, it still
rises on its invisible ladder, and squeezes its little
drop of corroding poison into every cup we drink.

The Queen'^s women left the room, and Philip
sat down by the embroidery frame where Agnes
had been working before she went out. He
still held her hand in his, as she stood beside
him ; but, fixing his eyes upon the embroidery,
he was in a moment again lost in painful
thought, though his hand every now and then
contracted on the small fingers they grasped,
with a sort of habitual fondness.

Agnes was surprised and pained at this un-
wonted mood ; and yet, she would not deem it
coldness, or say one word that might irritate
her husband's mind ; so that for long, she left
him to think in silence, seeing that something
most agonizing must evidently have happened,
so to absorb his ideas, even beside her.

PHILrP AUGUSTUS. 315

At length, however, without making a motion
to withdraw her hand, she sunk slowly down
upon her knees beside him ; and, gazing up in
his [face, she asked, " Do you not love me,
Philip ?" in a low sweet tone, that vibrated
through his soul to all the gentler and dearer
feelings of his heart.

" Love you, Agnes !'' cried he, throwing his
arms round her beautiful form, and pressing
kiss upon kiss on her lips — '• love you ! Oh
God ! how deeply !" He gazed on her face
for a moment or two, with one of those long,
straining, wistful glances that we sometimes
give to the dead ; then, starting up, he paced
the room for several minutes, murmuring some
indistinct words to himself, till at length his
steps grew slower again, his lips ceased to
move, and he once more fell into deep me-
ditation.

Agnes rose, and, advancing towards him, laid
her hand affectionately upon his arm. " Calm
yourself, Philip. Come and sit down again ;
p 2

316 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

and tell your Agnes what has disturbed you.
Calm yourself, beloved ! Oh, calm yourself !"

" Calm, Madam !" said the King, turning
towards her with an air of cold abstraction.
" How would you have me calm P**"*

Agnes let her hand drop from his arm ; and,
returning to her seat, she bent her head down
and wept silently.

Philip took another turn in the chamber,
during which he twice turned his eyes upon the
figure of his wife — then, advanced towards her,
and leaning down, cast his arm over her neck.
" Weep not, dear Agnes V he said, — " weep
not ; I have many things to agitate and dis-
tress me. You must bear with me, and let
my humour have its way.*"

Agnes looked up, and kissed the lips that
spoke to her, through her tears. She asked no
questions, however, lest she might recall what-
ever was painful to her husband's mind. Phi-
lip too glanced not for a moment towards the
real cause of his agitation. There was some-

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 317

thing so pure, so tender, so beautiful, in the
whole conduct and demeanour of his wife — so
full of the same affection towards him, that he
felt towards her — so unmixed with the least
touch of that constraint that might make her
love doubted, that his suspicions stood reprov-
ed, and though they rankled still, he dared
not own them.

" Can it be only a feeling of cold duty binds
her to me thus ?" he asked himself ; " she
cited nought else to support her resolution of
not flying with that pale seducer D'Auvergne ;
and yet, see how she strives for my affection !
how she seems to fix her whole hopes upon it !
— how to see it shaken agitates her !"

The fiend had his answer ready. It might
be pride, — the fear of sinking from the Queen
of a great kingdom, back into the daughter of
a petty Prince. It might be vanity — which
would be painfully wrung to leave splendour,
and riches, and admiration of a world, to be-
come— what? — what had been, the wife of a

318 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

great king — a lonely, unnoticed outcast from
her once husband's kingdom. Still, he thought
it was impossible. She had never loved splen-
dour ; — she had never sought admiration. Her
delights had been with him alone, in sports
and amusements that might be tasted, with
any one beloved, even in the lowest station. It
was impossible; — and yet it rankled. He felt
he wronged her. He was ashamed of it ; — and
yet those thoughts rankled ! Memory too
dwelt with painful accuracy upon those words
he had overheard, — notwithstanding her own
feelings^ she would not quit him ! — and imagina-
tion, with more skill than the best sophist of
the court of Croesus, drew therefrom matter to
basis a thousand painful doubts.

As thus, he thought, he cast himself again
into the seat before the frame ; and his mind
being well prepared for every bitter and sor-
rowful idea, he gave himself up to the gloomy
train of fancies that pressed on him on every
^ide : — the revolt of his barons — the disaffection

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 319

of his allies— the falling off of his friends — the
exhaustion of his finances — and last, not least,
that dreadful Interdict, that cut his kingdom
off from the Christian world, and made it like
a lazar house. He resolved all the horrible
proofs of the Papal power, that he had seen on
his way — the young, the old, clinging to his
stirrup and praying relief, — the dead, the
dying, exposed by the road-side to catch his
eye — the gloomy silence of the cities and the
fields — the death-like void of all accustomed
sounds, that spread around his path wherever
he turned — he thought over them all; and,
as he thought, he almost unconsciously took
up the chalk wherewith Agnes had been trac-
ing the figures on her embroidery, and slowly
scrawled upon the edge of the frame, " Inter-
dict ! Interdict /"

She had watched his motions as a mother
watches those of her sick child ; but, when she
read the letters he had written, a faint cry
broke from her lips, and she became deadly

320 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

pale. The conviction that Philip's resolution
was shaken by the thunders of the Roman
Church took full possession of her mind, and
she saw that the moment was arrived for her
to make her own peace the sacrifice for his.
She felt her fate sealed, — she felt her heart
broken ; and though she had often, often con-
templated the chances of such a moment, how
trifling, how weak, had been the very worst
dreams of her imagination, to the agony of
the reality !

She repressed the cry, however, already half
uttered ; and rising from her seat with her de-
termination fixed, and her mind made up to the
worst evil that fate could inflict, she kneeled
down at the King''s feet, and, raising her eyes
to his, " My Lord," she said, " the time is
come for making you a request that I am sure
you will not refuse. Your own repose, your
kingdom's welfare, and the Church's peace re^
quire — all and each — that you should consent
to part from one who has been too long an

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 321

object of painful contest. Till I thought that
the opinion of your prelates and your peers
had gained over your will to such a separation,
I never dared, my noble Lord, even to think
thereof; but now you are doubtless convinced
that it must be so ; and all I have to beg is,
that you would give me sufficient guard and
escort, to conduct me safely to my father's
arms ; and that you would sometimes think,
with tenderness, of one who has loved you
well."

Agnes spoke as calmly as if she had asked
some simple boon. Her voice was low but
clear ; and the only thing that could betray
agitation, was the excessive rapidity of her ut-
terance, seeming as if she doubted her own
powers to bring her request to an end.

Philip gazed upon her with a glance of agony
and surprise, that were painful even to behold.
His cheek was as pale as death ; but his brow
was flushed and red ; and as she proceeded, the
drops of agony stood upon his temples. When
P 5

322 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

she had done, he strove to speak, but no voice
answered his will ; and after gasping as for
breath, he started up, exclaimed with great
effort, " Oh, Agnes !" and darted out of the
chamber.

At ten paces'* distance from the door stood
Guerin, as if in expectation of the King's re-
turn. Philip caught him by the arm, and,
scarcely conscious of what he did, pointed
wildly with the other hand to the door of the
Queen's apartments.

" Good God ! my Lord,"" cried the Minister,
well knowing the violent nature of his master's
passion. " In Heaven's name ! what have you
done?"

" Done ! done !" cried the Monarch. " Done !
She loves me not, Guerin ! She seeks to quit
me. She loves me not, I say ! She loves me
not ! I, that would have sacrificed my soul for
her ! I, that would have abjured the cross —
embraced the crescent — desolated Europe —
died myself, for her. She seeks to leave me !

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 323

Oh, madness and fury !" and clenching his
hands, he stamped with his armed heel upon
the ground, till the vaulted roofs of the keep
echoed and re-echoed to the sound.

" Oh ! my Lord ! be calm, in Heaven's
name !*' cried Guerin. " Speak not such wild
and daring words ! Remember, though you
be a king, there is a King still higher ; who
perhaps even now chastens you for resisting his
high will.''

" Away !" cried the King. " School not
me. Sir Bishop ! I tell thee, there is worse
hell here, than if there had never been Heaven C
and he struck his hand upon his mailed breast
with fury, indeed almost approaching to in-
sanity.— " Oh, Guerin, Guerin f he cried again,
after a moment's pause, " she would leave me !
Did you hear ? She would leave me I"

" Let me beseech you, Sire," said the Minis-
ter once more. " Compose yourself, and, as
a wise and good prince, let the discomfort and
misery that Heaven has sent to yourself, at

324 PHILIP AUGUSTUS,

Jeast be turned to your people's good ; and, by
so doing, be sure that you will merit of Heaven
some consolation.""

" Consolation !*" said the Monarch mourn-
fully. *• Oh, my friend, what consolation can
I have ? She loves me not, Guerin ! She
seeks to quit me ! What consolation can I
have under that .?"

" At least, the consolation, Sire, of reliev-
ing and restoring happiness to your distressed
people," answered the Minister. " The Queen
herself seeks to quit you, Sire. The Queen
herself prays you to yield to the authority of
the Church. After that, you will surely never
think of detaining her against her will. It
would be an impious rebellion against a special
manifestation of Heaven's commands ; for, sure
I am, that nothing but the express conviction,
that it is God's will, would have induced the
Princess to express such a desire as you have
vaguely mentioned."

" Do you think so, Guerin .?" demanded

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 325

Philip, musing — " do you think so ? But
no, no ! She would never quit me if she
loved me ?"

*' Her love for you, my Lord, may be sus-
pended by the will of Heaven," replied the
Minister ; " for surely she never showed want
of love towards you till now. Yield then, my
Lord, to the will of the Most High. Let the
Queen depart ; and, indeed, by so doing, I be-
lieve, that even your own fondest hopes may
be gratified. Our Holy Father the Pope,
you know, would not even hear the question of
divorce tried, till you should show your obe-
dience to the Church by separating from the
Queen. When you have done so, he has
pledged himself to examine in the true aposto-
lic spirit ; and doubtless he will come to the
same decision as your bishops of France had
done before. Free from all ties, you may then
recall the Queen — "

" But her love !" interrupted Philip, — *' can
I ever recall her love ?"

326 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" If it be by the will of Heaven,"" replied
Guerin, " that she seeks to leave you, her love
for you, my Lord, will not be lost, but in-
creased a thousand fold when Heaven's bless-
ing sanctions it : and the Pope — "

" Curses upon his head !" thundered Philip,
bursting forth into a new frenzy of passion, —
" may pride and ambition be a curse on him and
his successors for ever ! May they grasp at the
power of others, till they lose their own ! May
nation after nation cast off their sway ! and
itch of dominion, with impotence of means, be
their damnation for ever ! Now I have given
him back his curse — say, what of him ?"

'' Nothing, my Lord," replied Guerin ; " but,
that the only means to make him consent to
your union with the Princess, is to part with
her for a time. — Oh, my Lord ! if you have not
already consented, — consent, I beseech you:
she prays it herself. Do not refuse her —
your kingdom requu'es it : have compassion
upon it. Your own honour is implicated ; for

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 32t

your barons rebel, and you never can chastise
them while the whole realm is bound to their
cause by the strong bond of mutual dis-
tress."

" Chastise them !" said Philip thoughtfully,
pausing on the ideas the Minister had sug-
gested. Then suddenly he turned to Guerin
with his brow knit, and his cheek flushed, as
if with the struggle of some new resolution.
" Be it so, Guerin !'" cried he, — " be it so !
The interdict shall be raised — I will take them,
one by one — I will cut them into chaff, and
scatter them to the wind — I will be King of
France indeed ! and, if in the mean while this
proud Prelate yields me my wife — my own
beloved wife — why well; but if he dares then
refuse his sanction, when I have bowed my
rebellious subjects, his seat is but a frail
one ; for I will march on Rome, and hurl him
from his chair, and send him forth to tread
the sands of Palestine. — But stay, Guerin.
Think you, that on examination he will con-

328 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

firm the Bishop's decree, if I yield for the
time ?"

" I trust he will, my Lord,"" replied the
Minister. — " May I tell the Queen you grant
her request ?^'' he added, eager to urge Philip's
indecision into the irrevocable.

" Yes !" said the Monarch, " yes! — Yet stay,
Guerin, — stay !"" and he fell into thought again ;
when suddenly some one mounting the steps
like lightning approached the little vestibule
where they stood. " Ha ! have you taken the
Count D'Auvergne?" cried the King, seeing
one of his sergeants-of-arms — his eyes flashing
at the same time with all their former fury.

" No, my Lord," replied the man : " he has
not yet been heard of; but a messenger, in
breathless haste, from the Bishop of Tours,
brings you this packet. Sire. He says. Prince
Arthur is taken,"' added the Sergeant.

" Avert it. Heaven r exclaimed Philip, tear-
ing open the despatch. " Too true ! too true !"
he added : " and ^he people of Poitou in revolt!

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 329

laying the misfortune to our door, for resisting
the Interdict. — Oh, Guerin ! it must be done —
it must be done ! The interdict must be raised,
or all is lost. — Begone, fellow ; leave us r he
exclaimed, turning to the sergeant, who tarried
for no second command. Then, pacing up and
down for an instant, with his eyes bent on the
ground, the King repeated more than once :
" She seeks to leave me ! she spoke of it as
calmly as a hermit tells his beads. — She loves
me not ! — Too true, she loves me not V

" May I announce your will in this respect,
my Lord.?" demanded Guerin, as the King
paused and pondered bitterly over all that had
passed.

" Ask me not, good friend ! — ask me not V
replied the King, turning away his head, as if
to avoid facing the act to which his Minister
urged him. " Ask me not. — Do what thou
wilt ; there is my signet, — use it wisely ; but
tear not my heart, by asking commands I can-
not utter."

330 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Thus speaking, the King drew his private
seal from his finger, and placing it in Guerin's
hand, turned away ; and, with a quick but
irregular step, descended the staircase, passed
through the gardens, and issuing out by the
postern gate, plunged into the very heart of
the forest.

Guerin paused to collect his thoughts, scarce-
ly believing the victory that had been obtained;
so little had he expected it in the morning. He
then approached the door of the Queen's apart-
ments, and knocked gently for admittance. At
first it passed unnoticed, but on repeating it
somewhat louder, one of Agnes's women pre-
sented herself, with a face of ashy paleness,
while another looked over her shoulder.

" Enter, my Lord Bishop, enter !" said the
second in a low voice. " Thank God, you are
come ! We know not what has so struck the
Queen ; but she is very ill. She speaks not ;
she raises not her head ; and yet by her sob-
bing 'tis clear she has not fainted. See where
she lies !"

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 331

Guerin entered. From Philip's account, he
had thought to find the Queen with a mind
composed and made up to her fortunes ; but a
sadly different scene presented itself. Agnes
had apparently, the moment her husband had
left her, caught down the crucifix from a little
moveable oratory which stood in the room, and
throwing herself on her knees before one of the
seats, had been seeking consolation in prayer.
The emotions which crossed her address to
Heaven, may easily be conceived ; and so pow-
erfully had they worked, that, overcoming all
other thoughts, they seemed to have swept
hope and trust, even in the Almighty, away
before them, and dashed the unhappy girl to
the ground like a stricken flower. , Her head
and whole person had fallen forward on the
cushion of the seat, before which she had been
kneeling. Her face was resting partly on her
hands, and partly on the cross, which they
clasped, and which was deluged with her tears;
while a succession of short convulsive sobs was
all that announced her to be amongst the living.

332 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

" Has she not spoken since the King left
her?'' demanded Guerin, both alarmed and
shocked.

" Not a word, Sir," replied her principal
attendant. " We heard her move once, after
the King's voice ceased ; and then came a dead
silence : so we ventured to come in, lest she
should have fallen into one of those swoons
which have afflicted her ever since the tourna-
ment of the Champeaux. We have striven
to raise her, and to draw some word from
her ; but she lies there, and sobs, and answers
nothing."

" Send for Rigord the leech," said Guerin ;
" I saw him in the hall ;'* and then approaching
Agnes, with a heart deeply touched with the
sorrow he beheld, " Grieve not so. Lady," he
said in a kindly voice ; " I trust that this will
not be so heavy a burden as you think : I doubt
not — indeed I doubt not, that a short separa-
tion from your royal husband will be all that
you will have to bear. The King having once,

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 333

by your good counsel, submitted his cause to
the trial of the Holy Church, our good Father,
the Pope, will doubtless j udge mildly, and soon
restore to him the treasure he has lost. Bear
up then, sweet lady, bear up ! and be sure that
wherever you go, the blessings of a whole na-
tion, which your self-devotion has saved from
civil war and misery of every kind, will follow
your footsteps, and smooth your way."

It was impossible to say whether Agnes
heard him or not ; but the words of comfort
which the good Bishop proffered produced no
effect. She remained with her face still leaning
on the cross, and a quick succession of con-
vulsive sobs was her only reply. Guerin saw
that all farther attempt to communicate with
her in any way would be vain for the time ;
and he only waited the arrival of the leech to
leave the apartment.

Rigord, who acted both as physician and
historian to Philip Augustus, instantly followed
the Queens's attendant, who had been despatched

334 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

to seek him ; and, after having received a promise
from him to bring intelligence of the Queen's
real state, the Minister retired to his own cham-
ber, and hastened to render Philip's resolution
irrevocable, by writing that letter of submis-
sion to the Holy See, which speedily raised the
Interdict from France.

PHILIP A.UGUSTUS. 335

CHAPTER XIII.

Black and gloomy silence reigned through
the whole chateau of Compiegne, during the
two days that followed the Queen's determina-
tion to depart. All Philip's military operations
were neglected — all the affairs of his immediate
government were forgotten, and his hours passed
in wandering alone in the forest, or in pacing
his chamber with agitated and uncertain steps.

The thoughts and feelings that filled those
hours, however, though all painful, were of a
mixed and irregular character. Sometimes, it
was the indignant swelling of a proud and im-
perious heart against the usurped power that
snatched from it its brightest hopes. Some-
times, it was the thrilling agony of parting

336 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

from all he loved. Sometimes, it was the burn-
ing thirst for vengeance, both on the head of
him who had caused the misery, and of those
who, by their falling off in time of need, had
l^t him to bear it alone ; and, sometimes, it
was the shadowy doubts and suspicions of
awakened jealousy, throwing all into darkness
and gloom. Still, however, the deep, the pas-
sionate love remained ; and to it clung the
faint hope of re winning the treasure he sacri-
ficed for a time.

Thus, as he strode along the paths of the
forest, with his arms crossed upon his broad
chest, he sketched out the stern but vast plan
of crushing his rebellious barons peicemeal, as
soon as ever the Interdict — that fatal bond of
union amongst them — should be broken. He
carried his glance too, still farther into the
future ; and saw many a rising coalition against
him in Europe, fomented and supported by the
Church of Rome ; and, firm in his own vigorous
talent, it was with a sort of joy that he con-

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 337

templated their coming, as the means whereby
he would avenge the indignity he had suffered
from the Roman See, crush his enemies, punish
his disobedient vassals, and, extending his
dominion to the infinite of hope, would hold
Agnes once more to his heart, and dare the
whole world to snatch her thence again.

Such were the thoughts of Philip Augustus,
so mingled of many passions — ambition — love
— revenge. Each in its turn using as its ser-
vant a great and powerful mind, and all bring-
ing about — for with such opposite agents does
Heaven still work its high will — all bringing
about great changes to the world at large ; re-
volutions in thoughts, in feelings, and in man-
ners ; the fall of systems, and the advance of
the human mind.

Were we of those who love to view agony
with a microscope, we would try equally to
display the feelings of Agnes de Meranie ;
while, with crushed joys, blighted hopes, and a
broken heart, she prepared for the journey

VOL. II. q

338 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

that was to separate her for ever from him she
loved best on earth.

It would be too painful a picture, however,
either to draw or to examine. Suffice it, then,
that, recovered from the sort of stupor into
which she had fallen after the efforts which
had been called forth by Philip'*s presence, she
sat in calm dejected silence; while her women,
informed of her decision, made the necessary
arrangements for her departure. If she spoke
at all, it was but to direct care to be taken of
each particular object, which might recall to
her afterwards the few bright hours she had
so deeply enjoyed. 'Twas now an ornament, —
'twas now some piece of her dress, either given
her by her husband, or worn on some day of
peculiar happiness, which called her notice ; and,
as a traveller, forced to leave some bright land,
that he may never see again, carries away with
him a thousand views and charts, to aid remem-
brance in after-years, poor Agnes was anxious
to secure alone, all that could lead memory
back to the joys that she was quitting for ever.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 339

To each little trinket, there was some memory
affixed ; and to her heart they were relics, as
holy as ever lay upon shrine or altar.

It was on the second morning after her reso-
lution had been taken ; and, with a sad haste,
springing from the consciousness of failing
powers, she was hurrying on her preparations,
when she was informed that the Chancellor,
Guerin, desired a few minutes' audience. She
would fain have shrunk from it ; for, though
she revered the Minister for his undoubted in-
tegrity, and his devotion to her husband, yet,
it had 80 happened, that Guerin had almost
always been called on to speak with her, for the
purpose of communicating some painful news,
or urging some bitter duty. The impression
he had left on her mind, therefore, was aught
but pleasant; and, though she esteemed him
much, she loved not his society. She was
of too gentle a nature, however, to permit
a feeling, so painful to its object, to be seen
for a moment, even now that the Minister's
good word or bad, could serve her nothing ;

340 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

■and she desired him to be admitted imme-
diately.

The havoc that a few hours had worked on
a face which was once the perfection of earthly
beauty struck even the Minister, unobservant
as he was in general of things so foreign to his
calling. As he remarked it, he made a sudden
pause in his advance; and, looking up with a
faint smile, more sad, more melancholy, than
even tears, Agnes shook her head, saying
mildly, as a comment on his surprise : —

" It cannot be, Lord Bishop, that any one
should suffer as I have suffered, and not let the
traces shine out. But you are welcome, my
Lord. How fares it with my noble Lord — my
husband, the King. He has not come to me
since yester-morning ; and yet, methinks, we
might havebetter borne these wretched two days
together than apart. We might have fortified
each other^s resolution with strong words. We
might have shown each other, that what it was
right to do, it was right to do firmly."

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 341

" The King, Madam/' replied Guerin, " has
scarcely been in a state to see any one. I have
been thrice refused admittance, though my
plea was urgent business of the state. He
has been totally alone, till within the last few
minutes."

" Poor Philip !" exclaimed Agnes, the tears,
in spite of every effort, swelling in her eyes,
and rolling over her fair pale cheek. " Poor
Philip! And did he think his Agnes would
have tried to shake the resolution which cost
him such pangs to maintain ? Oh, no ! She
would have aided him to fix it, and to bear it."

^* He feared not your constancy, Lady," re-
plied the Bishop of Senlis. " He feared his
own. I have heard that fortitude is a woman's
virtue ; and, in truth, I now believe it. But I
must do my errand ; for, in faith, Lady, I can-
not see you weep:" — and the good Minister
wiped a bright drop from his own clear, cold
eye. '' Having at last seen the King," he
proceeded, "he has commanded me to take
Q3

342 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

Strict care that all the attendants you please to
name should accompany you ; that your house-
hold expenses should be charged upon his do-
mains, as that of the Queen of France ; and
having, from all things, good hope that the
Pope, satisfied with this submission to his
authority, will proceed immediately to verify
the divorce pronounced by the bishops, so that
your separation may be short — "

" Ha ! What ?" exclaimed Agnes, starting
up, and catching the Bishop's arm with both
her hands, while she gazed in his face with a
look of thunderstruck, incredulous astonish^;
ment. What is it you say ? Is there a chance
— is there a hope — is there a possibility that I
may see him again — that I may clasp his hand
— that I may rest on his bosom once more ? O
God ! O God ! blessed be thy holy name !"
and falling on her knees, she turned her beau-
tiful eyes to Heaven ; while, clasping her
fair hands, and raising them also, trembling
with emotion, towards the sky, her lips moved

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 343

silently, but rapidly, in grateful enthusiastic
thanksgiving.

" But, oh !" she cried, starting up, and fixing
her eager glance upon the Minister, " as you are
a churchman, as you are a knight, as you are
a man ! do not deceive me ! Is there a hope ?
—is there even a remote hope ? Does Philip
think there is a hope ?"

"It appears to me. Lady,*" replied the Minis-
ter,— "and for no earthly consideration would I
deceive you, — that there is every cause to hope.
Our Holy Father the Pope would not take the
matter of the King's divorce even into consider-
ation, till the Monarch submitted to the decision
of the Church of Rome, which, he declared, was
alone competent to decide upon the question, —
a right which the bishops of France, he said, had
arrogated unjustly to themselves.^'

" And did he," exclaimed Agnes solemnly, —
" did he cast his curse upon this whole country
— spread misery, desolation, and sorrow over
the nation — stir up civil war and rebellion, and

344 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

tear two hearts assunder, that loved each other
so devotedly, for the empty right to judge a
cause that had been already judged, and do
away a sentence which he knew not whether it
was right or wrong ? — and is this the represen-
tative of Christ's Apostle ?"

" 'Tis even as you say. Lady, I am afraid,"
replied the Minister. " But even, suppose his
conduct to proceed from pride and arrogance,
which. Heaven forbid that I should insinuate Iv —
our hope would be but strengthened by such
an opinion. For, contented with having esta-
blished his right and enforced his will, he will
of course commission a council to inquire into
the cause, and decide according to their good
judgment. What that decision will be, is
only known on high; but as many prelates of
France will of course sit in that council, it is
not likely that they will consent to reverse their
own judgment."

" And what thinks the King ?" demanded
Agnes thoughtfully.

" No stronger proof, Lady, can be given,

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 345

that he thinks as I do," replied Guerin, " than,
his determination that you should never be far
from him ; so that, as soon as the Papal decision
shall be announced in his favour, he may fly to
reunite himself to her he will ever look upon as
his lawful wife. He begs, Madam, that you
would name that royal chateau which you
would desire for your residence — "

" Then I am not to quit France !" cried
Agnes, hope and joy once more beaming up in
her eyes. '* I am not to put wide, foreign lands
between us, and the journey of many a weary
day ! Oh ! 'tis too much ! 'tis too much !" and
sinking back into the chair where she had been
sitting before the Minister's entrance, she co-
vered her eyes with her hands, and let the
struggle between joy and sorrow flow gently
away in tears.

Guerin made a movement as if to withdraw ;
but the Queen raised her hand, and stopped
him. " Stay, my Lord Bishop, stay !" she
said. " These are tears, such as I have not
shed for long ; and there is in them a balmy

346 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

quality that will soothe many of the wounds in
ray heart. Before you go, I must render some
reply to my dear Lord's message. Tell him — as
my whole joy in life has been to be with him ;
so my only earthly hope is, to rejoin him soon.
Thank him for all the blessed comfort he has
sent me by your lips ; and say to him, that it
has snatched his Agnes from the brink of de-
spair. Say, moreover, that I would fain, fain
see him, if it will not pain him too deeply, be-
fore I take my departure from the halls where
I have known so much happiness. But bid him
not, 6n that account, to give his heart one pang
to solace mine. — And now, my Lord, I will
choose my residence. — Let me see. I will not
say Compiegne ; for, though I love it well, and
have here many a dear memory, yet, I know,
Philip loves it too ; and I would that he should
often inhabit some place that is full of remem-
brances of me. But there is a castle on the
woody hill above Mantes where, once in the
earliest days of our marriage, we spent a plea-
sant month. It shall be my widow's portion.

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 347

till I see my Lord again. Oh! why, why, why
must we part at all.? — But, no!" she added
more firmly, " it is doubtless right that it
should be so : and, if we may thus buy for our
fate the blessed certainty of never parting
again, I will not think — I will try not to think
— the price too dear."

*' Perhaps, Madam, if I might venture to
advise," said the Minister, " the interview you
desire with the King would take place the
last thing before your departure."

Agnes drooped her head. — " My departure !"
said she mournfully. *' True ! 'twill be but
one pain for all. I have ordered my departure
for this evening, because I thought that the
sooner I were gone, the sooner would the pain
be over for Philip ; but oh. Lord Bishop, you
know not what it is, to take such a resolution
of departure — to cut short, even by one brief
minute, that fond lingering with which we
cling to all the loved objects that have sur-
rounded us in happiness. But it is right to
do it, and it shall be done : my litter shall be

348 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

here an hour before supper ; what guards you
and the King think necessary to escort me, I
will beg you to command at the hour of three.
But I hope," she added, in an almost imploring
tone, — " I hope I shall see my husband before
I go?"

" Doubt it not, Madam," said Guerin : " I
have but to express your desire. Could I but
serve you farther ?"

'' In nothing, my good Lord," replied the
Queen ; " but, in watching over the King like
a father. Soothe his ruffled mood ; calm his hurt
mind ; teach him, not to forget Agnes, but to
bear her absence with more fortitude than she
can bear his. — And now, my Lord," she added,
wiping the tears once more from her eyes, '* I
will go and pray, against that dreadful hour.
I have need of help, but Heaven will give
it me ; and if ever woman's heart broke in
silence, it shall be mine this night."

Guerin took his leave and withdrew; and,
proceeding to the cabinet of Philip Augustus,

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 349

gave him such an account of his conversation
with the Queen, as he thought might soothe
and console him, without shaking his resolution
of parting from her, at least for a time. Philip
listened, at first, in gloomy silence ; but, as
every now and then, through the dry account
given by his plain Minister, shone out some
touch of the deep affection borne him by his
wife, a shade passed away from his brow, and
he would exclaim, " Ha ! said she so ? — Angel !
— Oh, Guerin, she is an angel !"" Then starting
up, struck by some sudden impulse, he paced
the room with hasty and irregular steps.

" A villain !"" cried he at length, — " a villain !
— Thibalt d'Auvergne, beware thy head ! — By
the blessed rood ! Guerin, if I lay my hands
upon him, I will cut his false heart from his
mischief-devising breast ! Fiend ! fiend ! to
strive to rob me of an angel's love like that !
He has fled me, Guerin ! — ^he has fled me for
the time. You have doubtless heard, within
five minutes, he and his train had left the
VOL. II. R

350 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

town behind him. 'Twas the consciousness of
villainy drove him to flight. But I will find
him ! if I seek him in the heart of Africa !
The world shall not hold us two."

Guerin strove to calm the mind of the King,
but it was in vain ; and, till the hour approach-
ed for the departure of Agnes from the castle,
Philip spent the time either in breathing vows of
vengeance against his adversaries, or in pacing
up and down, and thinking, with a wrung and
agonized heart, over the dreadful moment be-
fore him. At length he could bear it no
longer ; and, throwing open the door of his
cabinet, he walked hastily towards the Queen''s
apartments. Guerin followed, for a few paces,
knowing that the critical moment was arrived
when France was to be saved or lost — doubt-
ing the resolution of both Agnes and Philip,
and himself uncertain how to act.

But before Philip had passed through the
corridor, he turned to the Minister, and, hold-
ing up his hand, with an air of stern majesty

PHILIP AUGUSTUS. 351

he said, " Alone, Guerin ! I must be alone ! At
three, warn me !" and he pursued his way to
the Queen's apartment.

The next hour we must pass over in silence;
for no one was witness to a scene that required
almost more than mortal fortitude to support.
At three, the Queen's litter was in the castle-
court, the sergeants of arms mounted to attend
her, and the horses of her ladies held ready to
set out. With a heart beating with stronger
emotions than had ever agitated it in the face
of adverse hosts, Guerin approached the apart-
ments of Agnes de Meranie. He opened the
door, but paused without pushing aside the
tapestry, saying, " My Lord !"

" Come in," replied Philip, in a voice of
thunder; and Guerin, entering, beheld him
standing in the midst of the floor with Agnes
clinging to him, fair, frail, and faint, with her
arms twined round his powerful frame, like the
ivy clinging round some tall oak agitated by a
storm. The King's face was heated, his eyes

352 PHILIP AUGUSTUS.

were red, and the veins of his temples were
swelled almost to bursting. " She shall not
go!" cried he, as Guerin entered, in a voice
both raised and shaken by the extremity of his
feelings, — " By the Lord of Heaven ! she shall
not go!"

There was energy in his tone, almost to mad-
ness ; and Guerin stood silent, seeing all that
he had laboured to bring about swept away in
that moment. But Agnes slowly withdrew her
arms from the King, raised her weeping face
from his bosom, clasped her hands together,
and gazed on him for a moment with a glance
of deep and agonized feeling — then said in low
but resolute voice, " Philip, it must be done !
Farewell, beloved ! Farewell !" and, running
forward towards the door, she took the arm
of one of her women, to support her from the
chamber.

Before she could go, however, Philip caught
her again in his arms, and pressed kiss after
kiss upon her lips and cheek. " Help me !

PHILIP AUGUSTUS* 353

help me !" said Agnes, and two of her women,
gently disengaging her from the King's em-
brace, half bore, half carried her down the
stairs, and, raising her into the litter, drew its
curtains round, and veiled her farther sorrows
from all other eyes.

When she was gone, Philip stood for a mo-
ment gazing, as it were, on vacancy,— twice,
raised his hand to his head — made a step or
two towards the door — reeled — staggered —
and fell heavily on the floor, with the blood
gushing from his mouth and nostrils.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

LONDON :
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENT LEY,

Dorset-Street, Fleet- Street.

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