Two Penniless Princesses by Charlotte M. Yonge (historical books to read TXT) 📕

CHAPTER 9. BALCHENBURG ‘In these wylde deserts where she now abode There dwelt a salvage nation, which did live On stealth and spoil, and making nightly rade Into their neighbours’ borders.’—SPENSER.

A terrible legacy of the Hundred Years’ War, which, indeed, was not yet entirely ended by the Peace of Tours, was the existence of bands of men trained to nothing but war and rapine, and devoid of any other means of subsistence than freebooting on the peasantry or travellers, whence they were known as routiers—highwaymen, and ecorcheurs—flayers. They were a fearful scourge to France in the early part of the reign of Charles VII., as, indeed, they had been at every interval of peace ever since the battle of Creci, and they really made a state of warfare preferable to the unhappy provinces, or at least to those where it was not actually raging. In a few years more the Dauphin contrived to delude many of them into an expedition, where he abandoned them and left them to be massacred, after which he formed the rest into the nucleus of a standing army; but at this time they were the terror of travellers, who only durst go about any of the French provinces in well-armed and large parties.

The domains of King Rene, whether in Lorraine or Provence, were, however, reckoned as fairly secure, but from the time the little troop, with the princesses among them, had started from Nanci, Madame de Ste. Petronelle became uneasy. She looked up at the sun, which was shining in her face, more than once, and presently drew the portly mule she was riding towards George Douglas.

‘Sir,’ she said, ‘you are the ladies’ squire?’

‘I have that honour, Madame.’

‘And a Scot?’

‘Even so.’

‘I ask you, which way you deem that we are riding?’

‘Eastward, Madame, if the sun is to be trusted. Mayhap somewhat to the south.’

‘Yea; and which side lies Chalons?’

This was beyond George’s geography. He looked up with open mouth and shook his head.

‘Westward!’ said the lady impressively. ‘And what’s yon in the distance?’

‘Save that this land is as flat as a bannock, I’d have said ‘twas mountains.’

‘Mountains they are, young man!’ said Madame de Ste. Petronelle emphatically—‘the hills between Lorraine and Alsace, which we should be leaving behind us.’

‘Is there treachery?’ asked George, reining up his horse. ‘Ken ye who is the captain of this escort?’

‘His name is Hall; he is thick with the Dauphin. Ha! Madame, is he sib to him that aided in the slaughter of Eastern’s Eve night?’

‘Just, laddie. ‘Tis own son to him that Queen Jean made dae sic a fearful penance. What are ye doing?’

‘I’ll run the villain through, and turn back to Nanci while yet there is time,’ said George, his hand on his sword.

‘Hold, ye daft bodie! That would but bring all the lave on ye. There’s nothing for it but to go on warily, and maybe at the next halt we might escape from them.’

But almost while Madame de Ste. Petronelle spoke there was a cry, and from a thicket there burst out a band of men in steel headpieces and buff jerkins, led by two or three horsemen. There was a confused outcry of ‘St. Denys! St. Andrew!’ on one side, ‘Yield!’ on the other. Madame’s rein was seized, and though she drew her dagger, her hand was caught before she could strike, by a fellow who cried, ‘None of that, you old hag, or it shall be the worse for thee!’

‘St. Andrew! St. Andrew!’ screamed Eleanor. ‘Scots, to the rescue of your King’s sisters!’

‘Douglas—Douglas, help!’ cried Jean. But each was surrounded by a swarm of the ruffians; and as George Douglas hastily pushed down some with his horse, and struck down one or two with his sword, he was felled by a mighty blow on the head, and the ecorcheurs thronged over him, dragging him off his horse, any resistance on the part of the Scottish archers, their escort, they could not tell; they only heard a tumult of shouts and cries, and found rude hands holding them on their horses and dragging them among the trees. Their screams for help were answered by a gruff voice from a horseman, evidently the leader of the troop. ‘Hold that noise, Lady! No ill is meant to you, but you must come with us. No; screams are useless! There’s none to come to you. Stop them, or I must!’

‘There is none!’ said Madame de Ste. Petronelle’s voice in her own tongue; ‘best cease to cry, and not fash the loons more.’

The sisters heard, and in her natural tone Eleanor said in French, ‘Sir, know you who you are thus treating? The King’s daughter—sisters of the Dauphiness!’

He laughed. ‘Full well,’ he answered, in very German-sounding French.

‘Such usage will bring the vengeance of the King and Dauphin on you.’

He laughed yet more loudly. His face was concealed by his visor, but the ill-fitting armour and great roan horse made Jean recognise the knight whose eyes had dwelt on her so boldly at the tournament, and she added her voice.

‘Your Duke of the Tirol will punish this.’

‘He has enough to do to mind his own business,’ was the answer.

‘Come, fair one, hold your tongue! There’s no help for it, and the less trouble you give us the better it will be for you.’

‘But our squire!’ Jean exclaimed, looking about her. ‘Where is he?’

Again there was a rude laugh.

‘Showed fight. Disposed of. See there!’ and Jean could not but recognise the great gray horse from the Mearns that George Douglas had always ridden. Had she brought the gallant youth to this, and without word or look to reward his devotion? She gave one low cry, and bowed her head, grieved and sick at heart. While Eleanor, on her side, exclaimed,

‘Felon, thou hast slain a nobleman’s brave heir! Disgrace to knighthood!’

‘Peace, maid, or we will find means to silence thy tongue,’ growled the leader; and Madame de Ste. Petronelle interposed, ‘Whisht—whisht, my bairn; dinna anger them.’ For she saw that there was more disposition to harshness towards