The Little Duke by Charlotte Mary Yonge (snow like ashes TXT) 📕

better beware,” said the Frenchman, hesitating.

“He had better beware himself,” exclaimed Osmond, indignantly, “how

he brings the treacherous murderer of William Longsword into the

presence of a free-born Norman, unless he would see him slain where

he stands. Were it not for the boy, I would challenge the traitor

this instant to single combat.”

“Well, I can scarce blame you,” said the Knight, “but you had best

have a care how you tread. Farewell.”

Richard had hardly time to express his indignation, and his wishes

that he was a man, before another message came through a groom of

Lothaire’s train, that the Duke must fast, if he would not consent to

feast with the rest.

“Tell Prince Lothaire,” replied Richard, “that I am not such a

glutton as he—I had rather fast than be choked with eating with

Arnulf.”

All the rest of the day, Richard remained in his own chamber,

resolved not to run the risk of meeting with Arnulf. The Squire

remained with him, in this voluntary imprisonment, and they occupied

themselves, as best they could, with furbishing Osmond’s armour, and

helping each other out in repeating some of the Sagas. They once

heard a great uproar in the court, and both were very anxious to

learn its cause, but they did not know it till late in the afternoon.

Carloman crept up to them—“Here I am at last!” he exclaimed. “Here,

Richard, I have brought you some bread, as you had no dinner: it was

all I could bring. I saved it under the table lest Lothaire should

see it.”

Richard thanked Carloman with all his heart, and being very hungry

was glad to share the bread with Osmond. He asked how long the

wicked Count was going to stay, and rejoiced to hear he was going

away the next morning, and the King was going with him.

“What was that great noise in the court?” asked Richard.

“I scarcely like to tell you,” returned Carloman.

Richard, however, begged to hear, and Carloman was obliged to tell

that the two Norman grooms, Sybald and Henry, had quarrelled with the

Flemings of Arnulf’s train; there had been a fray, which had ended in

the death of three Flemings, a Frank, and of Sybald himself—And

where was Henry? Alas! there was more ill news—the King had

sentenced Henry to die, and he had been hanged immediately.

Dark with anger and sorrow grew young Richard’s face; he had been

fond of his two Norman attendants, he trusted to their attachment,

and he would have wept for their loss even if it had happened in any

other way; but now, when it had been caused by their enmity to his

father’s foes, the Flemings,—when one had fallen overwhelmed by

numbers, and the other been condemned hastily, cruelly, unjustly, it

was too much, and he almost choked with grief and indignation. Why

had he not been there, to claim Henry as his own vassal, and if he

could not save him, at least bid him farewell? Then he would have

broken out in angry threats, but he felt his own helplessness, and

was ashamed, and he could only shed tears of passionate grief,

refusing all Carloman’s attempts to comfort him. Osmond was even

more concerned; he valued the two Normans extremely for their courage

and faithfulness, and had relied on sending intelligence by their

means to Rouen, in case of need. It appeared to him as if the first

opportunity had been seized of removing these protectors from the

little Duke, and as if the designs, whatever they might be, which had

been formed against him, were about to take effect. He had little

doubt that his own turn would be the next; but he was resolved to

endure anything, rather than give the smallest opportunity of

removing him, to bear even insults with patience, and to remember

that in his care rested the sole hope of safety for his charge.

That danger was fast gathering around them became more evident every

day, especially after the King and Arnulf had gone away together. It

was very hot weather, and Richard began to weary after the broad cool

river at Rouen, where he used to bathe last summer; and one evening

he persuaded his Squire to go down with him to the Oise, which flowed

along some meadow ground about a quarter of a mile from the Castle;

but they had hardly set forth before three or four attendants came

running after them, with express orders from the Queen that they

should return immediately. They obeyed, and found her standing in

the Castle hall, looking greatly incensed.

“What means this?” she asked, angrily. “Knew you not that the King

has left commands that the Duke quits not the Castle in his absence?”

“I was only going as far as the river—” began Richard, but Gerberge

cut him short. “Silence, child—I will hear no excuses. Perhaps you

think, Sieur de Centeville, that you may take liberties in the King’s

absence, but I tell you that if you are found without the walls

again, it shall be at your peril; ay, and his! I’ll have those

haughty eyes put out, if you disobey!”

She turned away, and Lothaire looked at them with his air of

gratified malice. “You will not lord it over your betters much

longer, young pirate!” said he, as he followed his mother, afraid to

stay to meet the anger he might have excited by the taunt he could

not deny himself the pleasure of making; but Richard, who, six months

ago could not brook a slight disappointment or opposition, had, in

his present life of restraint, danger, and vexation, learnt to curb

the first outbreak of temper, and to bear patiently instead of

breaking out into passion and threats, and now his only thought was

of his beloved Squire.

“Oh, Osmond! Osmond!” he exclaimed, “they shall not hurt you. I

will never go out again. I will never speak another hasty word. I

will never affront the Prince, if they will but leave you with me!”