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

to send after the Count.”

 

“Ha! let me see,” said Sir Eric. “It might be. But how is he to get

out?”

 

“I know a way,” said Alberic. “I scrambled down that wide buttress

by the east wall last week, when our ball was caught in a branch of

the ivy, and the drawbridge is down.”

 

“If Bernard knew, it would be off my mind, at least!” said Sir Eric.

“Well, my young Frenchman, you may do good service.”

 

“Osmond,” whispered Alberic, as he began hastily to dress himself,

“only ask one thing of Sir Eric—never to call me young Frenchman

again!”

 

Sir Eric smiled, saying, “Prove yourself Norman, my boy.”

 

“Then,” added Osmond, “if it were possible to get the Duke himself

out of the castle to-morrow morning. If I could take him forth by

the postern, and once bring him into the town, he would be safe. It

would be only to raise the burghers, or else to take refuge in the

Church of Our Lady till the Count came up, and then Louis would find

his prey out of his hands when he awoke and sought him.”

 

“That might be,” replied Sir Eric; “but I doubt your success. The

French are too eager to hold him fast, to let him slip out of their

hands. You will find every door guarded.”

 

“Yes, but all the French have not seen the Duke, and the sight of a

squire and a little page going forth, will scarcely excite their

suspicion.”

 

“Ay, if the Duke would bear himself like a little page; but that you

need not hope for. Besides, he is so taken with this King’s

flatteries, that I doubt whether he would consent to leave him for

the sake of Count Bernard. Poor child, he is like to be soon taught

to know his true friends.”

 

“I am ready,” said Alberic, coming forward.

 

The Baron de Centeville repeated his instructions, and then undertook

to guard the door, while his son saw Alberic set off on his

expedition. Osmond went with him softly down the stairs, then

avoiding the hall, which was filled with French, they crept silently

to a narrow window, guarded by iron bars, placed at such short

intervals apart that only so small and slim a form as Alberic’s could

have squeezed out between them. The distance to the ground was not

much more than twice his own height, and the wall was so covered with

ivy, that it was not a very dangerous feat for an active boy, so that

Alberic was soon safe on the ground, then looking up to wave his cap,

he ran on along the side of the moat, and was soon lost to Osmond’s

sight in the darkness.

 

Osmond returned to the Duke’s chamber, and relieved his father’s

guard, while Richard slept soundly on, little guessing at the plots

of his enemies, or at the schemes of his faithful subjects for his

protection.

 

Osmond thought this all the better, for he had small trust in

Richard’s patience and self-command, and thought there was much more

chance of getting him unnoticed out of the Castle, if he did not know

how much depended on it, and how dangerous his situation was.

 

When Richard awoke, he was much surprised at missing Alberic, but

Osmond said he was gone into the town to Thibault the armourer, and

this was a message on which he was so likely to be employed that

Richard’s suspicion was not excited. All the time he was dressing he

talked about the King, and everything he meant to show him that day;

then, when he was ready, the first thing was as usual to go to attend

morning mass.

 

“Not by that way, to-day, my Lord,” said Osmond, as Richard was about

to enter the great hall. “It is crowded with the French who have

been sleeping there all night; come to the postern.”

 

Osmond turned, as he spoke, along the passage, walking fast, and not

sorry that Richard was lingering a little, as it was safer for him to

be first. The postern was, as he expected, guarded by two tall

steel-cased figures, who immediately held their lances across the

doorway, saying, “None passes without warrant.”

 

“You will surely let us of the Castle attend to our daily business,”

said Osmond. “You will hardly break your fast this morning if you

stop all communication with the town.”

 

“You must bring warrant,” repeated one of the men-at-arms. Osmond

was beginning to say that he was the son of the Seneschal of the

Castle, when Richard came hastily up. “What? Do these men want to

stop us?” he exclaimed in the imperious manner he had begun to take

up since his accession. “Let us go on, sirs.”

 

The men-at-arms looked at each other, and guarded the door more

closely. Osmond saw it was hopeless, and only wanted to draw his

young charge back without being recognised, but Richard exclaimed

loudly, “What means this?”

 

“The King has given orders that none should pass without warrant,”

was Osmond’s answer. “We must wait.”

 

“I will pass!” said Richard, impatient at opposition, to which he was

little accustomed. “What mean you, Osmond? This is my Castle, and

no one has a right to stop me. Do you hear, grooms? let me go. I am

the Duke!”

 

The sentinels bowed, but all they said was, “Our orders are express.”

 

“I tell you I am Duke of Normandy, and I will go where I please in my

own city!” exclaimed Richard, passionately pressing against the

crossed staves of the weapons, to force his way between them, but he

was caught and held fast in the powerful gauntlet of one of the men-at-arms. “Let me go, villain!” cried he, struggling with all his

might. “Osmond, Osmond, help!”

 

Even as he spoke Osmond had disengaged him from the grasp of the

Frenchman, and putting his hand on his arm, said, “Nay, my Lord, it

is not for you to strive with such as these.”

 

“I will strive!” cried the boy. “I will not have my way barred in my

own Castle. I will tell the King how these rogues of his use me. I

will have them in the dungeon. Sir Eric! where is Sir Eric?”

 

Away he rushed to the stairs, Osmond hurrying after him, lest he

should throw himself into some fresh danger, or by his loud calls

attract the French, who might then easily make him prisoner.

However, on the very first step of the stairs stood Sir Eric, who was

too anxious for the success of the attempt to escape, to be very far

off. Richard, too angry to heed where he was going, dashed up

against him without seeing him, and as the old Baron took hold of

him, began, “Sir Eric, Sir Eric, those French are villains! they will

not let me pass—”

 

“Hush, hush! my Lord,” said Sir Eric. “Silence! come here.”

 

However imperious with others, Richard from force of habit always

obeyed Sir Eric, and now allowed himself to be dragged hastily and

silently by him, Osmond following closely, up the stairs, up a second

and a third winding flight, still narrower, and with broken steps, to

a small round, thick-walled turret chamber, with an extremely small

door, and loop-holes of windows high up in the tower. Here, to his

great surprise, he found Dame Astrida, kneeling and telling her

beads, two or three of her maidens, and about four of the Norman

Squires and men-at-arms.

 

“So you have failed, Osmond?” said the Baron.

 

“But what is all this? How did Fru Astrida come up here? May I not

go to the King and have those insolent Franks punished?”

 

“Listen to me, Lord Richard,” said Sir Eric: “that smooth-spoken

King whose words so charmed you last night is an ungrateful deceiver.

The Franks have always hated and feared the Normans, and not being

able to conquer us fairly, they now take to foul means. Louis came

hither from Flanders, he has brought this great troop of French to

surprise us, claim you as a ward of the crown, and carry you away

with him to some prison of his own.”

 

“You will not let me go?” said Richard.

 

“Not while I live,” said Sir Eric. “Alberic is gone to warn the

Count of Harcourt, to call the Normans together, and here we are

ready to defend this chamber to our last breath, but we are few, the

French are many, and succour may be far off.”

 

“Then you meant to have taken me out of their reach this morning,

Osmond?”

 

“Yes, my Lord.”

 

“And if I had not flown into a passion and told who I was, I might

have been safe! O Sir Eric! Sir Eric! you will not let me be

carried off to a French prison!”

 

“Here, my child,” said Dame Astrida, holding out her arms, “Sir Eric

will do all he can for you, but we are in God’s hands!”

 

Richard came and leant against her. “I wish I had not been in a

passion!” said he, sadly, after a silence; then looking at her in

wonder—“But how came you up all this way?”

 

“It is a long way for my old limbs,” said Fru Astrida, smiling, “but

my son helped me, and he deems it the only safe place in the Castle.”

 

“The safest,” said Sir Eric, “and that is not saying much for it.”

 

“Hark!” said Osmond, “what a tramping the Franks are making. They

are beginning to wonder where the Duke is.”

 

“To the stairs, Osmond,” said Sir Eric. “On that narrow step one man

may keep them at bay a long time. You can speak their jargon too,

and hold parley with them.”

 

“Perhaps they will think I am gone,” whispered Richard, “if they

cannot find me, and go away.”

 

Osmond and two of the Normans were, as he spoke, taking their stand

on the narrow spiral stair, where there was just room for one man on

the step. Osmond was the lowest, the other two above him, and it

would have been very hard for an enemy to force his way past them.

 

Osmond could plainly hear the sounds of the steps and voices of the

French as they consulted together, and sought for the Duke. A man at

length was heard clanking up these very stairs, till winding round,

he suddenly found himself close upon young de Centeville.

 

“Ha! Norman!” he cried, starting back in amazement, “what are you

doing here?”

 

“My duty,” answered Osmond, shortly. “I am here to guard this

stair;” and his drawn sword expressed the same intention.

 

The Frenchman drew back, and presently a whispering below was heard,

and soon after a voice came up the stairs, saying, “Norman—good

Norman—”

 

“What would you say?” replied Osmond, and the head of another Frank

appeared. “What means all this, my friend?” was the address. “Our

King comes as a guest to you, and you received him last evening as

loyal vassals. Wherefore have you now drawn out of the way, and

striven to bear off your young Duke into secret places? Truly it

looks not well that you should thus strive to keep him apart, and

therefore the King requires to see him instantly.”

 

“Sir Frenchman,” replied Osmond, “your King claims the Duke as his

ward. How that may be my father knows not, but as he was committed

to his charge by the states of Normandy, he holds himself bound to

keep him in his own hands until further orders from them.”

 

“That means, insolent Norman, that you intend to shut the boy up and

keep