CHAPTER XXXIII
HOUSE OF THE DYCK GRAF
With every exertion, the best of men can do but a moderate amount of good; but it seems in the power of the most contemptible individual to do indescribable mischief. – Washington Irving.
While the lonely Sir Patrick Gray, full of sombre and exciting thoughts, retired to his hostelry to consider and to plan the deliverance of Murielle from her own family, the house of Messire Jacques de Lalain, the Dyck Graf or hereditary governor of Bommel, which had been assigned as a temporary residence to the powerful Scottish noble and his retinue, became brilliantly lighted up.
In the principal chamber were grouped together many of the personages whom we last saw together, at the abbot's house in Edinburgh, on that eventful evening of November, 1440. It was noble in aspect, loftily ceiled, and floridly decorated in the Flemish fashion of that age of profusion, the walls and roof being covered with quaint devices and heraldic blazons, by Jan Van Eyck, a native of Maeseyk, who, in 1410, attained great perfection in the mixing of oil colours. Within a fireplace, lined with Dutch tiles, blazed a pile of logs across the massive bar of the and-irons. On an oaken buffet stood a gigantic lion, formed entirely of Delft ware, the crest of Gueldres, as it sprang from a ducal crown. From the ceiling hung a gilded chandelier, a veritable pyramid of candles, which shed a flood of light upon the guests below.
And striking groups they formed, the ladies having long veils of the richest white lace, falling from the summits of their lofty horned head-dresses; while their other garments, cote-hardies and skirts, were of the finest silk, taffeta, and gauze, covered with pearls, jewels, and embroidery; the hues and fashion of the attire of all these noble demoiselles making them resemble the queens of clubs and spades, just as we may see them on a pack of cards.
The apparel of the gentlemen was much of the same material – gay in colour, and gorgeous as embroidery and jewels could make it, with here and there a richly engraved cuirass of Milan plate, a gorget of burnished steel, or a diamond studded dagger-hilt, to impart a military character to the wearer.
An old cavalier, with a high bald forehead, a beard so long that Ferdinand of Toledo might have envied it, and who wore the mantle and jewel of the Golden Fleece of Burgundy, was conversing in French with the earl of Douglas. He was Jacques de Lalain, a noble Burgundian knight, hereditary Burg Graf of the town and castle of Bommel. While seeming to converse with the earl, who was speaking of King Charles VII. and Duke Philip the Good, and what might result from a war between France and Burgundy, with the adverse parts which Scotland and England were certain to take therein, he was gazing with pleasure on a group of Scottish girls, who by the fine carriage of their heads, their general bearing, and more than all by the whiteness of their hands, evinced that they inherited the best blood and highest breeding in the land.
They were, in fact, the Countess Margaret and Murielle, her sister; the countess of Ormond; dark-eyed Maud Douglas, of Pompherston; Mariota, of Glendoning; the golden-haired Caillean Rua; Lady Jean, of Cairnglas; and the three daughters of Sir Alan Lauder. The gentlemen who conversed with them, and played at chess with some, at tables (an old name for backgammon) with others, were the knights and esquires of the earl's retinue.
Amid these were two persons already introduced to the reader – Robert, duke of Albany, and Ludwig, count of Endhoven, whom as a simple Burgundian knight, he had, with his usual recklessness, dared to introduce to this high circle.
It was not without secret emotions of pleasure and satisfaction, that the blasé royal outlaw beheld the girlish beauty of Murielle. Though in no mood for marrying, and long since used to consider women only as tools or playthings, to be cast aside when no longer needed, he conceived that he might find such a wife, for a time, the reverse of a tedium or an encumbrance; and, that on the simple condition of wedding her, he could enter with ardour into those daring schemes which promised vengeance to Douglas and a throne to himself.
Gay, handsome, and richly dressed, he leaned upon the high back of her chair, and insisted on conversing with her, flattering himself that he was making considerable progress, though the memory of Gray's sad loving eyes, and of his lover's kiss, yet lingered in her mind; but she was too well bred to treat the duke as he deserved; too gentle and too timid to repel him; and, moreover, too proud to acknowledge the footing upon which he affected to place himself with her – a position on which she was daily rallied by the countess and her ladies of the tabourette, until her little heart waxed wroth.
There were times also, when Albany, piqued by a coldness and reserve that were new to him, actually nursed himself into the conviction that he was desperately in love with this little beauty – if love in a heart so roué were a possibility.
Near them sat Count Ludwig, affecting to be entirely occupied with a bloodhound, which the Dyck Graf had presented to the countess. It was a spotless dog, of "Black St. Hubert's breed," but white as snow, and was named Souyllard, after that famous hound of the prince of Lorraine, which is thus extolled in the "Noble Art of Venerie:"
"My name first came from holy Hubert's race;
Souyllard my sire, a hound of singular grace."
The reckless Ludwig, as he gazed on the beauty of Murielle, began to conceive some very daring schemes on his own account, as his armed Brabanciones, to the number of some hundreds, lurked in the Peel morass and woods on the other side of the Waal. He allowed his imagination to run riot, and while affecting to caress the powerful hound on the one hand, and converse with the abbot of Tongland on the other, he saw before him only the sweet girl's gentle eyes, which drooped, and her little coral mouth, which paled, whenever his bold glance fell on her.
The abbot and she exchanged smiles from time to time. He was full of commiseration and alarm for Sir Patrick Gray, whose preceptor he had been, and he was thinking of that peaceful and pleasant time in Tongland Abbey, when he was wont to take him once daily to read the works of St. Augustine, or a page of the Gospels in old monkish Latin. Each of these stood under an iron grating in the church, where a leaf of them was turned daily for the behoof of the learned or the pious; but Gray and MacLellan, like wayward boys, to get rid of the task which bored them, stole the key of the grille, and threw it into the Dee.
The poor old abbot had very little idea of the real character of the personage with whom he was conversing; and the reader may imagine the astonishment with which the robber count listened to him, and the undisguised merriment with which he treated his great project regarding the restoration of the Man of Sin. In short, Count Ludwig deemed our worthy abbot neither a well-deserving divine nor eccentric pedant, but a veritable madman, and so often muttering several times, "Der Teufel hole dich!" or "Sangdieu!" and so forth, he ceased to listen, and continued to gaze covertly at Murielle.
The recent interview with her lover gave a brilliance to her beauty, and a radiance to her expression; her slight but finely rounded form, being clad in cloth of silver under a robe of white gauze, seemed to stand forth in brilliant relief from the dark tapestry of the room. A silver caul confined her hair; her ornaments were all Scottish pearls, and everything about her appeared pure, girlish, and angelic – and so thought both the roué duke and the ruffian count.
Her eyes wandered frequently to the latter, though he terrified her, and she knew not why; but she pitied him for having such a terrible scar on his face, and it made her think of Patrick Gray. Little dreaming that his sword had inflicted it, she timidly inquired of the duke where that wound was received.
"In a battle with the Burgundians," replied the others readily, "a desperate one, when he slew all their men-at-arms."
"But is not he of Burgundy?" said Murielle with surprise.
"Ah, true; I meant to say with the French – but they fight so many," added the unabashed duke.
After this Murielle relapsed into silence, for she listened to Albany rather than conversed with him. Hitherto she had steadily refused to meet him; but she was too little in stature and too gentle in spirit to be a heroine either in romance or history; and perceived now the futility of resisting further to receive him, as it had been arranged that the duke was to accompany the earl to Rome, to the end that during the journey he might ingratiate himself with her, and that there the marriage would be performed, after his betrothal to Mademoiselle of France had been cancelled by the Vatican – a measure which the French king, since Albany's change of fortune and position, most earnestly desired.
And now James Achanna entered, with a smile spreading over his cat-like visage, when he saw how this goodly company were grouped.
He wished to gain the ear of the earl, but that formidable personage was conversing with the Dyck Graf.
When approaching he passed close to Murielle, who, while seeming to listen to Albany, was lost in reverie, and was unconsciously drawing from her pretty finger a pearl ring which Gray in happier times had given her. At that moment it suddenly slipped from her hand, and rolled among the rushes of the floor.
Quick as his wicked thought, Achanna let his handkerchief drop in the same place, and adroitly picked them up together.
"Good," he muttered, "this may prove useful."
We shall soon see what use he made of this ring.
Cautious in action, stealthy in step and eye, sharp in question but vague in answer – his eyes and ears ever open, and his tongue always prepared to speak in an age when men were slower in word than deed, – James Achanna was indeed a fitting tool for an unscrupulous feudal lord. Taking the opportunity of the Dyck Graf addressing a few words to the countesses of Douglas and Ormond, he said to the earl in a whisper, – "Would it please you, my lord, to play a game with me at tables?"
Then perceiving that the earl glanced at him with some disdain in his eye and hauteur in his manner, the politic Achanna added in a low voice, – "I have that to say which must be said instantly, and which none must overhear."
"Oh, we are to play a double game!" replied the earl with a sudden glance of intelligence; "bring hither the tables, the men, and the dice."
Achanna and he withdrew into the recess of a window. The tables were speedily opened, the men were marshalled, and the game began; but Achanna waited until his lord should make the first move.
"Proceed," said the latter impatiently.
"I am, then, to make the first move?"
"If it please you – begin."
They bent their heads near, as if interested in the game, and proceeded to push their men about vaguely, but vigorously.
"I told you, my lord, that I had met a certain Laird of Luaig," commenced Achanna.
"Yes, yes, at Grave."
"Well, I had my suspicions that the pretended laird of Luaig was no other than he we all wot of."
"Whom mean you – Gray?"
"Sir Patrick Gray of Foulis, captain of the king's guard; and now my suspicions are confirmed."
The earl started, and his eyes flashed with dusky fire, but controlling his emotion he simply asked, – "How?"
"I discovered him by watching the Lady Murielle. Cogsbones! I knew that the cock bird would soon find the hen."
"Sirrah," said the earl frowning, "you speak of a sister of the countess of Douglas – quick to the point, lest I hang you from that window by one of the curtain ropes!"
"Your pardon, Lord Earl; my speech is ruder than my thoughts," cringed the other.
"Quick!" continued the earl, almost grinding his teeth.
In a few words Achanna rapidly related the interview, which, by chance, he had overheard, in the church of St. Genevieve, and the earl was filled by such a tempest of anger that he became all but speechless; yet by a great effort of self-control, an effort the more painful that such exertion was quite unusual – he contented himself by glaring from under his black bushy eyebrows at poor unconscious Murielle with an expression as if he would have annihilated her.
"Think you the abbot took her there to meet him?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Where?"
"Thou ass! to the church of St. Genevieve?"
"Heaven forfend! no; 'twas he who saved her from Gray," whined the sycophant vassal.
"It is well," said the earl in a quiet voice, but with fury still kindling in his eye and quivering on his lip; "were it otherwise, by St. Bryde, I'd unfrock and scourge him through these streets of Bommel with a horse halter, a mitred abbot and my confessor though he be!"
"Who, think you, my lord, brought to Lady Murielle at Thrave, the tidings that Gray still lived?"
"I would give this golden chain to know."
"I overheard – "
"His name – his name?"
"Sir Thomas MacLellan, of Bombie."
"Gray's kinsman, the lieutenant of the guard?"
"Yes, my lord," said Achanna, sweeping into his girdle pouch the gold chain which the earl quietly passed to him; "and long ago I had further proof that it was he."
"But for the assurance she received, by letter, of Gray's existence, she would now, I doubt not, have been duchess of Albany, and might have spared us this journey to Rome."
"You remember, my lord, that the letter was tied to an arrow, which struck the turf at her feet as she walked by the side of the Dee?"
"Yes, I remember to have heard so."
"I found that arrow, and a week after, Malise MacKim, the smith, found a quiver full lying among the rushes. The two chevrons sable of MacLellan were painted on it, and the letter which bore the arrow was one of the same sheaf, the same shaft, notch, and feather; for, but a week before, Sir Thomas had bought them in the Friars Wynd, at Dumfries, as he passed south from Edinburgh."
"So, so!" said the earl, grinding his teeth; "if God and St. Bryde of Douglas permit me once again to cross the bridge of Dumfries I shall have a vengeance on MacLellan, so sure and deadly, that all Scotland shall ring with it from sea to sea."
And terribly the earl kept his vow.
"But where," he added, "is our lover at present?"
"That I have yet to discover."
"The Dyck Graf," began the earl, starting up; but Achanna caught his sleeve, saying, "Nay, nay, my lord, he will be certain to protect him. We cannot make a raid in Flanders as we might in Nithsdale."
"True, we must be secret. Oh, that I had them both, this Gray and MacLellan within ten Scottish miles of our gallows knob at Thrave, I would soon mar the interference of the one and the wooing of the other. I would summon all the Corbies in Deeside to his spousals."
"Leave the sequel to me, lord earl," said Achanna, in a low impressive whisper, "and Sir Patrick shall be punished even to your heart's content."
"Assure me but of that, Achanna, and thou shalt pocket a thousand silver crowns," said Douglas, pressing the hand of his trusty vagabond.
With his natural ferocity of disposition, and being usually in the habit of giving full vent to every gust of fury, the earl found great difficulty in preserving an aspect of external composure during the remainder of the evening; but immediately on the Dyck Graf's departure for the castle of Bommel, the company broke up, and Douglas prepared to retire, with a scowl on his brow, and bitterness in his heart.
"God – den to you, father abbot; art still labouring hard to ruin the empire of the prince of darkness? Oh, if ever thou shouldst fall into his hand!" said he with a mocking laugh, as he passed the worthy churchman, who started at the sound, for Douglas seldom laughed, and never in merriment.
Achanna and Count Ludwig, who had been extremely ill at ease in the vicinity of the Dyck Graf, now withdrew together to plot mischief and to discover Gray.
"James Achanna," said Albany, as they were bowing themselves out, "remember that I am to see you to-morrow."
"At Carl Langfanger's auberge, The Forester."
"Yes, at noon."
"I am at the disposal of your highness," said Achanna, using the title by which kings were then addressed in Scotland and England.
Albany started, and the colour mounted to his usually pale temples as he said, "Sir, I desire that you will not address me thus."
"Why!" asked the earl with surprise as he paused in the doorway.
"Because I consider it premature, and as such unlucky."
"Your grace, perhaps, is right," replied the earl, gloomily, and somewhat contemptuously; "however, time will show."
CHAPTER XXXIV
NOON – THE PLOT
'Twas thus these cozening villains laid their scheme
Against his life, his youth, and comeliness:
Woe worth the end! —
Old Play.
Three miles from the southern gate of Bommel, on the road which led to Ameldroyen, there stood a solitary auberge, or wayside tavern. It was named The Forester, from the circumstance that on a signboard it had a hideous representation of a hunter sounding a horn, and this passed for a likeness of Liderick du Bucq, the first forester of Flanders.
The signboard, moreover, informed the passers, in tolerably-spelt Flemish, that there was entertainment for man and horse, with good German beer within; while a green bush, which hung over the door in the more ancient fashion, announced that there also could be had the good wines of Alicant and Burgundy, with perhaps the strong waters of Anjou and Languedoc, i. e., brandy.
The country in its vicinity was lonely, and thinly populated. Save a wind-mill or two, and a gibbet on an eminence, with a man hanging thereon between the spectator and the sky, there was little to be seen but the dense forest, which then spread for miles along the banks of the river Waal, and away towards Bois-le-duc and Ravenstein.
This auberge, a rickety old house, the roof and walls of which some masses of ivy and woodbine alone seemed to hold together, was kept by Carl Langfanger, an old Brabancione, or disbanded soldier; and it was, in fact, one of the many secret rendezvous of Count Ludwig's military outlaws.
On the day after the night just described, three horsemen arrived at the auberge about noon, and within ten minutes of each other. They placed their horses in a shed behind the edifice, where a Brabancione, named Gustaf Vlierbeke, a very "ragged robin" indeed, acted as groom. They then met in an upper room, on the bare and dirty table of which wine, unasked for and unordered, was placed; and, we may mention, that their swords and daggers were not required by the slipshod tapster, though such was the custom in those days in all well-ordered taverns throughout Christendom.
These three personages were the exiled duke of Albany, the outlawed count of Endhoven, and that "Scottish worthy," Master James Achanna.
Their greetings were more brief than courteous, and after imbibing each a long horn of wine, they drew their chairs close to the table, as if to confer confidentially.
"More wine now, that we may not be interrupted hereafter," said Albany, as a preliminary.
"Have we not had enough?" asked Achanna, warily.
"Bah! I am not a hermit, and have no need of endeavouring to resemble old Anthony of Padua."
"Der teufel! our fair ones would not esteem you the more for seeking to do so," said Ludwig.
The duke smiled complacently, caressed his well-pointed moustache, and played with the tassels of his velvet cloak.
"Duke," said Ludwig, "you have sworn to love this lady?"
"Love her?" reiterated Albany, ponderingly.
"Yes; whether she will or not."
"Whom do you mean?"
"Teufel! who but Murielle Douglas!" said Ludwig, with surprise.
"Oh, of course, I swore it," said Albany, suddenly seeming to remember.
"Ah, there are moments in life when a man swears anything to a woman so pretty," replied Ludwig, burying his red nose in his wine-pot.
To elude discovery, as he knew well that the soldiers of the Dyck Graf and the halberdiers of the burgomaster were somewhat solicitous about his movements, Count Ludwig had adopted a new disguise. He was dressed like an Italian fantasin, in a jacket and pantaloons formed of long stripes of cloth of the Douglas colours, and wore on his breast a scutcheon, charged with those three stars which formed the paternal coat of the earl, for one of whose followers he wished pro temp. to pass. For this purpose he had smoothed over his usual ruffianly exterior, cut off his long bravo lock of hair, and, to enhance the respectability of his appearance, wore a large rosary.
"We have met, duke," said he; "so to the point. What have you to propose?"
"Simply, that we must get rid of our troublesome lover," replied Duke Robert, mixing two kinds of wine, Burgundy and Alicant, and draining them at a draught.
"But first, we must discover his residence," suggested Achanna.
"Carl Langfanger, our worthy tavernier, will soon do that for us," said Ludwig.
"I am not unskilful in the use of my sword," said the misguided duke of Albany; "I have already been victor in four duels, three in Paris and one in Flanders, and might be victorious in a fifth. Why should I not challenge and fight him? Count Ludwig, wouldst bear my glove to this man?"
"What, your highness – grace, I mean!" stammered Achanna, with one of his hateful smiles, "would you commit all that is at issue to the chance of an unlucky sword-thrust? Nay, nay, I'll to the earl – this must not be."
"So say I, sangdieu! Der teufel hole dich!" growled Count Ludwig, whose oaths were alternately French and Flemish; "I have a bone to pick with our traveller, and, by Gott in himmel! I will have satisfaction for the slash he gave me on the face."
"Please yourselves," said Albany, with a bored air, applying again to the wine, as if he was in haste to intoxicate himself; "only rid the earl, Lady Murielle, and me of him."
"We will arrange a most lover-like rendezvous, and as sure as the devil hath horns, we shall catch our amorous traveller," said Ludwig; "what say you, Messire Achanna, and you, Monseigneur, Mein Herr, or how der teufel am I to address you?"
"A rendezvous," repeated Achanna, "where?"
"Here."
"At this solitary auberge?"
"Der teufels braden! what would the man have? The more solitary the better, and where can a fitter place be found? My trusty Brabanciones all within call, and close by the wood with its wolves, ha! ha!" and Ludwig burst into a loud laugh, which expressed cruelty and ferocity, but not merriment.
"As for the snare, it is easy when we have this to bait our trap with," said Achanna, displaying the pearl ring, for the loss of which poor Murielle was then breaking her little heart. He then related how he became possessed of it, and with what intention.
"Good, good! ter teufel! it is admirable," shouted Ludwig, striking the rickety table with his clenched hand. "But after luring him here with this, what do you propose to do?"
Achanna glanced at the duke of Albany, who was already dozing off to sleep, with his flushed forehead resting on his hands, and said, "What do you propose – a combat at snick and snee?"
Ludwig ground his teeth with rage, at the recollection of that affair at Endhoven, and said, with a strange smile, "Listen: my Brabanciones are all very good fellows, but are very irritable and very excitable; and so, in a moment of their excitement and irritability, they may burn out our prisoner's eyes with this iron, when red hot," said the bantering ruffian, suddenly displaying a curious steel instrument, fashioned apparently for the express purpose of blinding, as it had the form of a spur, or the letter U with a handle, the points for entering the eyes being about two inches apart.
"He will die, and in torment!" exclaimed Albany, with an expression of disgust on his handsome, but tipsy face; "and if I engage in aught so rascally, may the Devil twist my neck!"
"I fear that is a task reserved for one of less rank," muttered the rash count of Endhoven, in a low voice.
"Say you, sir!" thundered Albany, starting to the full height of his tall figure, and turning the buckle of his belt behind him. As this was a challenge in those days, Ludwig changed colour.
"I pray your grace," urged Achanna, starting forward.
"Dost think I will permit this Flemish flouting-jack to make a jest of me?" said the duke furiously.
"Nay, mein Herr – Gott in himmel! I made no jest of you," said Ludwig, unwilling by a brawl to frustrate his own private objects, and future profit.
"Very well – very well – carbonado him if you please, but trouble me not on the subject," replied Albany, with an air of ennui, as he drained his cup again.
"This process of yours will certainly kill our man," said Achanna, in a low voice, as Albany sank his head on the table, already overcome with wine.
"Not immediately," replied the count, with a diabolical grimace. "My Brabanciones will tie him naked on an old bare-backed horse – place a blazing brand under its tail, and then set it loose, mad with pain and fear in the forest among wolves. Der Teufel! a rare thought! but not a word of all this to your soft-hearted duke of Albany," whispered Ludwig; "I do not think he would admire my rough mode for disposing of a rival. He would be for measuring swords with him quietly, and getting run through the body. But I – der Teufels braden! I have this slash on the face to avenge, and with the assistance of my friends, the wolves of the Waal, I shall do it amply! When Ludwig of Endhoven shows his teeth the wolves laugh!"
The singular cruelty of this proposal almost exceeded the malevolence of Achanna, who had no other idea than having Gray cut off by violent means; but as the victim stood in the path of his lord the earl, and a thousand crowns were the price of his removal, Achanna considered it a somewhat secondary matter how it was effected.
Carl Langfanger was despatched into the city of Bommel, with an accurate description of Gray, and of his Muscovite disguise, and with instructions to inquire at all the hostelries, to discover his present quarters. He was also entrusted with the ring of Murielle, which he was to deliver as his credential, and armed therewith, to request Sir Patrick to meet her near the auberge, named The Forester of Flanders, on the Ameldroyen road; and old Carl, a practised plotter, and most careful rascal, departed with confidence to discover their victim, and arrange the rendezvous.
"Are we safe in trusting this man, Carl?" asked Achanna.
"He is sure as he is secret," replied Ludwig; "I would have gone on this mission myself, but I must beware of that old devil the Dyck Graf; for Duke Arnold of Gueldres has sworn to punish me in the same fashion that Count Peter of Orscamp was punished by Baldwin With-the-Hatchet."
"How was that?"
"The poor count was frequently put to his shifts, as I am, and having fancied two bullocks, which belonged to a widow at Vandal, Baldwin ordered him to be cast in his armour into a cauldron of boiling oil, in the market-place of Bruges, where he perished miserably, before a mighty multitude."
"And Duke Arnold has set a price upon you?"
"A thousand guilders. So you see, my friend, I am of some value to the state."
So Achanna thought, and he began to conceive, that these guilders, if he could earn them, would form a very seasonable addition to the thousand crowns from the earl.
Meanwhile, he had no suspicion that the subtle outlaw with whom he plotted had conceived the idea of luring Murielle to a rendezvous there or elsewhere, by means of the same ring, after her lover had been disposed of; and thus, if the snare proved successful, he resolved to delude alike the duke and the earl, and bear her off for his own purposes to one of those wild forests with which that part of Flanders then abounded; and with all the secret paths, strengths, ruined castles, and lurking-places of which, his predatory life had long rendered him familiar.
Drowsily and tipsily the unfortunate duke of Albany slept, half reclined upon the table. While he was in this position, and during the absence of Achanna for more wine, Ludwig took care of his purse, and some other little matters of value, which he might otherwise have lost; and so night closed in upon the solitary auberge, while Langfanger, its proprietor, was pursuing his inquiries amid the busy streets of Bommel.