The arrival of Lord Crawford and his guard put an immediate end to the engagement which we endeavoured to describe in the last chapter; and the Knight, throwing off his helmet, hastily gave the old lord his sword, saying, "Crawford, I render myself – But hither – and lend me your ear – a word, for God's sake – save the Duke of Orleans!"
"How? – what? – the Duke of Orleans!" exclaimed the Scottish commander, – "How came this, in the name of the foul fiend? It will ruin the callant with the King, for ever and a day."
"Ask no questions," said Dunois – for it was no other than he – "it was all my fault. – See, he stirs. I came forth but to have a snatch at yonder damsel, and make myself a landed and a married man – and see what is come on't. Keep back your canaille – let no man look upon him." So saying, he opened the visor of Orleans, and threw water on his face, which was afforded by the neighbouring lake.
Quentin Durward, meanwhile, stood like one planet-struck; so fast did new adventures pour in upon him. He had now, as the pale features of his first antagonist assured him, borne to the earth the first Prince of the blood in France, and had measured swords with her best champion, the celebrated Dunois; – both of them achievements honourable in themselves; but whether they might be called good service to the King, or so esteemed by him, was a very different question.
The Duke had now recovered his breath, and was able to sit up and give attention to what passed betwixt Dunois and Crawford, while the former pleaded eagerly, that there was no occasion to mention in the matter the name of the most noble Orleans, while he was ready to take the whole blame on his own shoulders; and to avouch that the Duke had only come thither in friendship to him.
Lord Crawford continued listening, with his eyes fixed on the ground, and from time to time he sighed and shook his head. At length he said, looking up, "Thou knowest, Dunois, that for thy father's sake, as well as thine own, I would full fain do thee a service."
"It is not for myself I demand any thing," answered Dunois. "Thou hast my sword, and I am your prisoner – what needs more? – But it is for this noble Prince, the only hope of France, if God should call the Dauphin. He only came hither to do me a favour – in an effort to make my fortune – in a matter which the King had partly encouraged."
"Dunois," replied Crawford, "if another had told me thou hadst brought the noble Prince into this jeopardy to serve any purpose of thine own, I had told him it was false. And now, that thou dost pretend so thyself, I can hardly believe it is for the sake of speaking the truth."
"Noble Crawford," said Orleans, who had now entirely recovered from his swoon, "you are too like in character to your friend Dunois, not to do him justice. It was indeed I that dragged him hither, most unwillingly, upon an enterprise of harebrained passion, suddenly and rashly undertaken. – Look on me all who will," he added, rising up and turning to the soldiery – "I am Louis of Orleans, willing to pay the penalty of my own folly. I trust the King will limit his displeasure to me, as is but just. – Meanwhile, as a child of France must not give up his sword to any one – not even to you, brave Crawford – fare thee well, good steel."
So saying, he drew his sword from its scabbard, and flung it into the lake. It went through the air like a stream of lightning, and sunk in the flashing waters, which speedily closed over it. All remained standing in irresolution and astonishment, so high was the rank, and so much esteemed was the character, of the culprit; while, at the same time, all were conscious that the consequences of his rash enterprise, considering the views which the King had upon him, were likely to end in his utter ruin.
Dunois was the first who spoke, and it was in the chiding tone of an offended, and distrusted friend: – "So! your Highness hath judged it fit to cast away your best sword, in the same morning when it was your pleasure to fling away the King's favour, and to slight the friendship of Dunois?"
"My dearest kinsman," said the Duke, "when or how was it in my purpose to slight your friendship, by telling the truth, when it was due to your safety and my honour?"
"What had you to do with my safety, my most princely cousin, I would pray to know?" answered Dunois gruffly; – "What, in God's name, was it to you, if I had a mind to be hanged or strangled, or flung into the Loire, or poniarded, or broke on the wheel, or hung up alive in an iron cage, or buried alive in a castle-fosse, or disposed of in any other way in which it might please King Louis to get rid of his faithful subject? – (you need not wink and frown, and point to Tristan l'Hermite – I see the scoundrel as well as you do.) But it would not have stood so hard with me – And so much for my safety. And then for your own honour – by the blush of Saint Magdalene, I think the honour would have been to have missed this morning's work, or kept it out of sight. Here has your highness got yourself unhorsed by a wild Scottish boy."
"Tut, tut!" said Lord Crawford; "never shame his Highness for that. It is not the first time a Scottish boy hath broke a good lance – I am glad the youth hath borne him well."
"I will say nothing to the contrary," said Dunois; "yet, had your Lordship come something later than you did, there might have been a vacancy in your band of Archers."
"Ay, ay," answered Lord Crawford; "I can read your handwriting in that cleft morion. – Some one take it from the lad, and give him a bonnet, which, with its steel lining, will keep his head better than that broken loom. – And let me tell your Lordship, that your own armour of proof is not without some marks of good Scottish handwriting. – But, Dunois, I must now request the Duke of Orleans and you to take horse and accompany me, as I have power and commission to convey you to a place different from that which my good-will might assign you."
"May I not speak one word, my Lord of Crawford, to yonder fair ladies?" said the Duke of Orleans.
"Not one syllable," answered Lord Crawford; "I am too much a friend of your Highness to permit such an act of folly." – Then, addressing Quentin, he added, "You, young man, have done your duty. Go on to obey the charge with which you are instrusted."
"Under favour, my Lord," said Tristan, with his usual brutality of manner, "the youth must find another guide. I cannot do without Petit-André, when there is so like to be business on hand for him."
"The young man," said Petit-André, now coming forward, "has only to keep the path which lies straight before him, and it will conduct him to a place where he will find the man who is to act as his guide. – I would not for a thousand ducats be absent from my Chief this day! I have hanged knights and squires many a one, and wealthy Echevins, and burgomasters to boot – even counts and marquisses have tasted of my handywork – but, a-humph" – He looked at the Duke, as if to intimate that he would have filled up the blank, with "a Prince of the blood!" – "Ho, ho, ho! Petit-André, thou wilt be read of in Chronicle!"
"Do you permit your ruffians to hold such language in such a presence?" said Crawford, looking sternly to Tristan.
"Why do you not correct him yourself, my Lord?" said Tristan, sullenly.
"Because thy hand is the only one in this company that can beat him, without being degraded by such an action."
"Then rule your own men, my Lord, and I will be answerable for mine," said the Provost-Marshal.
Lord Crawford seemed about to give a passionate reply; but, as if he had thought better of it, turned his back short upon Tristan, and requesting the Duke of Orleans and Dunois to ride one on either hand of him, he made a signal of adieu to the ladies, and said to Quentin, "God bless thee, my child; thou hast begun thy service valiantly, though in an unhappy cause." He was about to go off – when Quentin could hear Dunois whisper to Crawford, "Do you carry us to Plessis?"