“Free! free!—this is freedom!” cried Richard, leaping up in the delicious cool evening breeze; “the Queen and Lothaire, and that grim room, all far behind.”
“Not so far yet,” said Osmond; “you must not call yourself safe till the Epte is between us and them. Into the saddle, my Lord; we must ride for our lives.”
Osmond helped the Duke to mount, and sprang to the saddle behind him, set spurs to the horse, and rode on at a quick rate, though not at full speed, as he wished to spare the horse. The twilight faded, the stars came out, and still he rode, his arm round the child, who, as night advanced, grew weary, and often sunk into a sort of half doze, conscious all the time of the trot of the horse. But each step was taking him further from Queen Gerberge, and nearer to Normandy; and what recked he of weariness? On—on; the stars grew pale again, and the first pink light of dawn showed in the eastern sky; the sun rose, mounted higher and higher, and the day grew hotter; the horse went more slowly, stumbled, and though Osmond halted and loosed the girth, he only mended his pace for a little while.
Osmond looked grievously perplexed; but they had not gone much further before a party of merchants came in sight, winding their way with a long train of loaded mules, and stout men to guard them, across the plains, like an eastern caravan in the desert. They gazed in surprise at the tall young Norman holding the child upon the worn-out war-horse.
“Sir merchant,” said Osmond to the first, “see you this steed? Better horse never was ridden; but he is sorely spent, and we must make speed. Let me barter him with you for yonder stout palfrey. He is worth twice as much, but I cannot stop to chaffer—ay or no at once.”
The merchant, seeing the value of Osmond’s gallant black, accepted the offer; and Osmond removing his saddle, and placing Richard on his new steed, again mounted, and on they went through the country which Osmond’s eye had marked with the sagacity men acquire by living in wild, unsettled places. The great marshes were now far less dangerous than in the winter, and they safely crossed them. There had, as yet, been no pursuit, and Osmond’s only fear was for his little charge, who, not having recovered his full strength since his illness, began to suffer greatly from fatigue in the heat of that broiling summer day, and leant against Osmond patiently, but very wearily, without moving or looking up. He scarcely revived when the sun went down, and a cool breeze sprang up, which much refreshed Osmond himself; and still more did it refresh the Squire to see, at length, winding through the green pastures, a blue river, on the opposite bank of which rose a high rocky mound, bearing a castle with many a turret and battlement.
“The Epte! the Epte! There is Normandy, sir! Look up, and see your own dukedom.” “Normandy!” cried Richard, sitting upright. “Oh, my own home!” Still the Epte was wide and deep, and the peril was not yet ended. Osmond looked anxiously, and rejoiced to see marks of cattle, as if it had been forded. “We must try it,” he said, and dismounting, he waded in, leading the horse, and firmly holding Richard in the saddle. Deep they went; the water rose to Richard’s feet, then to the horse’s neck; then the horse was swimming, and Osmond too, still keeping his firm hold; then there was ground again, the force of the current was less, and they were gaining the bank. At that instant, however, they perceived two men aiming at them with cross-bows from the castle, and another standing on the bank above them, who called out, “Hold! None pass the ford of Montémar without permission of the noble Dame Yolande.” “Ha! Bertrand, the Seneschal, is that you?” returned Osmond. “Who calls me by my name?” replied the Seneschal. “It is I, Osmond de Centeville. Open your gates quickly, Sir Seneschal; for here is the Duke, sorely in need of rest and refreshment.”
“The Duke!” exclaimed Bertrand, hurrying down to the landing-place, and throwing off his cap. “The Duke! the Duke!” rang out the shout from the men-at-arms on the battlements above and in an instant more Osmond had led the horse up from the water, and was exclaiming, “Look up, my Lord, look up! You are in your own dukedom again, and this is Alberic’s castle.”
“Welcome, indeed, most noble Lord Duke! Blessings on the day!” cried the Seneschal. “What joy for my Lady and my young Lord!”