“These are the captives won by my single arm, whom, according to all laws of chivalry, thine own true knight thus lays at thy feet, fair lady mine, to be disposed of at thine own gracious will and pleasure.”
And a smile of such sweetness lightened his features, that a murmur of “Blessings on his comely face!” ran through the assembly; and Adam indulged in a gruff startled murmur of “’Tis the Prince, or the devil himself!” while his young master, comprehending the gesture of the Prince, and overborne by the lovely winning graces of the Princess, stepped forward, doffing his cap and bending his knee, and signing to Adam to follow his example.
“Thou hast been daring peril again!” said the Princess, holding her husband’s arm, and looking up into his face with lovingly reproachful yet exulting eyes. “Yet I will not be troubled! Naught is danger to thee! And yet alone and unarmed to encounter such a sturdy savage as I see yonder! But there is blood on his brow! Let his hurt be looked to ere we speak of his fate.”
“He is at thy disposal, mi Dona,” returned Edward: “thou art the judge of both, and shall decide their lot when thou hast heard their tale.”
“It can scarce be a very dark one,” replied Eleanor, “or thou wouldst never have led them to such a judge!” Then turning to the prisoners, she began to say in her foreign English, “Follow the good father, friends—” when she broke off at fuller sight of the boy’s countenance, and exclaimed in Provençal, “I know the like of that face and mien!”
“Truly dost thou know it,” her husband replied; “but peace till thou hast cleared thy present court, and we can be private.—Follow the priest,” he added, “and await the Princess’s pleasure.”
They obeyed; and the priest led them through a side-door, through which they could still hear Eleanor’s sweet Castillian voice laying before her husband her difficulties in comprehending her various petitioners. The priest being English, was hardly more easily understood than his flock; and her lady spoke little but langue d’oui, the Northern French, which was as little serviceable in dealing with her Spanish and Provençal as with the rude West-Saxon-English. Edward’s deep manly tones were to be heard, however, now interrogating the peasants in their own tongue, now briefly interpreting to his wife in Provençal; and a listener could easily gather that his hand was as bounteous, his heart as merciful, as hers, save where attacks on the royal game had been requited by the trouble complained of; and that in such cases she pleaded in vain.
The captives, whom her husband had surrendered to her mercy, had been led into a great, long, low hall, with rudely-timbered sides, and rough beams to the roof, with a stone floor, and great open fire, over which a man-cook was chattering French to his bewildered English scullion. An oak table, and settles on either side of it, ran the whole length of the hall; and here the priest bade the two prisoners seat themselves. They obeyed—the boy slouching his cap over his face, averting it, and keeping as far as possible from the group of servants near the fire. The priest called for bread, meat, and beer, to be set before them; and after a moment’s examination of Adam’s bruise, applied the simple remedy that was all it required, and left them to their meal. Adam took this opportunity to growl in an undertone, “Does he there know you?” The reply was a nod of assent. “And you knew him?” Another nod; and then the boy, looking heedfully round, added in a quick, undertone, “Not till you were down. Then he helped me to restore you. You forgive me, Adam, now?” and he held out his hand, and wrung the rugged one of the forester.
“What should I forgive! Poor lad! you could not have striven in the Longshanks’ grasp! I was a fool not to guess how it was, when I saw you not knowing which way to look!”
“Hush!” broke in the youth with uplifted hand, as a page of about his own age came daintily into the hall, gathering his green robe about him as if he disdained the neighbourhood, and holding his head high under his jaunty tall feathered cap.