"No power!" repeated the Earl. "Wherefore then is he there? Leave me but land in safety, and Messire de Vauclere, and my masters the townsmen, shall soon behold if I have any power or no! No power, quotha! Well! better luck next time. Get you up, lad, and bring the wine, for 'tis sore needed. Bid the shipmaster stand southward. Were we in better case, they should find their ears tingle ere they were much older! Messire de Vauclere shall one day hear my name again, or I much mistake!"
And away strode the Earl wrathfully, to communicate the disappointing news to his suffering ladies.
Southwards, for two days more, they slowly sailed. The storm was over, and the wind had dropped almost to a calm. But at the end of two days, with much difficulty, the vessel containing the Earl and his family was run into the mouth of the Seine, and between Harfleur and Honfleur they landed on the soil of Normandy.
In France the scene was changed. Louis XI. had been pleased to take up the Lancastrian cause—the cause of the King who had of old, as a child, been made the rival of Louis's father, and whose troops had been so ignominiously driven out of France by the Maid. In France, therefore, Warwick was received with honour and material help. Every provision was made for the wearied ladies at Valognes, where they took up their temporary abode: but for some weeks nothing would tempt Warwick from Honfleur—not even the remonstrances of his friend the Duke of Burgundy, who sent to entreat him to come to his Court. One important point was wanting—Queen Marguerite would make no move towards conciliation. In vain King Louis assured her that Warwick's help was absolutely essential to the Lancastrian cause. The Queen might have welcomed him, but the cruel defamation of her name the woman knew not how to forgive. She only relented after long importunity, and then on the stern condition that in the presence of the Kings of France and Naples, Warwick should solemnly retract all his accusations, and beg her pardon for his infamous falsehoods. She also insisted on this retractation being published in England. Finding that no better terms could be obtained from his insulted sovereign, Warwick was compelled to eat this most unpalatable piece of humble-pie with what appetite he might. He waited on the Queen at Angers, where he begged her pardon on his knees, and formally unsaid all the imputations which he had made upon her character. Even then all present could see that Marguerite found it a very bitter task to receive her enemy into favour. After this humiliating scene, the Earl rejoined his ladies, and some weeks later they travelled together to the Castle of Amboise, where their royal hosts were then residing.
The Castle of Amboise stands on one of those natural platforms of rock which in and about Touraine gem the vale of the Loire; the little town clustering at its foot, between it and the river, while the Palace towers above all. Were it not for them, the scenery would be as flat as the sea. But wherever they stand up there is a little oasis of beauty, for they are generally clad in verdure, as well as crowned with some picturesque edifice of the Middle Ages.
It was after dark when the barge which bore the fugitives was moored at Amboise. Royal footmen stood on each side of the landing-stage, bearing large torches, and royal ushers handed the ladies from the barge, and led them into the Castle. As Frideswide was modestly following her mistress, the last of the group, rather to her surprise, a hand was offered her, and a voice asked her in English if she were not very tired.
Frideswide looked up into the pleasant face of a man of some thirty years of age, who wore the royal livery of England. Livery, it must be remembered, was not at that time any badge of servitude; all the King's equerries, household officers, and gentlemen ushers, wore his livery. This man was of fine proportions, had bright, dark, intelligent eyes, and wore—what few then did—a long beard and moustache. There was a kind, friendly expression in his face which made Frideswide feel at her ease. She answered the sympathising inquiry by a smiling affirmative.
"Well, here may you find good rest," said he. "At the least, after all these stairs be clomb, which I fear shall yet weary you somewhat. Shall we, of your good pleasure, make acquaintance? I am the Queen's henchman."
"Master Combe?" asked Frideswide, looking up.
"John Combe, and your servant," said he. "Truly a lowly name—it could scarce be shorter—but it hath serven me these thirty years, and yet shall, if it please God."