"What sort of letter?" demanded De Roucq, sharply. "What is the letter for?"
"To call the Duke back to Flanders," replied Richard of Woodville. "I will be the person to deliver it, should need be."
"Ay, that were as well," answered the old knight; "though doubtless he has arranged already for some one to meet him; yet no harm of two. It shall be written as if others had been sent before. I will call my clerk, for of writing I know nought."
"In the meanwhile I will see for a guide," answered Woodville; and going forth, he inquired, amongst the attendants of the young Lord of Lens and the men-at-arms of the Count of Charolois, for some one who was acquainted with the forest of Hallate. One of the latter had been there in former days, and remembered something of the roads, with which amount of information Richard of Woodville was forced to content himself, trusting to meet with some peasant on the spot who might guide him better. He then gave orders for bringing out the horses without farther delay, and for charging each saddle with two feeds of corn; and returning to the Lord of Roucq, he found him dictating a letter, by the light of a lamp, to a man with a shaven crown. Before it was finished, for the style of the good knight was not fluent, the jingle of arms and the tramp of horses' feet were heard before the inn; and looking round, with a well-satisfied smile, the old soldier exclaimed, "Ha! this is well!--This is the way to win los. There, that will do, Master Peter; fold and seal it. Then for the superscription, as you know how."
Some five minutes, however, were spent upon heating the wax, tying up the packet, and writing the address, during which time Richard of Woodville looked on with no small impatience, fearing that he might be forestalled by others in executing a task which promised some distinction. At length all was complete; and, taking the letter eagerly, he hurried out and sprang into the saddle.
The Lord of Roucq added various cautions and directions, walking by the young Englishman's horse for some way through the village; but at length he left him; and putting his troop to a quicker pace, Woodville rode on towards Pont St. Maxence.
CHAPTER XXVI.
[THE ACHIEVEMENT.]
The forest of Hallate--of which the great forest of Chantilly, as it is called, is in fact but an insignificant remnant,--was, in the days of Philip of Valois, one of the most magnificent woods at that time in Europe, giving its name to a whole district, in the midst of which was situated the fine old palace and abbey of St. Christopher, or St. Christofle en Hallate, the scene of many of the most important transactions in French history. I do not find that the palace was much used in the reign of Charles VI.; and it was very possibly going to decay, though the abbey attached to it still remained tenanted by its monks, and the forest still afforded the sport of the chase to the French monarchs and their court, being filled with wolves, stags, boars, and even bears (if we may believe the accounts of the time), which were preserved with more care, from all but princely hands, than even the subjects of the Sovereign.
The great variety of the ground--the hills, the dales, the fountains, the cliffs, that the district presented--the rivers that intersected it, the deep glades and wild savannahs of the forest itself--the villages, the towns, the chapels, the monasteries, which nestled themselves, as it were, into its bosom--the profound solitude of some parts, the busy cultivation of others, the desert-like desolation of certain spots, and the soft, calm monotony of seemingly interminable trees which was to be found in different tracts--rendered the forest of Hallate one of the most interesting and changeful scenes through which the wandering foot of man could rove. Whether he sought the city or the hermitage, whether the grave or the gay, whether the sun or the shade, here he might suit his taste; and the mutations of the sky, in winter, in summer, in morning, in evening, in sunshine, or in clouds, added new changes to each individual spot, and varied still farther a scene which in itself seemed endless in its variety.