Mary waved her hand: "Bid him hither!--quick!" she cried. "Suspense is worse than any tidings. Quick, my lord! Bid him hither, without pause of idle ceremony."
Imbercourt withdrew to obey; and while Mary gazed with eager eyes upon the door, Margaret of York fixed her glance with melancholy interest on her fair step-daughter, more anxious for Mary of Burgundy--in whom she had found as much affection as she could have expected from a child of her own bosom--than even for a husband, who had never greatly sought her love, and who had neglected her as soon as he found that she was destined to be childless. But a short time elapsed between the Lord of Imbercourt's departure and his return; but moments of apprehension would weigh down many long days of joy; and to Mary of Burgundy his absence seemed interminable. At length, however, he came, followed slowly by the old Lord of Neufchatel, unable, from wounds, and weariness, and exhaustion, to walk without the support of several attendants.
Even anxiety conquered not the gentleness of Mary's heart; and though she began by exclaiming, as he entered, "Well, my lord, speak!" she instantly paused, and continued, "Good Heaven! you are sadly wounded, sir. Bring forward that chair; send for the chirurgeon of the household. Sit you down, my Lord of Neufchatel. How fare you now?"
"Better than many a better man, madam," replied the old knight, more full of the disastrous tidings he bore, than even of his corporeal sufferings; "many a one lies cold that could fill the saddle now-a-days fax better than old Thibalt of Neufchatel."
"Good God! then, what are your tidings?" cried Mary, clasping her hands. "My father?--speak, sir!--my father?"
"Is well, I hope, lady," answered the old soldier; "but as for his army----"
"Stop, stop!" exclaimed the princess; "first, thank God for that! But are you sure, my lord, that he is safe?"
"Nay, nay, I cannot vouch it, lady," he replied; "his army, however, is no more. Fatal, most fatal, has been the duke's determination. All is lost in the field. The army of Burgundy is, as I have said, no more; and where the duke is, I cannot say, though I saw him galloping towards the left when I quitted the field, which was not amongst the first. Ah! had he but taken my advice," he added, with a rueful shake of the head; a slight touch of natural vanity obtruding itself, even then, in the midst of sincere grief of mind, and pain, and exhaustion of body: "Ah! had he but taken my advice, and not that of either the black traitor, Campo Basso, or of Chimay, and such boys as that! But, lady, I am faint and weary, for I have ridden harder to bear you these news, though they be sad ones, and to bid you prepare all sorts of reinforcements to check the enemy, than ever I thought to ride from a field of battle."
"But tell me, my lord," said Margaret of York, stepping forward, as Mary, overwhelmed with the tidings, sat gazing mournfully in the face of the old soldier, while her mind was afar; "but tell me, my lord, how all this has happened. Speak, for I have a right to hear; and my ear, alas! has been, from the cradle, too much accustomed to the details of battle and bloodshed, for my cheek to blanch or my heart to fail. Say, how went this luckless day?"
"Faith, good madam, I must be short with my tale," replied the Lord of Neufchatel, "for I know not how, but my breath fails me.--My lord the duke--God send him safe to Ghent! had sworn by all the saints, that no house of stone should ever cover his head till he had slept in Nancy, which, as you know, we had besieged some days. The enemy, in the meanwhile, lay over the water a league or two beyond St. Nicholas, and day by day increased in number, while day by day the forces of the duke fell off; for we had famine and disease, and--worse than all--traitors in the camp. But his Grace would not be warned, though many a one strove to warn him; and at length, on the Sunday morning, just five days since, the Swiss and Lorrainers, with their German and French allies and Italian traitors, marched boldly up towards our camp. Faith! it was a fair sight to see them come in two great bodies; one by the river, and the other by the high road from Neufville. Churls though they were, they made a gallant array. So then they came on. But, madam," he added, rising and supporting himself by the back of the chair, "I love not to think of it! Good sooth, it makes my heart swell too much to tell the whole just now. We were soon hand to hand: the artillery roaring, bolts and arrows and balls flying, the trumpets braying, and the men-at-arms charging gallantly. But still, as I looked round, I saw the ranks of Burgundy wax thin; and still the Swiss churls pushed on; and I beheld many a stout soldier fall, and many that had fought well turn his back. Well, as I was thinking what might best be done, my lord the duke rode up; and, speaking softly as a woman, he said--'My good old friend, I pray you join De Lalaing, and, with your men-at-arms, make one good charge upon the flank of yonder boors.' It was soon done and over. We went down like the shot of a mangonel, but we were driven back like the same shot when it bounds off from a wall of stone. One churl shivered my helmet, and nearly split my skull with his two-handed sword. Another shot me in the arm with his hand-gun. All my poor fellows but two or three died around me bravely; and they who were left took my horse by the bridle, and were carrying me off, when, by our Lady! I saw one of the base Italians who had betrayed us all, despatching my poor Squire Walter as he lay tumbled from his horse upon a little mound. He had served with me in nine stricken fields, and many a chance affray; he had never quitted me for well nigh twenty years, so I could not quit him then. No, lady, no! but shaking the bridle from their hands that would have stayed me, I turned me round, and struck one more good stroke for Burgundy. But the poor lad was dead! God have his soul--the poor lad was dead!" and as he spoke, the old knight dashed the tear from his eye with the back of his brown hand.