Philip Augustus; or, The Brothers in Arms

by G. P. R. James

The evening had come, all his preparations were over he had summoned his barons to council in an hour; and, sitting in a large chamber of the old castle of Tournay, Philip had given order that he should not be disturbed.

He felt, as it were, a thirst for calm and tranquil thought. The last few months of his existence had been given up to all the energy of action; his reflections had been nothing but eternal calculation--the combination of his own movements--the anticipation of his enemy's-- plans of battle and policy; and all the thousand momentary anxieties that press upon the general of a large and ill-organised army. He had thought deeply and continually, it is true; but he had not time for thoughts of that grand and extensive nature that raise and dignify the mind every time they are indulged. Though Agnes, too, was still the secret object that gave life and movement to all his energies--though he loved her still with that deep, powerful love that is seldom permitted to share the heart with ambition--though she, in fact, was his ambition's object, and though the battle to which he strode would, if won, place in his hands such power, that none should dare to hold her from him--yet he had scarcely hitherto had an instant to bestow on those calmer, sweeter, gentler ideas, where feeling mingles with reflection, and relieves the mind from petty calculation and workday cares. There are surely two distinct parts linked together in the human soul--feeling and thought:--the thought, that receives, that separates, that investigates, that combines;--the feeling, that hopes, that wishes, that enjoys, that creates.

Philip Augustus, however, felt a thirst for that calm reflection, wherein feeling has the greater shared and, covering his eyes with his hands, he now abandoned himself to it altogether. The coming day was to be a day of bloodshed and of strife,--a day that was to hurl him from a throne, or to crown him with immortal renown,--to leave him a corpse on the cold field of battle, or to increase his power and glory, and restore him to Agnes. He thought of it long and deeply. He thought of what would be Agnes' grief if she heard that her husband, that her lover had fallen before his enemies; and he wrung his own heart by picturing the agony of hers. Then again came brighter visions. Hope rose up and grew into expectation; and he fancied what would be her joy, when, crowned with the laurel of victory, and scoffing to shame the impotent thunder of the Roman church, he should clasp her once more in his arms, and bid her tread upon the necks of her enemies. Ambition perhaps had its share in his breast, and his thoughts might run on to conquest yet to come, and to mighty schemes of polity and aggrandisement; but still Agnes had therein a share. In the chariot of victory, or on the imperial throne, imagination always placed her by his side.

His dream was interrupted by a quick step, and the words, "My lord!" and, uncovering his eyes, he beheld Guerin advancing from behind the tapestry that fell over the door.

"What now, Guerin?" cried the king somewhat impatiently. "What now?"

"My lord," replied the minister, "I would not have intruded, but that I have just seen a fellow, who brings tidings from the enemy's camp, of such importance, I judged that you would willingly give ear to it yourself."

"Knowest thou the man?" demanded Philip: "I love not spies."

"I cannot say with any certainty, that I have before seen him, sire," replied Guerin, "though I have some remembrance of his face. He says, however, that he was foot-servant to Prince Arthur, who hired him at Tours; and he gives so clear an account of the taking of Mirebeau, and the subsequent disasters, that there is little doubt of his tale. He says moreover, that, being taken there with the rest, Lord Salisbury has kept him with him since, to dress one of his horses; till, finding himself so near the royal army, he made his escape like a true man."

"Admit him," said the king: "his tale is a likely one."

Guerin retired for a moment; and then returned, with a bony, powerful man, whose short cut hair, long beard, and mustachoes, offered so different an appearance to the face of anything like a Frenchman in those days, that Philip gazed on him with some doubts.