“He is his father’s son,” replied Sir Anthony in a conclusive tone, “and the calf of a vicious bull is ever vicious. Besides,” continued the knight, his anger rising as he proceeded, “he is English by birth, and the eggs of the serpent hatch only serpents; and,” added he, staying his step to stamp on the ground, while he ground his teeth with vindictive rage, “it is ever safest for us when we have our armed heel on the viper’s brood.”
CHAPTER XXXI
PEDRO THE PAGE
THE position of Pedro the page at Chas-Chateil was much endangered by the feat of horsemanship which he had performed. A general impression prevailed in the castle that he was an emissary of the powers of darkness, and that the wild boar, the black steed, the outlandish boy, and the Devil were all in league to bring some misfortune on the inmates. Moreover, the lady, who was already tiring of the page, was inclined to take this view of the case; but Father Peter, having again subjected the suspected person to examination, gave it as his deliberate opinion that he was in reality what he professed to be—one of a band of musicians from Burgos.
The good chaplain had considered the matter gravely, and made use of the intelligence he drew from Oliver Icingla to test the youngster’s veracity. He asked Pedro the name of the King of Castile, and Pedro answered, King Alphonso. He asked who was Alphonso’s chief enemy, and Pedro answered, the Moorish King of Granada. He asked what great event had happened before he left his own country, and Pedro told him about the battle of Muradel, and how the king, in gratitude to the saints for his victory, was about to convert his palace in the gardens of La Huelgas into a convent. He asked what was the sin on King Alphonso’s part which had brought such dangers on the kingdom, and Pedro very innocently related the well-known story of the beautiful Jewess whom the royal Castilian loved too well. The holy man was satisfied. How could he be otherwise? And Sir Anthony was satisfied also, for he had taken a notion into his head that the page’s songs and musical instrument were necessary to his existence.
In fact, the nerves of the knight required music to soothe them. Since his encounter with the wild boar in the wood at Donnington, Sir Anthony Waledger had never been quite himself, and, as he continued his daily potations, and ran into excess oftener than of yore by day, his condition did not improve during the winter; and ere spring came strange stories were abroad as to his habits by night. Still matters went on about the castle as of old, and no particular notice was taken of the governor’s eccentricities till about Easter, when Richard de Moreville became so alarmed that he made some excuse for leaving, and embarked for Paris to intimate to his uncle that the knight who had the custody of Chas-Chateil was beside himself.
“My lord,” said the Norman squire when he presented himself to his astonished kinsman about a month before that May-day when Hugh de Moreville had persuaded Prince Louis to vow on the heron, “Sir Anthony is crazy—in truth, he is mad. He has got into a custom of rising in the night-time when he is asleep; of arming himself, drawing his sword, and beginning to fight as if he were in battle!”
“By St. Moden,” said De Moreville with a sneer, “I never knew the good knight so fond of fighting when blows were going. But, nephew, proceed, for this touches me nearly.”
“Well,” continued the squire, “the servants who sleep in his chamber to watch him on hearing him rise go to him, and next morning tell him what he has been doing, but he forgets all about it, and cries out that they lie. Sometimes they leave neither sword nor arms in his chamber, but when he rises and finds them gone he makes such a noise as if all the fiends were there. They therefore think it best to leave his sword and arms, and sometimes he remains quietly in his bed, but only sometimes. Seldom a night passes without a scene.”
“Ha!” exclaimed De Moreville, thoughtfully, “I little expected such tidings, and it behoves me to hasten my return to England and put matters on a better footing at Chas-Chateil. It is no time for a man who has lost his senses to be in command of a fortress.”
However, in the thirteenth century the time required to pass from the banks of the Seine to the banks of the Kennet was considerable, and April was speeding on without De Moreville having appeared at the castle or giving any intimation that he was likely to come; and Sir Anthony became worse rather than better, declaring that nothing soothed him but the music of Pedro the page, and insisting more strongly than ever that Pedro had been sent to him by St. Anthony and St. Hubert at the very instant he had cried out to them for protection.