"Enough," replied the prince, haughtily. "I am content to stand alone, to achieve my freedom singly, or to submit to my fate."
"Not so, my noble, playmate," said the other. "I will not offer you my knee, my oath, my sword, for my allegiance belongs to the anointed King of England; but, I beseech you, suffer Robin Clifford to assist high-born Plantagenet to escape from a prison or from death; permit him to pay, if not the duty of a subject, yet that of a loving friend to the former companion of his childish sports."
Richard listened somewhat sullenly to these offers; he ill brooked the thought that any of English parentage should, knowing who he was, refuse to acknowledge him for his liege: but Clifford would not be refused; while it was hardly worth while to contend with his light spirit, which appeared incapable of a serious or profound idea. After a short resistance, therefore, the duke entered willingly into a discussion of the best means of effecting his escape in such a way, that he should have several hours the start of Frion, and be distant from danger before his seducer could discover that he was not still safe in his hands.
In the midst of this discussion, Frion suddenly entered. The stake for which he played was too momentous to trust it wholly to the stripling page, and distrust of the wily boy entered also into his calculations; he broke in, therefore, not only unannounced, but with such stealthy quiet as showed that he meant to pounce on his victim unawares. The youths sat, their stools drawn close; Clifford was leaning forward earnestly propounding his schemes, and Richard listened, his whole soul in his countenance. Frion was close upon them before he was perceived by either, his eyes glimmering with their usual suspicious look. The artless Richard started, and would with a conscious mien have drawn back; but Clifford, more used to the wiles and watchfulness of others, and his own double mode of action, continued to speak in the same tone the same words, without moving a muscle. The prince wondered, and regained his self-possession; not from entering into the deceit of his companion, but from the haughty sentiment of his own dignity, which even in danger refused to cower.
Clifford had been saying—"I will hence to the sire: a word to him of whose secretary this Provençal is, and insinuation that he is now on a secret expedition to the Flemish towns, will awaken his curiosity; he will send for him; fortunately the good knight speaks so slow that a mass can be said while he is introducing the subject of his inquiries; as each word expires, he pauses while a requiem might be sung for its death; our antagonist will writhe and—" and a glance askance informed the speaker that this man was at his side: he continued—"and strive vainly to escape; the heavy weight will be too much for him, he must submit. Such feints suit well us boys who have not strength nor skill for more declared warfare. To-morrow's dawn I will practise with you in the court of the castle ere you depart. But, indeed, my gossip, you must promise to be at Calais on the sixteenth, when we shall see a combat of good knights fit for royal princesses to look on. And now, fair sir, farewell; here is your friend. The Sire de Beverem commanded my presence at this hour. If I see you not again to-night, the saints have you in their keeping!"
When Clifford, with his pagelike vivacity, ran from the room singing a gay romance, Frion felt himself embarrassed; and more so when Richard said,—"My guest, it is hard, after giving you harbourage last night, that I should be forced, whether I will or not, to tarry here, leaving my kinswoman in dread and doubt. Make you my excuse to the chevalier, and delay me no longer, I beseech you."
Frion, without directly replying, said, "Anon I will speak of that; meanwhile, I have news for you." And he entered into a long account of an expected sedition in Flanders, and how the Sire de Beverem had promised to enlist Perkin Warbeck in his particular troop, when with courage and good fortune, he could not fail to rise. While he was talking, one of the men-at-arms of the noble entered, and notified to Frion that his lord desired an instant interview with him. The secretary hastened to obey; he thought that good fortune itself provided this excuse for him to escape from his victim, and resolved not again to present himself before him. He was scarcely gone when Clifford returned. "Now quick," he cried, "down the back staircase! My own steed stands saddled for you; ride fast and far—but whither—whither do you intend to go?"
"In the first place, to Dame Madeline's cottage."
"That were midsummer madness," cried Clifford; "Frion will never rest till he ensnares his bird again; nay, though I trust he will not discover your escape till to-morrow morning, that part of my scheme may fail; and his papers from the king are such, that my lord could not refuse to aid him, I pray you set space and cloudy mystery between you."
"It shall be so. Probably I shall seek refuge at Brussels; but I must see my gentle guardian and my sweet cousin, calm their fears, and bid them farewell."