'What! amid all the guards of the good Fathers! Well, old comrade,' as he took his sword in his right hand; 'I am glad to handle thee once more, and I hope soon to grasp thee as I am wont, with both hands. Lay it down, Richard. There-thanks-that is well. I wonder what my father would have thought if one of his many crusading vows had led him hither. Should we ever have had him back again? How well this dreamy leisure would have suited him! It would almost make a troubadour of a rough warrior like me. See the towers and pinnacles against the sky, and the lights within the windows-and the stars above like lamps of gold, and the moonshine sparkling on the bubbles of the water, ever floating off, yet ever in the same place. Were the good old man here, how peacefully would he sing, and pray, and dream, free from debts, parliament and barons. Ah! had his kinsmen let him keep his vow, it had been happier for us all.'
So mused the Prince, and with a weary smile resigned himself to rest.
But Richard was too full of vague uneasiness to sleep. He could not dismiss from his mind the thought of the unknown pilgrim, and was resolved to relax no point of vigilance until the full investigation should have satisfied him that his fears were unfounded. He had been accustomed to watching and broken rest during the Prince's illness, and though he durst not pace up and down for fear of disturbing the sleeper-nay, could hardly venture a movement-he strained his eyes into the twilight, and told his beads fervently; but sleep hung on him like a spell, and even while sitting upright there were strange dreams before him, and one that he had had before, though with a variation. It was the field of Evesham once more; but this time the strange pilgrim rose in his dark wrappings before him, and suddenly developed into that same shadowy form of his father, who again struck him on the shoulder with his sword, and dubbed him again 'The Knight of Death.'
Hark! there was a growl from Leonillo; a footstep, a dark figure-the pilgrim himself! Richard shouted aloud, grasped at his sword, and flung himself forward.
'Montfort's vengeance!' The sound rang in his ears as a sharp pang thrilled through his side; the hot blood welled up, and he was dashed to the ground; but even in falling he heard the Prince's 'What treason is this?' and felt the rising of the mighty form. At the same moment the murderer was in the grasp of that strong right hand, and was dragged forward into the full light of the lamp that hung from the roof of the pavilion.
'Thou!' he gasped. 'Who-what?'
'Richard!' exclaimed the Prince, and relaxing his hold, 'Simon de Montfort, thou hast slain thy brother!'
The sudden shock and awe had overwhelmed Simon, who was indeed weaponless, since his dagger remained in Richard's wound. He silently assisted the Prince in lifting Richard to the cushions of the couch, and the low groan convinced them that he lived: looked anxiously for the wound. The dagger had gone deep between the ribs, and little but the haft could be seen.
'Poisoned?' Edward asked, looking up at Simon.
'No. It failed once. He may live,' said Simon, with bent brows and folded arms.
'No, no. My death-blow!' gasped Richard, with sobbing breath. 'Best so, if-Oh, could I but speak!'
The Prince raised him, supporting his head on his own broad breast and shoulder, and signed to Simon to hold to his lips the cup of water that stood near. Richard slightly revived, and in this posture breathed more easily.
'He might yet live. Call speedy aid!' said the Prince, who seemed to have utterly forgotten that he was practically alone with his persevering and desperate enemy.
'Wait! Oh, wait!' cried Richard, holding out his hand; 'it would be vain; but it will be all joy did I but know that there will be no more of this. Simon, he loved my father-he has spared thee again and again.'
'Simon,' said the Prince, 'for this dear youth's sake and thy father's, I raise no hand against thee. Bitter wrong has been done to thy house, by what persons, and how provoked, it skills not now to ask. Twice thy fury has fallen on the guiltless. Enough blood has been shed. Let there be peace henceforth.'
Simon stood moody, with folded arms, and Richard groaned, and essayed to speak.
'Peace, boy,' tenderly said Edward; 'and thou, Simon, hear me. I loved thy father, and knew the upright noble spirit that arrayed him against us. Heaven is my witness that I would have given my life to have been able to save him on yon wretched battle-field. But he fell in fair fight, in helm and corselet, like a good knight. Peace be with him! Surely in this land of pardon and redemption his son and nephew may cease to seek one another's blood for his sake! Cheer thy brother by letting him feel his brave deed hath not been fruitless. Free thou shalt go-do what thou wilt; no word of mine shall betray that this deed is thine.'
'Lay aside thy purpose,' entreated Richard. 'Bind him by oath, my Lord.'
'Nay,' said the Prince. 'Here, on foreign soil, the strife lies between the cousins, the sons of Henry and of Eleanor; and if Simon must needs still slake his revenge in my blood, he may have better success another time. Or, so soon as I can wear my armour again, I offer him a fair combat in the lists, man to man; better so than staining his soul with privy murder-but I had far rather that it should be peace between us-and that thou shouldst see it.' And Edward, still supporting Richard on his breast, held out his right hand to Simon, adding, 'Let not thy brother's blood be shed in vain.'
Richard made a gesture of agonized entreaty.
'My father-my father!' he said. 'He forgave-he hated blood; Simon, didst but know-'
'I see,' said Simon impatiently, 'that Heaven and earth alike are set against my purpose. Fear not for his days, Richard, they are safe from me, and here is my hand upon it.'
The tone was sullen and grudging, and Richard looked scarcely comforted; but the Prince was in haste that he should be succoured at once, and even while receiving Simon's unwilling hand, said, 'We lose time. Speed near enough to the Spital to be heard, and shout for aid. Then seek thine own safety. I will say no more of thy share in this matter.'
Simon lingered one moment. 'Boy,' he said, 'I told thee thou wast over like him. Live, live if thou canst! Alas! I had thought to make surer work this time; but thou dost pardon me the mischance?'
'More than pardon-thank thee-since he is safe,' whispered Richard, and as Simon bent over him the boy crossed his brow, and returned a look of absolute joy.
Simon sped away; and the Prince, when left alone with Richard, put no restraint upon the warmth of his feelings, and his tears fell fast and freely.
'Boy, boy,' he said; 'I little thought thou wast to bear what was meant for me!' And then, with tenderness that would have seemed foreign to his nature, he inquired into the pain that Richard was suffering, tried to make his position more easy, and lamented that he could not venture to draw out the weapon until the leeches should come.
'It has been my best hope,' said Richard; 'and now that it should have been thus. With your goodness I have nothing-nothing to wish. Sir Raynald will be here-I have only my charge for Henry to give him-and poor Leonillo!'
'I will bear thy charges to Henry,' said the Prince. 'Nor shall he think thou didst betray his secret. I will watch over him so far as he will let me, and do all I may for his child. Yet it may be thou wilt still return. I hear the stir in the House. They will be here anon. Thou must live, Richard, my friend, where I have few friends. I thought to have knighted thee, boy, when thou hadst won fame. Oh, would that I had shown thee more of my love while it was time!'
'All, all I hoped or longed for I have,' murmured Richard. 'If you see Henry, my Lord, bear him my greetings- and to poor Adam-yea, and my mother. Oh! would that I could make them all know your kindness and my joy-that it should be thus!'
By this time the whole Hospital was astir, and the knights and lay brethren came flocking out in consternation and dread of finding their royal host himself murdered within their cloisters.
Great was the confusion, and eager the search for the assassin, while others crowded round the Prince, who still would not give up his post of supporting the sufferer in his arms, while a few moments' examination convinced the experienced infirmarers that the wound was mortal, and that the extraction of the dagger would but hasten death, which could not be other than very near. Indeed, Richard already spoke with such difficulty that only the Prince's ear could detect his entreaty that Raynald Ferrers might act as his priest. Raynald was already near, only withheld by the crowd of knights of higher degree who had thronged before him. Richard looked up to him with a face that in all its mortal agony seemed to ask congratulation. The power of making confession was gone, and when Raynald would have offered to take him in his own arms, both he and the Prince showed disinclination to the move. So thus they still remained, while the young knightly priest spoke the words of Absolution, and then, across the solemn darkness of the garden, amid the light of tapers, the Host was borne from the Chapel, while the low subdued chant of the brethren swelled up through the night air. Poor little John of Dunster, with his arms round
