Leonard Ashton was awakened the next morning by the light of the rising sun streaming in where the curtain of the tent had been raised to admit the fresh dewy morning air. The sunbeams fell on the hair and face of Eustace as he leant over Gaston, who lay stretched on the couch, and faintly spoke: 'I tell you it is more. Such fever as this would not be caused by this trifling cut. There is sickness abroad in the camp, and why should it not be my turn as well as another man's. Take care of yourself, Sir Eustace.'
No sooner did Leonard understand the sense of these words, than he sprang up, rushed out of the tent, and never rested till he thought himself at a safe distance, when he shouted to Eustace to come to him.
'Has he got this fever on him?' exclaimed he, as Eustace approached.
'He is very ill at ease,' replied Eustace, 'but to my mind it is caused by yesterday's fatigue and heat, added to the wine which he would drink.'
'It is the fever, I say,' replied Ashton; 'I am sure it is. Come away, Eustace, or we shall all be infected.'
'I cannot leave him,' said Eustace.
'What? You do not mean to peril yourself by going near him?' said Ashton.
'I think not that there is peril in so doing, answered Eustace; 'and even if there were, I could not leave him in sickness, after all his kindness to me and patience with my inexperience.'
'He is no brother nor cousin to us,' said Leonard. 'I see not why we should endanger our lives for a stranger. I will not, for my own part; and, as your old friend and comrade, I would entreat you not.'
These were kinder words than Eustace had heard from Ashton since the beginning of his jealousy, and he answered, as he thought they were meant, in a friendly tone, 'Thanks, Leonard, but I cannot look on Gaston d'Aubricour as a stranger; and had I fewer causes for attachment to him, I could not leave my post.'
'Only you do not expect me to do the same,' said Leonard; 'my father sent me here to gain honour and wealth, not to be poisoned with the breath of a man in a fever.'
'Assuredly not,' said Eustace. 'I will arrange matters so that you shall no longer sleep in our tent. But let me ask of you, Leonard, what was the meaning of your conduct of yesterday?'
'You may ask yourself,' said Leonard, sullenly; 'it is plain enough, methinks.'
'Have a care, Leonard. Remember that my brother's authority is given to me.'
'Much good may it do you,' said Leonard; 'but that is nothing to me. I am no vassal of yours, to come at your call. I have my own friends, and am not going to stay in this infected part of the camp with men who keep a fever among them. Give me but my sword and mantle from the tent, and I will trouble you no more.'
'Wait, Leonard, I will take all measures for your safety; but remember that I am answerable to the Prince for my brother's followers.'
'Answer for your own serfs,' retorted Leonard, who had nearly succeeded in working himself into a passion. 'My father might be willing to grace Sir Reginald by letting me follow him, but by his death I am my own man, and not to move at your beck and call, because the Prince laid his sword on your shoulder. Knave Jasper,' he called to one of the men-at-arms, 'bring my sword and cloak from the tent; I enter it no more.'
'I know not how far you may be bound to me,' said Eustace, 'and must inquire from some elder Knight, but I fear that your breaking from me may be attended with evil effects to your name and fame.'
Leonard had put on his dogged expression, and would not listen. He had already set his mind on joining _le Borgne Basque_, and leaving the service which his own envious service rendered galling; and the panic excited in his mind by Gaston's illness determined him to depart without loss of time, or listening to the representations which he could not answer. He turned his back on Eustace, and busied himself with the fastenings of his sword, which had by this time been brought to him. Even yet Eustace was not rebuffed. 'One more hint, Leonard. From what I am told, there is more peril to thy health in revelry than in the neighbourhood of poor Gaston. If you will quit one who wishes you well, take heed to your ways.'
Still the discourteous Squire made no reply, and walked off in all the dignity of ill-humour. The young Knight, who really had a warm feeling of affection for him, stood looking after him with a sigh, and then returned to his patient, whom he found in an uneasy sleep. After a few moments' consideration, he summoned old Guy to take the part of nurse, and walked to the tent of Sir Richard Ferrars, to ask his counsel.
The old Knight, who was standing at the door of his tent, examining into some hurt which his steed had received the day before, kindly and cordially greeted Eustace on his approach. 'I am glad you are not above taking advice,' he said, 'as many a youth might be after such fresh honours.'
'I feel but too glad to find some one who will bestow advice on me,' said Eustace; and he proceeded to explain his difficulties with regard to Leonard Ashton.
'Let him go! and a good riddance,' said Sir Richard; 'half your cares go with him.'
'Yet I am unwilling not to attempt to hinder my old comrade from running to ruin.'
'You have quite enough on your own hands already,' said the old Knight; 'he would do far more harm in your troop than out of it, and try your patience every hour.'
'He is my old playfellow,' said Eustace, still dissatisfied.
'More shame for him,' said Sir Richard; 'waste not another thought on so cross-grained a slip, who, as I have already feared, might prove a stumbling-block to you, so young in command as you are. Let him get sick of his chosen associates, and no better hap can befall him. And for yourself, what shall you do with this sick Squire?'
'What can I do, save to give the best attendance I may?'
'Nay, I am not the man to gainsay it. 'Tis no more than you ought. And yet-' He surveyed the young Knight's slender form and slightly moulded limbs, his cheeks pale with watching and the oppressive heat of the night, and the heavy appearance of the eyelids that shaded his dark blue thoughtful eyes. 'Is your health good, young man?'
'As good as that of other men,' said Eustace.
'Men!' said Sir Richard; 'boys, you mean! But be a man, since you will, only take as good care of yourself as consists with duty. I had rather have you safe than a dozen of these black-visaged Gascons.'
Eustace further waited to mention to Sir Richard his untoward encounter with Sir John Chandos, and to beg him to explain it to the old Baron.
'I will,' said Sir Richard; 'and don't take old Chandos's uncourtliness too much to heart, young Eustace. He means you no ill. Do your duty, and he will own it in time.'
Eustace thanked the old Knight, and with spirits somewhat cheered, returned to his tent, there to devote himself to the service of his sick Squire. The report that the fever was in his tent made most persons willing to avoid him, and he met little interruption in his cares. Of Leonard, all that he heard was from a man-at- arms, who made his appearance in his tent to demand Master Ashton's arms, horse, and other property, he having entered the service of Sir William Felton; and Eustace was too much engaged with his own cares to make further inquiry after him.
For a day or two Gaston d'Aubricour's fever ran very high, and just when its violence was beginning to diminish, a fresh access was occasioned by the journey from Burgos to Valladolid, whither he was carried in a litter, when the army, by Pedro's desire, marched thither to await his promised subsidy. The unwholesome climate was of most pernicious effect to the whole of the English army, and in especial to the Black Prince, who there laid the foundation of the disorder which destroyed his health. Week after week passed on, each adding heat to the summer, and increasing the long roll of sick and dying in the camp, while Gaston still lay, languid and feeble by day, and fevered by night; there were other patients among the men-at-arms, requiring scarcely less care; and the young Knight himself, though, owing to his temperate habits, he had escaped the prevailing sickness, was looking thin and careworn with the numerous troubles and anxieties that were pressing on him.
Still he had actually lost not one of his men, and after the first week or two, began to have more confidence in himself, and to feel his place as their commander more than he would have done had Gaston been able to assist him. At last his trusty Squire began slowly to recover, though nightly returns of fever still kept him very weak.
'The Pyrenean breezes would make me another man,' said he, one evening, when Eustace had helped him to the front of the tent, where he might enjoy the coolness which began to succeed the sultry heat of the day.
'I hear,' said Eustace, 'that we are to return as soon as the Prince can be moved. He is weary of waiting till this dog of a Spaniard will perform his contract.'
'By my faith,' said d'Aubricour, 'I believe the butcherly rogue means to cancel his debts by the death of all his creditors. I would give my share of the pay, were it twenty times more, for one gust of the mountain air of my own hills.'
'Which way lies your home, Gaston?' asked Eustace. 'Near the pass by which we crossed?'
