neighbours, King Louis of France, Count Foulques of Anjou, and Count Herluin of Montreuil, and how far the friendship of Hugh of Paris, and Alan of Brittany might be trusted.
Very tired of all this did Richard grow, especially when he found that the Normans had made up their minds not to attempt a war against the wicked Count of Flanders. He sighed most wearily, yawned again and again, and moved restlessly about in his chair; but whenever Count Bernard saw him doing so, he received so severe a look and sign that he grew perfectly to dread the eye of the fierce old Dane. Bernard never spoke to him to praise him, or to enter into any of his pursuits; he only treated him with the grave distant respect due to him as a Prince, or else now and then spoke a few stern words to him of reproof for this restlessness, or for some other childish folly.
Used as Richard was to be petted and made much of by the whole house of Centeville, he resented this considerably in secret, disliked and feared the old Count, and more than once told Alberic de Montemar, that as soon as he was fourteen, when he would be declared of age, he should send Count Bernard to take care of his own Castle of Harcourt, instead of letting him sit gloomy and grim in the Castle hall in the evening, spoiling all their sport.
Winter had set in, and Osmond used daily to take the little Duke and Alberic to the nearest sheet of ice, for the Normans still prided themselves on excelling in skating, though they had long since left the frost-bound streams and lakes of Norway.
One day, as they were returning from the ice, they were surprised, even before they entered the Castle court, by hearing the trampling of horses' feet, and a sound of voices.
'What may this mean?' said Osmond. 'There must surely be a great arrival of the vassals. The Duke of Brittany, perhaps.'
'Oh,' said Richard, piteously, 'we have had one council already this week. I hope another is not coming!'
'It must import something extraordinary,' proceeded Osmond. 'It is a mischance that the Count of Harcourt is not at Rouen just now.'
Richard thought this no mischance at all, and just then, Alberic, who had run on a little before, came back exclaiming, 'They are French. It is the Frank tongue, not the Norman, that they speak.'
'So please you, my Lord,' said Osmond, stopping short, 'we go not rashly into the midst of them. I would I knew what were best to do.'
Osmond rubbed his forehead and stood considering, while the two boys looked at him anxiously. In a few seconds, before he had come to any conclusion, there came forth from the gate a Norman Squire, accompanied by two strangers.
'My Lord Duke,' said he to Richard, in French, 'Sir Eric has sent me to bring you tidings that the King of France has arrived to receive your homage.'
'The King!' exclaimed Osmond.
'Ay!' proceeded the Norman, in his own tongue, 'Louis himself, and with a train looking bent on mischief. I wish it may portend good to my Lord here. You see I am accompanied. I believe from my heart that Louis meant to prevent you from receiving a warning, and taking the boy out of his clutches.'
'Ha! what?' said Richard, anxiously. 'Why is the King come? What must I do?'
'Go on now, since there is no help for it,' said Osmond.
'Greet the king as becomes you, bend the knee, and pay him homage.'
Richard repeated over to himself the form of homage that he might be perfect in it, and walked on into the court; Alberic, Osmond, and the rest falling back as he entered. The court was crowded with horses and men, and it was only by calling out loudly, 'The Duke, the Duke,' that Osmond could get space enough made for them to pass. In a few moments Richard had mounted the steps and stood in the great hall.
In the chair of state, at the upper end of the room, sat a small spare man, of about eight or nine-and-twenty, pale, and of a light complexion, with a rich dress of blue and gold. Sir Eric and several other persons stood respectfully round him, and he was conversing with the Archbishop, who, as well as Sir Eric, cast several anxious glances at the little Duke as he advanced up the hall. He came up to the King, put his knee to the ground, and was just beginning, 'Louis, King of France, I--' when he found himself suddenly lifted from the ground in the King's arms, and kissed on both cheeks. Then setting him on his knee, the King exclaimed, 'And is this the son of my brave and noble friend, Duke William? Ah! I should have known it from his likeness. Let me embrace you again, dear child, for your father's sake.'
Richard was rather overwhelmed, but he thought the King very kind, especially when Louis began to admire his height and free-spirited bearing, and to lament that his own sons, Lothaire and Carloman, were so much smaller and more backward. He caressed Richard again and again, praised every word he said--Fru Astrida was nothing to him; and Richard began to say to himself how strange and unkind it was of Bernard de Harcourt to like to find fault with him, when, on the contrary, he deserved all this praise from the King himself.
CHAPTER V
Duke Richard of Normandy slept in the room which had been his father's; Alberic de Montemar, as his page, slept at his feet, and Osmond de Centeville had a bed on the floor, across the door, where he lay with his sword close at hand, as his young Lord's guard and protector.
All had been asleep for some little time, when Osmond was startled by a slight movement of the door, which could not be pushed open without awakening him. In an instant he had grasped his sword, while he pressed his shoulder to the door to keep it closed; but it was his father's voice that answered him with a few whispered words in the Norse tongue, 'It is I, open.' He made way instantly, and old Sir Eric entered, treading cautiously with bare feet, and sat down on the bed motioning him to do the same, so that they might be able to speak lower. 'Right, Osmond,' he said. 'It is well to be on the alert, for peril enough is around him--The Frank means mischief! I know from a sure hand that Arnulf of Flanders was in council with him just before he came hither, with his false tongue, wiling and coaxing the poor child!'
'Ungrateful traitor!' murmured Osmond. 'Do you guess his purpose?'
'Yes, surely, to carry the boy off with him, and so he trusts doubtless to cut off all the race of Rollo! I know his purpose is to bear off the Duke, as a ward of the Crown forsooth. Did you not hear him luring the child with his promises of friendship with the Princes? I could not understand all his French words, but I saw it plain enough.'
'You will never allow it?'
'If he does, it must be across our dead bodies; but taken as we are by surprise, our resistance will little avail. The Castle is full of French, the hall and court swarm with them. Even if we could draw our Normans together, we should not be more than a dozen men, and what could we do but die? That we are ready for, if it may not be otherwise, rather than let our charge be thus borne off without a pledge for his safety, and without the knowledge of the states.'
'The king could not have come at a worse time,' said Osmond.
'No, just when Bernard the Dane is absent. If he only knew what has befallen, he could raise the country, and come to the rescue.'
'Could we not send some one to bear the tidings to-night?'
'I know not,' said Sir Eric, musingly. 'The French have taken the keeping of the doors; indeed they are so thick through the Castle that I can hardly reach one of our men, nor could I spare one hand that may avail to guard the boy to-morrow.'
'Sir Eric;' a bare little foot was heard on the floor, and Alberic de Montemar stood before him. 'I did not mean to listen, but I could not help hearing you. I cannot fight for the Duke yet, but I could carry a message.'
'How would that be?' said Osmond, eagerly. 'Once out of the Castle, and in Rouen, he could easily find means of sending to the Count. He might go either to the Convent of St. Ouen, or, which would be better, to the trusty armourer, Thibault, who would soon find man and horse to send after the Count.'
'Ha! let me see,' said Sir Eric. 'It might be. But how is he to get out?'
'I know a way,' said Alberic. 'I scrambled down that wide buttress by the east wall last week, when our ball was caught in a branch of the ivy, and the drawbridge is down.'
'If Bernard knew, it would be off my mind, at least!' said Sir Eric. 'Well, my young Frenchman, you may do good service.'
