You hear, Richard!' said the Prince. 'I bade you choose between me and your brothers. Had you believed me that you could not serve both, it had been better for you. I credit not that you incited them to the assassination; but your tidings led them to perpetrate it. I cannot retain the spy of the Montforts in my camp.'
'My Lord,' said Richard, at last finding space for speech, 'I deny all collusion with my brothers. I have neither seen, spoken with, nor sent to them by letter nor word.'
'Then to whom was this letter?' demanded the Prince.
'To Sir Robert Darcy, the Grand Prior of England,' answered Richard.
A murmur of incredulous amazement was heard.
'The purport?' continued Edward.
'That, my Lord, it consorts not with my duty to tell.'
'Look here, Richard,' interposed Gilbert of Gloucester, 'this is an unlikely tale. You can have no cause for secresy, save in connection with these brothers; and if you will point to some way of clearing yourself of being art and part in this foul act of murder, you may be sent scot free from the camp; but if you wilfully maintain this denial, what can we do but treat you as a traitor? No obstinacy! What can a lad like you have to say to good old Sir Robert Darcy, that all the world might not know?'
'My Lord of Gloucester,' said Richard, 'I am bound in honour not to reveal the matters between me and Sir Robert; I can only declare on the faith of a Christian gentleman that I have neither had, nor attempted to have, any dealings with either of my brothers, Guy or Simon; and if any man says I have, I will prove his falsehood on his body.' And Richard flung down his glove before the Prince.
At the same moment Hamlyn de Valence sprang forward.
'Then, Richard de Montfort, I take up the gage. I give thee the lie in thy throat, and will prove on thy body that thou art a man-sworn traitor, in league with thy false brethren.'
'I commit me to the judgment of God,' said Richard, looking upwards.
'My Lord,' said Hamlyn, 'have we your permission to fight out the matter?'
'You have,' said Edward, 'since to that holy judgment Richard hath appealed.'
But the Prince looked far from contented with the appeal. He allowed the preliminaries of place and time to be fixed without his interposition; and when the council broke up, he fixed his clear deep eyes upon Richard in a manner which seemed to the boy to upbraid him with the want of confidence, for which, however, he would not condescend to ask. Richard felt that, let the issue of the combat be what it would, he had lost that full trust on the part of the Prince, which had hitherto been his one drop of comfort; and if he were dismissed from the camp, he should be more than ever desolate, for his soul could scarce yet bring itself to grasp the horror of the crime of his brothers.
The combat could not take place for two days-waiting, on one, in order that Hamlyn might have time to rest, and recover his full strength after his voyage, and the next, because it was Ash Wednesday. In the meantime Richard was left solitary; under no restraint, but universally avoided. The judicial combat did not make him uneasy; the two youths had often measured their strength together, and though Hamlyn was the elder, Richard was the taller, and had inherited something of the Plantagenet frame, so remarkable in those two
Lords of the biting axe and beamy spear,
'wide conquering Edward' and 'Lion Richard'; and each believed in the righteousness of his own cause sufficiently to have implicit confidence that the right would be shown on his side.
In fact, Richard soon understood that though Prince Edward, with a sense of the value of definite evidence far in advance of the time, and befitting the English Justinian, had only allowed the charge to be brought against him which could in a manner be substantiated, yet that the general belief went much further. Proved to be a Montfort, and to have written a letter, he was therefore convicted, by universal consent, of a league with his brothers for the revenge of their house; to have instigated the assassination at Viterbo, and to be only biding his time for the like act at Trapani. Even the Prince was deeply offended by his silence, and imputed it to no good motive; trust and affection were gone, and Richard felt no tie to retain him where he was, save his duty as a crusader. Let him fail in the combat, and the best he could look for would be to be ignominiously branded and expelled: let him gain, and he much doubted whether, though the ordeal of battle was always respected, he would regain his former position. With keen suffering and indignation, he rebelled against Edward's harshness and distrust. He-who had brought him there-who ought to have known him better! Moreover, there was the crushing sense of the guilt of his brothers; guilt most horrible in its sacrilegious audacity, and doubly shocking to the feelings of a family where the grim sanctity of the first Simon de Montfort, and the enlightened devotion of the second, formed such a contrast to the savage outrage of him who now bore their name. Richard, as with bare feet and ashes whitening his dark locks he knelt on the cold stones of the dark Norman church at Trapani, wept hot and bitter tears of humiliation over the family crimes that had brought them so low; prayed in an agony for repentance for his brothers; and for himself, some opening for expiating their sin against at least the generous royal family. 'O! could I but die for my Prince, and know that he forgave and they repented!'
Only when on his way back to the camp was he sensible of the murmurs of censure at his hypocrisy in joining the penitential procession at all. Dame Idonea, in a complete suit of sackcloth, was informing her friends that she had made a vow not to wash her face till the whole adder brood of Montfort had been crushed; and that she trusted to see the beginning of justice done to-morrow. She had offered a candle to St. James to that effect, hoping to induce him to turn away his patronage from the family.
Every one, knight or squire, shrank away from Richard, if he did but look towards them; and he was seriously discomfited by the difficulty of obtaining a godfather for the combat. No one chose even to be asked, lest they might be suspected of approving of the murder of Prince Henry; and the unhappy page re-entered his tent with the most desolate sense of being abandoned by heaven and man.
Fastened upon the pole of the tent by an arrowhead, a small scroll of parchment met his eyes. He read in English-'A steed and a lance are ready for the lioncel who would rather avenge his father than lick the tyrant's feet. A guide awaits thee.'
Some weeks since, this might have been a tempting summons; but now the sickening sense of the sacrilegious murder, and of the life of outlawry utterly unrestrained, passed over Richard. Yet, if he should not accept the offer, what was before him? A shameful death, perhaps; if he failed in the ordeal, disgrace, captivity, or expulsion; if he succeeded, bondage and distrust for ever. Some new accusation! some deeper fall!
There was a low growl from Leonillo; the hangings of the tent were raised, and an archer bending his head said, 'A word with you, Sir.'
'Who art thou?' demanded Richard.
'Hob Longbow, Sir. Remember you not old passages-in the forest, there-and Master Adam?'
Richard did remember the archer in the days of his outlaw life, in a very different capacity.
'You were grown so tall, Sir, and so hand and glove with the Longshanks, that Nick Dustifoot and I knew not an if it were yourself-but now your name is out, and the wind is in another quarter'-he grinned, then seeing Richard impatient of the approach to familiarity, 'You did not know Nick Dustifoot? He was one of young Sir Simon's men- at-arms, you see, and took to the woods, like other folk, after Kenilworth was given up, till stout men were awanting for this Crusade. And he knew Sir Guy when he came to the camp yon by Tunis, and spake with him; moreover, he went in the train of him of Almayne to Viterbo, and had speech again with Sir Simon, who gave him this scroll. And if you will meet him at the Syren's Rock to-night, my Lord Richard, he will bring you to those who will conduct you to Sir Guy's brave castle, where he laughs kings and counts to scorn! We have the guard, and will see you safe past the gates of the camp.'
The way to liberty was open: Richard deliberated. The atmosphere of distrust and suspicion under the Prince's coldness was well-nigh unbearable. Danger faced him for the next day! Disgrace was everywhere. Should he leave it behind, where, at least, he would not hear and feel it? Should he, when all had turned from him, meet a brotherly welcome?
Then came back on him the thought of what Simon and Guy had made themselves; the thought of his father's grief at former doings of theirs, which had fallen so far short of the atrocity of this. He knew that his father had rather have seen each one of his five sons slain, or helpless cripples like the firstborn, than have been thus avenged. Nay, had he this morning prayed for the pardon of a crime, to which he would thus become a consenting party?
He looked up resolutely. 'No, Hob Longbow. Hap what hap, my part can never be with those who have stained the Church with blood. Let my brothers know that my heart yearned to them before, but now all is over between us.
