chance which Fortune had so kindly afforded him for fortune and happiness, glide out of his reach; so that when he stood at length in the street with the liberated Gertrude, there was no one near them. Totally forgetting the defenceless situation of his companion, he was about to spring away in pursuit of the Boar of Ardennes, as the greyhound tracks the deer, when, clinging to him in her despair, she exclaimed, 'For the sake of your mother's honour, leave me not here! – As you are a gentleman, protect me to my father's house, which once sheltered you and the Lady Isabelle! – For her sake leave me not!'
Her call was agonizing, but it was irresistible; and bidding a mental adieu, with unutterable bitterness of feeling, to all the gay hopes which had stimulated his exertion, carried him through that bloody day, and which at one moment seemed to approach consummation, Quentin, like an unwilling spirit, who obeys a talisman which he cannot resist, protected Gertrude to Pavillon's house, and arrived in time to defend that and the Syndic himself against the fury of the licentious soldiery.
Meantime, the King and the Duke of Burgundy entered the city on horseback, and through one of the breaches. They were both in complete armour, but the latter covered with blood from the plume to the spur, drove his steed furiously up the breach, which Louis surmounted with the stately pace of one who leads a procession. They dispatched orders to stop the sack of the city, which had already commenced, and to assemble their scattered troops. The princes themselves proceeded towards the great church, both for the protection of many of the distinguished inhabitants, who had taken refuge there, and in order to hold a sort of military council after they had heard High Mass.
Busied like other officers of his rank in collecting those under his command, Lord Crawford, at the turning of one of the streets which leads to the Maes, met Le Balafre sauntering composedly towards the river, holding in his hand, by the gory locks, a human head, with as much indifference as a fowler carries a game-pouch.
'How now, Ludovic!' said his commander; 'what are ye doing with that carrion?'
'It is all that is left of a bit of work which my nephew shaped out, and nearly finished, and I put the last hand to,' said Le Balafre – 'a good fellow that I dispatched yonder, and who prayed me to throw his head into the Maes. – Men have queer fancies when old Small-Back[62] is gripping them; but Small-Back must lead down the dance with us all in our time.'
'And you are going to throw that head into the Maes?' said Crawford, looking more attentively on the ghastly memorial of mortality.
'Ay, truly am I,' said Ludovic Lesly. 'If you refuse a dying man his boon, you are likely to be haunted by his ghost, and I love to sleep sound at nights.'
'You must take your chance of the ghaist, man,' said Crawford; 'for, by my soul, there is more lies on that dead pow than you think for. Come along with me – not a word more – Come along with me.'
'Nay, for that matter,' said Le Balafre, 'I made him no promise; for, in truth, I had off his head before the tongue had well done wagging; and as I feared him not living, by Saint Martin of Tours, I fear him as little when he is dead. Besides, my little gossip, the merry Friar of St Martin's, will lend me a pot of holy water.'
When High Mass had been said in the Cathedral Church of Liege, and the terrified town was restored to some moderate degree of order, Louis and Charles, with their peers around, proceeded to hear the claims of those who had any to make for services performed during the battle. Those which respected the County of Croye and its fair mistress were first received, and, to the disappointment of sundry claimants who had thought themselves sure of the rich prize, there seemed doubt and mystery to involve their several pretensions. Crevecoeur showed a boar's hide such as De la Marck usually wore; Dunois produced a cloven shield, with his armorial bearings; and there were others, who claimed the merit of having dispatched the murderer of the Bishop, producing similar tokens – the rich reward fixed on De la Marck's head having brought death to all who were armed in his resemblance.
There was much noise and contest among the competitors, and Charles, internally regretting the rash promise which had placed the hand and wealth of his fair vassal on such a hazard, was in hopes he might find means of evading all these conflicting claims, when Crawford pressed forward into the circle, dragging Le Balafre after him, who, awkward and bashful, followed like an unwilling mastiff towed on in a leash, as his leader exclaimed, – 'Away with your hoofs and hides, and painted iron! – No one, save he who slew the Boar, can show the tusks!'
So saying, he flung on the floor the bloody head, easily known as that of De la Marck, by the singular conformation of the jaws, which in reality had a certain resemblance to those of the animal whose name he bore, and which was instantly recognised by all who had seen him.[63]
'Crawford,' said Louis, while Charles sat silent, in gloomy and displeased surprise, 'I trust it is one of my faithful Scots who has won this prize?'
'It is Ludovic Lesly, Sire, whom we call Le Balafre,' replied the old soldier.
'But is he noble?' said the Duke; 'is he of gentle blood? – otherwise our promise is void.'
'He is a cross ungainly piece of wood enough,' said Crawford, looking at the tall, awkward, embarrassed figure of the Archer; 'but I will warrant him a branch of the tree of Rothes for all that – and they have been as noble as any house in France or Burgundy, ever since it is told of their founder, that,
'Between the less-lee[64] and the mair, He slew the Knight, and left him there.' '
'There is then no help for it,' said the Duke, 'and the fairest and richest heiress in Burgundy must be the wife of a rude mercenary soldier like this, or die secluded in a convent – and she the only child of our faithful Reginald de Croye! – I have been too rash.'
And a cloud settled on his brow, to the surprise of his peers, who seldom saw him evince the slightest token of regret for the necessary consequences of an adopted resolution.
'Hold, but an instant,' said the Lord Crawford, 'it may be better than your Grace conjectures. Hear but what this cavalier has to say. – Speak out, man, and a murrain to thee,' he added, apart to Le Balafre.
But that blunt soldier, though he could make a shift to express himself intelligibly enough to King Louis, to whose familiarity he was habituated, yet found himself incapable of enunciating his resolution before so splendid and assembly as that in presence of which he then stood; and after having turned his shoulder to the princes, and preluded with a hoarse chuckling laugh, and two or three tremendous contortions of countenance, he was only able to pronounce the words, 'Saunders Souplejaw' – and then stuck fast.
'May it please your Majesty, and your Grace,' said Crawford, 'I must speak for my countryman and old comrade. You shall understand, that he has had it prophesied to him by a Seer in his own land, that the fortune of his house is to be made by marriage; but as he is, like myself, something the worse for the wear, – loves the wine-house better than a lady's summer-parlour, and, in short, having some barrack tastes and likings, which would make greatness in his own person rather an encumbrance to him, he hath acted by my advice, and resigns the pretensions acquired by the fate of slaying William de la Marck, to him by whom the Wild Boar was actually brought to bay, who is his maternal nephew.'
'I will vouch for that youth's services and prudence,' said King Louis, overjoyed to see that fate had thrown so gallant a prize to one over whom he had some influence. 'Without his prudence and vigilance, we had been ruined – It was he who made us aware of the night-sally.'
'I then,' said Charles, 'owe him some reparation for doubting his veracity.'
'And I can attest his gallantry as a man-at-arms,' said Dunois.
'But,' interrupted Crevecoeur, 'though the uncle be a Scottish gentillatre, that makes not the nephew necessarily so.'
'He is of the House of Durward,' said Crawford; 'descended from that Allan Durward, who was High Steward of Scotland.'
'Nay, if it be young Durward,' said Crevecoeur, 'I say no more. Fortune has declared herself on his side too plainly, for me to struggle farther with her humoursome ladyship; – but it is strange, from lord to horseboy, how wonderfully these Scots stick by each other.'
'Highlanders, shoulder to shoulder!' answered Lord Crawford, laughing at the mortification of the proud Burgundian.
'We have yet to enquire,' said Charles, thoughtfully, 'what the fair lady's sentiments may be towards this fortunate adventurer.'
'By the mass!' said Crevecoeur, 'I have but too much reason to believe your Grace will find her more amenable to authority than on former occasions. – But why should I grudge this youth his preferment? since, after
