'It is well for them,' said Durward.
'And wherefore will you not take service here, young man? Your uncle might, I dare say, have you placed on the file when there should a vacancy occur. And, hark in your ear, I myself have some little interest, and might be of some use to you. You can ride, I presume, as well as draw the bow?'
'Our race are as good horsemen as ever put a plated shoe into a steel stirrup; and I know not but I might accept of your kind offer. Yet, look you, food and raiment are needful things, but, in my case, men think of honour, and advancement, and brave deeds of arms. Your King Louis – God bless him, for he is a friend and ally of Scotland – but he lies here in this castle, or only rides about from one fortified town to another; and gains cities and provinces by politic embassies, and not in fair fighting. Now, for me, I am of the Douglasses' mind, who always kept the fields, because they loved better to hear the lark sing than the mouse squeak.'
'Young man,' said Maitre Pierre, 'do not judge too rashly of the actions of sovereigns. Louis seeks to spare the blood of his subjects, and cares not for his own. He showed himself a man of courage at Montl'hery.'
'Ay, but that was some dozen years ago or more,' answered the youth. – 'I should like to follow a master that would keep his honour as bright as his shield, and always venture foremost in the very throng of the battle.'
'Why did you not tarry at Brussels, then, with the Duke of Burgundy? He would put you in the way to have your bones broken every day; and, rather than fail, would do the job for you himself – especially if he heard that you had beaten his forester.'
'Very true,' said Quentin; 'my unhappy chance has shut that door against me.'
'Nay, there are plenty of dare-devils abroad, with whom mad youngsters may find service,' said his adviser. 'What think you, for example, of William de la Marck?'
'What!' exclaimed Durward, 'serve Him with the Beard – serve the wild Boar of Ardennes – a captain of pillagers and murderers, who would take a man's life for the value of his gaberdine, and who slays priests and pilgrims as if they were so many lance-knights and men-at-arms? It would be a blot on my father's scutcheon for ever.'
'Well, my young hot-blood,' replied Maitre Pierre, 'if you hold the Sanglier too unscrupulous, wherefore not follow the young Duke of Gueldres?'[4]
'Follow the foul fiend as soon,' said Quentin. 'Hark in your ear – he is a burden too heavy for earth to carry – hell gapes for him! Men say that he keeps his own father imprisoned, and that he has even struck him – Can you believe it?'
Maitre Pierre seemed somewhat disconcerted with the naive horror with which the young Scotsman spoke of filial ingratitude, and he answered, 'You know not, young man, how short a while the relations of blood subsist amongst those of elevated rank;' then changed the tone of feeling in which he had begun to speak, and added, gaily, 'besides, if the Duke has beaten his father, I warrant you his father hath beaten him of old, so it is but a clearing of scores.'
'I marvel to hear you speak thus,' said the Scot, colouring with indignation; 'grey hairs such as yours ought to have fitter subjects for jesting. If the old Duke did beat his son in childhood, he beat him not enough; for better he had died under the rod, than have lived to make the Christian world ashamed that such a monster had ever been baptized.'
'At this rate,' said Maitre Pierre, 'as you weigh the characters of each prince and leader, I think you had better become a captain yourself; for where will one so wise find a chieftain fit to command him?'
'You laugh at me, Maitre Pierre,' said the youth, good-humouredly, 'and perhaps you are right; but you have not named a man who is a gallant leader, and keeps a brave party up here, under whom a man might seek service well enough.'
'I cannot guess whom you mean.'
'Why, he that hangs like Mahomet's coffin (a curse be upon Mahomet!) between the two loadstones – he that no man can call either French or Burgundian, but who knows to hold the balance between them both, and makes both of them fear and serve him, for as great princes as they be.'
'I cannot guess whom you mean,' said Maitre Pierre, thoughtfully.
'Why, whom should I mean but the noble Louis de Luxembourg, Count of Saint Paul, the High Constable of France? Yonder he makes his place good, with his gallant little army, holding his head as high as either King Louis or Duke Charles, and balancing between them, like the boy who stands on the midst of a plank, while two others are swinging on the opposite ends.'[5]
'He is in danger of the worst fall of the three,' said Maitre Pierre. 'And hark ye, my young friend, you who hold pillaging such a crime, do you know that your politic Count of Saint Paul was the first who set the example of burning the country during the time of war? and that before the shameful devastation which he committed, open towns and villages, which made no resistance, were spared on all sides?'
'Nay, faith,' said Durward, 'if that be the case, I shall begin to think no one of these great men is much better than another, and that a choice among them is but like choosing a tree to be hung upon. But this Count de Saint Paul, this Constable, hath possessed himself by clean conveyance of the town which takes its name from my honoured saint and patron, Saint Quentin[6],' (here he crossed himself,) 'and methinks, were I dwelling there, my holy patron would keep some look-out for me – he has not so many named after him as your more popular saints – and yet he must have forgotten me, poor Quentin Durward, his spiritual god-son, since he lets me go one day without food, and leaves me the next morning to the harbourage of Saint Julian, and the chance courtesy of a stranger, purchased by a ducking in the renowned river Cher, or one of its tributaries.'
'Blaspheme not the saints, my young friend,' said Maitre Pierre. 'Saint Julian is the faithful patron of travellers; and, peradventure, the blessed Saint Quentin hath done more and better for thee than thou art aware of.'
As he spoke, the door opened, and a girl, rather above than under fifteen years old, entered with a platter, covered with damask, on which was placed a small saucer of the dried plums which have always added to the reputation of Tours, and a cup of the curiously chased plate which the goldsmiths of that city were anciently famous for executing with a delicacy of workmanship that distinguished them from the other cities of France, and even excelled the skill of the metropolis. The form of the goblet was so elegant, that Durward throught not of observing closely whether the material was of silver, or, like what had been placed before himself, of a baser metal, but so well burnished as to resemble the richer ore.
But the sight of the young person by whom this service was executed, attracted Durward's attention far more than the petty minuti? of the duty which she performed.
He speedily made the discovery, that a quantity of long black tresses, which, in the maiden fashion of his own country, were unadorned by any ornament, except a single chaplet lightly woven out of ivy leaves, formed a veil around a countenance, which, in its regular features, dark eyes, and pensive expression, resembled that of Melpomene, though there was a faint glow on the cheek, and an intelligence on the lips and in the eye, which made it seem that gaiety was not foreign to a countenance so expressive, although it might not be its most habitual expression. Quentin even thought he could discern that depressing circumstances were the cause why a countenance so young and so lovely was graver than belongs to early beauty; and as the romantic imagination of youth is rapid in drawing conclusions from slight premises, he was pleased to infer, from what follows, that the fate of this beautiful vision was wrapped in silence and mystery.
'How now, Jacqueline!' said Maitre Pierre, when she entered the apartment – 'Wherefore this? Did I not desire that Dame Perette should bring what I wanted? – Pasques-dieu! – Is she, or does she think herself, too good to serve me?'
'My kinswoman is ill at ease,' answered Jacqueline, in a hurried yet a humble tone; 'ill at ease, and keeps her chamber.'
'She keeps it alone, I hope?' replied Maitre Pierre, with some emphasis; 'I am vieux routier, and none of those upon whom feigned disorders pass for apologies.'
Jacqueline turned pale, and even tottered at the answer of Maitre Pierre; for it must be owned, that his voice and looks, at all times harsh, caustic, and unpleasing, had, when he expressed anger or suspicion, an effect both sinister and alarming.
The mountain chivalry of Quentin Durward was instantly awakened, and he hastened to approach Jacqueline, and relieve her of the burden she bore, and which she passively resigned to him, while with a timid
