'I would scarcely ask a dog to come out with me this wintry morn,' said he, as he waved back his sleepy chamberlain, Fitzhugh, and took his brother king's arm; 'but I could not but crave a turn with thee, Jamie, ere the hue and cry of rejoicing begins.'
'That is poor welcome for your heir,' said James.
'Poor child!' said Henry; then, after they had walked some space in silence, he added, 'You'll mock me, but I would that this had not befallen at Windsor. I had laid my plans that it should be otherwise; but ladies are ill to guide.'
'And wherefore should it not have been at fair Windsor? If I can love it as a prison, sure your son may well love it as a cradle.'
'No dishonour to Windsor,' said Henry; 'but, sleeping or waking, this whole night hath this adage rung in my ears -
"Harry, born at Monmouth, shall short time live and all get; Harry, born at Windsor, shall long time live and lose all."'
'A most choice piece of royal poesy and prophecy,' laughed James.
'Nay, do not charge me with it, thou dainty minstrel. It was sung to me by mime old Herefordshire nurse, when Windsor seemed as little within my reach as Meaux, and I never thought of it again till I looked to have a son.'
'Then balk the prophecy,' said James; 'Edward born at Windsor got enough, and lived long enough to boot!'
'Too late!' was the answer. 'The Archbishop christened the poor child Harry in the very hour of his birth.'
'Poor child!' echoed James, rather sarcastically.
'Nay, 'tis not solely the rhyme,' said Henry; 'but this has been a wakeful night, and not without misgivings whether I am one who ought to look for joy in his children.'
'What is past was not such that you alone should cry mea culpa,' said James.
'I never thought so till now,' said Henry. 'Yet who knows? My father was a winsome young man ere his exile, full of tenderness to us all, at the rare times he was with us. Who knows what cares may make of me ere my boy learns to knew me?'
'You will not hold him aloof, and give him no chance of loving you?'
'I trow not! I'll have him with me in the camp, and he and my brave men shall be one another's pride. Which Roman emperor is it that hears the nickname his father's soldiers gave him as a child? Nay-- Caligula was it? Omens are against me this morning.'
'Then laughs them to scorn, and be yourself,' said James. 'Bless God for the goodly child, who is born to two kingdoms, won by his father's and his grandsire's swords.'
'Ah!' said Henry, depressed by failing health, a sleepless night, and hungry morning, 'maybe it were better for him, soul and body both, did I stand here Duke of Lancaster, and good Edmund of March yonder were head of realm and army.'
'Never would he be head of this army,' said James. 'He would be snoring at Shene; that is, if he could sleep for the trouble the Duke of Lancaster would be giving him.'
Henry laughed at last. 'Good King Edmund, he would assuredly never try to set the world right on its hinges. Honest fellow, soon he will be as hearty in his congratulations as though he did not lie under a great wrong. Heigh-ho! such as he may be in the right on't. I've marvelled of late, whether any priest or hermit could bring back my old assurance, that all this is my work on earth, or tell me if it be all one grand error. Men there have been like Caesar, Alexander, or Charlemagne, who thought my thoughts and worked them out; and surely Church and nations cry aloud for purifying. Jerusalem, and a general council--I saw them once clear and bright before me; but now a mist seems to rise up from Richard's blood, and hide them from me; and there comes from it my father's voice when he asked on his deathbed what right I had to the crown. What would it be if I had to leave this work half done?'
He was interrupted by the sight of a young knight stealing into the camp, after a furtive expedition to Paris. It was enough to rouse him from his despondent state; and the severity of his wrath was in full proportion to the offence. Nor did he again utter his misgivings, but was full of his usual alacrity and life, as though daylight had restored his buoyancy.
James, on the way back to the thanksgiving mass, interceded for last night's offenders, as an act of grace suitable to the occasion; but Henry was inexorable.
'Had they stood to die like Englishmen, they had not lied like dogs! 'he said; 'and as dogs they shall hang!'
In fact, in the critical state of his army, he knew that the only safety lay in the promptest and sternest justice; and therefore the three foremost in accusing King James of treachery were hung long before noon.
However, he called for the two Yorkshiremen, and thus addressed them: 'Well done, my masters! Thanks for showing Scots and Frenchmen what stuff Englishmen are made of! I keep my word, good fellows. Kneel down, and I'll dub each a knight. How now! what are you blundering and whispering for?'
'So please you, Sir,' said Kitson, 'this is no matter to win one's spurs for--mere standing still without a blow.'
'I would all had that same gift of standing still,' returned Henry. 'What is it sticks in your gizzard, friend? If 'tis the fees, I take them on myself.'
'No, Sir,' hoarsely cried both.
And Kitson explained: 'Sir, you said you'd knight the one of us that was foremost. Now, the two being dubbed, we shall be but where we were before as to Mistress Agnes of Mineshull, unless of your good- will you would be pleased to let us fight out the wager of the heriard in all peace and amity.'
Henry burst out laughing, with all his old merriment, as he said, 'For no Mistress Agnes living can I have honest men's lives wasted, specially of such as have that gift of standing still. If she does not knew her own mind, one of you must get himself killed by the Frenchmen, not by one another. So kneel down, and we'll make your knighthood's feast fall in with that of my son.'
Thus Sir Christopher Kitson and Sir William Trenton rose up knights; and bore their honours with a certain bluntness that made them butts, even while they were the heroes of the day; and Henry, who had resumed his gay temper, made much diversion out of their mingled shrewdness and gruffness.
'So,' muttered Malcolm to Ralf Percy, 'we are passed over in the self-same matter for which these fellows are knighted.'
'Tush!' answered Percy; 'I'd scorn to be confounded with a couple of clowns like them! Moreover,' he added, with better reason, 'their valour was more exercised than ours, inasmuch as they thought there was treachery, and we did not. No, no; when my spurs are won, it shall be for some prowess, better than standing stock-still.'
Malcolm held his tongue, unwilling that Percy should see that he did feel this an achievement; but he was vexed at the lack of reward, fancying that knighthood would be no small step in the favour of that imaginary Esclairmonde whom he had made for himself.
'Light of the world' he loved to call her still, but it was in the commonplace romance of his time, the mere light of beauty and grace illuminating the world of chivalry.
CHAPTER VIII: THE CAPTURE
The seven months' siege ended at last, but it was not until the brightness of May was on the fields outside, and the deadly blight of famine on all within, that a haggard, wasted-looking deputation came down from the upper city to treat with the King.
Henry was never severe with the inhabitants of French cities, and exacted no harsh terms, save that he insisted that Vaurus, the robber captain, and his two chief lieutenants, should be given up to him to suffer condign punishment. The warriors who had shut themselves up to hold out the place by honourable warfare for the Dauphin must be put to ransom as prisoners of war; but the burghers were to be unmolested, on condition of their swearing allegiance to Henry as regent for, and heir of, Charles VI.