Richard briefly narrated his life with Gourdon, and his capture by the Prince, adding, "My mother was willing I should remain with him; she bade me do anything rather than join Simon and Guy; and verily, brother, save that the Prince is less free of speech, his whole life seems moulded upon our blessed father's-"
"Speak not of them in the same breath," cried Henry hastily. "And wherefore-if such be his honour to him whom he slew and mutilated- art thou to disown thy name, and stand before him like some chance foundling?"
"That was the King's doing," said Richard. "The Prince was averse to it, but King Henry, though he wept over me and called me his dear nephew, made it his special desire that he might not hear the name of Montfort; and the Prince, though overruling him in all that pertains to matters of state, is most dutiful in all lesser matters. I hoped at least to be called Fitz Simon, but some mumble of the King turned it into Fowen, and so it has continued. I believe no one at court is really ignorant of my lineage; but among the people, Montfort is still a trumpet-call, and the King fears to hear it."
"Well he may!" laughed Henry. "Rememberest thou, Richard, the sorry figure our good uncle cut, when we armed him so courteously, and put him on his horse to meet the rebels at Evesham-how he durst not hang back, and loved still less to go onward, and kept calling me his loving nephew all the time?"
"Ah! Henry-but didst thou not hear my father mutter, when he saw the crowned helm under the standard, that it was ill done, and no good could come of seething the kid in the mother's milk? And verily, had not the Prince been carrying his father from the field, I trow the Mortimers had not refused us quarter, nor had their cruel will of us."
"Oh ho! thou art come to have opinions of thine own!" laughed Henry, with the scoff of a senior unable to brook that his younger brother should think for himself. Yet this tone was so familiar to Richard's ears, that it absolutely encouraged him to a nearer step to intimacy. He said, "But how scapedst thou, Henry? I could have sworn that I saw thee fall, skull and helmet cleft, a dead man!"
Instead of answering, Henry put his hand under the chin of his child, who was leaning against him, and holding up her face to his brother, said, "Thou canst see this child's face? Tell me what like she is."
"Like little Eleanor, like Amaury. The home-look of her eyes won my heart at once. Even the Princess remarked their resemblance to mine. Think of Eleanor and thy mind's eye will see her."
"No other likeness?" said the blind man wistfully; "but no-thou wast at Hereford when she was at Odiham."
"Who?"
He grasped Richard's hand, and under his breath uttered the name "Isabel."
"Isabel Mortimer!" exclaimed Richard, who had been, of course, aware of his brother's betrothal, when the two families of Montfort and Mortimer had been on friendly terms; "we heard she had taken the veil!"
"And so thou sawst me slain!" said Henry de Montfort dryly.
"But how-how was it?" asked Richard eagerly.
"Men sometimes tie knots faster than they intend," said Henry. "When Roger Mortimer took Simon's doings in wrath, and vowed that his sister should never wed a Montfort, he knew not what he did. He and his proud wife could flout and scorn my Isabel-they might not break her faith to me. Thou knowst, perhaps, Richard, since thou art hand and glove with our foes, that like a raven to the slaughter, the Lady Mortimer came as near the battle-field as her care for her dainty person would allow; and there was one whom she brought with her. And, gentle dame, what doth she do but carry her sister-in-law a sweet and womanly gift? What thinkst thou it was, Richard?"
"I fear I know," said Richard, choked; "my father's hand."
"Nay, that was a choicer morsel reserved for my lady countess herself. It was mine own, with our betrothal-ring thereon. Now, quoth that loving sister, might Isabel resume her ring. No plighted troth could be her excuse any longer for refusing to wed my Lord of Gloucester. Then rose up my love, 'It beckons me!' she said, and bade them leave it with her. They deemed that it was for death that it beckoned. So mayhap did she. I wot Countess Maud had little grieved. But little dreamed they of her true purpose-my perfect jewel of constant love-namely, to restore the lopped hand to the poor corpse, that it might likewise have Christian burial. Her old nurse, Welsh Winny, was as true to her as she was to me; and forth they sped, fearless of the spoilers, and made their way at nightfall even to the Abbey Church, where Edward, less savage than the fair countess, had caused us to be laid before the altar, awaiting our burial in the vaults."
"Thou wert senseless all this time?"
"Ay, and so continued. The pang when my hand was severed had roused me for a few moments, but only to darkness; and my effort to speak had been rewarded with as many Welsh knives as could pierce my flesh at once."
"And thou didst not bleed to death?"
"The swoon checked my blood. And the monks of Evesham must have staunched and bandaged so as to make a decent corpse of me. Had they had a man-at-arms among them, they would have known that mine were not the wounds of a dead but of a living man. The old nurse knew it, when my sweet lady would needs unbind my wrist, to place my hand in its right place. An old crone such as Welsh Winny never stirs without her cordial potion. They poured it into my lips-and if I were never more to awake to the light of day, I awoke to the sound that was yet dearer to me-while, alas! it still was left to me."
He became silent, till Richard's question drew him on.
"What with their care and support, when once on my feet I found strength to stumble out of the chapel and gain shelter in the woods ere day; and I believe the monks got credit for their zeal in casting out the excommunicate body."
"Not credit," said Richard; "the Prince was full of grief, more especially as they all disavowed the deed. But, brother, art thou excommunicate still?"
"Far from it, most pious Crusader. If seas of holy wells could assoil me, I should be pure enough. My sweet Isabel deemed that some such washing might bring back mine eyesight; and from one to another we wandered as my limbs could bear it. And at St. Winifred's there was a priest who told us strange tales of the miracles wrought in the Mortimer household by my father's severed hand; nay, that it had so worked on Lord Mortimer's sister, that she had left the vanities of the world, and gone into a nunnery. He seemed so convinced of my father's saintliness, and so honest a fellow, that Isabel insisted on unbosoming ourselves to him under seal of confession. No longer was the old nurse to be my mother and she my sister; and the good man made no difficulties, but absolved me, and wedded me to the truest, most loving wife that ever blessed a man bereft of all else."
"And you begged! O Henry, the noble lady-"
"At first we had the knightly chain and spurs in which the monks had kindly pranked me up. Isabel too had worn a few jewels; but after all, a palmer need never hunger. My father always said no trade was so well paid as begging, under King Henry, and verily we found it so. She used at times to gather berries and thread them for chaplets to sell at the holy wells; but I trow sheer beggary throve better!"
"But wherefore? Even had pardon not been ready, Simon held out Kenilworth for months."
Henry laughed his dry laugh.
"Simple boy, dost think I would trust Simon with an elder brother whose hand could no longer keep his head?"