CHAPTER XII: THE LAST PILGRIMAGE
The summer morning came; the _reveille_ sounded, Mass was sung in thechapel tent, without which Henry never moved; and Malcolm tried toreassure his sinking heart by there pledging his vow to St. Andrew.
The English king was not present; but the troops were drawing up incomplete array, that he might inspect them before the march. And aglorious array they were, of steel-clad men-at-arms on horseback, inbands around their leader's banner, and of ranks of sturdy archers, withtheir long-bows in leathern cases; the orderly multitude, stretching asfar as the eye could reach, glittering in the early sun, and waiting withbold and glad hearts to greet the much-loved king, who had always ledthem to victory.
The only unarmed knight was James of Scotland. He stood in the spacebeside the standard of England, in his plain suit of chamois leather, hiscrimson cloak over his shoulder, but with no weapon about him, waitingwith crossed arms for the morning's decision.
Close outside the royal tent waited Henry's horse, and those of hisbrother and other immediate attendants; and after a short interval theKing came forth in his brightest armour, with the coronal on his helmet,and the beaver up; and as he mounted, not without considerable aid,enthusiastic shouts of 'Long live King Harry!' broke forth, and cameechoing back and back from troop to troop, gathering fervour as theyrose.
The King rode forward towards the standard; but while yet the shouts werepealing from the army, be suddenly caught at his saddle-bow, reeledvisibly, and would have fallen before Bedford could bring his horse tohis side, had not James sprung forward, and laid one arm round him, and ahand on his rein.
'It is nothing,' said Henry. 'Let me alone.'
Ere the words were finished, he put his hand to his side, dropped hisbridle, and gasped, while a look of intense suffering passed over hisfeatures; and he was passive while his horse was led back to the tent,and he was lifted down and placed on the couch he had just quitted.
'Loose my belt,' he gasped; then trying to smile, 'Percy has strained itthree holes tighter.'
Alas! though it was indeed thus drawn in, his armour was hanging on himlike the shell of a last year's nut. They released him from it, and helay against the cushions with short painful respiration, and frequentcough.
'You must go on with the men at once, John,' he said. 'I will but beblooded, and follow in the litter.'
'Warwick and Salisbury--' began Bedford.
'No, no!' peremptorily gasped Henry. 'It must be you or I, I would, butthis stitch in the side catches me, so that I can neither ride nor speak.Go, instantly. You know what I have ordered. I'll be up with you erethe battle.'
He brooked no resistance. His impatience, and with it the oppression andpain, only grew by remonstrance; and Bedford was forced to obey thecommand to go himself, and leave no one he could help behind him.
'You will stay, at least,' said John, in his distress, turning to theScottish king.
'I must,' said James.
'You hold not your wrath?' said Bedford. 'It will madden me to leave himto any save you in this stress. Some are dull; some he will not heed.'
'I will tend him like yourself, John,' said the Scot, taking his hand.'Do what he may, Harry is Harry still. Hasten to your command, John; hewill be calmer when you are gone.'
Bedford groaned. It was hard to leave his brother at a moment when hemust be more than himself--become general of an army, with a battleimminent; but he was under dire necessity, and forced himself to listento and gather the import of the few terse orders and directions thatHenry, breathless as he was, rendered clear and trenchant as ever.
The King almost drove his brother away at last, while a barber was takinga copious stream of blood from him; and as the army had already been setin motion, a great stillness soon prevailed, no one being left save asmall escort, and part of the King's own immediate household, for Henryhad himself ordered away Montagu, his chamberlain, Percy, and almost allon whom his eyes fell. The bleeding relieved him; he breathed lesstightly, but became deadly pale, and sank into a doze of extremeexhaustion.
'Who is here?' he said, awakening. 'Some drink! What you, Jamie! Youthat were on fire to see a stricken field!'
'Not so much as to see you better at ease,' said James.
'I am better,' said Henry. 'I could move now; and I must. This tentwill stifle me by noon.'
'You will not go forward?'
'No; I'll go back. A sick man is best with his wife. And I can battleit no further, nor grudge the glory of the day to John. He deserves it.'
The irascible sharpness had passed from his voice and manner, and givenplace to a certain languid cheerfulness, as arrangements were made forhis return to Vincennes.
There proved to be a large and commodious barge, in which the transitcould be effected on the river, with less of discomfort than in thespringless horse litter by which he had travelled the day before; andthis was at once prepared.
Malcolm had meanwhile remained, as in duty bound, in attendance on hisking. James had found time to enjoin him to stay, being, to say thetruth, unwilling to trust one so inexperienced and fragile in the _melee_without himself; nor indeed would this have been a becoming moment forhim to put himself forward to win his spurs in the English cause.
Nothing had passed about Patrick Drummond, nor the high words of lastnight. Henry seemed to have forgotten them, between his bodily sufferingand the anxiety of being forced to relinquish the command just before abattle; and James would have felt it ungenerous to harass him at such amoment, when absolutely committed to his charge. For the present, therewas no fear of the prisoner being summarily executed by any lawfulauthority, since the King had promised to take cognizance of the case;and the chief danger was from his chance discovery by some lawless man-at-arms, who would think himself doing good service by killing a concealedScot under any circumstances.
Drummond himself, after his delirious night, had sunk into a heavy sleep;and the King thought the best hope for him would be to remain under thecare of Sir Nigel Baird for the present, until he could obtain favour forhim from Henry, and could send back orders from Vincennes. He would notleave Malcolm to share the care of him, declaring that the canny SirNigel would have quite enough to do in averting suspicion without him;and, besides, he needed Malcolm himself, in the scarcity of attendantswho had any tenderness or dexterity of hand to wait upon the sufferingKing.
Henry had rallied enough to walk down to the river, leaning upon James;and he smiled thanks when he was assisted by Trenton and Kitson to liealong on cushions. 'So, my Yorkshire knights,' he said, ''tis you thathave had to stop from the battle to watch a sick man home!'
'Ay, Sir,' said Sir Christopher; 'I did it with the better will, thatTrenton here has not been his own man since the fever; and 'twere no fairplay in the matter your Grace wets of, did I go into battle whole andsound, and he sick and sorry.'
Henry's look of amusement brightened him into his old self, as he said,'Honester guards could I scarce have, good friend.'
At that moment, after a nudge or two from Trenton, Kitson and he camesuddenly down on their knees, with an impetus that must have tried theboards of the bottom of the barge. 'Sir,' said Kitson, always thespokesman, 'we have a grace to ask of you.'
'Say on,' said Henry. 'Any boon, save the letting you cut one another'sthroats.'
'No, Sir. Will Trenton's scarce my match now, more's the pity; and,moreover, we've lost the good will to it we once had. No, Sir; 'twaslicense to go a pilgrimage.'
'On pilgrimage!'
'Ay, Sir; to yon shrine at Breuil--St. Fiacre's, as they call him. Someof our rogues pillaged his shrine, as you know, Sir; and those that knowthese parts best, say he was a Scottish hermit, and bears malice like aScot, saint though he be; and that your sickness, my lord, is all alongof that. So we two have vowed to go barefoot there for your healing, myliege, if so be we have your license.'
'And welcome, with my best thanks, good friends,' said Henry, exertinghimself to lean
forward and give his hand to their kiss. Then, as theyfell back into their places, with a few inarticulate blessings andassurances that they only wished they could go to Rome, or to Jerusalem,if it would restore their king, Henry said, smiling, as he looked atJames, 'Scotsmen here, there, and everywhere--in Heaven as well as earth!What was it last night about a Scot that moved thine ire, Jamie? Didstnot tender me thy sword? By my faith, thou hast it not! What was therub?'
James now told the story in its fulness. How he had met Sir PatrickDrummond at Glenuskie; how, afterwards, the knight had stood by him inthe encounter at Meaux; and how it had been impossible to leave himsenseless to the flames; and how he had trusted that a capture made thus,accidentally, of a helpless man, would not fall under Henry's strictrules against accepting Scottish prisoners.
'Hm!' said Henry; 'it must be as you will; only I trust to you not to lethim loose on us, either here or on the Border. Take back your sword,Jamie. If I spoke over hotly last night--a man hardly knows what he sayswhen he has a goad in the side--you forgive it, Jamie.' And as the Scotsking, with the dew in his eyes, wrung his hand, he added anxiously, 'Yoursword! What, not here! Here's mine. Which is it?' Then, as Jameshanded it to him: 'Ay, I would fain you wore it! 'Tis the sword of myknighthood, when poor King Richard dubbed me in Ireland; and many a bravescheme came with it!'
The soft movement of the barge upon the water had a soothing influence;and he was certainly in a less suffering state, though silent and dreamy,as he lay half raised on cushions under an awning, James anxiouslywatching over him, and Malcolm with a few other attendants near at hand;stout bargemen propelling the craft, and the guard keeping along the bankof the river.
His thoughts were perhaps with the battle, for presently he looked up,and murmured the verse:
'"I had a dream, a weary dream, Ayont the Isle of Skye; I saw a dead man win a fight, And I think that man was I."
That stave keeps ringing in my brain; nor can I tell where or when I haveheard it.'
''Tis from the Scottish ballad that sings of the fight of Otterburn,'said James; 'I brought it with me from Scotland.'
'And got little thanks for your pains,' said Henry, smiling. 'But,methinks, since no Percy is in the way, I would hear it again; there wastrue knighthood in the Douglas that died there.'
James's harp was never far off; and again his mellow voice went throughthat gallant and plaintive strain, though in a far more subdued mannerthan the first time he had sung it; and Henry, weakened and softened,actually dropped a brave man's tear at the 'bracken bush upon the lilylea,' and the hero who lay there.
'That I should weep for a Douglas!' he said, half laughing; 'but thehearts of all honest men lie near together, on whatever side they drawtheir swords. God have mercy on whosoever may fall to-morrow! I trow,Jamie, thou couldst not sing that rough rhyme of Agincourt. I wasbashful and ungracious enough to loathe the very sound of it when I camehome in my pride of youth; but I would lief hear it once more. Or,stay--Yorkshiremen always have voices;' and raising his tone, heunspeakably gratified Trenton and Kitson by the request; and theirvoices, deep and powerful, and not uncultivated, poured forth the Lay ofAgincourt to the waves of the French river, and to its mighty victor:
'Our King went forth to Normandye.'
Long and lengthily chanted was the triumphant song, with the Latinchoruses, which were echoed back by the escort on the bank; while Henrylay, listening and musing; and Malcolm had time for many a thought andimpulse.
Patrick's life was granted; although it had been promised too late tosend the intelligence back to the tent at Corbeil. So far, the purposeof his vow to St. Andrew had been accomplished; but with the probabilitythat he should soon again be associated with Patrick, came the sense ofthe failure in purpose and in promise. Patrick would not reproach him,he well knew--nay, would rejoice in the change; but even this certaintygalled him, and made him dread his cousin's presence as likely to bringhim a sense of shame. What would Patrick think of his letting a lady beabsolutely compelled to marry him? Might he not say it was the part ofWalter Stewart over again? Indeed, Malcolm remembered how carefully KingJames was prevented from hearing the means by which the Countess intendedto make the lady his own; and a sensation came over him, that it wasprofanation to call on St. Andrew to bless what was to be brought aboutby such means. Why was it that, as his eyes fell on the face of KingHenry, the whole world and all his projects acquired so different acolouring? and a sentence he had once heard Esclairmonde quote would cometo him constantly: 'My son, think not to buy off God. It is thyself thatHe requires, not thy gifts.'
But the long lay of victory was over; and King Henry had roused himselfto thank the singers, then sighed, and said, 'How long ago that was!'
'Six years,' said James.
'The whole space from the hope and pride of youth to the care and toil ofeld,' said Henry. 'Your Scots made an old man of me the day they slewThomas.'
'Yet that has been your sole mishap,' said James.
'Yea, truly! But thenceforth I have learnt that the road to Jerusalem isnot so straight and plain as I deemed it when I stood victorious atAgincourt. The Church one again--the Holy Sepulchre redeemed! It seemedthen before my eyes, and that I was the man called to do it.'
'So it may be yet,' said James. 'Sickness alters everything, and raisesmountains before us.'
'It may be so,' said Henry; 'and yet--Jerusalem! Jerusalem! It was myfather's cry; it was King Edward's cry; it was St. Louis' cry; and yetthey never got there.'
'St. Louis was far on his way,' said James.
'Ay! he never turned aside!' said Henry, sighing, and moving restlesslyand wearily with something of returning fever.
"'O bona patria, lumina sobria te speculantur--"
Boy, are you there?' as, in turning, his eye fell on Malcolm. 'Takewarning: the straight road is the best. You see, I have never come toJerusalem.' Then again he murmured:
"'Hic breve vivitur, hic breve plangitur, hic breve fletur; Non breve vivere, non breve plangere, retribuetur."
And James, seeing that nothing lulled him like song, offered to sing thatmysteriously beautiful rhythm of Bernard of Morlaix.
'Ay, prithee do so,' said Henry. 'There's a rest there, when theAgincourt lay rings hollow. Well, there is a Jerusalem where ourshortcomings are made up; only the straight way--the straight way.'
Malcolm took his part with James in singing the rhythm, which he hadlearnt long ago at Coldingham, and which thus in every note brought backthe vanished aspirations and self-dedication to 'the straight way.'
For such, an original purpose of self-devotion must ever be--not ofcourse exclusively to the monastic life; but whoever lowers his aims ofserving God under any worldly inducement, is deviating from the straightway: and, thought Malcolm, if King Harry feels Agincourt an empty wordbeside the song of Sion, must not all I have sought for be a very vanity?
Sometimes dozing, but sometimes restless, and with the pain of breathingconstantly increasing on him, Henry wore through the greater part of theday, upon the river, until it was necessary to land, and be taken throughthe forest in his litter. He was now obliged to be lifted from thebarge; and his weariness rendered the conveyance very distressing, savethat his patient smile never faded; and still he said, 'All will be wellwhen I come to my Kate!'
Alas! when the gates were reached, James hardly knew how to tell him thatthe Queen had gone that morning to Paris with her mother. Yet still hewas cheerful. 'If the physicians deal hard with me,' he said, 'it willbe well that she should not be here till the worst is over.'
The physicians were there. A messenger had gone direct from Corbeil tosummon them; and Henry delivered himself up into their hands, to fightout the battle with disease, as he had set himself to fight out manyanother battle in his time.
A sharp conflict it was--between a keen and aggravated disease,apparently pleurisy coming upon pulmonary affection of long standing, anda strong and resolute nature, unquenched
by suffering, and backed by theviolent remedies of a half-instructed period. Those who watched him, andstrove to fulfil the directions of the physicians, hardly marked thelapse of hours; even though more than one day and night had passed ere inthe early twilight of a long summer's morn he sank into a sleep, his facestill distressed, but less acutely, and his breath heavy and labouring,though without the severe pain.
The watchers felt that here might be the turning point, and stood or sataround, not daring to change their postures, or utter the slightest word.Suddenly, James, who stood nearest, leaning against the wall, with hiseyes fixed on the face of the sleeper, was aware of a hand on hisshoulder, and looking round, saw in the now full light Bedford's face--sopale, haggard, and replete with anxiety, so dusty and travel-stained,that Henry, awakening at that moment, exclaimed, 'Ha, John!' And as hisbrother was slow to reply--'Has the day gone against thee? How was it?Never fear to speak, brother; thou art safe; and I know thou hast donevaliantly. Valour is never lost, whether in defeat or success. Speak,John. Take it not so much to heart.'
'There has been no battle, Harry,' said Bedford, gathering voice withdifficulty. 'The Dauphin would not abide our coming, but broke up hiscamp.'
'Beshrew thee, man!' said Henry; 'but I thought thou wast just off aflight!'
'Dost think one can ride fast only for a flight?' said Bedford. 'Ah,would that it had been the loss of ten battles rather than this!'
And he fell on his knees, grasping Henry's hand, and hiding his faceagainst the bed, with the same instinct of turning to him for comfortwith which the young motherless children of Henry of Bolingbroke, whenturned adrift among the rude Beaufort progeny of John of Gaunt, had clungto their eldest brother, and found tenderness in his love and protectionin his fearlessness; so that few royal brethren ever loved better thanHenry and John of Lancaster.
'It was well and kindly done, John,' said Henry; 'and thou hast come at agood time; for, thanks be to God, the pain hath left me; and if it werenot for this burthen of heaviness and weariness, I should be more at easethan I have been for many weeks.'
But as he spoke, there was that both in his face and voice that chilledwith a dread certainty the hearts of those who hung over him.
'Is my wife come? I could see her now,' he wistfully asked.
Alas! no. Sir Lewis Robsart, the knight attached to her service,faltered, with a certain shame and difficulty, that the Queen would comewhen her orisons at Notre Dame were performed.
It was his last disappointment; but still he bore it cheerily.
'Best,' he said. 'My fair one was not made for sights like this; andwere she here'--his lip trembled--'I might bear me less as a Christianman should. My sweet Catherine! Take care of her, John; she will be themost desolate being in the world.'
John promised with all his heart; though pity for cold-hearted Catherinewas not the predominant feeling there.
'I would I had seen my child's face, and blessed him,' continued Henry.'Poor boy! I would have him Warwick's charge.'
'Warwick is waiting admission,' said Bedford. 'He and Salisbury andExeter rode with me.'
The King's face lighted up with joy as he heard this. 'It is good for aman to have his friends about him,' he said; and as they entered he heldout his hand to them and thanked them.
Then took place the well-known scene, when, looking back on his career,he pronounced it to have been his endeavour to serve God and his people,and declared himself ready to face death fearlessly, since such was thewill of his Maker: grieving only for the infancy of his son, but placinghis hope and comfort in his brother John, and commending the babe to thefatherly charge of Warwick. 'You cannot love him for his own sake asyet; but if you think you owe me aught, repay it to him.' And as hethought over the fate of other infant kings, he spoke of some havinghated the father and loved the child, others who had loved the father andhated the child.
To Humfrey of Gloucester he sent stringent warnings against giving way tohis hot and fiery nature, offending Burgundy, or rushing into a doubtfulwedlock with Jaqueline of Hainault; speaking of him with an elderbrother's fatherly affection, but turning ever to John of Bedford withfull trust and reliance, as one like-minded, and able to carry out allhis intentions. For the French prisoners, they might not be released,'lest more fire be kindled in one day than can be quenched in three.'
'And for you, Jamie,' he said, affectionately holding out his hand, 'myfriend, my brother-in-arms, I must say the same as ever. Pardon me,Jamie; but I have not kept you out of malice, such as man must needsrenounce on his death-bed. I trust to John, and to the rest, for givingyou freedom at such time as you can safely return to be such a kingindeed as we have ever hoped to be. Do you pardon me, James, for this,as for any harshness or rudeness you may have suffered from me?'
James, with full heart, murmured out his ardent love, his sense that nocaptive had ever been so generously treated as he.
'And you, my young lord,' said Henry, looking towards Malcolm, whoselight touch and tender hands had made him a welcome attendant in theillness, 'I have many a kind service to thank you for. And I believe Imightily angered you once; but, boy, remember--ay, and you too, RalfPercy--that he is your friend who turns you back from things sore toremember in a case like mine!'
After these, and other calm collected farewells, Henry required to knowfrom his physicians how long his time might yet be. There was hesitationin answering, plainly as they saw that mortification had set in.
'What,' he said, 'do ye think I have faced death so many times to fear itnow?'
Then came the reply given by the weeping, kneeling physician: 'Sir, thinkof your soul, for, without a miracle, you cannot live two hours.'
The King beckoned his confessor, and his friends retired, to return againto take their part in the last rites, the Viaticum and Unction.
Henry was collected, and alive to all that was passing, responding duly,and evidently entering deeply into the devotions that were to aid hisspirit in that awful passage; his face gravely set, but firm and fearlessas ever. The ceremonial ended, he was still sensible, though with littlepower of voice or motion left; but the tone, though low, was steady asever, when he asked for the Penitential Psalms. Still they doubtedwhether he were following them, for his eyes closed, and his lips ceasedto move, until, as they chanted the revival note of David's mournfulpenance--'O be favourable and gracious unto Sion; build Thou the walls ofJerusalem;'--at that much-loved word, the light of the blue eyes oncemore beamed out, and he spoke again. 'Jerusalem! On the faith of adying king, it was my earnest purpose to have composed matters here intopeace and union, and so to have delivered Jerusalem. But the will of Godbe done, since He saw me unworthy.'
Then his eyes closed again; he slept, or seemed to sleep; and then astrange quivering came over the face, the lips moved again, and the wordsbroke from them, 'Thou liest, foul spirit! thou liest!' but, as thoughthe parting soul had gained the victory in that conflict, peace came downon the wasted features; and with the very words of his Redeemer Himself,'Into Thy hands I commend my spirit,' he did indeed fall asleep; themighty soul passed from the worn-out frame.