



Produced by Jill Diffendal.  HTML version by Al Haines.









THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD


by

CHARLOTTE M. YONGE




PREFACE


For an explanation of the allusions in the present Tale, scarcely any
Notes are necessary, save a reference to the bewitching Chronicle of
Froissart; and we cannot but hope that our sketch may serve as an
inducement to some young readers to make acquaintance with the
delectable old Canon for themselves, undeterred by the size of his
tomes.

The story of Orthon is almost verbally copied from him, and bears a
curious resemblance to various German legends--such as that of
"Heinzelman," to be found in Keightley's "Fairy Mythology," and to
"Teague of the Lea," as related in Croker's "Irish Fairy Legends."

The old French "Vie de Bertrand du Guesclin" has likewise been drawn
upon for materials, and would have supplied much more of great
interest, such as Enrique of Trastamare's arrival in the disguise of a
palmer, to consult with him during his captivity at Bordeaux, and many
most curious anecdotes of his early childhood and youth.

To Breton tradition, his excellent wife Epiphanie Raguenel owes her
title of Tiphaine la fee, meaning that she was endowed with magic
power, which enabled her to predict what would be lucky or unlucky days
for her husband.  His disregard of them was thought to have twice cost
him the loss of a battle.

We must apologize for having made Henry of Lancaster a year or two
older than is warranted by the date of his birth.





THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD




CHAPTER I


Seldom had the interior of this island presented a more peaceful and
prosperous aspect than in the reign of Edward III., when the more
turbulent spirits among his subjects had found occupation in his
foreign wars, and his wise government had established at home a degree
of plenty, tranquility, and security, such as had probably never before
been experienced in England.

Castle and cottage, church and convent, alike showed the prosperity and
safety of the inhabitants, at once by the profuseness of embellishment
in those newly erected, and by the neglect of the jealous precautions
required in former days of confusion and misrule.  Thus it was with the
village of Lynwood, where, among the cottages and farm-houses occupying
a fertile valley in Somersetshire, arose the ancient Keep, built of
gray stone, and strongly fortified; but the defences were kept up
rather as appendages of the owner's rank, than as requisite for his
protection; though the moat was clear of weeds, and full of water, the
drawbridge was so well covered with hard-trodden earth, overgrown at
the edges with grass, that, in spite of the massive chains connecting
it with the gateway, it seemed permanently fixed on the ground.  The
spikes of the portcullis frowned above in threatening array, but a
wreath of ivy was twining up the groove by which it had once descended,
and the archway, which by day stood hospitably open, was at night only
guarded by two large oaken doors, yielding to a slight push. Beneath
the southern wall of the castle court were various flower-beds, the
pride and delight of the old seneschal, Ralph Penrose, in his own
estimation the most important personage of Lynwood Keep, manager of the
servants, adviser of the Lady, and instructor of the young gentleman in
the exercises of chivalry.

One fine evening, old Ralph stood before the door, his bald forehead
and thin iron-gray locks unbonneted, and his dark ruddy-brown face
(marked at Halidon Hill with a deep scar) raised with an air of
deference, and yet of self-satisfaction, towards the Lady who stood on
the steps of the porch.  She was small and fragile in figure; her face,
though very lovely, was pale and thin, and her smile had in it
something pensive and almost melancholy, as she listened to his
narration of his dealings with a refractory tenant, and at the same
time watched a noble-looking child of seven or eight years old, who,
mounted on an old war-horse, was led round the court by a youth, his
elder by some ten or eleven years.

"See mother!" cried the child, "I am holding the reins myself.  Uncle
Eustace lays not a finger on them!"

"As I was saying, madam," continued Ralph, disregarding the
interruption, "I told him that I should not have thought of one
exempted from feudal service in the camp, by our noble Knight, being
deficient in his dues in his absence.  I told him we should see how he
liked to be sent packing to Bordeaux with a sheaf of arrows on his
back, instead of the sheaf of wheat which ought to be in our granary by
this time.  But you are too gentle with them, my Lady, and they grow
insolent in Sir Reginald's long absence."

"All goes ill in his absence," said the Lady.  "It is a weary while
since the wounded archer brought tidings of his speedy return."

"Therefore," said the youth, turning round, "it must be the nearer at
hand.  Come sweet sister Eleanor, cheer up, for he cannot but come
soon."

"So many _soons_ have passed away, that my heart is well-nigh too sick
for hope," said Eleanor.  "And when he comes it will be but a bright
dream to last for a moment.  He cannot long be spared from the Prince's
side."

"You must go with him, then, sister, and see how I begin my days of
chivalry--that is, if he will but believe me fit to bear shield and
lance."

"Ah! Master Eustace, if you were but such as I have seen others of your
race," said Ralph, shaking his head.  "There was Sir Henry--at your age
he had made the Scottish thieves look about them, I promise you.  And
to go no further back than Sir Reginald himself--he stood by the
Prince's side at Crecy ere he was yet fifteen!"

"It is not my fault that I have not done as much, Ralph," said Eustace.
"It is not for want of the will, as you know full well."

"No.  Thanks to me, I trust you have the will and the teaching, at
least, to make a good Knight," said Ralph.  "And yet, while I think of
the goodly height and broad shoulders of those that have gone before
you--"

"But hark! hark!" cried Eustace, cutting short a comparison which did
not seem likely to be complimentary.  "Dost not hear, Ralph? A horn!"

"The Lynwood note!  My husband's note!  O thanks, thanks to the
Saints!" cried the Lady, clasping her hands, whilst Eustace, vaulting
into the saddle behind his little nephew, rode across the drawbridge as
fast as the stiffened joints of old Blanc Etoile could be prevailed on
to move.  Gaining the summit of a rising ground, both at once shouted,
"Our own pennon!  It is himself!" as they beheld the dark blue crosslet
on an argent field floating above a troop of horsemen, whose armour
glanced in the setting sun.

"There are the Lances of Lynwood, Arthur," said Eustace, leaping to the
ground.  "Keep your seat, and meet your father like a brave Knight's
son."

He then settled the reins in the child's hand, and walked beside him to
meet the new-comers.  They were about twenty in number, armed alike
with corselets marked with the blue cross, steel headpieces, and long
lances.  In front rode two of higher rank.  The first was a man of
noble mien and lofty stature, his short dark curled hair and beard, and
handsome though sunburnt countenance, displayed beneath his small blue
velvet cap, his helmet being carried behind him by a man-at-arms, and
his attire consisting of a close-fitting dress of chamois leather, a
white mantle embroidered with the blue cross thrown over one shoulder,
and his sword hanging by his side. His companion, who carried at his
saddle-bow a shield blazoned with heraldic devices in scarlet and gold,
was of still greater height, and very slight; his large keen eyes, hair
and moustache, black as jet; and his complexion dark brown, with a
well-formed aquiline nose, and a perfect and very white set of teeth.

The instant the first-mentioned horseman perceived Eustace and Arthur,
he sprang to the ground and hurried to meet them with rapid
affectionate greetings and inquiries.  In another moment Dame Eleanor
appeared on the drawbridge, and, weeping with joy, was clasped in her
husband's arms.  Behind her stood the venerable chaplain, Father Cyril,
and a step or two further off, Ralph Penrose, both of whom in turn
received the kindly greetings of Sir Reginald Lynwood, as, with his
wife hanging on his arm and his boy holding his hand, he passed under
the gateway of his ancestral castle.  Turning the next moment, he
addressed his tall companion: "Friend Gaston, I bid you welcome!  Dame
Eleanor, and you, brother Eustace, I present to you my trusty Esquire,
Master Gaston d'Aubricour."

Due courtesies passed between the Lady and the Squire, who, after a few
words with the Knight, remained to see the disposal of the men, while
Sir Reginald himself entered the hall with his wife, son and brother.
Eustace did not long remain there: he found that Reginald and Eleanor
had much to say to each other, and his curiosity and interest were,
besides, greatly excited by the novelty of the scene presented by the
castle court, so different from its usual peaceful monotony.  The men
were unsaddling their horses, rubbing them down, walking them about, or
removing the stains of dust and mud from their own armour, while others
were exchanging greetings with the villagers, who were gathering in
joyous parties round such of the newly arrived as were natives of the
place.

In the midst stood the strange Squire, superintending a horse-boy who
was rubbing down the Knight's tall war-horse, and at the same time
ordering, giving directions, answering inquiries, or granting
permission to the men to return home with their relations. Ralph
Penrose was near, his countenance, as Eustace could plainly perceive,
expressing little satisfaction at finding another authority in the
court of Lynwood Keep; the references to himself short, brief, and
rapid, and only made when ignorance of the locality compelled the
stranger to apply for information.  The French accent and occasional
French phrases with which the Squire spoke, made him contract his brow
more and more, and at last, just as Eustace came up, he walked slowly
away, grumbling to himself, "Well, have it e'en your own way, I am too
old for your gay French fashions.  It was not so in Humfrey Harwood's
time, when--  But the world has gone after the French now! Sir Reginald
has brought home as many Gas