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Transcriber's Notes:

   1. Page scan source:
      http://books.google.com/books?id=jvMtAAAAYAAJ
     (Harvard University)

   2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].






[Illustration: Agincourt]






                              THE WORKS

                                  OF

                         G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.



                 REVISED AND CORRECTED BY THE AUTHOR.



                    WITH AN INTRODUCTORY PREFACE.


"D'autres auteurs l'ont encore plus avili, (le roman,) en y melant les
tableaux degoutant du vice; et tandis que le premier avantage des
fictions est de rassembler autour de l'homme tout ce qui, dans la
nature, peut lui servir de lecon ou de modele, on a imagine qu'on
tirerait une utilite quelconque des peintures odieuses de mauvaises
m[oe]urs; comme si elles pouvaient jamais laisser le c[oe]ur qui les
repousse, dans une situation aussi pure que le c[oe]ur qui les aurait
toujours ignorees. Mais un roman tel qu'on peut le concevoir, tel que
nous en avons quelques modeles, est une des plus belles productions de
l'esprit humain, une des plus influentes sur la morale des individus,
qui doit former ensuite les m[oe]urs publiques."--Madame De Stael.
_Essai sur les Fictions_.

             "Poca favilla gran flamma seconda:
              Forse diretro a me, con miglior voci
              Si preghera, perche Cirra risponda."
                                 Dante. _Paradiso_, Canto I.




                               VOL. XX.

                              AGINCOURT.




                               LONDON:
                      SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO.
                       STATIONERS' HALL COURT.
                              MDCCCXLIX.






                              AGINCOURT.




                              A Romance.





                                  BY

                         G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.



                          *   *   *   *   *



                               LONDON:
                      SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO.
                       STATIONERS' HALL COURT.
                              MDCCCXLIX.




                              AGINCOURT.

                              *   *   *




                              CHAPTER I.

                           THE NIGHT RIDE.


The night was as black as ink; not a solitary twinkling star looked
out through that wide expanse of shadow, which our great Poet has
called the "blanket of the dark;" clouds covered the heaven; the moon
had not risen to tinge them even with grey, and the sun had too long
set to leave one faint streak of purple upon the edge of the western
sky. Trees, houses, villages, fields, and gardens, all lay in one
profound obscurity, and even the course of the high-road itself
required eyes well-accustomed to night-travelling to be able to
distinguish it, as it wandered on through a rich part of Hampshire,
amidst alternate woods and meadows. Yet at that murky hour, a
traveller on horseback rode forward upon his way, at an easy pace, and
with a light heart, if one might judge by the snatches of homely
ballads that broke from his lips as he trotted on. These might,
indeed, afford a fallacious indication of what was going on within the
breast, and in his case they did so; for habit is more our master than
we know, and often rules our external demeanour, whenever the spirit
is called to take council in the deep chambers within, showing upon
the surface, without any effort on our part to hide our thoughts, a
very different aspect from that of the mind's business at the moment.

Thus, then, the traveller who there rode along, saluting the ear of
night with scraps of old songs, sung in a low, but melodious voice,
was as thoughtful, if not as sad, as it was in his nature to be; but
yet, as that nature was a cheerful one and all his habits were gay, no
sooner were the eyes of the spirit called to the consideration of
deeper things, than custom exercised her sway over the animal part,
and he gave voice, as we have said, to the old ballads which had
cheered his boyhood and his youth.

Whatever were his contemplations, they were interrupted, just as he
came to a small stream which crossed the road and then wandered along
at its side, by first hearing the quick foot-falls of a horse
approaching, and then a loud, but fine voice, exclaiming, "Who goes
there?"

"A friend to all true men," replied the traveller; "a foe to all false
knaves. 'Merry sings the throstle under the thorn.' Which be you,
friend of the highway?"

"Faith, I hardly know," replied the stranger; "every man is a bit of
both, I believe. But if you can tell me my way to Winchester, I will
give you thanks."

"I want nothing more," answered the first traveller, drawing in his
rein. "But Winchester!--Good faith, that is a long way off; and you
are going from it, master:" and he endeavoured, as far as the darkness
would permit, to gain some knowledge of the stranger's appearance. It
seemed that of a young man of good proportions, tall and slim, but
with broad shoulders and long arms. He wore no cloak, and his dress
fitting tight to his body, as was the fashion of the day, allowed his
interlocutor to perceive the unencumbered outline of his figure.

"A long way off!" said the second traveller, as his new acquaintance
gazed at him; "that is very unlucky; but all my stars are under that
black cloud. What is to be done now, I wonder?"

"What do you want to do?" inquired the first traveller. "Winchester is
distant five and twenty miles or more."

"Odds life! I want to find somewhere to lodge me and my horse for a
night," replied the other, "at a less distance than twenty-five miles,
and yet not quite upon this very spot."

"Why not Andover?" asked his companion; "'tis but six miles, and I am
going thither."

"Humph!" said the stranger, in a tone not quite satisfied; "it must be
so, if better cannot be found; and yet, my friend, I would fain find
some other lodging. Is there no inn hard by, where carriers bait their
beasts and fill their bellies, and country-folks carouse on nights of
merry-making? or some old hall or goodly castle, where a truckle bed,
or one of straw, a nunchion of bread and cheese, and a draught of ale,
is not likely to be refused to a traveller with a good coat on his
back and long-toed shoes?"

"Oh, ay!" rejoined the first; "of the latter there are many round,
but, on my life, it will be difficult to direct you to them. The men
of this part have a fondness for crooked ways, and, unless you were
the Daedalus who made them, or had some fair dame to guide you by the
clue, you might wander about for as many hours as would take you to
Winchester."

"Then Andover it must be, I suppose," answered the other; "though, to
say sooth, I may there have to pay for a frolic, the score of which
might better be reckoned with other men than myself."

"A frolic!" said his companion; "nothing more, my friend?"

"No, on my life!" replied the other; "a scurvy frolic, such as only a
fool would commit; but when a man has nothing else to do, he is sure
to fall into folly, and I am idle perforce."

"Well, I'll believe you," answered the first, after a moment's
thought; "I have, thank Heaven, the gift of credulity, and believe all
that men tell me. Come, I will turn back with you, and guide you to a
place of rest, though I shall be well laughed at for my pains."

"Not for an act of generous courtesy, surely," said the stranger,
quitting the half-jesting tone in which he had hitherto spoken. "If
they laugh at you for that, I care not to lodge with them, and will
not put your kindness to the test, for I should look for a cold
reception."

"Nay, nay, 'tis not for that, they will laugh," rejoined the other,
"and perhaps it may jump with my humour to go back, too. If you have
committed a folly in a frolic to-night, I have committed one in anger.
Come with me, therefore, and, as we go, give me some name by which to
call you when we arrive, that I may not have to throw you into my
uncle's hall as a keeper with a dead deer; and, moreover, before we
go, give me your word that we have no frolics here, for I would not,
for much, that any one I brought, should move the old knight's heart
with aught but pleasure."

"There is my hand, good youth," replied the stranger, following, as
the other turned his horse; "and I never break my word, whatever men
say of me, though they tell strange tales. As for my name, people call
me Hal of Hadnock; it will do as well as another."

"For the nonce," added his companion, understanding well that it was
assumed; "but it matters not. Let us ride on, and the gate shall soon
be opened to you; for I do think they will be glad to see me back
again, though I may not perchance stay long.


             'The porter rose anon certaine
              As soon as he heard John call.'"


"You seem learned for a countryman," said the traveller, riding on by
his side; "but, perchance, I am speaking to a clerk?"

"Good faith, no," replied the first wayfarer; "more soldier than
clerk, Hal of Hadnock; as old Robert of Langland says, 'I cannot
perfectly my Paternoster, as the priest it singeth, but I can rhyme of
Robin Hode and Randof Earl of Chester.' I have cheered my boyhood with
many a song and my youth with many a ballad. When lying in the field
upon the marches of Wales, I have wiled away many a cold night with
the--


                   'Quens Mountfort, sa dure mort,'


or,


             'Richard of Alemaigne, while he was king,'


and then in the cold blasts of March, I ever found comfort in--


             'Summer is icumen in,
              Lhude sing cuccu,
              Groweth sede and bloweth mode,
              And springeth the wode nu.'"


"And good reason, too," said Hal of Hadnock; "I do the same, i'faith;
and when wintry winds are blowing, I think ever, that a warmer day may
come and all be bright again. Were it not for that, indeed, I might
well be cold-hearted."

"Fie, never flinch!" cried his gay companion; "there is but one thing
on earth should make a bold man coldhearted."

"And what may that be?" asked the other; "to lose his dinner?"

"No, good life!" exclaimed the first,--"to lose his lady's love."

"Ay, is it there the saddle galls?" said Hal of Hadnock.

"Faith, not a whit," answered his fellow-traveller; "if it did, I
should leave off singing. You are wrong in your guess, Master Hal. I
may lose my lady, but not my lady's love, or I am much mistaken; and
while that stays with me I will both sing and hope."

"'Tis the best comfort," replied Hal of Hadnock, "and generally brings
success. But what am I to call you, fair sir?