Grisly Grisell

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When silent were both voice and chords,
The strain seemed doubly dear,
Yet sad as sweet,--for English words
Had fallen upon the ear.

WORDSWORTH, Incident at Bruges.

Meanwhile Leonard was recovering and vexing himself as to his future
course, inclining chiefly to making his way back to Wearmouth to
ascertain how matters were going in England.

One afternoon, however, as he sat close to thine window, while
Grisell sang to him one of her sweet old ballads, a face, attracted
by the English words and voice, was turned up to him. He exclaimed,
"By St. Mary, Philip Scrope," and starting up, began to feel for the
stick which he still needed.

A voice was almost at the same moment heard from the outer shop
inquiring in halting French, "Did I see the face of the Beau Sire
Leonard Copeland?"

By the time Leonard had hobbled to the door into the booth, a tall
perfectly-equipped man-at-arms, in velvet bonnet with the Burgundian
Cross, bright cuirass, rich crimson surcoat, and handsome sword belt,
had advanced, and the two embraced as old friends did embrace in the
middle ages, especially when each had believed the other dead.

"I deemed thee dead at Towton!"

"Methought you were slain in the north! You have not come off scot-
free."

"Nay, but I had a narrow escape. My honest fellows took me to my
uncle at Wearmouth, and he shipped me off with the good folk here,
and cares for my maintenance. How didst thou 'scape?"

"Half a dozen of us--Will Percy and a few more--made off from the
woful field under cover of night, and got to the sea-shore, to a
village--I know not the name--and laid hands on a fisher's smack,
which Jock of Hull was seaman enough to steer with the aid of the lad
on board, as far as Friesland, and thence we made our way as best we
could to Utrecht, where we had the luck to fall in with one of the
Duke's captains, who was glad enough to meet with a few stout fellows
to make up his company of men-at-arms."

"Oh! Methought it was the Cross of Burgundy. How art thou so well
attired, Phil?"

"We have all been pranked out to guard our Duke to the King of
France's sacring at Rheims. I promise thee the jewels and gold
blazed as we never saw the like--and as to the rascaille Scots
archers, every one of them was arrayed so as the sight was enough to
drive an honest Borderer crazy. Half their own kingdom's worth was
on their beggarly backs. But do what they might, our Duke surpassed
them all with his largesses and splendour."

"Your Duke!" grumbled Leonard.

"Aye, mine for the nonce, and a right open-handed lord is he. Better
be under him than under the shrivelled skinflint of France, who wore
his fine robes as though they galled him. Come and take service here
when thou art whole of thine hurt, Leonard."

"I thought thy Duke was disinclined to Lancaster."

"He may be to the Queen and the poor King, whom the Saints guard, but
he likes English hearts and thews in his pay well enough."

"Thou knowst I am a knight, worse luck."

"Heed not for thy knighthood. The Duke of Exeter and my Lord of
Oxford have put their honours in their pouch and are serving him.
Thy lame leg is a worse hindrance than the gold spur on it, but I
trow that will pass."

The comrades talked on, over the fate of English friends and homes,
and the hopelessness of their cause. It was agreed in this, and in
many subsequent visits from Scrope, that so soon as Leonard should
have shaken off his lameness he should begin service under one of the
Duke's captains. A man-at-arms in the splendid suite of the
Burgundian Dukes was generally of good birth, and was attended by two
grooms and a page when in the field; his pay was fairly sufficient,
and his accoutrements and arms were required to be such as to do
honour to his employer. It was the refuge sooner or later of many a
Lancastrian, and Leonard, who doubted of the regularity of his
uncle's supplies, decided that he could do no better for himself
while waiting for better times for his Queen, though Master Lambert
told him that he need not distress himself, there were ample means
for him still.

Grisell spun and sewed for his outfit, with a strange sad pleasure in
working for him, and she was absolutely proud of him when he stood
before her, perfectly recovered, with the glow of health on his cheek
and a light in his eye, his length of limb arrayed in his own armour,
furbished and mended, his bright helmet alone new and of her own
providing (out of her mother's pearl necklace), his surcoat and
silken scarf all her own embroidering. As he truly said, he made a
much finer appearance than he had done on the morn of his melancholy
knighthood, in the poverty-stricken army of King Henry at
Northampton.

"Thanks," he said, with a courteous bow, "to his good friends and
hosts, who had a wonderful power over the purse." He added special
thanks to "Mistress Grisell for her deft stitchery," and she
responded with downcast face, and a low courtesy, while her heart
throbbed high.

Such a cavalier was sure of enlistment, and Leonard came to take
leave of his host, and announced that he had been sent off with his
friend to garrison Neufchatel, where the castle, being a border one,
was always carefully watched over.

His friends at Bruges rejoiced in his absence, since it prevented his
knowledge of the arrival of his beloved Queen Margaret and her son at
Sluys, with only seven attendants, denuded of almost everything,
having lost her last castles, and sometimes having had to exist on a
single herring a day.

Perhaps Leonard would have laid his single sword at her feet if he
had known of her presence, but tidings travelled slowly, and before
they ever reached Neufchatel the Duke had bestowed on her wherewithal
to continue her journey to her father's Court at Bar.

However, he did not move. Indeed be did not hear of the Queen's
journey to Scotland and fresh attempt till all had been again lost at
Hedgeley Moor and Hexham. He was so good and efficient a man-at-arms
that he rose in promotion, and attracted the notice of the Count of
Charolais, the eldest son of the Duke, who made him one of his own
bodyguard. His time was chiefly spent in escorting the Count from
one castle or city to another, but whenever Charles the Bold was at
Bruges, Leonard came to the sign of the Green Serpent not only for
lodging, nor only to take up the money that Lambert had in charge for
him, but as to a home where he was sure of a welcome, and of kindly
woman's care of his wardrobe, and where he grew more and more to look
to the sympathy and understanding of his English and Burgundian
interests alike, which he found in the maiden who sat by the hearth.

From time to time old Ridley came to see her. He was clad in a
pilgrim's gown and broad hat, and looked much older. He had had free
quarters at Willimoteswick, but the wild young Borderers had not
suited his old age well, except one clerkly youth, who reminded him
of little Bernard, and who, later, was the patron of his nephew, the
famous Nicolas. He had thus set out on pilgrimage, as the best means
of visiting his dear lady. The first time he came, under his robe he
carried a girdle, where was sewn up a small supply from Father
Copeland for his nephew, and another sum, very meagre, but collected
from the faithful retainers of Whitburn for their lady. He meant to
visit the Three Kings at Cologne, and then to go on to St. Gall, and
to the various nearer shrines in France, but to return again to see
Grisell; and from time to time he showed his honest face, more and
more weather-beaten, though a pilgrim was never in want; but Grisell
delighted in preparing new gowns, clean linen, and fresh hats for
him.

Public events passed while she still lived and worked in the
Apothecary's house at Bruges. There were wars in which Sir Leonard
Copeland had his share, not very perilous to a knight in full armour,
but falling very heavily on poor citizens. Bruges, however, was at
peace and exceedingly prosperous, with its fifty-two guilds of
citizens, and wonderful trade and wealth. The bells seemed to be
always chiming from its many beautiful steeples, and there was one
convent lately founded which began to have a special interest for
Grisell.

It was the house of the Hospitalier Grey Sisters, which if not
actually founded had been much embellished by Isabel of Portugal, the
wife of the Duke of Burgundy. Philip, though called the Good, from
his genial manners, and bounteous liberality, was a man of violent
temper and terrible severity when offended. He had a fierce quarrel
with his only son, who was equally hot tempered. The Duchess took
part with her son, and fell under such furious displeasure from her
husband that she retired into the house of Grey Sisters. She was
first cousin once removed to Henry VI.--her mother, the admirable
Philippa, having been a daughter of John of Gaunt--and she was the
sister of the noble Princes, King Edward of Portugal, Henry the great
voyager, and Ferdinand the Constant Prince; and she had never been
thoroughly at home or happy in Flanders, where her husband was of a
far coarser nature than her own family; and, in her own words, after
many years, she always felt herself a stranger.

Some of Grisell's lace had found its way to the convent, and was at
once recognised by her as English, such as her mother had always
prized. She wished to give the Chaplain a set of robes adorned with
lace after a pattern of her own devising, bringing in the five
crosses of Portugal, with appropriate wreaths of flowers and emblems.
Being told that the English maiden in Master Groot's house could
devise her own patterns, she desired to see her and explain the
design in person.

CHAPTER XXV--THE OLD DUCHESS

Temples that rear their stately heads on high,
Canals that intersect the fertile plain,
Wide streets and squares, with many a court and hall,
Spacious and undefined, but ancient all.

SOUTHEY, Pilgrimage to Waterloo.

The kind couple of Groots were exceedingly solicitous about Grisell's
appearance before the Duchess, and much concerned that she could not
be induced to wear the head-gear a foot or more in height, with veils
depending from the peak, which was the fashion of the Netherlands.
Her black robe and hood, permitted but not enjoined in the external
or third Order of St. Francis, were, as usual, her dress, and under
it might be seen a face, with something peculiar on one side, but
still full of sweetness and intelligence; and the years of comfort
and quiet had, in spite of anxiety, done much to obliterate the
likeness to a cankered oak gall. Lambert wanted to drench her with
perfumes, but she only submitted to have a little essence in the
pouncet box given her long ago by Lady Margaret at their parting at
Amesbury. Master Groot himself chose to conduct her on this first
great occasion, and they made their way to the old gateway,
sculptured above with figures that still remain, into the great
cloistered court, with its chapel, chapter-house, and splendid great
airy hall, in which the Hospital Sisters received their patients.

They were seen flitting about, giving a general effect of gray,
whence they were known as Soeurs Grises, though, in fact, their dress
was white, with a black hood and mantle. The Duchess, however, lived
in a set of chambers on one side of the court, which she had built
and fitted for herself.

A lay sister became Grisell's guide, and just then, coming down from
the Duchess's apartments, with a board with a chalk sketch in his
hand, appeared a young man, whom Groot greeted as Master Hans
Memling, and who had been receiving orders, and showing designs to
the Duchess for the ornamentation of the convent, which in later
years he so splendidly carried out. With him Lambert remained.

There was a broad stone stair, leading to a large apartment hung with
stamped Spanish leather, representing the history of King David, and
with a window, glazed as usual below with circles and lozenges, but
the upper part glowing with coloured glass. At the farther end was a
dais with a sort of throne, like the tester and canopy of a four-post
bed, with curtains looped up at each side. Here the Duchess sat,
surrounded by her ladies, all in the sober dress suitable with
monastic life.

Grisell knew her duty too well not to kneel down when admitted. A
dark-complexioned lady came to lead her forward, and directed her to
kneel twice on her way to the Duchess. She obeyed, and in that
indescribable manner which betrayed something of her breeding, so
that after her second obeisance, the manner of the lady altered
visibly from what it had been at first as to a burgher maiden. The
wealth and luxury of the citizen world of the Low Countries caused
the proud and jealous nobility to treat them with the greater
distance of manner. And, as Grisell afterwards learnt, this was
Isabel de Souza, Countess of Poitiers, a Portuguese lady who had come
over with her Infanta; and whose daughter produced Les Honneurs de la
Cour, the most wonderful of all descriptions of the formalities of
the Court.

Grisell remained kneeling on the steps of the dais, while the Duchess
addressed her in much more imperfect Flemish than she could by this
time speak herself.

"You are the lace weaver, maiden. Can you speak French?"

"Oui, si madame, son Altese le veut," replied Grisell, for her tongue
had likewise become accustomed to French in this city of many
tongues.

"This is English make," said the Duchess, not with a very good French
accent either, looking at the specimens handed by her lady. "Are you
English?"

"So please your Highness, I am."

"An exile?" the Princess added kindly.

"Yes, madame. All my family perished in our wars, and I owe shelter
to the good Apothecary, Master Lambert."

"Purveyor of drugs to the sisters. Yes, I have heard of him;" and
she then proceeded with her orders, desiring to see the first piece
Grisell should produce in the pattern she wished, which was to be of
roses in honour of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, whom the Peninsular
Isabels reckoned as their namesake and patroness.

It was a pattern which would require fresh pricking out, and much
skill; but Grisell thought she could accomplish it, and took her
leave, kissing the Duchess's hand--a great favour to be granted to
her--curtseying three times, and walking backwards, after the old
training that seemed to come back to her with the atmosphere.

Master Lambert was overjoyed when he heard all. "Now you will find
your way back to your proper station and rank," he said.

"It may do more than that," said Grisell. "If I could plead his
cause."

Lambert only sighed. "I would fain your way was not won by a base,
mechanical art," he said.

"Out on you, my master. The needle and the bobbin are unworthy of
none; and as to the honour of the matter, what did Sir Leonard tell
us but that the Countess of Oxford, as now she is, was maintaining
her husband by her needle?" and Grisell ended with a sigh at thought
of the happy woman whose husband knew of, and was grateful for, her
toils.

The pattern needed much care, and Lambert induced Hans Memling
himself, who drew it so that it could be pricked out for the cushion.
In after times it might have been held a greater honour to work from
his pattern than for the Duchess, who sent to inquire after it more
than once, and finally desired that Mistress Grisell should bring her
cushion and show her progress.

She was received with all the same ceremonies as before, and even the
small fragment that was finished delighted the Princess, who begged
to see her at work. As it could not well be done kneeling, a
footstool, covered in tapestry with the many Burgundian quarterings,
was brought, and here Grisell was seated, the Duchess bending over
her, and asking questions as her fingers flew, at first about the
work, but afterwards, "Where did you learn this art, maiden?"

"At Wilton, so please your Highness. The nunnery of St. Edith, near
to Salisbury."

"St. Edith! I think my mother, whom the Saints rest, spoke of her;
but I have not heard of her in Portugal nor here. Where did she
suffer?"

"She was not martyred, madame, but she has a fair legend."

And on encouragement Grisell related the legend of St. Edith and the
christening.

"You speak well, maiden," said the Duchess. "It is easy to perceive
that you are convent trained. Have the wars in England hindered your
being professed?"

"Nay, madame; it was the Proctor of the Italian Abbess."

Therewith the inquiries of the Duchess elicited all Grisell's early
story, with the exception of her name and whose was the iron that
caused the explosion, and likewise of her marriage, and the
accusation of sorcery. That male heirs of the opposite party should
have expelled the orphan heiress was only too natural an occurrence.
Nor did Grisell conceal her home; but Whitburn was an impossible word
to Portuguese lips, and Dacre they pronounced after its crusading
derivation De Acor.

CHAPTER XXVI--THE DUKE'S DEATH

Wither one Rose, and let the other flourish;
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.

SHAKESPEARE, King Henry VI., Part III.

So time went on, and the rule of the House of York in England seemed
established, while the exiles had settled down in Burgundy, Grisell
to her lace pillow, Leonard to the suite of the Count de Charolais.
Indeed there was reason to think that he had come to acquiesce in the
change of dynasty, or at any rate to think it unwise and cruel to
bring on another desperate civil war. In fact, many of the Red Rose
party were making their peace with Edward IV. Meanwhile the Duchess
Isabel became extremely fond of Grisell, and often summoned her to
come and work by her side, and talk to her; and thus came on the
summer of 1467, when Duke Philip returned from the sack of unhappy
Dinant in a weakened state, and soon after was taken fatally ill.
All the city of Bruges watched in anxiety for tidings, for the kindly
Duke was really loved where his hand did not press. One evening
during the suspense when Master Lambert was gone out to gather
tidings, there was the step with clank of spurs which had grown
familiar, and Leonard Copeland strode in hot and dusty, greeting Vrow
Clemence as usual with a touch of the hand and inclination of the
head, and Grisell with hand and courteous voice, as he threw himself
on the settle, heated and weary, and began with tired fingers to
unfasten his heavy steel cap.

Grisell hastened to help him, Clemence to fetch a cup of cooling
Rhine wine. "There, thanks, mistress. We have ridden all day from
Ghent, in the heat and dust, and after all the Count got before us."

"To the Duke?"

"Ay! He was like one demented at tidings of his father's sickness.
Say what they will of hot words and fierce passages between them,
that father and son have hearts loving one another truly."

"It is well they should agree at the last," said Grisell, "or the
Count will carry with him the sorest of memories."

And indeed Charles the Bold was on his knees beside the bed of his
speechless father in an agony of grief.

Presently all the bells in Bruges began to clash out their warning
that a soul was passing to the unseen land, and Grisell made signs to
Clemence, while Leonard lifted himself upright, and all breathed the
same for the mighty Prince as for the poorest beggar, the
intercession for the dying. Then the solemn note became a knell, and
their prayer changed to the De Profundis, "Out of the depths."

Presently Lambert Groot came in, grave and saddened, with the
intelligence that Philip the Good had departed in peace, with his
wife and son on either side of him, and his little granddaughter
kneeling beside the Duchess.

There was bitter weeping all over Bruges, and soon all over Flanders
and the other domains united under the Dukedom of Burgundy, for
though Philip had often deeply erred, he had been a fair ruler,
balancing discordant interests justly, and maintaining peace, while
all that was splendid or luxurious prospered and throve under him.
There was a certain dread of the future under his successor.

"A better man at heart," said Leonard, who had learnt to love the
Count de Charolais. "He loathes the vices and revelry that have
stained the Court."

"That is true," said Lambert. "Yet he is a man of violence, and with
none of the skill and dexterity with which Duke Philip steered his
course."

"A plague on such skill," muttered Leonard. "Caring solely for his
own gain, not for the right!"

"Yet your Count has a heavy hand," said Lambert. "Witness Dinant!
unhappy Dinant."

"The rogues insulted his mother," said Leonard. "He offered them
terms which they would not have in their stubborn pride! But speak
not of that! I never saw the like in England. There we strike at
the great, not at the small. Ah well, with all our wars and troubles
England was the better place to live in. Shall we ever see it more?"

There was something delightful to Grisell in that "we," but she made
answer, "So far as I hear, there has been quiet there for the last
two years under King Edward."

"Ay, and after all he has the right of blood," said Leonard. "Our
King Henry is a saint, and Queen Margaret a peerless dame of romance,
but since I have come to years of understanding I have seen that they
neither had true claim of inheritance nor power to rule a realm."

"Then would you make your peace with the White Rose?"

"The rose en soleil that wrought us so much evil at Mortimer's Cross?
Methinks I would. I never swore allegiance to King Henry. My father
was still living when last I saw that sweet and gracious countenance
which I must defend for love and reverence' sake."

"And he knighted you," said Grisell.

"True," with a sharp glance, as if he wondered how she was aware of
the fact; "but only as my father's heir. My poor old house and
tenants! I would I knew how they fare; but mine uncle sends me no
letters, though he does supply me."

"Then you do not feel bound in honour to Lancaster?" said Grisell.

"Nay; I did not stir or strive to join the Queen when last she called
up the Scots--the Scots indeed!--to aid her. I could not join them
in a foray on England. I fear me she will move heaven and earth
again when her son is of age to bear arms; but my spirit rises
against allies among Scots or French, and I cannot think it well to
bring back bloodshed and slaughter."

"I shall pray for peace," said Grisell. All this was happiness to
her, as she felt that he was treating her with confidence. Would she
ever be nearer to him?

He was a graver, more thoughtful man at seven and twenty than he had
been at the time of his hurried marriage, and had conversed with men
of real understanding of the welfare of their country. Such talks as
these made Grisell feel that she could look up to him as most truly
her lord and guide. But how was it with the fair Eleanor, and
whither did his heart incline? An English merchant, who came for
spices, had said that the Lord Audley had changed sides, and it was
thus probable that the damsel was bestowed in marriage to a Yorkist;
but there was no knowing, nor did Grisell dare to feel her way to
discovering whether Leonard knew, or felt himself still bound to
constancy, outwardly and in heart.

Every one was taken up with the funeral solemnities of Duke Philip;
he was to be finally interred with his father and grandfather in the
grand tombs at Dijon, but for the present the body was to be placed
in the Church of St. Donatus at Bruges, at night.

Sir Leonard rode at a foot's pace in the troop of men-at-arms, all in
full armour, which glanced in the light of the sixteen hundred
torches which were borne before, behind, and in the midst of the
procession, which escorted the bier. Outside the coffin, arrayed in
ducal coronet and robes, with the Golden Fleece collar round the
neck, lay the exact likeness of the aged Duke, and on shields around
the pall, as well as on banners borne waving aloft, were the armorial
bearings of all his honours, his four dukedoms, seven counties,
lordships innumerable, besides the banners of all the guilds carried
to do him honour.

More than twenty prelates were present, and shared in the mass, which
began in the morning hour, and in the requiem. The heralds of all
the domains broke their white staves and threw them on the bier,
proclaiming that Philip, lord of all these lands, was deceased.
Then, as in the case of royalty, Charles his son was proclaimed; and
the organ led an acclamation of jubilee from all the assembly which
filled the church, and a shout as of thunder arose, "Vivat Carolus."

Charles knelt meanwhile with hands clasped over his brow, silent,
immovable. Was he crushed at thought of the whirlwinds of passion
that had raged between him and the father whom he had loved all the
time? or was there on him the weight of a foreboding that he, though
free from the grosser faults of his father, would never win and keep
hearts in the same manner, and that a sad, tumultuous, troubled
career and piteous, untimely end lay before him?

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