 CHAPTER VI of Anne of Geyerstein, Volume II, by Sir Walter Scott. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recorded by Dion Giants, Celtic City, Utah. I was, I must confess, great Albion's queen in former golden days, but now Miss Chance Hath trod my title down, and, with dishonor, laid me on the ground, where I must take, like seat, unto my fortune, and to my humble seat, conform myself. Henry VI, Part III. The hostility of the flying stag in Strasburg was like every inn in the empire at the period, conducted much with the same discourteous inattention to the wants and accommodation of the guests as that of John Meng's. But the youth and good looks of Arthur Phillipson, circumstances which seldom or never failed to produce some effect where the fair are concerned, prevailed upon a short, plump, dimpled, blue-eyed, fair-skinned young fra, the daughter of the landlord of the flying stag, himself a fat old man pinned to the oaken chair in this stube, to carry herself to the young Englishman with a degree of condescension, which, in the privileged race to which she belonged, was little short of degradation. She not only put her light buskins and her pretty ankles in danger of being soiled by tripping across the yard to point out an unoccupied stable, but, on Arthur's inquiry after his father condescended to recollect, that such a guest, as he described, had lodged in the house last night and had said he expected to meet there a young person, his fellow traveller. I will send him out to you fair, sir, said the little young fra, with a smile, which, if things of the kind are to be valued by their rare occurrence, must have been reckoned inestimable. She was as good as her word. In a few instants the elder Philipson entered this stable and folded his son in his arms. My son, my dear son, said the Englishman, his usual stoicism broken down and melted by natural feeling and parental tenderness, welcome to me at all times, welcome in a period of doubt and danger, and most welcome of all in a moment which forms the very crisis of our fate. In a few hours I shall know what we may expect from the Duke of Burgundy hast thou the token. Arthur's hand first saw it that which was nearest to his heart, both in the literal and allegorical sense, the small parcel, namely which Anne had given him at parting, but he recollected himself in the instant and presented to his father the packet which had been so strangely lost and recovered at La Fourette. It hath run its own risk, since you saw it he observed to his father, and so have I mine. I received hospitality at a castle last night, and behold a body of lanksnecks in the neighborhood began in the morning to mutiny for their pay. The inhabitants fled from the castle to escape their violence, and as we passed their leaguer in the gray of the morning a drunken baron hotter shot my poor horse, and I was forced, in the way of exchange, to take up with his heavy, blemish animal, with its steel saddle and its clumsy chaffron. Our road is beset with perils, said his father, I too have had my share, having been in great danger. He told not its precise nature at an inn where I rested last night, but I left it in the morning and proceeded hither in safety. I have at length, however, obtained a safe escort to conduct me to the Duke's count near Dijon, and I trust to have an audience of him this evening, then if our last hope should fail we will seek the seaport of Marseilles, hoist sail for Candia or for roads, and spend our lives in defense of Christendom, since we may no longer fight for England. Arthur heard these ominous words without reply, but they did not the less sink upon his heart, deadly as the doom of the Judge, which secludes the criminal from society and all its joys, and condemns him to an eternal prison-house. The bells from the cathedral began to toll at this instant, and reminded the elder Philipson of the duty of hearing mass, which was said at all hours in some one or other of the separate chapels, which are contained in that magnificent pile. His son followed on an intimation of his pleasure. In approaching the access to this superb cathedral, the travelers found it obstructed, as is usual in Catholic countries, by the number of mendicants of both sexes who crowded around the entrance to give the worshippers an opportunity of discharging the duty of almsgiving. So positively enjoined as a chief observance of their church, the Englishmen extricated themselves from their importunity by bestowing, as is usual on such occasions, a donative of small coin upon those who appeared most needy or most deserving of their charity. One tall woman stood on the steps close to the door and extended her hand to the elder Philipson, who struck with her appearance, exchanged for a piece of silver the copper coins which he had been distributing amongst others. A marvel, she said, in the English language, but in a tone calculated only to be heard by him alone, although his son also caught the sound and sense of what she said, I, a miracle, an Englishman still possesses a silver piece and can afford to bestow it on the poor. Another was sensible that his father started somewhat at the voice or words which bore even in his ear something of deeper import than the observation of an ordinary mendicant. But after a glance at the female who thus addressed him, his father passed onwards into the body of the church and was soon engaged in attending to the solemn ceremony of the mass as it was performed by a priest at the altar of a chapel divided from the main body of the splendid edifice and dedicated, as it appeared from the image over the altar, to Saint George, that military saint whose real history is so obscure, though his popular legend rendered him an object of peculiar veneration during the feudal ages. The ceremony was begun and finished with all customary forms, the officiating priest with his attendance withdrew, and though some of the few worshipers who had assisted at the solemnity remained telling their beads and occupied with the performance of their private devotions, far the greater part left the chapel to visit other shrines or to return to the prosecution of their secular affairs. But Arthur Phillips then remarked that whilst they dropped off one after another, the tall woman who had received his father's alms continued to kneel near the altar, and he was yet more surprised to see that his father himself, who he had many reasons to know, was desirous to spend in the church no more time than the duties of devotion absolutely claimed, remained also on his knees, with his eyes resting on the form of the veiled devotee. Such she seemed from her dress, as if his own motions were to be guided by hers. By no idea which occurred to him was Arthur able to form the least conjecture as to his father's motives. He only knew that he was engaged in a critical and dangerous negotiation liable to influence or interruption from various quarters, and that political suspicion was so generally awake, both in France, Italy, and Flanders, that the most important agents were often obliged to assume the most impenetrable disguises in order to insinuate themselves without suspicion into the countries where their services were required. Louis XI in particular, whose singular policy seemed in some degree to give a character to the age in which he lived, was well known to have disguised his principal emissaries and envoys in the fictitious garbs of mendicant monks, minstrels, gypsies, and other privileged wanderers of the meanest description. Arthur concluded therefore that it was not improbable that this female might, like themselves, be something more than her dress imported, and he resolved to observe his father's deportment towards her and regulate his own actions accordingly. A bell at last announced that mass, upon a more splendid scale, was about to be celebrated before the high altar of the cathedral itself, and its sound withdrew from the sequestered chapel of St. George the few who had remained at the shrine of the military saint, accepting the father and son and the female penitent who kneeled opposite to them. When the last of the worshippers had retired, the female arose and advanced towards the elder Philipson, who folding his arms on his bosom and stooping his head in an attitude of abesons, which his son had never before seen him assume, appeared rather to wait what she had to say than to propose addressing her. There was a pause for lamps lighted before the shrine of the saint cast a dim radiance on his armor and steed, represented as he was in the act of transfixing with his lance the prostrate dragon, whose outstretched wings and writhing neck were in part touched by their beams. The rest of the chapel was dimly illuminated by the autumnal sun, which could scarce find its way through the stained panes of the small lancelated window, which was its only aperture to the open air. The light fell doubtful and gloomy, tinged with the various hues through which it passed upon the stately yet somewhat broken and dejected form of the female, and on those of the melancholy and anxious father and his son, who with all the eager interest of youth suspected and anticipated extraordinary consequences from so singular an interview. At length the female approached to the same side of the shrine with Arthur and his father, as if to be more distinctly heard, without being obliged to raise the slow, solemn voice in which she had spoken. Do you hear worship, she said, the Saint George of Burgundy, or the Saint George of Mary England, the flower of chivalry? I serve, said Philipson, folding his hands humbly on his bosom, the Saint to whom this chapel is dedicated, and the deity with whom I hope for his holy intercession, whether here or in my native country. I, you, said the female, even you can forget, you, even you, who have been numbered among the mirror of knighthood, can forget that you have worshiped in the royal feign of Windsor, that you have there bent a gartered knee where kings and princes kneeled around you. You can forget this and make your orisons at a foreign shrine with a heart undisturbed with the thoughts of what you have been, praying like some poor peasant for bread and life during the day that passes over you. Lady, replied Philipson, in my proudest hours I was before the being to whom I preferred my prayers, but as a worm in the dust, in his eyes I am now neither less nor more degraded as I may be in the opinion of my fellow reptiles. How canst thou think thus, said the devotee, and yet it is well with thee that thou canst, but what have thy losses been compared to mine? She put her hand to her brow and seemed for a moment overpowered by agonizing recollections. Arthur pressed to his father's side and inquired in a tone of interest which could not be repressed. Father, who is this lady? Is it my mother? No, my son, answered Philipson, peace for the sake of all you hold dear or holy. The singular female, however, heard both the question and answer, though expressed in a whisper. Yes, she said, young man, I am, I should say I was, your mother, the mother, the protectess, of all that was noble in England. I am Margaret of Anjou. Arthur sank on his knees before the dauntless widow of Henry VI, who so long and in such desperate circumstances upheld by unyielding courage and deep policy the sinking cause of her feeble husband, and who, if she occasionally abused victory by cruelty and revenge, had made some atonement by the indomitable resolution with which she had supported the fiercest storms of adversity. Arthur had been bred in devoted adherence to the now dethroned line of Lancaster, of which his father was one of the most distinguished supporters and his earliest deeds of arms, which, though unfortunate, were neither obscure nor ignoble, had been done in their cause. With an enthusiasm belonging to his age and education, he, in the same instant, flung his bonnet on the pavement and knelt at the feet of his ill-fated sovereign. Margaret threw back the veil, which concealed those noble and majestic features, which even yet, though rivers of tears had furrowed her cheek, though care, disappointment, domestic grief, and humbled pride, had quenched the fire of her eye and wasted the smooth dignity of her forehead, even yet showed the remains of that beauty which once was held unequaled in Europe. The apathy with which a succession of misfortunes and disappointed hopes had chilled the feelings of the unfortunate princess was for a moment melted by the sight of the fair youth's enthusiasm. She abandoned one hand to him, which he covered with tears and kisses, and with the other stroked with maternal tenderness his curled locks as she endeavored to raise him from the posture he had assumed. His father, in the meanwhile, shut the door of the chapel and placed his back against it, withdrawing himself thus from the group as if for the purpose of preventing any stranger from entering during a scene so extraordinary. And thou, then, said Margaret, in a voice where female tenderness combated strangely with her natural pride of rank and with the calm, stoical indifference induced by the intensity of her personal misfortunes, thou fair youth art the last scion of the noble stem, so many fair bows of which have fallen in our hapless cause. Alas, alas, what can I do for thee? Margaret has not even a blessing to bestow. So wayward is her fate that her benedictions are curses, and she has but to look on you and wish you well to ensure your speedy and utter ruin. I have been the fatal poisoned tree whose influence has blighted and destroyed all the fair plants that arose beside and around me, and brought death upon every one, yet am myself unable to find it. Noble and royal, mistress, said the elder Englishman, let not your princely courage, which has borne such extremities, be dismayed now that they are passed over, and that a chance at least of happier times is approaching to you and to England. To England, to me, noble Oxford, said the forlorn and widowed queen, if tomorrow's son could place me once more on the throne of England, could it give back to me what I have lost? I speak not of wealth or power, they are as nothing in the balance. I speak not of the hosts of noble friends who have fallen in defense of me and mine. Summersets, purses, staffords, clifards, they have found their place in fame in the annals of their country. I speak not of my husband. He has exchanged the state of a suffering saint upon earth for that of a glorified saint in heaven. But, oh Oxford, my son, my Edward, is it possible for me to look on this youth and not remember that thy countess and I, on this same night, gave birth to two fair boys? How oft we endeavored to prophecy their future fortunes and to persuade ourselves that the same constellation which shone on their birth would influence their succeeding life, and hold a friendly and equal bias till they reached some destined goal of happiness and honour. Thy Arthur lives, but alas, my Edward, born under the same auspices, fills a bloody grave. She wrapped her head in her mantle as if to stifle the complaints and groans which maternal affection poured forth at these cruel recollections. Philipson, or the exiled Earl of Oxford, as we may now term him, distinguished in those changeful times by the steadiness with which he had always maintained his loyalty to the line of Lancaster, saw the imprudence of indulging his sovereign in her weakness. Royal Mistress, he said, life's journey is that of a brief winter's day, and its course will run on, whether we avail ourselves of its progress or no. My sovereign is I trust too much mistress of herself to suffer lamentation for what is past to deprive her of the power of using the present time. I am here in obedience to your command. I am to see Burgundy forthwith, and if I find him pliant to the purpose to which we would turn him, events may follow which will change into gladness our present morning. But we must use our opportunity with speed as well as zeal. Let me know then, madam, for what reason your majesty hath come hither, disguised and in danger. Surely it was not merely to weep over this young man that the high-minded queen Margaret left her father's court, disguised herself in mean attire, and came from a place of safety, to one of doubt at least, if not of danger. You mock me, Oxford, said the unfortunate queen, or you deceive yourself if you think you still serve that Margaret whose word was never spoken without a reason, and whose slightest action was influenced by a motive. Alas, I am no longer the same firm and rational being. The feverish character of grief, while it makes one place hateful to me, drives me to another in very impotence and impatience of spirit. My father's residence, thou sayest, is safe, but is it tolerable for such a soul as mine? Can one who has been deprived of the noblest and richest kingdom of Europe, one who has lost hosts of noble friends, one who is a widowed consort, a childless mother, one upon whose head heaven hath poured forth its last vile of unmitigated wrath? Can she stoop to be the companion of a weak old man who in sonnets and in music, in memory and folly, in harping and rhyming, finds a comfort for all that poverty has that is distressing? And what is still worse, even a solace in all that is ridiculous and contemptible? Nay, with your leave, madam, said her counselor, blame not the good king Rene, because persecuted by fortune he has been able to find out for himself humbler sources of solace which your prouder spirit is disposed to disdain. A contention among his minstrels has for him the animation of a nightly combat, and a crown of flowers twined by his troubadours and graced by their sonnets. He accounts a valuable compensation for the diadems of Jerusalem, of Naples, and of both Sicilies, of which he only possesses the empty titles. Speak not to me of the pitiable old man, said Margaret, sunk below even the hatred of his worst enemies and never thought worthy of anything more than contempt. I tell thee, noble Oxford, I have been driven nearly mad with my forced residence at aches in the paltry circle which he calls his court. My ears, tuned as they now are, only to sounds of affliction, are not so weary of the eternal tinkling of harps and squeaking of rebecks and snapping of castanets. My eyes are not so tired of the beggarly affectation of court ceremonial which is only respectable when it implies wealth and expresses power. As my very soul is sick of the paltry ambition which can find pleasure in spangles, tassels, and trumpery, when the reality of all that is great and noble hath passed away. No, Oxford, if I am doomed to lose the last cast which fickle fortune seems to offer me, I will retreat into the meanest convent in the Pyrenean hills and at least escape the insult of the idiot-gayety of my father. Let him pass from our memory as from the page of history in which his name will never be recorded. I have much of more importance both to hear and to tell. And now, my Oxford, what news from Italy will the Duke of Milan afford us assistance with his councils or with his treasures, with his councils willingly, madame, but how you will relish them, I know not, since he recommends to us submission to our hapless fate and resignation to the will of Providence. The wily Italian will not, then, galeoso advance any part of his hordes or assist a friend to whom he hath in his time full often sworn faith. Not even the diamonds which I offered to deposit in his hands, answered the Earl, could make him unlock his treasury to supply us with dukots for our enterprise. Yet he said, if Charles of Burgundy should think seriously of an exertion in our favor, such was his regard for that great prince and his deep sense of your majesty's misfortunes that he would consider what the state of his exchequer, though much exhausted, and the condition of his subjects, though impoverished by taxes and teleages, would permit him to advance in your behalf. The double-faced hypocrite said, Margaret, if the assistance of the princely Burgundy lends us a chance of regaining what is our own, then he will give us some paltry parcel of crowns that our restored prosperity may forget his indifference to our adversity. But what of Burgundy I have ventured hither to tell you what I have learned and to hear report of your proceedings a trusty watch provides for the secrecy of our interview. My impatience to see you brought me hither in this mean disguise. I have a small retinue at a convent a mile beyond the town. I have had your arrival watched by the faithful Lambert, and now I come to know your hopes or your fears and to tell you my own. Royal Lady, said the Earl, I have not seen the Duke. You know his temper to be willful, sudden, haughty, and unpersuadable. If he can adopt the calm and sustained policy which the times require, I little doubt his obtaining full amends of Louis, his sworn enemy, and even of Edward, his ambitious brother-in-law. But if he continues to yield to extravagant fits of passion with or without provocation, he may hurry into a quarrel with the poor but hardy Helvetians and is likely to engage in a perilous contest in which he cannot be expected to gain anything while he undergoes a chance of the most serious losses. Surely, replied the Queen, he will not trust the usurper Edward even in the very moment when he is giving the greatest proof of treachery to his alliance. In what respect, Madame, replied Oxford, the news you allude to has not reached me. How, my Lord, am I then the first to tell you that Edward of York has crossed the sea with such an army as scarce even the renowned Henry V, my father-in-law ever transported from France to Italy? So much I have indeed heard was expected, said Oxford, and I anticipated the effect as fatal to our cause. Edward is arrived, said Margaret, and the traitor and usurper hath sent defiance to Louis of France and demanded of him the crown of that kingdom as his own right, that crown which was placed on the head of my unhappy husband when he was yet a child in the cradle. It is then decided the English are in France, answered Oxford, in a tone expressive of the deepest anxiety, and whom brings Edward with him on this expedition. All, all the bitterest enemies of our house and cause, the faults, the traitorous, the dishonored George whom he calls Duke of Clarence, the blood-drinker Richard, the licentious Hastings, Howard Stanley, in a word, the leaders of all those traitors whom I would not name, unless by doing so my curses could sweep them from the face of the earth. And I tremble to ask, said the Earl, does Burgundy prepare to join them, as a brother of the war, and make common cause with this Yorkish host against King Louis of France? By my advices, replied the Queen, and they are both private and sure, besides that they are confirmed by the bruit of common fame. No, my good Oxford, no. For that may the Saints be praised, answered Oxford. Edward of York, I will not malign even an enemy, is a bold and fearless leader. But he is neither Edward III nor the heroic Black Prince, nor is he that fifth Henry of Lancaster, under whom I won my spurs, and to whose lineage the thoughts of his glorious memory would have made me faithful, had my plighted vows of allegiance ever permitted me to entertain a thought of varying or of defection. Let Edward engage in war with Louis, without the aid of Burgundy, on which he has reckoned. Louis is indeed no hero, but he is a cautious and skillful general, more to be dreaded perhaps in these politic days than if Charlemagne could again raise the aura flame surrounded by Rowland and all his paladins. Louis will not hazard such fields as those of Cressy, or Poitiers, or of Agincourt, with a thousand lances from Hanalt, with twenty thousand crowns from Burgundy, Edward shall risk the loss of England while he is engaged in a protracted struggle for the recovery of Normandy and Guyenne. But what are the movements of Burgundy? He has menaced Germany, said Margaret, and his troops are now employed in overrunning Lorraine, of which he has seized the principal towns and castles. Where is Ferrand de Vautamont, a youth it is said of courage and enterprise, and claiming Lorraine in right of his mother, Yolanda of Anjou, the sister of your Grace? Fled replied the Queen into Germany or Helvetia. Let Burgundy beware of him, said the experienced Earl, for should the disinherited youth obtain confederates in Germany and allies among the hearty Swiss, Charles of Burgundy, may find him a far more formidable enemy than he expects. We are strong for the present, only in the Duke's strength, and if it is wasted in idle and desultory efforts, our hopes alas vanish with his power, even if he should be found to have the decided will to assist us. My friends in England are resolute not to stir without men and money from Burgundy. It is a fear, said Margaret, but not our worst fear. I dread more the policy of Louis, who, unless my espials have grossly deceived me, has even already proposed a secret peace to Edward, offering with large sums of money to purchase England to the Yorkists and a truce of seven years. It cannot be, said Oxford. No Englishman commanding such an army as Edward must now lead dares for a very shame to retire from France without a manly attempt to recover his lost provinces. Such would have been the thoughts of a rightful prince, said Margaret, who left behind him an obedient and faithful kingdom. Such may not be the thoughts of this Edward, misnamed Plantagenet, base perhaps in mind as in blood, since they say his real father was one blackburn and archer of Middleham, usurper at least, if not bastard. Such will not be his thoughts. Every breeze that blows from England will bring with it apprehensions of defection amongst those over whom he has usurped authority. He will not sleep in peace till he returns to England with those cutthroats whom he relies upon for the defense of his stolen crown. He will engage in no war with Louis, for Louis will not hesitate to soothe his pride by humiliation, to gorge his avarice and pamper his voluptuous prodigality by sums of gold, and I fear much we shall soon hear of the English army retiring from France with the idle boast that they have displayed their banners once more, for a week or two in the provinces which were formerly their own. It the more becomes us to be speedy in moving Burgundy to decision, replied Oxford, and for that purpose I post to Dijon. Such an army as Edwards cannot be transported over the narrow seas in several weeks. The probability is that they must winter in France, even if they should have truce with King Louis. With a thousand Hanalt lances from the eastern part of Flanders, I can be soon in the north, where we have many friends besides the assurance of help from Scotland. The faithful west will rise at a signal, a Clifford can be found, though the mountain mists have hid him from Richard's researches. The Welch will assemble at the rallying word of Tudor. The red rose raises its head once more, and so God save King Henry. Alas! said the Queen, but no husband, no friend of mine. The son, but of my mother-in-law, by a Welch chieftain. Cold, they say, and crafty. But be it so, let me only see Lancaster triumph and obtain revenge upon York, and I will die contented. It is then your pleasure that I should make the proffers expressed by your Grace's former mandates to induce Burgundy to stir himself in our cause. If he learns the proposal of a truce betwixt France and England, it will sting sharper than odd, I can say. Promise all, however, said the Queen, I know his inmost soul. It is set upon extending the dominions of his house in every direction. For this he has seized Gelderus. For this he now overruns and occupies Lorraine. For this he covets such poor remnants of province as my father still calls his own. With such augmented territories he proposes to exchange his ducal diadem for an arched crown of independent sovereignty. Tell the Duke, Margaret can assist his views. Tell him that my father, Renée, shall disown the opposition made to the Duke's seizure of Lorraine. He shall do more. He shall declare Charles his heir in province with my ample consent. Tell him, the old man shall cede his dominions to him upon the instant that his hon alters embark for England, some small pension deducted to maintain a concert of fiddlers and a troupe of Morris dancers. These are Renée's only earthly wants. Mine are still fewer, revenge upon York and a speedy grave. For the paltry gold which we may need, thou hast jewels to pledge, for the other conditions, security if required. For these, madam, I can pledge my nightly word in addition to your royal faith, and if more is required, my son shall be a hostage with Burgundy. Oh, no, no! exclaimed the dethroned queen, touched by perhaps the only tender feeling which repeated and extraordinary misfortunes had not chilled into insensibility. Hazard not the life of the noble youth, he that is the last of the loyal and faithful house of air, he that should have been the brother-in-arms of my beloved Edward, he that had so nearly been his companion in a bloody and untimely grave. Do not involve this poor child in these fatal intrigues which have been so baneful to his family. Let him go with me, him at least I will shelter from danger whilst I live, and provide for when I am no more. Forgive me, madam, said Oxford, with the firmness which distinguished him. My son, as you deign to recollect, is a Devere, destined perhaps to be the last of his name. Fall, he may, but it must not be without honour. To whatever dangers his duty and allegiance call him, be it from sword or lance, axe or gibbet, to these he must expose himself frankly, when his doing so can mark his allegiance. His ancestors have shown him how to brave them all. True, true, exclaimed the unfortunate queen, raising her arms wildly, all must perish, all that have honoured Lancaster, all that have loved Margaret, or whom she has loved, the destruction must be universal, the young must fall with the old, not a lamb of the scattered flock shall escape. For God's sake, gracious madam, said Oxford, compose yourself, I hear them knock on the chapel door. It is the signal of parting, said the exiled queen, collecting herself. Do not fear, noble Oxford, I am not often thus. But how seldom do I see those friends whose faces and voices can disturb the composure of my despair. Let me tie this relic about thy neck, good youth, and fear not its evil influence, though you receive it from an ill omened hand. It was my husband's, blessed by many a prayer, and sanctified by many a holy tear. Even my unhappy hands cannot pollute it. I should have bound it on my Edwards bosom, on the dreadful mourning of Tewkesbury fight, but he armed early, went to the field without seeing me, and all my purpose was vain. She passed a golden chain round Arthur's neck as she spoke, which contained a small gold crucifix of rich but barbarous manufacture. It had belonged, said tradition, to Edward the Confessor. The knock at the door of the chapel was repeated. We must not, Terry, said Margaret, let us part here, you for Dijon, I to ex. My abode of unrest in province. Farewell, we may meet in a better hour, yet how can I hope it? Thus I said on the mourning, before the fight of St. Albans, thus on the dark dawning of Touton, thus on the yet more bloody field of Tewkesbury, and what was the event? Yet hope is a plant which cannot be rooted out of a noble breast, till the last heart-string crack as it is pulled away. So saying, she passed through the chapel door and mingled in the miscellaneous assemblage of personages who worshipped or indulged their curiosity or consumed their idle hours amongst the aisles of the cathedral. Phillipson and his son, both deeply impressed with the singular interview which had just taken place, returned to their inn, where they found a pursuant with the Duke of Burgundy's badge and livery who informed them that if they were the English merchants who were carrying wares of value to the court of the Duke, he had orders to afford them the countenance of his escort and inviolable character. Under his protection they set out from Strasburg, but such was the uncertainty of the Duke of Burgundy's motions, and such the numerous obstacles which occurred to interrupt their journey in a country disturbed by the constant passage of troops and preparation for war, that it was evening on the second day ere they reached the plain near Dijon on which the whole or great part of his power lay encamped. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of Anne of Geyerstein, Volume 2 by Sir Walter Scott This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dijon Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. Thus said the Duke, thus did the Duke infer Richard III. The eyes of the elder traveler were well accustomed to sights of martial splendor, yet even he was dazzled with the rich and glorious display of the Burgundian camp, in which near the walls of Dijon, Charles, the wealthiest prince in Europe, had displayed his own extravagance and encouraged his followers to similar profusion. The pavilions of the meanest officers were of silk and samite, while those of the nobility and great leaders glittered with cloth of silver, cloth of gold, variegated tapestry, and other precious materials which, in no other situation, would have been employed as a cover from the weather, but would themselves have been thought worthy of the most careful protection. The horsemen and infantry who mounted guard were arrayed in the richest and most gorgeous armor. A beautiful and very numerous train of artillery was drawn up near the entrance of the camp, and in its commander, Philipson, to give the Earl the traveling name, to which our readers are accustomed, recognized Henry Colvin, an Englishman of inferior birth, but distinguished for his skill in conducting these terrible engines, which had of late come into general use in war. The banners and penins, which were displayed by every night, barren and men of rank, floated before their tents, and the owners of these transitory dwellings sat at the door, half armed, and enjoying the military contests of the soldiers in wrestling, pitching the bar, and other athletic exercises. Long rows of the noblest horses were seen at picket, prancing, and tossing their heads as impatient of the inactivity to which they were confined, or were heard naing over the provender, which was spread plentifully before them. The soldiers formed joyous groups around the minstrels and strolling jugglers, or were engaged in drinking parties at the settler's tents. Others strolled about with folded arms, casting their eyes now and then to the sinking sun, as if desirous that the hour should arrive, which should put an end to a day unoccupied, and therefore tedious. At length the travelers reached, amidst the dazzling varieties of this military display, the pavilion of the duke himself, before which floated heavily in the evening breeze, the broad and rich banner in which glowed the armorial bearings and quarterings of a prince, duke of six provinces, and count of fifteen counties, who was, from his power, his disposition, and the success which seemed to attend his enterprises the general dread of Europe. The pursuant made himself known to some of the household, and the Englishmen were immediately received with courtesy, though not such as to draw attention upon them, and conveyed to a neighbouring tent the residence of a general officer, which they were given to understand was destined for their accommodation, and where their packages accordingly were deposited, and refreshments offered them. As the camp is filled, said the domestic who waited upon them, with soldiers of different nations and uncertain dispositions, the duke of Burgundy, for the safety of your merchandise, has ordered you the protection of a regular sentinel. In the meantime, be in readiness to wait on his highness, seeing you may look to be presently sent for. Accordingly, the elder Philipson was shortly after summoned to the duke's presence, introduced by a back entrance into the duke's pavilion, and into that part of it, which, screened by close curtains and wooden barricades, formed Charles's own separate apartment. The plainness of the furniture and the coarse apparatus of the duke's toilet formed a strong contrast to the appearance of the exterior of the pavilion. For Charles, whose character was in that, as in other things, far from consistent, exhibited in his own person during war, an austerity, or rather coarseness of dress, and sometimes of manners also, which was more like the rudeness of a German lansnacht than the bearing of a prince of exalted rank. While at the same time he encouraged and enjoined a great splendor of expense and display among his vassals and courtiers as if to be rudely attired and to despise every restraint, even of ordinary ceremony, were a privilege of the sovereign alone. Yet when it pleased him to assume state in person and manners, none knew better than Charles of Burgundy how he ought to adorn and demean himself. Upon his toilet appeared brushes and combs which might have claimed dismissal as past the term of service over worn hats and doublets, dog leashes, leather belts, and other such paltry articles amongst which lay at random, as it seemed, the great diamond called Sansi, the three rubies termed the three brothers of Antwerp, another great diamond called the lamp of Flanders, and other precious stones of scarcely inferior value and rarity. This extraordinary display somewhat resembled the character of the Duke himself, who mixed cruelty with justice, magnanimity with meanness of spirit, economy with extravagance, and liberality with avarice, being in fact consistent in nothing, accepting in his obstinate determination to follow the opinion he had once formed in every situation of things and through all variety of risks. In the midst of the valueless and inestimable articles of his wardrobe and toilet, the Duke of Burgundy called out to the English traveler, welcome, Herr Philipsen, welcome, you of a nation whose traitors are princes and their merchants, the mighty ones of the earth. What new commodities have you brought to gull us with? You merchants, by St. George, are a wily generation. Faith, no new merchandise I, my lord, answered the elder Englishman. I bring but the commodities which I showed your highness the last time I communicated with you in the hope of a poor trader that your grace may find them more acceptable upon a review than when you first saw them. It is well, sir Philipville, I think they call you. You are a simple trader, or you take me for a silly purchaser that you think to gull me with the same wares which I fancied not formerly. Change of fashion, man, novelty is the motto of commerce. Your Lancaster wares have had their day, and I have bought of them like others, and was like enough to have paid dear for them too. York is all the vogue now. It may be so among the vulgar, said the Earl of Oxford, but for souls like your highness, faith, honor, and loyalty are jewels which change of fancy or mutability of taste cannot put out of fashion. Why it may be, noble Oxford, said the Duke, that I preserve in my secret mind some veneration for these old-fashioned qualities. Else why should I have such regard for your person in which they have ever been distinguished? But my situation is painfully urgent, and should I make a false step at this crisis, I might break the purposes of my whole life. Observe me, sir merchant, here has come over your old competitor, Blackburn, who some call Edward of York and of London, with a commodity of bows and bills such as never entered France since King Arthur's time, and he offers to enter into joint adventure with me, or in plain speech, to make common cause with Burgundy till we smoke out of his earths the old fox Louis, and nail his hide to the stable door. In a word England invites me to take part with him against my most wily and inveterate enemy, the King of France, to rid myself of the chain of vassalage, and to ascend into the rank of independent princes. How, thank you noble Earl, can I forgo this seducing temptation? You must ask this of some of your counsellors of Burgundy, said Oxford. It is a question fraught too deeply with ruin to my cause for me to give a fair opinion on it. Nevertheless, said Charles, I ask thee, as an honourable man, what objections you see to the course proposed to me? Speak your mind, and speak it freely. My lord, I know it is in your highness's nature to entertain no doubts of the facility of executing anything which you have once determined shall be done. Yet, though this prince-like disposition may in some cases prepare for its own success, and has often done so, there are others in which persisting in our purpose merely because we have once willed it leads not to success, but to ruin. Look, therefore, at this English army. Winter is approaching. Where are they to be lodged? How are they to be victualed? By whom are they to be paid? Is your highness to take all the expense and labour of fitting them for this summer campaign? For rely on it, an English army never was, nor will be, fit for service till they have been out of their own island long enough to accustom them to military duty. They are men, I grant, the fittest for soldiers in the world, but they are not soldiers as yet, and must be trained to become such at your highness's expense. Be it so, said Charles, I think the low countries can find food for the beef-consuming knaves for a few weeks, and villages for them to lie in, and officers to train their sturdy limbs to war, and provost marshals enough to reduce their refractory spirit to discipline. What happens next, said Oxford, you march to Paris, add to Edwards' usurped power, another kingdom, restore to him all the possessions which England ever had in France, Normandy, Maine, and Jew, Gascony, and all besides. Can you trust this, Edward, when you shall have thus fostered his strength, and made him far stronger than this Louis whom you have united to pull down? By St. George, I will not disemble with you. It is in that very point that my doubts trouble me. Edward is indeed my brother-in-law, but I am a man little inclined to put my head under my wife's girdle. And the times, said Philipson, have too often shown the inefficiency of family alliances to prevent the most gross breaches of faith. You say well, Earl, Clarence betrayed his father-in-law, Louis poisoned his brother, domestic affections shaw. They sit warm enough by a private man's fireside, but they cannot come into fields of battle, or princess halls where the wind blows cold. No, my alliance with Edward by marriage were little succor to me in time of need. I would as soon ride an unbroken horse with no better bridle than a lady's garter. But what then is the result? He wars on Louis, whichever gains the better. I, who must be strengthened in their mutual weakness, receive the advantage. The Englishmen slay the French with their clothyard shafts, and the Frenchmen, by skirmishes, waste, weaken, and destroy the English. With spring, I take the field with an army superior to both, and then St. George for Burgundy. And if in the meanwhile your highness will deign to assist, even in the most trifling degree, a cause the most honorable that ever night laid lance in rust for, a moderate sum of money, and a small body of Hanalt lances who may gain both fame and fortune by the service may replace the injured heir of Lancaster in the possession of his native and rightful dominion. I, Mary, Sir Earl, said the Duke, you come roundly to the point, but we have seen, and indeed partly assisted, at so many turns betwixt York and Lancaster, that we have some doubt, which is the side to which heaven has given the right, and the inclinations of the people, the effectual power. We are surprised into absolute giddiness by so many extraordinary revolutions of fortune as England has exhibited, a proof, my lord, that these mutations are not yet ended, and that your generous aid may give to the better side an effectual turn of advantage, and lend my cousin, Margaret of Anjou, my arm to dethrone my wife's brother. Perhaps he deserves small goodwill at my hands, since he and his insolent nobles have been urging me, with remonstrances and even threats, to lay aside all my own important affairs, and join Edward Forsuth in his night errant expedition against Louis. I will march against Louis at my own time, and not sooner, and by St. George, neither island king nor island noble shall dictate to Charles of Burgundy. You are fine conceited companions, you English of both sides, that think the matters of your own bedlam island are as interesting to all the world as to yourselves, but neither York nor Lancaster, neither brother Blackburn, nor cousin Margaret of Anjou, not with John Devere, to back her shall gull me. Men lure no hawks with empty hands. Oxford, familiar with the Duke's disposition, suffered him to exhaust himself in chafing, that anyone should pretend to dictate his course of conduct, and when he was at length silent, replied with calmness, Do I live to hear the noble Duke of Burgundy, the mirror of European chivalry, say that no reason has been shown to him for an adventure where a helpless queen is to be redressed, a royal house raised from the dust, is there not immortal loss and honor? The trumpet of fame to proclaim the sovereign who alone in a degenerate age has united the duties of a generous knight with those of a princely sovereign. The Duke interrupted him, striking him at the same time on the shoulder, and King Rene's five hundred fiddlers to tune their cracked violins in my praise, and King Rene himself to listen to them and say, well fought Duke, well played fiddler, I tell thee, John of Oxford, when thou and I were maiden armor, such words as fame, honor, loss, nightly glory, ladies' love, and so forth, were good mottos for our snow-white shields, and a fair enough argument for splintering lances, I, and in tilt yard, though somewhat old for these fierce follies, I would jeppered my person in such a quarrel yet as becomes a knight of the order. But when we come to paying down of crowns and embarking of large squadrons, we must have to propose to our subjects some substantial excuse for plunging them in war, some proposal for the public good, or by St. George for our own private advantage, which is the same thing. This is the course the world runs, and Oxford, to tell the plain truth, I mean to hold this same bias. Heaven forbid that I should expect your highness to act otherwise than with a view to your subjects' welfare. The increase that is, as your grace happily expresses it, of your own power and dominion, the money we require is not in benevolence but in loan, and Margaret is willing to deposit these jewels of which I think your grace knows the value till she shall repay the sum which your friendship may advance in her necessity. Ha, ha, said the Duke, would our cousin make a pawnbroker of us and have us deal with her like a Jewish user with his debtor? Yet in faith, Oxford, we may need the diamonds, for if this business were otherwise feasible, it is possible that I myself must become a borrower to aid my cousin's necessities. I have applied to the states of the Duchy, who are now sitting, and expect, as is reasonable, a large supply. But there are restless heads and closed hands among them, and they may be niggardly, so place the jewels on the table in the meanwhile. Well, say I am to be no sufferer in purse by this feat of night errantry, which you propose to me, still princes enter not into war without some view of advantage. Listen to me, noble sovereign, you are naturally bent to unite the great estates of your father, and those you have acquired by your own arms into a compact and firm dukedom. Call it kingdom, said Charles, it is the worthier word, into a kingdom of which the crown shall sit as fair and even on your grace's brow as that of France on your present, suzerain, Louis. It need not such shrewdness as yours to describe that such is my purpose, said the duke. Else wherefore am I here, with helm on my head and sword by my side, and wherefore are my troops seizing on the strong places in Lorraine, and chasing before them the beggarly Devottamont, who has the insolence to claim it as his inheritance? Yes, my friend, the aggrandizement of Burgundy is a theme for which the duke of that fair province is bound to fight, while he can put foot in stirrup. But think you not, said the English Earl, since you allow me to speak freely with your grace on the footing of old acquaintanceship, think you not that in this chart of your dominions, otherwise so fairly bounded, there is something on the southern frontier which might be arranged more advantageously for a king of Burgundy. I cannot guess whether you would lead me, said the duke, looking at a map of the duchy and his other possessions to which the Englishman had pointed his attention, and then turning his broad, keen eye upon the face of the banished Earl. I would say, replied the latter, that to so powerful a prince as your grace there is no safe neighborhood but the sea. Here is province which interferes betwixt you and the Mediterranean. Provence, with its princely harbors and fertile cornfields and vineyards, were it not well to include it in your map of sovereignty, and thus touch the middle sea with one hand while the other rested on the sea coast of Flanders. Province, said you, replied the duke eagerly, why, man, my very dreams are of province. I cannot smell an orange, but it reminds me of its perfumed woods and bowers, its olives, citrons, and pomegranates. But how to frame pretensions to it? Shame it were to disturb Rene, the harmless old man, nor would it become a near relation. Then he is the uncle of Louis, and most probably failing his daughter Margaret, or perhaps in preference to her he hath named the French king his heir. A better claim might be raised up in your grace's own person, said the Earl of Oxford, if you will afford Margaret of Anjou the succor she requires by me. Take the aid thou requirest, replied the duke, take double the amount of it in men and money. Let me but have a claim upon province, though thin as a single thread of thy queen Margaret's hair, and let me alone for twisting it into the tough texture of a quadruple cable. But I am a fool to listen to the dreams of one who ruined himself can lose little by holding forth to others the most extravagant hopes. Charles breathed high and changed complexion as he spoke. I am not such a person, my Lord Duke, said the Earl, listen to me. Rene is broken with years, fond of repose, and too poor to maintain his rank with the necessary dignity, too good-natured or too feeble-minded to lay further impose on his subjects, weary of contending with bad fortune and desirous to resign his territories. His territories, said Charles, yes, all he actually possesses, and the much more extensive dominions which he has claimed to, but which have passed from his sway. You take away my breath, said the duke, Rene, resign province, and what says Margaret, the proud, the high-minded Margaret, will she subscribe to so humiliating a proceeding? For the chance of seeing Lancaster triumph in England she would resign, not only dominion, but life itself, and in truth the sacrifice is less than it may seem to be. It is certain that, when Rene dies, the king of France will claim the old man's county of province as a male thief, and there is no one strong enough to back Margaret's claim of inheritance, however just it may be. It is just, said Charles, it is undeniable. I will not hear of its being denied or challenged. That is, when once it is established in our own person, it is the true principle of the war for the public good that none of the great thieves be suffered to revert again to the crown of France, least of all while it stands on a brow so astucious and unprincipled as that of Louis. Burgundy joined to province a dominion from the German ocean to the Mediterranean. Oxford, thou art my better angel. Your grace must, however, reflect, said Oxford, that honorable provision must be made for King Rene. Certainly, man, certainly, he shall have a score of fiddlers and jugglers to play, roar, and recite to him from morning till night. He shall have a court of troubadours who shall do nothing but drink, flute, and fiddle to him, and pronounce arrests of love to be confirmed or reversed by an appeal to himself, the supreme Roy de Moor. And Margaret shall also be honorably sustained in the manner you may point out. That will be easily settled, answered the English Earl, if our attempts on England succeed, she will need no aid from Burgundy. If she fails, she retires into a cloister, and it will not belong that she will need the honorable maintenance which, I am sure, your grace's generosity will willingly assign her. Unquestionably, answered Charles, and on a scale which will become us both. But by my helodome, John Aver, the abyss into whose cloister Margaret of Anjou shall retire, will have an ungovernable penitent under her charge. Well, do I know her, and, Sir Earl, I will not clog our discourse by expressing any doubts that, if she pleases, she can compel her father to resign his estates to whomsoever she will. She is like my bra, Gorgon, who compels whatsoever hound is coupled with her to go the way she chooses, or she strangles him if he resists. So has Margaret acted with her simple-minded husband, and I am aware that her father, a fool of a different caste, must of necessity be equally tractable. I think I could have matched her, though my very neck aches at the thought of the struggles we should have had for mastery. But you look grave, because I just, with the pertinacious temper of my unhappy cousin. My lord, said Oxford, whatever are or have been the defects of my mistress, she is in distress, and almost in desolation. She is my sovereign, and your highness's cousin, not the less. Enough said Sir Earl, answered the Duke. Let us speak seriously. Whatever we may think of the abdication of King Rene, I fear we shall find it difficult to make Louis XI see the matter as favourably as we do. He will hold that the county of Provence is a male thief, and that neither the resignation of Rene, nor the consent of his daughter, can prevent its reverting to the crown of France as the king of Sicily, as they call him, hath no male issue. That, may it please your grace, is a question for battle to decide, and your highness has successfully braved Louis for a less important stake. All I can say is that if your grace's active assistance enables the young Earl of Richmond to succeed in his enterprise, you shall have the aid of three thousand English archers if old John of Oxford, for want of a better leader, were to bring them over himself. A noble aide, said the Duke, graced still more by him who promises to lead them. Thy succor, noble Oxford, were precious to me. Did you but come with your sword by your side, and a single page at your back? I know you well, both heart and head, but let us to this gear. Exiles even the wisest are privileged in promises, and sometimes, excuse me noble Oxford, impose on themselves as well as on their friends. What are the hopes on which you desire me again to embark on so troubled and uncertain an ocean as these civil contests of yours? The Earl of Oxford produced a schedule and explained to the Duke the plan of his expedition to be backed by an insurrection of the friends of Lancaster, of which it is enough to say that it was bold to the verge of temerity, but yet so well compacted and put together as to bear in those times of rapid revolution and under a leader of Oxford's approved military skill and political suggestivity, a strong appearance of probable success. While Duke Charles mused over the particulars of an enterprise attractive and congenial to his own disposition, while he counted over the affronts which he had received from his brother-in-law Edward IV, the present opportunity for taking a signal revenge and the rich acquisition which he hoped to make in province by the session in his favor of Renée of Anjou and his daughter, the Englishman failed not to press on his consideration the urgent necessity of suffering no time to escape. The accomplishment of this scheme he said demands the utmost promptitude to have a chance of success I must be in England with your grace's auxiliary forces before Edward of York can return from France with his army and having come hither said the Duke our worthy brother will be in no hurry to return again he will meet with black eyed French women and ruby colored French wine and brother Blackburn is no man to leave such commodities in a hurry my lord Duke I will speak truth of my enemy Edward is indolent and luxurious when things are easy around him but let him feel the spur of necessity and he becomes as eager as a pampered steed Louis II who seldom fails in finding means to accomplish his ends is bent upon determining the English king to recross the sea therefore speed noble prince speed is the soul of your enterprise speed said the Duke of Burgundy why I will go with you and see the embarkation myself and tried approved soldiers you shall have such as our no where to be found save in our twa and Henel but pardon yet noble Duke the impatience of a drowning wretch urgently pressing for assistance when shall we to the coast of Flanders to order this important measure why in a fortnight or perchance a week or in a word so soon as I shall have chastised to purpose a certain gang of thieves and robbers who as the scum of the cauldron will always be uppermost have got up into the fastnesses of the Alps and from fence annoy our frontiers by contraband traffic pillage and robbery your highness means the Swiss Confederates I the peasant churls give themselves such a name they are a sort of manumitted slaves of Austria and like a band dog whose chain is broken they avail themselves of their liberty to annoy and rend whatever comes in their way I traveled through their country from Italy said the exiled Earl and I heard it was the purpose of the cantons to send envoys to solicit peace of your highness peace exclaimed Charles a proper sort of peaceful proceedings those of their embassy have been availing themselves of a mutiny of the burgers of la ferrette the first garrison town which they entered they stormed the walls seized on archibald the Hagenbach who commanded the place on my part and put him to death in the marketplace such an insult must be punished sir john de verre and if you do not see me in the storm of passion which it will deserves it is because I have already given orders to hang up the base renegades who call themselves ambassadors for god's sake noble duke said the englishman throwing himself at charles's feet for your own character for the sake of the peace of christendom revoke such an order if it is really given what means this passion said duke charles what are these men's lives to thee accepting that the consequences of a war may delay your expedition for a few days may render it all together abortive said the earl nay must needs do so hear me lord duke i was with these men on a part of their journey you said the duke you a companion of the paltry swiss peasants misfortune has sunk the pride of english nobility to a low ebb when you selected such associates i was thrown amongst them by accident said the earl some of them are of noble blood and are besides men for whose peaceable intentions i ventured to constitute myself their warrant on my honor my lord of oxford you graced them highly and me no less in interfering between the swiss and myself allow me to say that i condescend when in deference to past friendship i permit you to speak to me of your own english affairs me thinks you might well spare me your opinion upon topics with which you have no natural concern my lord of burgundy replied oxford i followed your banner to paris and had the good luck to rescue you in the fight at mont larry when you were beset by the french men at arms we have not forgot it said duke charles and it is a sign that we keep the action in remembrance that you have been suffered to stand before us so long pleading the cause of a set of rascals whom we are required to spare from the gallows that groans for them because for sooth they have been the fellow travelers of the earl of oxford not so my lord i ask their lives only because they are upon a peaceful errand and the leaders amongst them at least have no accession to the crime of which you complain the duke traversed the apartment with unequal steps in much agitation his large eyebrows drawn down over his eyes his hands clenched and his teeth set until at length he seemed to take a resolution he rung a handbell of silver which stood upon his table here conté he said to the gentleman of his chamber who entered are these mountain fellows yet executed no may it please your highness but the executioner waits them so soon as the priest hath confessed them let them live said the duke we will hear tomorrow in what manner they propose to justify their proceedings towards us conté bowed and left the apartment then turning to the Englishman the duke said with an indescribable mixture of haughtiness with familiarity and even kindness but having his brows cleared and his looks composed we are now clear of obligation my lord of oxford you have obtained life for life nay to make up some inequality which there may be betwixt the value of the commodities bestowed you have obtained six lives for one i will therefore pay no more attention to you should you again upgrade me with the stumbling horse at mont larry or your own achievements on that occasion most princes are contented with privately hating such men as have rendered them extraordinary services i feel no such disposition i only detest being reminded of having had occasion for them shah i am half choked with the effort of foregoing my own fixed resolution so ho who waits there bring me to drink an usher entered bearing a large silver flagon which instead of wine was filled with peasan slightly flavored by aromatic herbs i am so hot and choleric by nature said the duke that our leeches prohibit me from drinking wine but you oxford are bound by no such regimen get thee to thy countrymen calvin the general of our artillery we commend thee to his custody and hospitality till tomorrow which must be a busy day since i expect to receive the answer of these wise acres of the day john assembly of estates and have also to hear thanks to your lordship's interference these miserable swiss envoys as they call themselves well no more on it good night you may communicate freely with calvin who is like yourself an old len castrian but harkey not a word respecting province not even in your sleep kante conduct this english gentleman to calvin's tent he knows my pleasure respecting him so please your grace answered kante i left the english gentleman's son with mesur de calvin what thine own son oxford and with thee here why did you not tell me of him is he a true scion of the ancient tree it is my pride to believe so my lord he has been the faithful companion of all my dangers and wanderings happy man said the duke with a sigh you oxford have a son to share your poverty and distress i have none to be partner and successor to my greatness you have a daughter my lord said the noble devere and it is to be hoped she will one day wed some powerful prince who may be the stay of your highness's house never by st george never answered the duke sharply and shortly i will have no son-in-law who may make the daughter's bed a stepping stone to reach the father's crown oxford i have spoken more freely than i am want perhaps more freely than i ought but i hold some men trustworthy and believe you john devere to be one of them the english nobleman bowed and was about to leave his presence but the duke presently recalled him there is one more thing oxford the session of province is not quite enough renais and margaret must disavow this hot-brained ferrand vaudamont who is making some foolish stir in lorraine in right of his mother yolanda my lord said oxford ferrand is the grandson of king renais the nephew of queen margaret but yet but yet by st george his rights as he calls them on lorraine must positively be disowned you talk of their family feelings while you are urging me to make war on my own brother-in-law renais best apology for deserting his grandson answered oxford will be his total inability to support and assist him i will communicate your grace's condition though it is a hard one so saying he left the pavilion end of chapter seven