The Prince and the Page by Charlotte Yonge

Author:Charlotte Yonge
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pronoun

CHAPTER IX—ASH WEDNESDAY

~

“Mostrocci un ombra da l’ un canto sola

Dicendo ‘Colui feese in grembo a Dio

Lo cuor che’n su Tamigi ancor si cola.’”

DANTE. Inferno.

Shrovetide had come, and the Prince had, before leaving Trapani, been taking some share in the entertainments of the Carnival. Personally, his grave reserve made gaieties distasteful to him; and the disastrous commencement of the Crusade weighed on his spirits. But when state and show were necessary, he provided for them with royal bounty and magnificence, and caused them to be regulated with the admirable taste of that age of exceeding beauty in which he lived.

Thus, in this festal season, banquets were provided, and military shows took place, for the benefit of the Sicilian nobility and of the citizens of Trapani, on such a scale, that the English rose high in general esteem; and many were the secret wishes that Edmund of Lancaster rather than Charles of Anjou had been able to make good the grant from the Pope.

Splendid were the displays, and no slight toil did they involve on the part of the immediate train of the Prince, few in number as they were, and destitute of the appliances of the resident court. Richard hurrying hither and thither, and waiting upon every one, had little of the diversion of the affair; but he would willingly have taken treble the care and toil in the relief it was to be free from the prying mistrustful eyes of Hamlyn de Valence. Looking after little John of Dunster was, however, no small part of his trouble; the urchin was so certain to get into some mischief if left to himself— now treading on a lady’s train, now upsetting a flagon of wine, now nearly impaling himself upon the point of a whole spitful of ortolans that were being handed round to the company, now becoming uncivilly deaf upon his French ear. Altogether, it was a relief to Richard’s mind when he stumbled upon the little fellow fast asleep, even though it was in the middle of the Princess’s violet velvet and ermine mantle, which she had laid down in order to tread a stately measure with Sire Guillaume de Porceles.

After all Richard’s exertions that evening, it was no wonder that the morning found him fast asleep at the unexampled hour of eight! His wakening was a strange one. His little fellow-page was standing beside him with a strange frightened yet important air.

“What is the matter, John? It is late? Is the Prince gone to Mass? Has he missed me?” cried Richard, starting up in dismay, for unpunctuality was a great offence with Edward.

“He is gone to Mass,” said John, “but, before he comes back,” he came near and lowered his voice, “Hob Longbow sent me to say you had better flee.”

“Flee! Boy, why should I flee? Are YOUR senses fleeing?”

“O Richard,” cried John, his face clearing up, “then it is not true!

You are not one of the traitor Montforts!”

“If I were a hundred Montforts, what has that to do with it?”

“Then all is well,” exclaimed the boy.

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