We cannot speak, we seem to view
The hills we used to live in;
And feel our mother's smile press through
The kiss that she is giving.'
E. B. BROWNING.
AMIDST the gathering shades of twilight the travelers rode up to the castle gate. Hubert had a moment's vision of a form and figure framed in its quaint archway, and illumined by the light of a dozen torches, which came from he knew not where —a tall, slight form, and a face which to his unaccustomed eyes was a dream of beauty. Dogs rushed out upon them, with vociferous welcome, servants hurried forward helping the riders to dismount. Hubert's eye followed Chlum as, springing from his horse, he folded the maiden in a fond embrace, saying but one word, ‘Djerka '—Daughter. A sense of loneliness stole over him with strange new pain; for him there was not the sweet welcome of a gentle voice, the tender touch of a loving hand. He alighted slowly, and came in, just in time to see Václav fling himself upon his sister and half stifle her with his tempestuous embraces, while Chlum asked quickly, ‘Where is thy mother? '
Two Bohemian words gave the answer. Chlum strode across the hall; but, checking himself suddenly, turned back again, and, taking the hand of Hubert, presented him to his daughter. ‘My new squire,' said he; ‘the brave youth that saved thy brother's life. Besides, he is the grandson of Sir Simon Bohun of England, my father's friend, and hath thus a hereditary claim upon our friendship.'
Deeply touched at being remembered just then, Hubert would fain have responded suitably, but, looking up, he saw again the fair vision—the stately head erect, the curved lips smiling slightly, the dark expressive eyes fixed full upon his face. A new sensation came over him: he lost his self-possession, blushed and stammered. He was thankful to his lord for adding, ‘Do thou the rest, Václav. I go to thy mother.'
‘I am here, my lord,' said a voice, low and musical, yet very penetrating in its tones. The lady of Pihel came forward with outstretched hands, her long silken robe sweeping the rush-strewn floor. Chlum bent his head over her hand, and kissed it reverently, with chivalrous duty and observance. Then he kissed her lip to lip, and the greeting was no whit the less tender for its quaint, old-world, ceremonious courtesy. Václav had his turn next, and then Chlum presented Master Hubert Bohun, who is well known already to the mother of Václav. ‘I trow my lady hath been longing to thank him these many days past.'
‘Master Hubert Bohun is more than welcome to Pihel and to us,' said the lady of Pihel, extending her hand. ‘We shall have time to show him we are grateful.'
Hubert looked up. The sweet, worn face of the elder lady did not dazzle and confuse him like the radiant beauty of the girl. Rather, it gave him confidence and restored him to himself. Unused as he was to the society of ladies, he had the instincts of a gentleman, and his intercourse with the chancellor had taught him reverence. He dropped on one knee and touched with his lips the fair white hand of the Páni, then rising, he withdrew modestly into the background.
He was promptly seized upon by a servant who could speak German, and therefore had been deputed to wait upon the new squire. ‘Shall I conduct you to your chamber, master squire?’ he asked.
On Hubert answering in the affirmative, he led him to an upper room, neither large nor elaborately furnished—in fact, it contained nothing but a bed, a stool, and a carved chest, which lay open. But Hubert thought it a luxurious apartment, and it was certainly the best he had ever had.
‘Who is to share it with me?’ he asked.
‘No one, master. My lord hath at present no other squire.'
Hubert pointed first to various articles of apparel which lay upon the bed, then to the open chest, where bright steel armor gleamed in the light of the torch his attendant carried. ‘Whose are all these?’ he asked.
‘They are your own, master squire. My lord sent us word that he was bringing a new squire from Constance, and bade us make ready for him all things suitable. The suit of armor is that which he wore himself when first he was made a knight, and he gave express directions about it. The apparel I hope you will find to your liking, master squire. The ladies embroidered the surcoat and the baldrick for you themselves, also the badge upon your cap and upon the sleeves of your tunic. They were glad to do it for you. An' if I may make bold to say it, there is not one of us, gentle or simple, who will not be glad to serve him who saved our young lord's life.'
So saying he turned to go, leaving his torch stuck in an iron bracket for Hubert's accommodation. But presently he returned, bearing a pewter basin of fair water, that Hubert might wash his face and hands, as such conveniences were not wont to be kept in sleeping-chambers. He lingered to beg him, if he should need anything, ‘only to call for Prokop,' and he would be promptly attended.
Hubert's heart was full. The thoughtful kindness he was receiving touched him deeply. Vague softening influences that he neither understood nor had a name for began to stir his soul. Who does not know such influences?
We cannot see them go and come,
We say, "Who passes"—they are dumb.'
And yet they are among the things that mold our lives. He took up the broidered mantle and tunic, the cap and baldrick, and looked at them one by one. Those fine and delicate stitches, in many-colored silks, in silver and in gold, had some of them been actually wrought by the frail white fingers of the beautiful lady who welcomed him so sweetly. But Prokop had said the ladies. Alone though he was, the hot blush mantled to his cheek and overspread his forehead at the bare idea of the Lady Zedenka having worked for him! Could he believe it? Could he deem himself worthy to wear what her fingers had deigned to touch? Doubtless the term included the bower women or bower maidens, whose labors the ladies of the castle directed and superintended. Yet not the less truly the gentle lady with the sweet face had worked, and thought, and cared for him. He could fancy he saw her bending over her embroidery frame tracing out those delicate flowers of white and blue which adorned the 'dagged' or scalloped edges of the short crimson mantle.
This was odd enough, since, so far as he could remember, he had never seen the kind of frame ladies use for their embroidery. Never? Then what meant the picture that rose before him of somewhere, very far away—sometime, very long ago? He saw a lady bending over an embroidery frame, working diligently with bright-colored silks, and a little child playing at her feet. He himself seemed to be sitting on a footstool by her side; and she looked down on him and smiled, gave him gold and silver threads and bits of silk, crimson and blue and white, to play with, and called him ‘Mon fils.’ 'Then he knew she was his mother, and the little child was his brother Armand. His memory had taken him back over fifteen years and more, to the old Norman castle.
In the midst of his vision his torch suddenly flared up, sank down again, flickered, went out. But the moonlight streamed through his narrow unglazed window, glittering brightly and coldly upon the steel in the oaken chest. He took out the armor piece by piece, and as well as he could examined and admired it. It was good plate armor, probably from the forges of Milan, of finely-tempered steel, and in excellent condition. Everything was complete, from the helmet with its visor down to the silver spurs' which were the badge and token of his new calling, belonging properly to the squire, as golden spurs ' belonged to the belted knight. Then he drew from its scabbard the good sword, long and light, and of keenest temper, doubtless from the workshop of some famous armorer in Toulouse or Bordeaux. Once and again he turned it round and made it gleam and flash in the cold clear light. Apart from its use and value it was a thing of beauty,' and he could not choose but admire it. He wondered in what cause he was destined to draw it. But this he knew well—he could not draw it for a nobler lord, nor one more worthy of the service of a gallant squire than the good knight of Pihel.
There in the moonlight he arrayed himself in the squire's tunic, surcoat, and hosen. Thus equipped, he descended to the hall to proffer his first service as squire to his new lord.
So, for Hubert Bohun the old life was ended and the new life was begun.