In the square of the pretty town of Montl'herry, nearly opposite the church, and under the domineering walls of the chÂteau, were two hostels, or inns, the one called the Wheatsheaf, and the other the Bunch of Grapes; for, in those days, as in the present time, the houses of public reception were not only more numerous in France than in any country in the world, but were ornamented with signs taken from almost every object under the sun, and from a great many that the sun never shone upon. As every one knows, the little town of Montl'herry is situated on a high isolated and picturesque hill; and down one of the streets running from the Place or square, could at that time be seen the rich plain stretching out by Longpont to Plessis-Saint PÈre, with the numerous roads which cross it in different directions towards Epinay, Ville-aux-bois, and other small towns, as well as the highway towards Paris.

Before these two inns on the morning of a cold but clear day, towards the end of February, were collected some twenty men-at-arms, who had been lodging there from the night before, and who seemed now preparing to ride away upon their farther journey, after the morning meal, then called dinner, should have been discussed. In the meantime, they were undergoing a sort of inspection from their leader, a young man of a tall and powerful frame, and a handsome and engaging countenance, bronzed with the sun and marked with a scar upon his brow. Though he moved easily and gracefully under the weight, he was covered with complete armour from the neck to the heels, which displayed the spurs of knighthood. His casque lay upon the bench at the door of the Wheatsheaf, and leaning negligently against the wall of the inn appeared the lances of the men-at-arms, who each stood beside his horse, while the knight passed from one to another, making some observation to each, sometimes in a tone of reproof, sometimes in words of praise. The host of one of the inns stood before his door observing their proceedings, and some half-a-dozen little boys were spending their idleness in gazing at the glittering soldiery.

Towering above appeared the ancient castle held by the partizans of the Orleans or Armagnac faction; and when it is remembered that these below were soldiers of the House of Burgundy, and that the young knight at their head was Richard of Woodville, it must be acknowledged that this was a somewhat bold stratagem thus to parade a body of hostile troops in the midst of an enemy's town. The young leader, however, well knew that nothing but the assumption of perfect ease and security could escape suspicion, and confirm the tale which had been told of his band being a party of the men of Orleans.

The gate of the castle he could not see; but from time to time as he passed from one man to another, he looked round to the door of the church, and presently, as the clock struck, he held up his fingers, saying, "What hour is that?" and then as he counted, he turned somewhat sharply to the host, exclaiming, "By the Lord, you have kept us so late for our dinner, that we shall have time to take none. Bring the men out some wine. Quick, my men, quick. On with your bacinets!"

The host assured him that the meal would be served in a minute; but the knight replied, "A minute! Did you not tell me so half an hour ago? Quick, bring out the wine, or we shall be obliged to go without that. What do you think our lord will say, if we wait for your minutes?" and while the host retired to bring the wine, the men assumed their casques, and Richard of Woodville whispered to one who seemed superior to the rest--"He is in the church. I saw him go in with the priest."

"So did I," replied the other; "but he has got a guard with him."

"We must not mind that," replied Woodville; "we shall have some start of them; for they will all be at dinner in the castle--no horses saddled, no armour buckled on. Mount, my men, mount. You can drink in the stirrups. Now, boy, give me my casque."

The page ran and brought the bacinet; the host returned with the wine; and each man drank a deep draught and handed the cup and tankard to his neighbour. Richard of Woodville then sprang into his saddle, his page mounted, and taking the bridle of a spare horse, which was then very generally led after the commander of a party, followed his lord, as, with his lance in his hand, he headed his little troop, and took his way across the Place, saying aloud, as he rode slowly forward, "One prayer to our Lady, and I am with you."

The host gazed after them to the door of the church, but thought it nothing extraordinary that a young knight should follow so common and laudable a custom as beginning a journey with a petition for protection. When, therefore, Richard of Woodville dismounted with two of his men, and entered the sacred building, he turned himself into his own house again, and applied himself to other affairs. In the meanwhile, the knight strode up the nave, looking around him as he went, while his two companions followed close behind.

Some half dozen women, principally of the lower orders, were the only persons at first visible; but in one of the small chapels, from which the sound of a voice singing mass was heard, they soon after perceived a young gentleman, habited in the garb of peace, kneeling at a little distance from the altar, before which stood a priest in robes, performing the functions of his office.

"That is he," whispered one of the Burgundians to Richard of Woodville, and advancing straight to the young Lord of Croy, the knight took him by the arm, saying, in a low tone, "You are wanted, John of Croy. Where is the guard who was with you?"

"Somewhere in the church, speaking with a woman who was to meet him here," said the young lord, rising. "Perhaps we may get out without his seeing us."

"Never mind if he do," said Richard of Woodville; "we shall be far on the way before they are in the saddle;" and hurrying on with the young Lord of Croy, he reached the door of the church without interruption. The priest could not but see the whole of their proceedings, but he took no notice, going on with the service devoutly.

The clang of the step of armed men, however, had caught another ear; and just as the young Lord of Croy was passing out, a voice was heard exclaiming, "Whither are you going, young sir?"

Richard of Woodville turned his head and replied, "Home!" and then issuing forth, closed the door, and thrust his dagger through the staple that confined the large heavy latch. The horse led by the page was close at hand; and John of Croy, with his deliverers, sprang into the saddle, and rode out of Montl'herry at full speed.^[11]

The precaution of the English knight in fastening the door proved less serviceable than he had hoped, however; for as they passed down the street, he turned and saw the man who had been sent to guard the prisoner--having found exit by some other means--running as fast as he could go towards the castle; and when they reached the foot of the hill, the sound of a trumpet came, borne upon the breeze from above.

On, on, the little party hurried, however; and they had already gained so much ground, that every prospect of escape seemed before them. But unfortunately, no one was well acquainted with the road: Richard of Woodville and his company had found their way thither as best they could; and the young Lord of Croy, who was at the head of the band, while Woodville brought up the rear, turned into a wrong path in the wood near Longpont, so that some time was lost ere they got right again. They were just issuing forth on a road which leads to the left of Lonjumeau, when the sound of pursuit caught the ear; and at the same moment the horse of the page stumbled and fell.

"Up, up, boy!" cried Richard of Woodville, drawing in his rein, as he had nearly trodden the poor youth under his horse's feet; and then adding to those before, "Ride on! ride on!" he stooped and held out his hand to the lad, who staggered up, confused and half stunned with the fall. Before the horse could be raised, and the youth mount, coming round the angle of the wood, by a shorter cut, appeared the pursuers from Montl'herry. The Burgundians had followed the order to ride on, which, had they been the young knight's own band, they might, under the circumstances, have perchance disobeyed. Woodville gazed after them, turned his eyes towards the enemy--the foremost of whom was not more than a hundred yards distant--took one moment for consideration; and then, setting his lance in the rest, he spurred on towards the enemy. The man met him in full career; but, not prepared for such a sudden encounter, was unhorsed in a moment, and the two or three who followed, pulled in the rein. The young knight's object was gained; their pursuit was checked; and the advantage of even a few minutes was everything for the young Lord of Croy.

"Surrender, knight, surrender!" cried the voice of one of the opposite party; but Woodville, though he well knew that such must be the result at last, resolved to struggle for a farther delay; and exclaiming, "What! to half-a-dozen squires? Never! never!" he reined back his horse, as if to take ground for a fresh career, and again charged his lance which had remained unsplintered, while his page rode up behind, asking, "May I fight too, noble sir?"

"No, boy, no! Keep back!" cried the knight; and at the same moment a more numerous party appeared to the support of the Armagnacs, led by a baron's banner. They bore down straight towards him, some one still calling upon him to surrender; and, seeing that farther resistance was vain, Woodville raised his lance and took off his gauntlet as a sign that he yielded.

"After them, like lightning!" cried the voice of a gentleman in a suit of richly ornamented steel. "A knight is a good exchange for a squire; but we must not let the other escape.--Now, fair sir, do you yield, rescue or no rescue?"

"I do," answered the young knight; "there is my glove, and I give you my faith."

"Pray let us see your face," continued the nobleman, raising his own vizor, while the greater part of his troop rode on after the young Lord of Croy. Richard of Woodville followed his example; but neither was known to the other, though as it afterwards proved they had once met before.

"May I ask your name, fair sir?" demanded the captor, in the courteous tone then used between adversaries.

"Richard of Woodville," replied the young knight; and a smile instantly came upon the countenance of the other, who replied, "A follower of Burgundy, or I mistake. I regret I was not up sooner, good knight; for if the heralds gave me the name truly, I owe you a fall. When last we met, I was neither horsed nor armed for combat properly. The chance might have been different this time."

"Perhaps it might, my Lord the Count," answered Woodville; "fortune is one man's to-day, another's to-morrow. Mine is the turn of ill luck, else had I not been here a prisoner."

"I bear no malice, sir," rejoined the Lord of Vaudemont; "but if you please, we will ride back to Montl'herry;" and following the invitation, which was now a command, the young knight accompanied his captor, saying to himself, "I felt that this enterprise would end ill, for me at least."

He knew not how far the evil was to extend.