Wilkin Flammock had retreated from the tumult, when he saw the turn which matters had taken. He left the castle by a sally-port, of which he had been intrusted with the key, and proceeded without observation or opposition to the royal camp, where he requested access to the Sovereign. This was easily obtained, and Wilkin speedily found himself in the presence of King Henry. The monarch was in his royal pavilion, attended by two of his sons, Richard and John, who afterwards swayed the sceptre of England with very different auspices.
“How now?— What art thou?” was the royal question.
“An honest man, from the castle of the Garde Doloureuse.”
“Thou may’st be honest,” replied the Sovereign, “but thou comest from a nest of traitors.”
“Such as they are, my lord, it is my purpose to put them at your royal disposal; for they have no longer the wisdom to guide themselves, and lack alike prudence to hold out, and grace to submit. But I would first know of your grace to what terms you will admit the defenders of yonder garrison?”
“To such as kings give to traitors,” said Henry, sternly —“sharp knives and tough cords.”
“Nay, my gracious lord, you must be kinder than that amounts to, if the castle is to be rendered by my means; else will your cords and knives have only my poor body to work upon, and you will be as far as ever from the inside of the Garde Doloureuse.”
The King looked at him fixedly. “Thou knowest,” he said, “the law of arms. Here, provost-marshal, stands a traitor, and yonder stands a tree.”
“And here is a throat,” said the stout-hearted Fleming, unbuttoning the collar of his doublet.
“By mine honour,” said Prince Richard, “a sturdy and faithful yeoman! It were better send such fellows their dinners, and then buffet it out with them for the castle, than to starve them as the beggarly Frenchmen famish their hounds.”
“Peace, Richard,” said his father; “thy wit is over green, and thy blood over hot, to make thee my counsellor here.— And you, knave, speak you some reasonable terms, and we will not be over strict with thee.”
“First, then,” said the Fleming, “I stipulate full and free pardon for life, limb, body, and goods, to me, Wilkin Flammock, and my daughter Rose.”
“A true Fleming,” said Prince John; “he takes care of himself in the first instance.”
“His request,” said the King, “is reasonable. What next?”
“Safety in life, honour, and land, for the demoiselle Eveline Berenger.”
“How, sir knave!” said the King, angrily, “is it for such as thou to dictate to our judgment or clemency in the case of a noble Norman Lady? Confine thy mediation to such as thyself; or rather render us this castle without farther delay; and be assured thy doing so will be of more service to the traitors within, than weeks more of resistance, which must and shall be bootless.”
The Fleming stood silent, unwilling to surrender without some specific terms, yet half convinced, from the situation in which he had left the garrison of the Garde Doloureuse, that his admitting the King’s forces would be, perhaps, the best he could do for Lady Eveline.
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