The Prince and the Page: A Story of the Last CrusadeYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
General
The Prince and the Page: A Story of the Last Crusade
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Crusades -- Eighth, 1270 -- Fiction
After about three miles, when the boy was beginning to feel as if he must
soon be in danger of lagging, they came into a dip of the ground where
stood a long, low, irregular building, partly wood and partly stone,
roofed with shingle in some parts, in others with heather. The last
addition, a deep porch, still retained the fresh tints of the bark on the
timber sides, and the purple of the ling that roofed it.
Sheds and out-houses surrounded it; dogs in couples, horses, grooms, and
foresters, were congregated in the background; but around this new porch
were gathered a troop of peasant women, children, and aged men. The fine
bald brow and profile of the old peasant, the eager face of the
curly-haired child, the worn countenance of the hard-tasked mother, were
all uplifted towards the doorway, in which stood, slightly above them, a
lady, with two long plaited flaxen tresses descending on her shoulders,
under a black silken veil, that disclosed a youthful countenance, full of
pure calm loveliness, of a simple but dignified and devotional
expression, that might have befitted an angel of charity. A priest and a
lady were dispensing loaves and warm garments to the throng around; but
each gift was accompanied by a gentle word from the lady, framed with
difficulty to their homely English tongue, but listened to even by
uncomprehending ears like a strain of Church music.
Adam had expected the forester to turn aside to the group of servants,
but in blank amazement saw him lead the way through the poor at the gate;
and advancing to the porch with a courteous bending of his head, he said
in the soft Provençal—far more familiar than English to Adam’s ears—“Hast
room for another suppliant, mi Dona?”
The sweet fair face lighted up with a sudden sunbeam of joy; and a
musical voice replied. “Welcome, my dearest Lord: much did I need thee
to hear the plaints of some of these thy lieges, which my ears can scarce
understand! But why art thou alone? or rather, why thus strangely
accompanied?”
“These are the captives won by my single arm, whom, according to all laws
of chivalry, thine own true knight thus lays at thy feet, fair lady mine,
to be disposed of at thine own gracious will and pleasure.”
And a smile of such sweetness lightened his features, that a murmur of
“Blessings on his comely face!” ran through the assembly; and Adam
indulged in a gruff startled murmur of “’Tis the Prince, or the devil
himself!” while his young master, comprehending the gesture of the
Prince, and overborne by the lovely winning graces of the Princess,
stepped forward, doffing his cap and bending his knee, and signing to
Adam to follow his example.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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