The White Lady of Hazelwood: A Tale of the Fourteenth CenturyHolt, Emily Sarah
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The White Lady of Hazelwood: A Tale of the Fourteenth Century
Holt, Emily Sarah
England -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"I was not so weak once," she said. "There was a time when man said I
had the courage of a man and the heart of a lion. Maiden, never man sat
an horse better than I, and no warrior ever fought that could more ably
handle sword. I have mustered armies to the battle ere now; I have
personally conducted sieges, I have headed sallies on the camp of the
King of France. Am I meek pigeon to be kept in a dovecote? Look around
thee! This is my cage. Ha! the perches are fine wood, sayest thou? the
seed is good, and the water is clean! I deny it not. I say only, it is
a cage, and I am a royal eagle, that was never made to sit on a perch
and coo! The blood of an hundred kings is thrilling all along my veins,
and must I be silent? The blood of the sovereigns of France, the
kingdom of kingdoms,--of the sea-kings of Denmark, of the ancient kings
of Burgundy, and of the Lombards of the Iron Crown--it is with this mine
heart is throbbing, and man saith, `Be still!' How can I be still,
unless I were still in death? And man reckoneth I shall be a-paid for
my lost sword with a needle, and for my broken sceptre he offereth me a
bodkin!"
With a sudden gesture she brushed all the implements for needlework from
the little table to the floor.
"There! gather them up, which of you list. I lack no such babe's gear.
If I were but now on my Feraunt, with my visor down, clad in armour, as
I was when I rode forth of Hennebon while the French were busied with
the assault on the further side of the town,--forth I came with my three
hundred horse, and we fired the enemy's camp--ah, but we made a goodly
blaze that day! I reckon the villages saw it for ten miles around or
more."
"But your Grace remembereth, we won not back into the town at after,"
quietly suggested Perrote.
"Well, what so? Went we not to Brest, and there gathered six hundred
men, and when we appeared again before Hennebon, the trumpets sounded,
and the gates were flung open, and we entered in triumph? Thy memory
waxeth weak, old woman! I must refresh it from mine own."
"Please it, your good Grace, I am nigh ten years younger than yourself."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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