were by
personal animosity, it became loud and bitter. Edward in vain
endeavoured to appease them; but when, seconded by his friends, the
English nobleman established his triumph in the contest, Castruccio
replied by a sarcasm which so irritated his antagonist, that, no
longer restraining his indignation, he darted forward, and struck
Castruccio. The fiery youth, crying in Italian, "By blood, and
not by words, are blows to be avenged!"--drew his stiletto,
and plunged it into the bosom of his adversary. A hundred swords
immediately flashed in the air; Edward threw himself before his
friend to protect him: Gavaston, Atawel and others who loved him,
hastily withdrew him from the crowd, made him mount his horse, and
without a moment's delay they rode to the river's side
below the Tower, where they fortunately found a vessel on the point
of sailing for Holland. Without waiting to see his other friends,
without going to the house of Alderigo for money or equipment, they
hurried him on board the vessel, which immediately got under way,
and dropped down with a favourable wind towards the Nore.
The barons, burning with revenge, had sent archers to the house
of Alderigo, who, not finding Castruccio, seized upon his kinsman,
and threw him into prison. A law then existed in England, that if a
foreigner killed a native and escaped, those with whom he resided
became amenable for the murder. Alderigo was therefore in the most
imminent peril; but Edward, as the last act of friendship that he
could bestow upon Castruccio, saved the life and fortune of his
kinsman. And thus, after a year's residence in this island, did
the youth bring to a disastrous conclusion all the hopes and
expectations which had led him thither.
CHAPTER V
AFTER a favourable navigation of a few hours Castruccio arrived
at Ostend. He landed destitute of friends, and even of the equipage
of a gentleman. What Castruccio felt during the voyage can hardly
be described. Anger, grief and shame kept his spirits in a
perpetual fluctuation, which, painful as it was, was far preferable
to the extinction of hope, and the sense of utter desertion upon
his landing in Flanders. The world was indeed before him: he had
been torn with frightful suddenness from the affections he had
cultivated for a year, from ease, luxury and the friendship of a
powerful monarch, and consigned to utter destitution. He did not
even possess the lance and horse, with which knights-errant of old
won kingdoms for themselves. Nor did he think without remorse of
the blood with which his hands were for the first time stained; he
had received a blow, and blood alone could expiate this injury: in
France or England a duel in regular and courtly form would have
terminated the quarrel; but in Italy the secret stiletto was the
weapon of revenge, and the murder of one was avenged by the
assassination of another, until the list of expiatory murders ran
high, and were carefully counted by each party, each justifying his
own, and blaming those of his adversary. Yet, although the mind of
Castruccio was tinctured by the morality of his country, he was too
young and too new not to feel a natural horror at having been the
cause of the death of a fellow creature. Seated on a rock amidst
the wide sands left by the retiring sea, listening to the
melancholy roar of the tide, he shed bitter tears of repentance and
conscious guilt. One idea alone calmed him, that his adversary
might not have died--and then what was he? His rashness and folly
had thrown him from a high station of prosperity and happiness, to
being the solitary, helpless creature that he then was.
The sun sunk in a turbid sky. "Ah! how unlike dear
Italy," sighed Castruccio; "how different from the clear
heavens and orange-tinted sunsets of my native soil!"
He spoke in Italian, and a man who stood near unperceived by
him, repeated the word so dear to exiles, the name of the country
of his birth:--"Italia." Castruccio looked up, and the
man continued: "Italy is also
personal animosity, it became loud and bitter. Edward in vain
endeavoured to appease them; but when, seconded by his friends, the
English nobleman established his triumph in the contest, Castruccio
replied by a sarcasm which so irritated his antagonist, that, no
longer restraining his indignation, he darted forward, and struck
Castruccio. The fiery youth, crying in Italian, "By blood, and
not by words, are blows to be avenged!"--drew his stiletto,
and plunged it into the bosom of his adversary. A hundred swords
immediately flashed in the air; Edward threw himself before his
friend to protect him: Gavaston, Atawel and others who loved him,
hastily withdrew him from the crowd, made him mount his horse, and
without a moment's delay they rode to the river's side
below the Tower, where they fortunately found a vessel on the point
of sailing for Holland. Without waiting to see his other friends,
without going to the house of Alderigo for money or equipment, they
hurried him on board the vessel, which immediately got under way,
and dropped down with a favourable wind towards the Nore.
The barons, burning with revenge, had sent archers to the house
of Alderigo, who, not finding Castruccio, seized upon his kinsman,
and threw him into prison. A law then existed in England, that if a
foreigner killed a native and escaped, those with whom he resided
became amenable for the murder. Alderigo was therefore in the most
imminent peril; but Edward, as the last act of friendship that he
could bestow upon Castruccio, saved the life and fortune of his
kinsman. And thus, after a year's residence in this island, did
the youth bring to a disastrous conclusion all the hopes and
expectations which had led him thither.
CHAPTER V
AFTER a favourable navigation of a few hours Castruccio arrived
at Ostend. He landed destitute of friends, and even of the equipage
of a gentleman. What Castruccio felt during the voyage can hardly
be described. Anger, grief and shame kept his spirits in a
perpetual fluctuation, which, painful as it was, was far preferable
to the extinction of hope, and the sense of utter desertion upon
his landing in Flanders. The world was indeed before him: he had
been torn with frightful suddenness from the affections he had
cultivated for a year, from ease, luxury and the friendship of a
powerful monarch, and consigned to utter destitution. He did not
even possess the lance and horse, with which knights-errant of old
won kingdoms for themselves. Nor did he think without remorse of
the blood with which his hands were for the first time stained; he
had received a blow, and blood alone could expiate this injury: in
France or England a duel in regular and courtly form would have
terminated the quarrel; but in Italy the secret stiletto was the
weapon of revenge, and the murder of one was avenged by the
assassination of another, until the list of expiatory murders ran
high, and were carefully counted by each party, each justifying his
own, and blaming those of his adversary. Yet, although the mind of
Castruccio was tinctured by the morality of his country, he was too
young and too new not to feel a natural horror at having been the
cause of the death of a fellow creature. Seated on a rock amidst
the wide sands left by the retiring sea, listening to the
melancholy roar of the tide, he shed bitter tears of repentance and
conscious guilt. One idea alone calmed him, that his adversary
might not have died--and then what was he? His rashness and folly
had thrown him from a high station of prosperity and happiness, to
being the solitary, helpless creature that he then was.
The sun sunk in a turbid sky. "Ah! how unlike dear
Italy," sighed Castruccio; "how different from the clear
heavens and orange-tinted sunsets of my native soil!"
He spoke in Italian, and a man who stood near unperceived by
him, repeated the word so dear to exiles, the name of the country
of his birth:--"Italia." Castruccio looked up, and the
man continued: "Italy is also
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